CHAPTER 38 Rowan
CHAPTER 38
Rowan
A fter Charlie leaves, I gather my wallet with its new, shiny credit card and my phone and step outside to find out where Hector parked my car. Remi’s car. Whatever. The car I drove here. I was too distracted yesterday to worry about where he stored it, but I think I figured out which building is the garage: the one with six doors. But I think the cars may be stacked on lifts, so maybe it’s a twelve-car garage? I tug at my bottom lip.
Hector sees me immediately through the open door and comes out of the garage with a smile. “Good morning, Rowan. What can I do for you?”
I crack my knuckles. “I need my—a—car. To go shopping. I didn’t bring much in the way of clothes up here—mostly because I don’t have any. My father wants me to go buy some nicer ones.”
“Then let me take you. That way you can relax, not worry about traffic or parking. I can assist with your bags, too.”
“Thanks, that’d be great,” I say, rocking on my feet.
“Let me get the car. I’ll only be a moment.”
He pulls a large Mercedes-Benz out of the I-don’t-know-how-many-car garage, and I reach out to open the front passenger door, then second-guess myself. This former ShareARide driver doesn’t know how to be a passenger.
Or how to behave, in general.
“Hector,” I say, then clear my throat. “Do you want me to sit in the front or the back?”
“That’s up to you, but Mr. St. Thomas likes to sit in the back so he can focus on things other than the road.”
“Okay.” I fidget a bit more.
I get another kind smile from Hector. “Sit in the back. Let me take you where you need to go.”
So I do. Hector asks what kind of music I want to listen to, and when I tell him my favorite bands, he grins. “I like those, too.” He starts one of their albums on the sound system.
I sink back in the leather seat and watch the tall hedges of Montecito go by.
Okay, I could get used to this.
Hector pulls up in front of the department store, throwing on his blinkers so others have to go around us. “I’ll be nearby when you’re ready to leave,” he says. “Just message me, and I’ll come.”
I’m about to ask for his phone number, but I check the phone my father gave me, and of course Hector is programmed in there. As are a bunch of other names, including Matilda and Lionel. I rub my chin. “Okay, thanks.” I open the door and get out of the car, noticing a man lying against the side of the building, just around the corner from the entrance. I have no cash to give him. I need to be like Charlie and carry a little cash for situations like this.
Hector waits as I stand outside, my stomach tense and breath catching in my chest. The doormen monitoring the shiny entrance have surely noticed me by now.
Should I just get back in the car? I don’t belong here except as some kind of novelty. I’m the discount burger wrapped in paper served on fine china. This is going to be a Pretty Woman situation where the sales clerks are too snooty to help me .
I feel the same as I did walking into the restaurant to meet my father. Plus, I’m sore and bruised from last night.
A small voice in my head argues that maybe they’re used to rock stars or whatever who walk in wearing clothes like mine—jeans and a T-shirt from a thrift store.
One of the uniformed attendants smiles at me and opens the door. “Right this way.”
With a fluttery feeling in my chest, I give him a curt nod and push my shoulders back. Inside, the place is utterly pristine. So much white, so many shiny things. Fresh wreaths with satin ribbons provide a tasteful wintertime display, and everyone in here looks like they’re straight out of a magazine.
I stare at my shoes. Fuck what those people think. I could buy this store. Or my father could, at least.
Which means I’m never going to wear the same outfit again for the rest of my life, if I can help it. Where the hell is the most expensive pair of jeans in the store?
Something pricks my conscience, because I know that’s wasteful.
I assuage my conscience. I’m making massive plans to help people with my funds, if I ever get them. I’m allowed to splurge.
A well-dressed woman glides over to me. “Hello, I’m Norinne. Do you mind me asking if you’re Rowan Jones?”
My legal last name is starting to sound weird now. I furrow my brows. “I am. Why?”
“Your father called and said you’d be coming in. His office opened up a house account for you. He said you were in the process of changing your name to St. Thomas.”
“I am.”
“What would you prefer me to call you?”
“How about Rowan?”
She smiles. “Do you mind showing me some ID, just for confirmation? Mr. St. Thomas described you as having pink hair, so I figured it was you.” I pull out my wallet and hand it to her. She reads it and gives it back to me with another warm smile. “Welcome. Then, Rowan, let’s see what will suit you.”
The next few hours can only be described as rage-buying.
With Norinne standing by approvingly, I select Dior T-shirts and Saint Laurent varsity jackets. White Christian Louboutin sneakers with silver studs and red soles. Alexander McQueen hoodies. Balenciaga jeans. Paul Smith underwear. Other brands I’ve never heard of but that sell clothing I want to wear. Basically, I get a version of all the clothes I already have, but at a hundred times the price. Or more.
Everything. I get everything . I buy every single thing I’ve never imagined being able to own.
Then I decide to upgrade even more and pick up slim velvet blazers, metallic silver pants, pointed shoes in shiny leather. I touch fabrics and figure out what I want next to my body—soft, comfortable, sleek.
I go into the couture department and get measured for a few custom-made suits. I’m gonna sparkle like a Christmas tree.
It takes four people to package up all of the things I buy. Hector may have to make two trips. Then I remember I can have this all delivered.
So, yep. I know I went from Donald Duck (no pants) to Scrooge McDuck (still no pants) in a very short period of time, but can you blame me? I’ve gone far too long with too little. If someone says I’m swinging too far over to the indulgent side … well. They can deal with it.
I finish shopping for myself and start looking for things for Charlie. I pick out dark brown and gray cashmere sweaters that will look delicious on him and sunglasses that are his style. I’d buy him more, but I’m not sure what he’d like. I find his hinoki scent and buy one of every formulation it comes in. I pick up fancy hand lotion for Matilda and a T-shirt for Hector. When I’ve spent more time with Lionel, I’ll get him something, too.
Money might be running through my fingers like water, but I know I’ll calm down after this orgasmic shopping trip. After all those purchases get rung up and my father’s accountant approves them, I get a glimpse of the total damage I’ve done. It’s more than many rich people make in a year. In several years.
Damn.
But I’m the son of a fucking billionaire. He’s spoiling me, and I’m going to show it off. I’ll look the part even if I don’t feel like it yet.
Fake it until I make it.
I leave the store in stretchy, black skinny jeans and a mint green mohair sweater, along with the lightest, most comfortable sneakers I’ve ever worn. I dumped the clothes I had been wearing in the dressing room trash. I never want to see that old life ever again.
New life, here I come.
My father joins me for dinner in the Montecito house. “This is one of your new outfits?” he asks, once we’re drinking coffee on a back patio while waiting for dinner.
“Yep. I bought out the store, I think,” I admit.
He chuckles, which turns into a cough. A nurse named Bettina wraps a plaid blanket around him. “I’m glad. I hope you got some pleasure out of it.”
I nod. “Thanks. I got some of the coolest and nicest clothes I’ve ever seen.”
“You seem to have a very distinct style.” He pointedly looks at my pink hair.
“What’s wrong? You don’t want a son with tattoos?”
Remi’s eyes warm. “I definitely want a son with tattoos. And whatever color hair, whatever personality. I like that you’re yourself. That’s going to help you.”
“I tried to have my own style before, but I had no money, so I had to get creative. With money?” I shrug. “It’s easier. So thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And where is Charlie?” Remi asks, looking around as if Charlie’s going to pop up from behind a potted plant.
“He had to go to work today. In LA.”
“Okay, well, I look forward to meeting him.” He looks sheepish. “Not because I have any right as your father to say who you date. But because I want to know more about you.” He sighs. “I’m sorry. I want to be sure I know you as much as I can before the cancer claims me. Though getting to know each other might cause you pain when I’m gone, and for that I’m sorry. But I prefer it to the alternative of not getting to know you.”
I straighten my legs under the table. “Me, too. I appreciate that you’re making an effort. It shows.” It’s true. He’s taken time to see me, in person, when I’m sure he has other things on his mind. And he could use the rest.
It’s not his fault I’ve been so angry and bitter my entire life. I’m just going to accept that he found me as soon as he was able.
“Ever since I got that letter telling me you existed, I have wanted to know you and everything about you. It took a long time to find you, and the timing is terrible, but,” he shrugs, “maybe I’m selfish in my old age.”
“If you’re selfish, I am, too.”
Remi laughs, and the sound is so genuine. Now I have two people I want to make laugh.
We sit down for dinner. Matilda has made us a deceptively simple dinner of steak and french fries with a tossed salad, but every single thing is so perfect that I suspect it cost more than my food budget for the past year. Or at least a month. The label on the wine we’re drinking says it’s local, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t expensive. As we eat, Remi asks me about my history and listens intently as I talk. I wish I could fix the sad expression on his face, but I can’t. After a while, we switch to other topics.
Remi sips his wine. “So, Rowan. You should know a few things before you go see Nana or meet other members of the family. To begin with, you need to be careful. Now that you have money, people are going to come out of the woodwork and try to be friends with you. Try to convince you to spend it in ways that aren’t good for you.”
“Like buying out a department store?”
“That’s different. I encouraged you to do it. And it’s natural to go a bit wild at first when you receive this kind of fortune.”
“Okay, true.”
He smiles. “But you do need to stay vigilant.”
“I’m pretty good at figuring out if I’m being used.”
“What about Charlie?”
I snort. “Charlie’s the exact opposite of someone who would use me. He took care of me when I had nothing. Charlie literally picked me up off the street, fed me, replaced my phone, gave me a place to stay overnight, drove me home, and picked me up a week later when I was getting evicted … then gave me a home indefinitely. He’s done so much—he even went on a wild-goose chase for my favorite plant.”
“You have a favorite plant?”
“I’ll bring him down to meet you,” I say. “He’s upstairs. He went with me to every foster and group home and crappy apartment for the past fifteen years.”
He takes a bite of his tender steak. “I’m heartened to hear that you can rely on Charlie. You’re going to need someone to stand with you. You are the only direct descendant in your generation, but my uncle married a woman who already had children, and her children and grandchildren are very much interested in the family wealth. Be careful when you meet them.” He looks at me intently. “Since you’re unmarried, you won’t have control of the money until you turn twenty-five, which means—assuming my doctors’ predictions are correct—other members of the family will have a considerable length of time to put roadblocks in your path. ”
My fork pauses on the way to my mouth. “Where would the, um, inheritance go if I didn’t exist?”
“Those children and grandchildren I just mentioned. Your appearance is going to affect the rest of the family very significantly. We need to protect you from their … machinations.” He starts coughing, and Bettina appears from nowhere. “When you have as much money as we do, you’re always a target. Sometimes from within.”
“Oh, shit.” I look down at my plate and decide I’m full.
He nods. “I don’t want you to be overly concerned, but you do need to be careful.” He dissolves into more coughing and pushes aside his own plate. “I think I need to go lie down.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask.
“No. Please have a good time at Nana’s on Saturday. Send her my regards.”
Remi stands up, but he’s unsteady. I stand, too, intending to walk around the table and assist him to wherever he wants to go, but Bettina gives me a tight smile and says, “Let me help you, Mr. St. Thomas.”
Shit, my father really is ill.
“Are you going to spend the night here?” I ask.
Remi shakes his head. “I’m going to rest for a moment and then return to LA.”
After I’ve established for myself that I can’t do much more for him, I head up to my rooms.
I open the bank of windows to let in the cold ocean air and start pacing.
I’m going to enjoy my father as long as I have him. But I need to face the fact that, before long, I’m set to inherit some money. A fuckton is the exact amount, I believe.
Today’s orgy notwithstanding, I don’t really like shopping, nor do I need a lot of things. I don’t need to buy more clothes than I already did. Hell, I didn’t need to buy half that many. I just needed to get the newfound freedom out of my system .
If I have that much money, I’m not selfish enough to keep it.
So … what would I want to do with it?
An idea that’s been percolating—besides my vengeance list—is to make it so kids like me, who grew up in the foster system without a safety net, have better access to the things they need. Help LGBTQ+ kids feel more comfortable in their own skin. Help people experiencing homelessness and hunger receive housing and food.
But after I set up those plans—perhaps some foundations—I’m going to seriously get to work on my vengeance plan. I never said I’m a saint.
For that, I need some muscle. People I can trust, who will keep their mouths shut. I remember a few from my teens I could probably find again. And I need to get dialed into computer shit, but Xavier can do that.
I call him, and when I get him caught up on the past week or so of my life, I can feel his jaw drop from hundreds of miles away. I don’t blame him. It’s hard for me to believe, and I’m living it.
Then I look around this enormous, lavish, empty room. I don’t want to be up here without Charlie. It’s nice to have the view, the luxury of being waited on, the pool, the grounds, but it’s more important to be where my boyfriend is. Period. I pick up the phone and hit his number.
“Daddy?” I say.
“Not your daddy. But what’s up, baby boy?” Charlie says, his voice warmer with me than it is with other people.
“I miss you.”
“Then get your ass down here, or I’m driving up.” His tone shifts to the commanding one I love.
“I’m on my way.”
Having already heard my father leave, I say goodbye to Matilda. Hector offers to drive me, but I like driving. I gather Charlie’s presents and a few of my new things, settle Wilbur carefully in the BMW’s passenger seat, and take off down the coast. A guard is already waiting outside when I get to Charlie’s street. I roll my eyes, but I guess I’m grateful he’s watching over things.
I race into Charlie’s house, not bothering to knock. But he’s waiting for me at the front door, and he kisses me like I’ve come home from the war. We kiss and kiss and kiss. My hands are all over him, and his are all over me.
When we finally take a breath, I still won’t leave him alone, doing my best to climb him. He helps me out by hoisting me up and putting my back to the wall so he can brace me there while my legs are wrapped around his waist. And he kisses me again.
“I don’t like us living apart,” I say, my body shaking and my eyes closed. “I’m clingy.”
“I like you clingy,” Charlie says into my neck.
I love this man.
“What are you wearing?” Charlie asks, once he gets a chance to look at me.
“Remi told me to go shopping, so I bought one of everything.” I hold out my sleeve. “This is some up-and-coming brand. And the jeans are YSL.”
Charlie whistles. “You’re all fancy now.”
“I want to make you fancy, too. If you want.” I grin. “Actually, I bought you a present. Or ten.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. But I wanted to. I’m not going to receive all this largesse and not share it.”
“I’ll accept whatever you give me, baby boy,” he growls, “but you know what I really want is your ass.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper.
“Not your daddy.” Charlie hoists me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and I laugh. Then he carries me to his bedroom, where he proceeds to make me come. Twice.
Being the son of a billionaire is going to change a lot of things about my life. But I’m not going to let it take Charlie away from me.