A Taylor-Made Life (3 page)

Or more accurately, there was no one
who could
legally
take it. His development guys were great.
His best friends. If he asked them, he knew they’d do it, but
according to the foolish contract he’d agreed to years ago, he
could only give the company to someone in his immediate family or a
person agreed upon by the three of them. But he didn’t have any
family—not for a long time. Death had never entered his mind. He
was supposed to be married with a kid, not dying.

There was always his mother. Maybe he
should contact her. He shook off the thought, still not ready to
forgive her.

Charlie continued to drone about the
legal state of the company. Charlie’s red hair and abundance of
freckles gave him a youthful appearance, but in the last six years,
the man had proven himself ruthless enough. Gavin massaged his
temples.

It wasn’t that he held out hope for a
miraculous recovery. That boat had sailed with the relapse, but
he’d hoped to find someone he loved to take care of his company and
his legacy when he was gone.

Time was running out, and soon he’d
have to decide. But not today. He wasn’t ready yet. “I can’t, guys.
Not now. But—”

Doctor, doctor, gimme the
news….
His cell played the familiar ringtone and interrupted
him. “Sorry. I’ve got to take this call. It’s my
oncologist.”

Amidst their frustrated protests, he
stepped from the conference room to his office and shut the
door.

“Hey, Lewis. What’s up?” He glanced
behind him. Through the conference room window, he could see their
huddled conversation. The scheming had commenced. He shrugged it
off and focused on his call. “Calling to tell me it was all a big
mix up?”

The sound of the old man’s voice
resonated, deep and familiar. “Yes. We mistook your results for a
sane person’s. You’re not dying. You’re delusional.”

“Why can’t you doctors ever tell me
something I don’t know?”

The man chuckled, and Gavin could
imagine the deep lines around his eyes creased more dramatically
with the laughter.

“Gavin, my boy, I’m calling to tell
you that I’ve enrolled you in the CanSM program. If you sift
through your mountain of email, you’ll find a young person has been
selected for your mentorship.”

He closed his eyes. “Great. You know I
don’t have time for this.”

“Son, I understand you don’t have time
for many things, but you do have time for this. If you don’t, then
as your physician, I’m ordering you to make time.”

The old guy continued to prattle about
the benefits of healthy relationships. Gavin scrolled through his
email. Six choices from Marissa. He scanned the first profile. Ugh.
Too happy. And she had bucked teeth. He went to the next one. Loves
computer gaming. Her favorite game:
Baigal
. His
competition’s game? That only proved her idiocy.
Baigal
was
a joke. So was she.

“Gavin?”

Is he still talking?
“What?”

“To make it through what you’ll have
to endure, you need to establish connections with people. This
program is a good way. Besides, you’ll be helping another person in
similar circumstances.”

He could find his own
relationships—
if I pay someone
—but instead, he found the
email from CanSM. “There’s one problem, doc. I’m not a
survivor.”

The doctor chuckled again. “You are a
survivor. I’ve not met anyone who I’d classify as more of a
survivor than you.”

“They’ve paired me with a kid from
Dallas. Taylor Smith, seventeen. What am I going to talk about with
a seventeen-year-old kid, Lewis? Hell, I’ve never fared well with
teenagers—even when I was one.” Tension knotted in his stomach.
Awkward high school and college days flooded back. He scanned the
profile. “Apparently he wants to be a computer
programmer.”

“See. That’s something you know about.
Be yourself, Gavin.”

* * * *

Gavin stood on the stoop of a
well-maintained flat in the North Bay and squared his shoulders
before ringing the bell. A striking redhead opened the door and
smiled. “Gavin?”

“Hi, Claire.” She looked exactly like
her picture—beautiful.

Determined to have at least one date
before leaving on this unexpected CanSM trip, he’d scheduled a
meeting with Claire Bedds. As the best of the bunch Marissa had
sent him, the woman had seemed nice enough over the phone when
they’d spoken for a half-hour earlier that day. Marissa had assured
him Claire was the perfect match. After all the damn personality
profiling the agency did, she ought to be.

He held out his hand, hoping his
nerves didn’t give him away and decided to take the doc’s advice:
be yourself
. Who the hell else would he be?

The irony was—he’d spent the last few
years trying to be someone else, playing the budding entrepreneur,
dating a few B-movie stars and models and even a forty-niners
cheerleader. He inwardly kicked himself for bringing that disaster
to mind.

Cheerleaders were the black swans of
his love life, never giving him the time of day before he had
money. A part of him—the adolescent part that stunted his emotional
growth—still wanted a cheerleader. But they never satisfied his
deep craving. They never reached beyond the wealthy façade or even
the geek label. They were surface dwellers like the Aborny Tribe in
his most popular video game,
LAION
. All the other indigenous
species dwelt deep within the planet’s structure for protection
from Gamma Raes. But the Abornies skimmed the surface, living only
on what they could find in the limelight. As a result, their skin
bronzed and grew thicker over the ages and while they survived,
they were a people who never found the true treasures
underneath.

Maybe Claire would be the answer, a
Shanee-Aborny hybrid, beautiful with depth. “Are you
ready—”

“Would you like to come
in—”

They both spoke at the same time then
laughed nervously. He added, “Our reservations are for seven, so we
should go.”

She nodded. “Let me grab my
purse.”

He took her hand and helped her into
the Benz. Her soft fingers closed around his, warm and friendly.
He’d given Carlton and the limo the night off, hoping to show his
self-sufficiency. He’d driven so little since his last hospital
stay. Driving wasn’t necessarily a sign of competence, but if this
date turned into an overnighter, he wanted to be able to come and
go with some autonomy and privacy. Seldom was he out in public
without someone snapping a picture. At first, the attention had
been fun, but recently with his concealed illness, dodging the
media leeches became a drain.

* * * *

The classical music played, and the
soft clink of silverware on fine china filled the French
restaurant. He would’ve preferred the theme song to
Firefly
,
but doubted the restaurant would accommodate his
request.

Claire smiled over at him. “I love
this atmosphere. It’s great for talking.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Have
you ever watched
Firefly
?”

She shook her head. “No. What is
that?”

“It’s a sci-fi series.”

“Oh. I’ve never seen it.”

He tried not to let his disappointment
show. It was a TV show, and a cancelled one, at that.

They spent the evening making light
conversation, getting to know one another. Claire was a computer
programmer for a high-tech stock company. She’d grown up in Santa
Barbara and had come to San Francisco after graduating from
UCLA.

“So you play computer games?” He took
a sip of water as she nursed her wine.

Her bright green eyes lifted to meet
his. “I do. Some. It’s not my main pastime. I like the outdoors. I
bike and hike when the weather’s nice.” She lightly traced her
finger around the lip of her glass. “I’ve played your games.
They’re fun and inventive.”

He couldn’t help but smile with pride.
“Thanks. There’s a lot of me in them.”

“It’s evident much thought went into
their creation.”

The waiter took their plates. “May I
offer you dessert?”

“I already know what I’d like—the
crème brûlée.” He glanced at Claire and raised his eyebrows in
inquiry.

She laid her slender fingers across
her chest and declined. “I don’t think I could eat another bite,
but thanks.”

Again disappointment seized him, but
he maintained a smile. His dates never ordered dessert.

The waiter returned with the rich dish
and set it in front of him. Gavin ate while she watched. He filled
his spoon and held it up to her. “Would you like a
bite?”

She shook her head. “No, thank
you.”

“You sure? It’s only one little
bite.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “I never eat
sugar.” She tilted her chin up in a way that said, “My willpower is
superior to yours.”

“Never?” He poked the spoonful in his
own mouth and tried to wrap his brain around that. Dessert was an
occasion, an event to be marked and enjoyed, a time to set aside
what you normally did to do something for the pure pleasure of it.
To him it was like birthdays and holidays when his mother still
loved him. He didn’t eat dessert every day, only at special
times.

Before the cancer, he never thought
much about the small things like dessert. But since his illness,
simple things had taken on new significance. And while he knew
Claire’s refusal wasn’t personal, it felt like a
rejection.

They finished the meal, and he drove
them back to her house.

“Thank you, Gavin. Dinner was great. I
really enjoyed getting to know you.” Her green eyes sparkled in the
light of the dimly lit street, and her hand was still warm when he
took it to help her out of the car.

“The company was nice, too.” He walked
her to her stoop.

Claire seemed like a good woman, and
he liked her. He slipped his arm around her waist and lowered his
head. She closed her eyes, sighing softly as their lips met in a
tender kiss. No bells or whistles sounded. No red lights or warning
sirens went off either. Choosing Claire would be settling for
something less than what he’d hoped, but it wasn’t like he had time
to wait, holding out for the
right
girl.

* * * *

“What do you mean you’ve found the
right man
, Taylor Marie? I thought we had an understanding?”
Mom plopped the basket of folded clothes on my bed.

I leaned back in my desk chair and
frowned. Those arched eyebrows meant she wasn’t excited about the
news of Gavin Taylor.

“I was supposed to help you look.
Right? You can’t hang your hopes on the first man who emails
you.”

“He’s not the first guy. I’ve weeded
through tons.” I gnawed on my cuticle.

“Honey, this man doesn’t even know
that’s what you want him for.” Her lips tightened in a straight
line. “He’s coming for an entirely different reason, and I doubt he
will have any romantic notions about you.”

I shrugged off her doom and gloom.
“He’s the right one. I know it.” I tugged at a loose string on my
tank top and hazarded a look at her.

She tapped her false nails against
each other like she always did when she was worried. “And what in
the world will your father say?”

I grimaced. Dad wasn’t going to be an
easy sale no matter who I picked. “I don’t think we should tell
Dad.” I gave her my best pleading puppy look. “Please. Let’s meet
him before we kick the idea to the curb.”

She blew out a big sigh. “Uh-huh. I’ll
tell you what idea I think we should kick to the curb.”

“You promised.” I straightened in my
seat, determined to win this battle. “If you won’t help me, I’ll do
it myself.”

Scowling, she put my folded clothes in
the dresser. “Believe me, I know. That’s what I’m afraid
of.”

“Look at this.” I typed Gavin’s name
into Google. “He has his own company that creates computer games,
the games I play. It’s a sign.” A big grin spread over my face when
I clicked on his picture, the one that was my favorite. I chewed my
lip. My heart turned a flip drill in my chest. “And look at how hot
he is, Mom. We’d make the cutest couple.
Ever
.”

She stepped to the computer and peered
over my shoulder. “Yes, Taylor. He’s an attractive man. I also see
the hot little number next to him in every picture.”

“According to the gossip magazines,
he’s not seeing anyone since that ditzy news anchor lady.” I
glanced back over my shoulder at her and smiled hopefully. “And
they don’t seem to even know he’s got cancer.”

She narrowed her eyes at me and then
looked back at the monitor. “How old is this man?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Don’t you want someone closer to your
own age?” She moved to my closet and hung up two blouses. “It seems
to me, you’d have an easier time ‘hooking up’”— she did air
quotes—“with that Justin Beaver.”

I groaned. “Beiber, Mom. And I don’t
think so. Gavin
is
the right guy.”