Chosen by Desire (47 page)

e. take great pleasure in dousing it?

f. sit down and sing Kumbaya?

When you’re walking down a deserted alley at night, do you…

a. get the urge to throw a flame ball to light your way?

b. cause an earthquake to shake any baddies free from dark corners?

c. draw out Dumpsters like magnets out to form a defensive line?

d. grab a two-by-four, just in case?

e. summon a torrential downpour to smite your enemy?

f. whistle, enjoying the fresh evening air?

Your favorite flavor of dessert is…

a. spicy Mexican hot chocolate.

b. Red Earth Cake.

c. anything with a metal file baked in it.

d. Sugar cookies shaped like Christmas trees.

e. no dessert-just a glass of water, please.

f. Jello!

What would you rather spend a free hour doing?

a. Melting candlewax with your bare hands.

b. Digging trenches.

c. Sharpening knives.

d. Whittling.

d. Idly floating across a pool.

f. Knitting.

What’s your favorite weapon?

a. A torch.

b. A rock.

c. A throwing star.

d. A spear.

e. A water balloon.

f. Weapon? Can’t I hide?

Lighters, matches, torches, explosives… You’ll take your element in any form. The seductive dance of a flame mesmerizes and inspires you.

You don’t mind dirt under your nails. You revel during earthquakes, and the ground beneath your bare feet makes you feel like you’ve come home.

You love bridges, skyscrapers, and modern furniture. Extreme heat vexes you and makes you wilt.

You love trees and think the Shakers were visionary. You believe in vampires only because it means you can carry wooden stakes without reproach.

The bluer your world is, the happier you are. You’re okay with global warming if it means all the icecaps will melt and cause the earth to flood again. Because Noah shouldn’t have had all the fun.

You failed the Guardian test. Don’t pass Go, don’t collect the scroll. I mean, come on-jello? Knitting? Rounds of Kumbaya?? No Guardian worth her parchment would partake in either activity.

When my boss at the Chronicle asked me to do a series on affluent San Franciscans, the first person who came to mind was the newest addition to our little city: Maximillian Prescott. Not only was he rich, but it was rumored that he was a guardian.

Of course, getting to Mr. Prescott was like trying to break into Fort Knox. He doesn’t give interviews. Ever. So I thought maybe his wife, Carrie Woods Prescott, would be more amenable.

She was. Not just amenable, but excited even. We set up a time to meet at a cafe for the following week.

So there I was. I looked at the clock on the wall. We were supposed to meet at four, and it was half past.

Just then, Carrie Prescott rushed in, her messenger bag bumping her hip as she wove through the tables to me. “Am I late? I’m late, aren’t I?”

“You’re fairly on time.”

She blew a curl out of her face as she set her bag on the floor. “For the record, it’s not my fault. I’m generally prompt. My husband, however, forgets the world doesn’t revolve around him.”

Her cheeks flushed, which made her bee-stung lips stand out. Having seen a picture of her at an opening at the Asian Art Museum, I figured she’d either had collagen injections or she’d been making out with someone recently. Considering her hair was disheveled and her shirt was buttoned incorrectly, I was betting on the later. Having also seen pictures of her husband, I sighed in envy.

She pulled out a rubber band from her bag, tied her hair back, and exhaled deeply. Then she looked up with a grin. “Okay, I’m ready. Hit me with your questions.”

“You sure?” I asked, pulling out my recorder and setting it on the table between us. “Do you want coffee or anything?”

“Maybe some tea. Herbal.” She placed a hand over her stomach. “I’m off caffeine for a while.”

I looked at her belly. She didn’t look pregnant, but her baggy shirt didn’t reveal much. “You’re having a baby?”

“Our first.” Carrie beamed pure joy. “We’re pretty excited.”

“Are you hoping for a boy or girl?”

“I don’t care as long as the baby is healthy. Max wants a little girl.”

“Really? Most billionaires would want a son to carry on the family legacy.”

“Max isn’t the typical rich guy.”

Obviously not. “What’s he like?”

“He’s all grumbly on the outside, but on the inside he’s a big softie.” The humor leached from her face. “But threaten someone he loves and he’ll take you and everyone you know out.”

“Yikes.” I blinked. “I’m kind of surprised he didn’t come along with you to supervise the interview.”

Carrie wrinkled her nose. “I may have forgotten to tell him this.”

“He’s not going to hunt me down when he finds out, is he?” I looked around nervously.

“No,” she shifted. “At least I don’t think so.”

I was a bit unnerved, but I decided to let that go. Besides, the sooner I got this over with, the sooner I could go into hiding. “Tell me a little about your work.”

She brightened up. “I curate Max’s private collection of Chinese artifacts. His family has the most extensive privately-owned collection in the world. Some of the manuscripts have never been documented.”

“Like?”

“Like-” She clammed up suddenly, her eyes round. “Actually, I’m not sure I should talk about it. It’s one of those
and-then-I’ll-have-to-kill-you things
, you know?”

I chuckled, but when Carrie didn’t, I sobered up. Really quickly. “Um. Okay. Next question.”

She smiled, patiently waiting.

“What’s it like living with one of the most powerful men in the world?”

“Trying,” she said instantly. “He thinks he knows best about everything. But he would have been that way if he didn’t have a cent to his name. He lived in a monastery for quite a long time, you know?”

“Yes, I’d read that.” I shuffled through my notes. “The Guanyin Monastery.”

“It’s where we met.”

“Was it love at first sight?”

Carrie laughed.

“I take it that’s a no.”

“I can’t speak for Max, but for me it was lust, quickly followed by love. You’ve seen pictures of him, right? He’s pretty hot.”

I nodded enthusiastically. Then I checked to make sure I wasn’t drooling.

She grinned. “That’s okay. I’m used to women falling all over him. I mean, he’s like Batman minus all the tools. Who could resist that?”

“He doesn’t have any tools?”

“He doesn’t need any.” She gave me a sly woman-to-woman look that said it all. “But I can say he’s got a big sword, and he knows how to use it.”

I choked on the water I was sipping.

Carrie reached across the table and patted my back. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I coughed. “Just got to be careful about picturing his sword.”

“He doesn’t show many people.”

“I should hope not.”

“Trust me though, it’s impressive.”

Coughing again, I looked down at my notes. “So. I’m not particularly sure where to go to from there.”

“I can’t blame you.” Carrie’s smile managed to look innocent but devilish at the same time. “After experiencing Max and his sword, I was pretty lost too.”

#

After my interview with Carrie, I knew there was no way I’d get to chat with Maximillian, so when he called me to set up a meeting, I almost peed my pants. Not out of excitement-out of fear.

Coincidence that he called the day after I’d met with his wife? Ha. I doubted
coincidence
was in his vocabulary. He didn’t mention me talking to Carrie, and he wasn’t belligerent in any way.

Still…

But I regained my composure, compiled a list of questions, and met him at our appointed meeting place: the Golden Gate Bridge.

Literally on the bridge. A weird location? Yeah. But like I was going to say anything. You don’t question a man like Maximillian Prescott. When he told me to meet him on the bridge, I just said“Okay,” like the obedient girl that I am. I’d just hope he wouldn’t push me off for daring to speak with his wife, especially since she didn’t reveal all that I needed to know. My only consolation: we were meeting during the day, so there’d be plenty of witnesses.

It didn’t occur to me until I was on my way there that the bridge is almost two miles long, and
on the bridge
could be anywhere. But I figured I’d walk across and hopefully find him.

Sure enough, halfway across, I saw a large man leaning against the railing, staring at the bay. Wind whipped his blond hair across his chiseled face, so still he looked carved out of stone. As chilly as it was (San Francisco is cold pretty much all year round), he only wore a pair of loose pants and a linen collared shirt with the top three buttons undone. No jacket.

I huddled in my wool coat and headed for him.

Me: Are you Max Prescott?

Max: (turning and eyeing me thoroughly) You’re not what I expected.

Me: (blinking at the unorthodox greeting) What did you expect?

Max: Someone a little taller. A little less delicate looking.

Me: (standing up straight) I don’t look delicate. And, on the inside, I’m fierce.

Max: (grunt)

Me: But I didn’t ask you to come here to talk about me.

Max: I asked you to come here.

Me: (rolling eyes) I meant figuratively. And why
did
you pick the bridge?

Max: It’s soothing here. All this steel…

Me: Oo-kay. (pulling out notes and recorder) First of all, thanks for meeting with me.

Max: (silence)

Me: (trying not to get freaked by his intense stare) Um, why did you agree to talk to me? You don’t usually give interviews to people.

Max: I was curious. And I wanted to check you out, since you’d talked to Carrie.

Me: Oh. (heart thumping) You know about that?

Max: I protect my own.

Me: (hearing the warning behind the words) Right. Got it. Um, she’s lovely.

Max: I know.

Me: Did you know you loved her from the moment you met her?

Max: I did. Subconsciously. But I didn’t admit it until I thought I’d lost her.

Me: I understand you’re going to be a daddy soon.

Max: (his reserve melting) I am.

Me: What’s the one thing you’d like to pass on to your child?

Max: I can’t answer that.

Me: (perking up with curiosity) Why not? Does it have to do with a certain scroll?

Max: (grabbing my arm) How do you know?

Me: I have my sources.

Max: What sources?

Me: Sources are never revealed. Haven’t you ever watched TV?

Max: (his gaze hard)

Me: No, I guess you wouldn’t have watched TV. Your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell anyone. Trust me. I won’t write about it either.