Chapter 4
4
I decide to take the rest of the day off.
I tell my driver to take me home. On the way, I text Esther. Twenty minutes with Cleo has made me pretty fucking grateful for her.
I’ll be taking a plus one to the wedding. No dietary restrictions
She’ll have the steak too
But what if she’s a vegetarian?
And the vegetarian option. Tell Leah I’ll pay the extra for both
My phone buzzes instantly. I expect it to be Esther giddy with excitement that Oscar the Grouch finally has a date, but it’s just a notification saying I’ve received a call from a blocked number.
Margot.
It’s like her bitch radar has detected the latest possible development through the airwaves.
I ignore it.
After I ended it with Margot, I threw myself into work more than ever before. I guess that’s why Noah is worried.
In a way, he’s right. As much as Margot and I weren’t compatible, I do miss occasionally spending time with people who aren’t employees. I have been feeling that part of the break-up, no matter what I tell my brothers. I’ve felt more existentially alone than I ever have in my life. I’m not sure why.
It might be partly because my brothers are now working so closely together at Invested Enterprises. They all have each other. Not that I wanted to join their start-up; I don’t have time. And I never wanted to break free of Maddox Enterprises like they did—or maybe it’s more of a case of not having that luxury. Either way, now, I’m steering the ship alone, with a handful of Dad’s old cronies.
Every night I go home to my five-bedroom penthouse, which should feel like a haven, or at least a success story. For a while, it did. But lately, it feels more empty than it ever has before. Just another reminder that I seem destined to be a grumpy lone wolf for the rest of time.
My driver drops me off outside my building, ready to park the limo in the basement garage.
I should head straight to my home office, but I’m too distracted. The conversation with Noah and Cleo is playing on a loop in my brain.
I was stupid to tell Esther I’d be taking a plus one. What are the chances of Cleo finding someone who would agree to such a ridiculous plan, and at such short notice? And even if she does, do I really want to go ahead with it? A fake date for the weekend suddenly seems more terrifying than a real one.
Knowing my luck, the kind of woman who would agree to such a thing will probably be a total nutcase.
The one thing that stops me from calling the whole thing off is the thought of pissing off Margot. It’s too damn appealing.
If I do end up bringing some air-headed (hot) twenty-three year old, Margot will be absolutely livid.
The thought makes me feel a fraction less surly.
I pour myself a whiskey and take it out onto the roof terrace, leaning against the balcony railing to take in the city.
I bought this apartment six years ago. The helipad and pool are nice to have, but being this high up, with these panoramic views over the city, that’s what really sold me on this place. The sunsets are something else.
Not that I make it back from the office in time to enjoy them most nights, but that’s just part of the Fortune 500 lifestyle. I know this. This is how I’ve lived my life.
Tonight it doesn’t stop me from wondering what it might be like to experience what everyone else seems to find so easily in life. Fun. Enjoyment.
Love.
I’ve never even detected an inkling of that feeling. Of caring. Of wanting more. Every single time, inevitably, the women want more and I want less. They get clingy and greedy and I pull back. They get mad because I’m too distant and I retreat even further. They cry and I get more jaded and more pissed off. It’s always the same.
Sometimes—like right now—I feel like I’m missing out on something huge.
According to my brothers, my love life wouldn’t be such a disaster if I could just loosen up a little, and they’re probably right.
It occurs to me that I’m turning into the exact thing I’ve spent my life trying to avoid. I watched my father work his guts out, spending far more time in the boardroom than he ever did enjoying his money.
So what am I doing, then? Why am I repeating the same pattern?
What’s it all for?
Maybe I do need a vacation.
And suddenly, the thought of hiring a tween to act as a buffer between me and my bitch of an ex feels like too much work. I feel exhausted just imagining how it might play out.
My phone dings with an incoming message. I take it out of my pocket, preparing to ignore yet another blocked call from Margot.
But it’s Noah.
I just heard from Cleo. It’s a go
The deal’s off. It was a ridiculous idea. I’m going solo
Three dots appear immediately to tell me he’s typing back.
Nice try. Cleo’s having a drink with the lead candidate as we speak and she’s willing to do it. Two hundred up front
I said the deal’s off
Did we actually agree on those numbers?
More dots.
Apparently she’s hot AF
Damn it. Something in me twitches.
Cleo says you’re the “luckiest grump on the planet” to get this girl to agree to it
Who is she?
She wants to start out with first names only
Why? Is she on the FBI’s Most Wanted list? She knows my last name, I’m assuming
Cleo tried to convince her you’re cool but she’s cautious
I guess that’s fair enough.
It’s too late to back out, bro. She said she’ll be ready on Friday afternoon. Just name the time and place
I can’t believe I’m considering this
Cleo says to tell you this girl is (direct quote) “waaaaaaaay out of your league.” She’s ordering me to tell you that you have to promise to be nice to her. Where do you want her to meet you?
Now I’m curious. Out of my league? I’m a billionaire. I’m ripped as fuck since I have nothing else to do when I’m not in the office besides work out like a maniac and swim laps in the Olympic-sized pool on the roof garden of my penthouse. I’m also hung like a fucking Trojan. I won the lottery on a lot of levels but especially that one.
I want to meet the girl who’s “out of my league.”
Dude, you owe me big time
There’s a photo attached to his text.
Is this her?
Duh. Yes. Her name is Ivy
Ivy.
I zoom in on the photo.
Hell.
She’s young. She looks younger than twenty-three, in fact, and it makes me wonder where her parents are. Do they know she’s accepting fake dates with men for money? Is she desperate? Is she okay?
I zoom in closer.
To say she’s beautiful would be a wild understatement. She’s so cute and stunning, it’s weirdly…painful. It makes my chest feel strangely tight.
She has dark hair that’s pulled back from her face, which is so beautiful I’m wondering if she’s used one of those filters. No one can be this flawless. Her eyes are amber-colored, framed by long, dark lashes. A few curls have escaped to frame her face delicately. She’s staring directly at the camera but she looks almost bored. Sultry. Her lips are full and pink. She’s wearing what looks like a tight, skimpy yoga outfit. She has a tattoo of a musical note on her wrist.
I’ll admit I’m intrigued.
Not bad, right?
What if she’s a psycho like all the rest of them?
It’s a joke, almost.
Dude, when did you get so cynical?
Somewhere between crash and burn 800 and Margot The Lunatic
A little “ha ha” attaches to the text.
Seriously tho, Cleo has assured me she’s a “sweetheart with grit” and an “insane talent”
Talented at what?
I guess you’ll find out
I sigh heavily, taking another look at the photo of the girl. She really is stunning.
Fine. I’ll have my driver pick her up at 5 pm sharp. We’ll take the helicopter
Lol. Sure thing bro. Have a good night. I’ll call you tomorrow
The night goes quiet and I zoom in on the photo again.
Ivy.
It’s dark in my apartment except for the city lights and the blue reflection of the pool outside. And my phone, which glows with the girl’s perfect face.
Today’s Tuesday.
I’m surprised by the turn of my own thoughts. Because what I’m thinking is: only three more days to go.