California, Brother

2.

'That's so random. Why was Eric Westmark at a food festival?'

'Vegan food festival,' I corrected Marcus, throwing him a glance from the passenger seat. I'd asked myself the same question when I saw him camouflaged Hollywood-style in a pair of dark sunglasses and a baseball cap, with a nondescript t-shirt and jeans. My eyes had only rested on him for a beat longer than their usual sweep because I'd been dressed the same way, avoiding recognition. Only I hadn't left my expensive Swiss watch at home. Eric might as well have been stripped of all rockstar opulence the way he hunched over the Mexican food tent on the cobbled Santa Barbara street like a commoner.

'I guess Mom invited him.'

Marcus was taking this all in with ease, considering. 'And that's a thing that happens in your world, is it? Your mom just casually invites Eric Westmark to a food—Sorry, a vegan food festival.'

Okay, maybe not.

'Are you fucking insane?' he continued as I winced. 'Do you know how much better I would've sucked you off had I known you've been breathing the same air as De Claire's Eric Westmark for YEARS?'

'Oh, wow. Are you retrospectively threatening me with a good time?' I snorted. The last time we fooled around was in college, and we both agreed we were better off as friends. 'Can you chill when you actually meet the man?'

'No. No, I can't because my best friend of ten years is a liar. You're a psychopath—'

'And you're a drama queen. Watch the fucking road!' I had to grab the steering wheel and steady it to avoid ramming into the speeding truck next to us. 'Or you'll never make it to Portland to lick his ass.' Marcus laughed without a trace of humor. 

'It's strange. You've got to admit, it's fucking strange. You're telling me you've known him for years? That he was in a band with your brother, and that he's a family friend you see occasionally?'

'I don't see him "occasionally."'

Would it have been more or less painful if Marcus knew the only reason I'd told him was because he was giving me a ride to Portland? If there had been a way of keeping it a secret, I would've, but I really needed the ride and he was kinda already heading in that direction. Plus, he was going to have to stay the night at Eric's once we got there, which rendered any secrecy moot.

Commercial airplanes were out of the question. One bad tabloid photo of me stumbling out of the arrivals lounge could tank the stock of the conglomerate that now owned Insilica. And everything of my doing that affected the market value of their company up to six months after the acquisition could land me in tricky litigation. The fact that I, and whatever vulture of a reporter that found me in a moment of vulnerability—sleep-deprived, creased suit, irritable—had the power to topple the global economy was exactly the reason I was fleeing downtown Palo Alto and our office in Silicon Valley.

'He was Samson's friend,' I told Marcus. 'We were never close. And now he's Mom's friend. She invited him out there, and for whatever reason, he accepted. The rest is history.'

'It's obviously not history. This was what, three months ago? And also, I reserved the right to be as salty over this as I want. What if you found out I was best friends with...' he stopped to glance my way, his eyebrows disappearing behind his sunglasses.

'Exactly.' I gloated over his inability to think of a single person. 'Because it's embarrassing—'

'Mark Zuckerberg.'

'Fuck off.'

'Tim Cook.'

I glared at him.

He cackled. 'The CEO of Uber. Just a huge fucking orgy of Silicon Valley dicks.'