Chapter 1 #2
“Because you only like to sit next to people at dinner who have a trust fund?” I ask, trying to clarify her comment.
There are plenty of women who are only interested in wealthy men in New York City.
I’ve found it doesn’t really matter if your money is generational or not. As long as you have lots of it.
“No, because I usually get the measure of someone quite quickly. The cheesy guys usually have trust funds.”
I shoot her a smile. “Here I am, breaking molds.”
“So if you don’t have a trust fund, how do you pay your rent? Or do you live in your car?”
It’s like she physically hit me.
How could she know that I’ve lived in a car?
I do a mental check. I’m wearing an expensive suit, shoes, watch.
Even my haircut cost me three hundred and fifty dollars.
I’m as old money as new money can be. How could she tell that at ten years old, my family and I spent three weeks living in our car?
“I assume you’re”—she makes air quotes—“in finance.”
It brings me back to the moment. Of course she doesn’t have any clue that I’ve ever had to use the bathrooms in McDonald’s to wash my face before school. She was making a joke.
“I work for myself,” I say. “I help the needy.”
She bursts out laughing. “You do not. Not with that suit and no trust fund.”
She’s wrong about that. But she doesn’t need to know about the checks I write to charities every year.
I shrug. “I’m a fixer. I help people who have a problem in their business.”
“Like a consultant?”
I shake my head. “Not in the way you mean. I introduce people to other people. I make calls. I call in favors.”
“It sounds like you’re in the mob.”
I stay silent and raise my eyebrows, and I enjoy how her eyes grow wide. They’re dusty blue with gold flecks and I want to dive into them.
I chuckle at her shock. “I’m not in the mob. Not even a little bit. I just know a lot of people and I work my network to help put deals together.”
“Oh.” She narrows her eyes. “You’re handsome.”
“I appreciate the non sequitur. Thank you. You’re beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you starting to find me a little bit charming?”
“Oh no, not at all,” she says. “I’m determined not to find any man charming for at least a year. I need not to be charmed.”
“Oh, well, I think we’ve established I’m the man for that particular job, as you don’t find me charming at all.”
“True,” she says, and lets out a sexy laugh. “You can stay.”
I lean back in my chair, shifting my body slightly so I can take as much of her in as possible. I’m not sure if I’ve ever found a woman so intriguing.
Doesn’t hurt that she might be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Maybe it’s her snarky attitude or the way her eyes kind of spark when she speaks.
Everything about her is fascinating. Her wavy dark blonde hair trails over her shoulders and down her back, as if it’s trying to touch as much of her bronzed skin as possible, and I get it.
I feel exactly the same. There’s something about her that draws me to her, that makes me want to reach out and touch her.
I wonder if she’s as feisty in bed as she is out of it.
I know I’m ignoring everyone else at the table, and I know that’s rude, but all I want to do is talk to Avril.
The more she tells me, the more she surprises me, and I feel like I need to get to the bottom of whoever she is.
I feel like I’m digging for gold and I don’t want to stop until I’ve found it.
“So are you always this slick and charming?” she asks.
“You see, I told you you’d find me charming after getting to know me.”
She pauses. “I misspoke. You give off vibes like you’re trying to be charming. I’m not falling for it.”
It’s like she’s sucker punched me in the gut and left a big gaping hole right through the center of me.
Not because she’s not falling for my charms—I’m already very clear about that—but because she sees the effort in my interactions.
I’ve worked really hard to make everything about the way I handle myself look natural.
I need to appear relaxed and unflappable because it inspires confidence, and if I’m not confident, my clients won’t be.
But no one has ever seen that the facade takes effort.
And honestly? It feels like it takes more effort at the moment than usual.
“What scares you most in the world?” I ask her on instinct.
Normally any question I ask of anyone is carefully thought out.
I don’t ever want anyone to feel uncomfortable because of me, and I want people to associate me with positive things, so I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m deliberately prying.
I’m usually way more subtle and considered.
But there’s something about her that makes me want to shake things up.
“Never succeeding on my own,” she says on a sigh.
“I dropped out of Columbia, which might not have been my smartest decision if I want to be independently successful. My brother owns this building. Without him, I wouldn’t have a job.
” There’s no defensiveness or deflection.
She’s not trying to say something cute or flirtatious. It’s just an honest answer.
“No one succeeds without help,” I say.
She smiles at me and it hits me right in the chest. If I were standing up, I might have lost my balance. “No one except you? Is that what you were going to say?”
She doesn’t know me at all if she thinks I’m the kind of guy who likes to boast. I joke about her finding me charming eventually, but that’s really an acknowledgement that she doesn’t currently. I’m not a boaster. My clients need to feel like the smartest people in the room.
“Not at all.”
“So what scares you most in the world?” she asks.
An image of being huddled up in our family car that first night after being thrown out of our apartment comes into my head, but I push it away.
“Not enjoying my job anymore,” I say, and then immediately wish I hadn’t.
Luckily, before she can ask me for more details, we’re interrupted by the speeches, and in what feels like seconds, the evening is wrapping up.
I’m not ready for it to be over.
“So what’s the plan now? Are people heading to a bar?” I ask Avril. All I want to know is what she’s doing now.
“I’m not,” she says. “Neither are you.”
My stomach flips. Does she have other plans for us both?
She folds her napkin and places it on the table. “You’re taking me back to your place and we’re going to have sex.”
I cover my shocked chuckle with a cough.
I don’t think any woman has been so…direct.
Certainly no woman I’ve ever been interested in has ever been this direct.
No woman who’s ever given me her martini and divulged her deepest fear.
No woman who’s ever guessed I lived in a car.
And definitely no woman who finds me less than charming has told me that we’re going back to my place to have sex.
But Avril’s proposition sounds like an after-party I can get behind.