Chapter 1 #2
I get onto the subway, mentally calculating how long it’s going to take me to go home, get changed, and get to the fundraiser. They’re having it at the concert hall, I vaguely remember. I’ll be at least another hour, but those things run late. Don’t they?
Well, if anyone actually cares that I’m not there, I’ll eat my hat.
Beanie.
Whatever.
As predicted, it takes me a good hour to get ready in clothes that are suitable for going out immediately after the fundraiser. It’s nine by the time I stroll into the concert hall, and I think the thing is winding down.
Whoops.
I find my mother in the middle of the thinning crowd, pandering to them like she always does.
Her hair has been swept up in a bun, and her elegant violet cocktail dress could’ve funded the entire event itself.
When she sees me, her blue eyes briefly narrow, but then she smiles at me in that charming way that means I’d be in trouble if she actually gave a shit about me.
“There you are!” she exclaims. “Everyone, this is my son, Liam. He’s been working overtime. I hope you’re not running yourself too ragged, dear.”
She kisses me on both cheeks, and I fight not to pull away from her.
I hate it when she touches me.
“Heya,” I say to the old, balding guy who looks me up and down.
I guess the club clothes aren’t too impressive in a place like this; tight leather pants and a form-fitting t-shirt don’t fit the vibe. But it’s not like I plan on being here for long.
I have better things to do.
“Good evening,” he says, his voice stiff.
Oh, fuck him. Doesn’t he know I was busy?
I smile as I think back to the toilet paper I’d wrapped around the guy’s neck. If anything can catch Ryker’s attention, it’ll be that.
What took me so long to try in the first place?
My mother places her hand on my back in an attempt to wrangle me. “Liam, this is Derek Winchester. You know, from—”
“Yes, I know,” I interrupt before she can give me the long-storied history of New Bristol.
“Have you met his son?” She points to one of the younger men. “Steve Winchester. He’s currently head of marketing for their company. All the new marketing campaigns you’ve been seeing around the city were his idea.”
Steve is clean-cut, with a very standard business side-part in his dark blonde hair. The suit probably cost him an easy nine grand. I’d insult it, but I can see it’s perfectly tailored.
I wonder why my mother is introducing me to Steve, until she says, “Steve shares some interests with you, Liam. Perhaps the two of you can chat.”
Ah. That means Steve is gay, and she wants me to get into a real relationship with a man who befits our social class.
“Nice to meet you,” Steve says, extending his hand. He does the obvious once-over that would have pinged my gaydar even without my mom’s explanation.
I take his hand, which is warm to the point of uncomfortably so. He’s sweaty, and I don’t know if it’s from nerves or if it’s just warm in here.
“Sure is,” I say.
I wonder what he would look like with blue lips. Would I want to kiss him then?
His hand on mine lingers too long, and I really want to roll my eyes. But I can be a responsible adult, so I even amend, “And it’s great to meet you too. I’ll have to get your number from my mom here.”
I have no intention of getting his number, and hopefully he gets the hint.
“I can give it to you,” Steve offers.
Nope. Definitely didn’t get the hint.
“Sure,” I say. It’s not like I have to actually text him. I wrangle my phone out of my pocket, fighting the tight pants the whole way, then smile brightly at him. “Go ahead.”
He reaches for my phone, like he really thinks I’m going to let him take it to put his number in myself.
I’m one tap shy of having a dead man as my phone background, so I’ll pass on that.
He gets that hint, at least, and rattles off his number.
I save it under “not a chance.”
“So what do you do?” Steve asks. “When you aren’t showing up to fundraisers hosted by your mother.”
I have to fight to keep the feral grin off my lips. He’s almost sweet for making it sound like I didn’t try to blow the whole thing off. Too bad I’m not interested in sweet or placating.
Dull and boring.
“I work for my father’s company,” I say with a sunny smile.
If we count these fundraisers as work, anyway.
“What about you, Steve? My mom said something about… advertising?” I shouldn’t lead him on by having this conversation with him, but maybe even though he doesn’t have a snowflake’s chance in hell, he could do something to alleviate my boredom for the rest of the fundraiser.
I itch to bail, but I have to stay for more than seven minutes.
“I do marketing for WinStar,” Steve says. “It’s mostly to drive investment among young men. But I’ve always thought that there’s an untapped market in—”
He’s actually trying to talk to me about stocks and bonds?
God, he’s boring.
“Uh huh,” I say, hoping he’ll get the hint that I’m not interested.
He doesn’t.
I’m not actually sure if he’s trying to talk himself up or promote his company. Which one’s worse?
“I already have an investment banker. His name is Alan,” I interrupt his spiel. “Wow, would you look at the time?” I hold up my phone, one reckless swipe away from showing off the photos I’d taken of the guy I’d killed, and display the time. “Guess it flies when you’re having fun, huh?”
When are they going to discover my art?
How long will it take to hit a true crime podcast?
Will it be the one Ryker listens to?
Will he decide to reach out to me at long last?
I don’t know why I’m so sure that he will, but I know it deep in my bones.
There had been something between us. I know it.
He’s just waiting for the right opportunity.
Steve purses his lips. “Why don’t I accompany you? We can share a cab.”
The way he rakes his eyes up and down my body makes it clear what he wants. He wants to share more than a cab, but all this talk of stocks and bonds hasn’t exactly served to set the mood. For me, anyway. Maybe he gets off to graphs of numbers going up.
Why don’t you fuck off? I want to ask.
Steve would probably insist on waiting with me, like he’s some sort of gentleman, if I tried to tell him I had someone on their way to pick me up.
“That’s so sweet of you,” I say. “But I’m going in the opposite direction.”
He narrows his eyes. “You don’t know which way I’m going.”
I bump my shoulder against his. “Great to meet you, Steven. See you around.”
Without waiting for an answer, I saunter off into the dissipating crowd.
Fuck, that was a real buzzkill.
Good thing the night isn’t over yet.