Chapter 10
10
Natalie
I underestimated Nick and that night in Catalina.
It’s not that I didn’t think twice before I walked out of that hotel room. It’s that I knew nothing would come of hanging around. What could I possibly say to him? “We had fun playing games and having dinner together, you caught me before I hit the ground like a sexy superhero. I live in New York. You’re in LA. We make perfect sense, so should we make a go of it?”
No, of course not.
I had just gotten out of a terrible relationship.
Bi-coastal should be reason enough.
One night does not mean we’re meant to be.
It was a fantastic night, though. One of the best times I’ve ever had. That’s why I still think about Nick, but I can’t justify the time I’ve allowed myself to dwell on him.
Even the few crappy dates I’ve been on since May haven’t erased him from my thoughts. So what will?
Fingers crossed someone comes along who can end this ridiculous man ban, once and for all. Yes, I’m still on an embargo. When I met Nick, both love and sex were off-limits. As if one has anything to do with the other. I’ve learned it doesn’t, but I would have sacrificed that pledge to get physical with him. Now it’s been so long since I’ve had either that I’m open to one or both these days.
My best friend is a great friend, but I’m lonely when I lie in bed. I miss being held and falling asleep in Nick’s . . . I mean, in someone’s arms.
A text lights up my phone next to me on the bed. Holding it above me in the air, I read what my brother sent.
Jackson: Hey, you asked to let you know if I heard anything. Paperwork for your sign-on bonus crossed Dad’s desk today. Financially, it’s worth considering, especially since Mom and Dad created the position specifically for you.
My parents appreciate the dedication my younger brother has shown working there all during college. I appreciate having a spy amongst the ranks.
Me: Thanks for the heads-up.
Jackson: What are you thinking?
Me: I’m not. I’m processing what this means.
I know what it means, but I’d like to live in denial for a few more hours.
Jackson: I’ll see you tonight.
Me: See you, J.
Tossing my phone to the mattress, I sigh in frustration. How will I ever convince them for an extension when they’re already making alternate plans? For my life.
Getting up, I pull on my sneakers, needing to go on a run. It’s the only way for me to burn off this anxiety before seeing them this evening. If I don’t get rid of this nervous energy, then this celebration will turn into a disaster.
I tuck my phone into the pocket of my workout pants and head for the door. “Later, Tatum,” I call, and then wait.
She comes rushing from her bedroom right on schedule. “Before you go, how do I look?” She spins, her deep pink sequin minidress catching the light. I can tell how good she feels by the genuine smile.
It’s easy to tell her the truth. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks.” Eyeing my workout clothes, she asks, “Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?”
Waving it off, I reply, “I have time. I need to fit in a run to get my thoughts straight.”
“Everything okay?”
“Fine.” I tighten my lips. “It will be fine. Don’t worry.”
“Okay. The champagne is chilling, and the hairstylist is on her way. I’ll have her do my hair first.” Her attention returns to the screen of her phone.
“I won’t be long.” I slip out. As soon as I close the door, I head to the stairwell, then rush through the lobby and feed out onto the sidewalk. The freedom of the outdoors fills me with relief the moment it hits my throat.
I start jogging, my life whirling around in my head and spinning faster with every step I take. I need to block out the constant reminder ticking I hear as soon as I wake up in the morning. I’m never able to forget that the countdown has begun.
Since graduating, I don’t understand who I’m supposed to be anymore—an independent business owner or my father’s daughter who makes him proud? How do I balance my dreams with everyone else’s plans? Better yet, how do I not disappoint my family, who have already done so much for me?
On most days, a quick run allows me to breathe easier and loosens the knot that keeps me tied up in the stress of failing. Today, it’s not working, so I run faster on my way to the park.
I was raised to believe I could do anything, but now I’m being asked to compromise what matters most to me or give it up altogether. My small company, STJ Co., combines my favorite things—shopping and spending another person’s money. But with only two months left on my loan, I have to prove this can be a valuable asset to the St. James portfolio. Sure, it’s not a big moneymaker— yet —but I’m building a solid clientele, and I’m proud that the business I started is blossoming.
But a position at Manhattan Financial Group, Inc. has been haunting me since June, so clearly, what I’ve achieved is not considered good enough.
How will I justify the continued operation of a business that’s still in the red? I’m not used to failing, and in most people’s eyes, that’s exactly what I’m doing. How do I get my family to see me as more than some frivolous girl who they hope falls in line with their plan?
I stop when I reach the edge of the pond, bending over and resting my hands against my thighs. Catching my breath isn’t easy, but when I see the time on my phone, I know I need to head back so I have enough time to slip back into the role of a proper St. James for the night.
A party in our honor months after graduation feels a little strange because we’ve moved on from that part of our lives. But with Tatum’s parents traveling so much and mine running a multimillion-dollar business, this was the date they chose. Four and a half-months late. It’s the gesture that counts.
As soon as I enter the apartment, Tatum says, “It’s going to be okay, Nat. I promise.” My best friend knows me well.
“Thanks.”
The stylist pauses when Tatum peeks around her hips, her eyes finding me just inside the apartment. “The plan is we go to dinner, we schmooze, and we collect our gifts, then the real party begins. You only graduate from college once.”
“Technically, it was months ago, though.”
With the artist working her hair magic, Tatum continues like this is everyday life for us. It kind of is, but still . . . “Don’t be a party pooper. We have the rest of our lives to be depressed. I know you’re stressed, but maybe your parents will surprise you and offer to carry the STJ loan a little longer.”
I toe off my sneakers and kick them by the door. “That would be amazing, but I have a feeling my time is up.” I don’t like being negative, so I fix my attitude and push off the table. Pulling the bottle of champagne from the fridge, I ask, “Who’s ready for a glass?”
* * *
“. . . So, here’s to my big sister and her best friend. May you live your adult lives as bold as you lived your youth. Cheers!”
I stand and raise my glass, tapping it to my brother’s. “Thank you, Jackson.”
The sound of crystal clinking together is the making of a melody—this one officially launching Tatum and me into the world. Before I sit down, I add, “I’d also like to thank John and Martine, my amazing parents, who have supported all my endeavors from ballet at five to backing my company at twenty.” Raising my glass higher, I add, “And for this lovely celebration.”
I drink my champagne and take a deep breath, nervous about broaching the topic of extending the loan to keep my company afloat until we can turn a profit. Hopefully, my toast is a good segue into that conversation later.
When I sit, my dad sets an envelope down and pushes it across the table to me. “We’re proud of you, Natalie. You worked hard and graduated with honors. It’s good to see the St. James tradition succeed in your generation.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Taking the envelope, I ask, “What is this?”
My mom, looking New York chic in head-to-toe Balmain, rushes into the private room. Even breathless, she is as fashionably chic as she is late. I can only dream of being so put together. She lovingly calls my fashion sense Hamptons meets California coastal casual. Although she’s never critical of me, she does encourage me to refine my style, hating that I wear cutoffs sometimes. She leans closer and whispers, “You look beautiful tonight.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Glancing at my dad, I add, “And thank you for the gift.”
Taking advantage of the opportunity, he asks, “What are your plans after the gifting thing?”
“The ‘gifting thing’ is my plan. If you have time in your schedule, I’d like to talk to you this coming week about potentially extending?—”
“No, Natalie. The agreement was for you to do that for a few years and then come on board with the financial group. The offer is in the envelope with details, and the contract was emailed to you this evening. Also, I’ve included the sign-on bonus that was promised. It’s all there. All you have to do is sign your name and cash the check.”
Why do I feel he still doesn’t understand what I do? “You make it sound so easy to trade doing something I love for what I promised you when I was fifteen.”
“You graduated in May and turned twenty-three in July. It’s time to take on some responsibility and build something that will still be around in twenty years.”
“Like your career,” my mother adds as if that’s helping my side. It’s not. Clearly.
“I wasn’t dabbling,” I start. “I was . . . I am building something. My clientele list has doubled in the past four months alone.”
“Great. Let’s get them signed up and invest this extra money they have to spend.”
I wave my hand in front of my face because they’re not hearing a word I’m saying. My glass is refilled just as Tatum pokes me in the hip. When I turn to her, she whispers, “Don’t ruin your night with a fight.”
My parents have moved on and are talking to Tatum’s parents. Across the table from me, my brother frowns. He knows the last thing I want to do is be a broker. Other than that, I’m not sure where I fit into the family business. I twist my mouth to the side and shrug.
Resting her head on my shoulder, Tatum asks, “Are you ready to go?”
My mom says, “Congratulations again.”
“The real world is calling come Monday,” Tatum’s dad adds.
Tatum sets her napkin on the table and scoots back to stand. “On that note, it’s time for us to leave.” We’re given a round of applause, and she takes a bow. “Thank you for coming and for the lovely gifts.”
I may not see eye to eye with my parents, but I’m grateful for them. I move around and hug them. “Thank you for the generous gift and for this dinner.”
“You’re welcome,” my mom says before holding my hand. “I know you’re not excited about the position, Natalie, but sleep on it. You might find it’s something you can grow into enjoying.”
Dad adds, “The real world isn’t always sunshine and roses. It’s time for you to put your degree to work.” I am, but I realize they’ll never accept my dreams when they have the best-laid plans in place already.
A sympathetic grin creases my mom’s mouth. “I never would have thought I’d enjoy my job so much. And I’m good at it.” Caressing my cheek, she adds, “You have a big advantage over me with your degree. There’s nothing you can’t accomplish if you put your mind to it. We’d be very fortunate to bring on such talent. That you’re our daughter is the icing on top.”
She makes me want to say yes, but my heart just isn’t in it. “I’ll sleep on it. Thank you again for everything.”
We’re quick with the goodbyes to the rest of the guests, friends of our parents, and a few cousins who I never speak to but who came to suck up to my parents. After we escape, Jackson comes outside and waits with us for a taxi. “Where are you going?” he asks.
“Is it that obvious we’re not going home?”
“Yes, to anyone under fifty.” He bumps into me. “Nice job on keeping things light tonight. They’re in a great mood.”
“I always have Monday to rain on their parade. No need to ruin a perfectly nice Saturday night.”
“Taxi’s here,” Tatum says, tugging his tie. They’ve never hooked up, at least that I know of, but she flirts with everyone, and he eats it up. “The Delilah Hotel. I heard the bar is the place to be tonight. Are you coming with us?”
“Yep.”
In the back of the cab, Tatum sends a few texts and then contentedly looks out the window. My brother’s attention is glued to his phone screen. I actually think he’s working even though it’s already past eleven. Tapping his phone, I say, “This right here is why I’m not interested in becoming a broker. You haven’t even graduated from college, and the work never ends. I don’t want to live to work.”
He chuckles to himself. Cutting the light off, he looks at me. “Then work to live, sis. I know you don’t want to hear this, but if you join the company, I know you’ll be the best in the biz.”
Squeezed between the two of them doesn’t leave much room to wriggle out of this conversation. “I get it, everyone feels I need to put my marketing degree to use in another way.” I rest my head back, the lights from outside flashing through the windows. I nudge him with my elbow. “You’ve done your job in recruitment. Can we give it a rest tonight?”
My worries have resurfaced with a vengeance, putting an edge to my good time. I should have paid better attention to the fine print. My parents gave me a two-year loan to start my business and months to figure out my life. I can’t justify continuing STJ if I’m only breaking even.
Tatum and I have been working together, which has been fun. We’re alike in so many ways, but our parents are not the same at all. She received a blank check last May and was told to travel the world before settling down.
My parents could afford the same but have always said we need to earn our way in life. I don’t blame them. My dad following in his father’s footsteps and taking over the business when Grandpa had a heart attack was his dream. It’s even Jackson’s, who happily stepped up and joined the company part-time his freshman year in high school. It’s his dream to run it one day, and he’s well on his way, so why are they set on me being there to play second fiddle?
Tatum wraps her arm around my shoulders. “I have no doubt you’ll show everyone how determined you are. Together, we’re unbeatable, but enough business talk for tonight.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Great minds.” The taxi pulls to the curb, and she adds, “It’s time to party.”
She flashes her phone to the doorman, bypassing a line that extends halfway down the block. He steps aside to let us go inside. We cross the Art Deco-designed lobby and enter the bar. “Welcome to The Delilah. Follow me right this way,” a hostess says, leading us to a red velvet booth in the center of the room.
Tatum is quick to slip between Jackson and me to sit like the queen bee. I don’t mind since she loves the attention, and I’m perfectly fine letting her own it. Celebrities hidden in corners, socialites lining the bar, and the Manhattan elite fill the dark speakeasy.
Martinis have been flowing when Tatum perches herself on the top of the booth to chat with friends she’s run into. I know them as well, but Jackson’s been regaling me with stories from a business trip to Chicago last weekend. “He said he prefers traditional asses—round but firm.”
“Oh, my God.” I laugh behind my hand, worried I’ll spew an olive. “Instead of assets?”
“Exactly. I don’t know how Dad kept a straight face.”
“Me either.” I take another sip of the dirty drink, the liquor harsh when it hits my throat. You’d think I’d be used to it since it’s my third. It’s not smooth like the alcohol I drank in Avalon. I cough, wanting the burning to subside, then try to take a deep breath.
“May I get you a glass of water?” The male voice doesn’t contain the deep tones that harmonize to my heartbeats, but I still whip around, hoping to see the man from Catalina again.
I’m left disappointed. The guy isn’t bad looking with dark blond hair, lighter eyes, and a good build. He’s actually quite cute, but that instant spark I had with Nick doesn’t exist.
At what point do I move on from the best night of my life? When will I forget that I ever met Mr. Smug and Sexy? Is it even possible? I’m starting to believe it’s not, and putting effort into it otherwise is fruitless to boot.
Sitting up, I reply, “I’d like that.”