TO: Palmer Chance, Ford Chance
FROM: Cooper Chance
SUBJECT: Isn’t the party the gift?
TO: Cooper Chance, Ford Chance
FROM: Palmer Chance
SUBJECT: Re: Isn’t the party the gift?
I would suggest pulling back on your attempts to annoy me. I know things about you, Cooper, things you don’t think I know. But I do know. I know . . . things.
TO: Palmer Chance, Ford Chance
FROM: Cooper Chance
SUBJECT: Sure you do
TO: Palmer Chance, Cooper Chance
FROM: Ford Chance
Subject: Re: Sure you do
Can we not argue? We have a few days left of planning this thing. How about this, everyone show up with their assigned tasks and be done with it. No talking, no discussing.
Palmer, get whatever gift you want, we will give you money.
I have more important things to do than read your bickering emails.
Show up at the party with a smile on your face, and then we can all part.
TO: Palmer Chance, Ford Chance
FROM: Cooper Chance
SUBJECT: Re: Sure you do
Finally, someone speaking some sense.
And stop changing the goddamn cake.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
FORD
“We’re almost there. How are your heels holding out?” Larkin asks, pushing a branch to the side as we finish the “short” hike she planned for us.
“Pretty sure there are pools of blood in my brand-new hiking boots.”
“But your whistle’s still intact,” Larkin teases.
I toot on my whistle, which is supposed to scare away wildlife. “So, when I’m bloody carnage, unable to move, thanks to these shoes, at least I’ll have my whistle to ward off predators. Told you it wasn’t a stupid purchase.”
“You’re right—thank God for the whistle.” She looks back at me and chuckles. “You’ve never looked more attractive in my eyes.”
I pause and stand up straight. “What did I tell you? No making fun of me.”
“You borrowed your assistant’s pink hat because the sun was too bright on your eyes.”
“And it’s rather fetching; at least that’s what the birds have been chirping as we’ve walked by.”
“Aww, and here I thought you were a novice when it came to outdoor adventure, but you’re already picking up on the language of the birds.”
I tap the side of my head. “Quick learner.”
We’re met with one more four-foot rock before we reach the top of our hike. With ease, Larkin uses a smaller rock to propel herself on top and then turns around, hand outstretched.
“I think I can handle it,” I scoff.
“Oh, I was just offering to hold your whistle.”
“As if I would trust you with such a brilliant outdoor tool.” I stuff it in my pocket. “No, thank you—I will be handling my own whistle.”
I step up on the small rock and launch my body over the tall boulder, rolling across the rock and then standing on my feet.
I brush myself off as Larkin starts to slow clap. “That was the most graceful thing I think I’ve ever seen.”
“No doubt in my mind,” I say, knowing damn well I just looked like an idiot. After brushing myself off, I take in the views of the harbor. “Wow,” I say as I reach for Larkin’s hand. “It’s beautiful up here.” Stretched in front of us is endless ocean. Standing on the west side of the island, we aren’t graced with the Seattle skyline, but rather are offered the perfect escape from the bustle of the harbor around us. The sky mirrors the ocean, a magnificent blue with minimal clouds in the far distance. Breathtaking.
“It’s one of my favorite places to hike because you get a beautiful panoramic view of the channels, and if you’re lucky, you can catch whales breaching out in the distance.”
“You know, I don’t take enough time to do things like this.”
“I know,” she says. “You’re always working, and when you’re always working, you tend to lose who you are. You don’t take a moment to actually live in your own head. Getting lost in work is easy; stepping outside of that work and exploring yourself, that’s hard.”
“And I work too hard, which has left me ignorant to what I’m missing out on.” I open my arms up. “To all of this—nature, what the company was built around. That and bloody feet.” I glance down at the death-trap boots. “There is no possible way we can carry this company anymore in the stores, especially if this is what happens to our consumers. Blood feet.”
Larkin laughs. “You do not have blood feet, and you’re probably dying because you’re not wearing the proper socks. I told you to buy—”