Xavier
The rooftop party was exactly like every other I'd attended for the past decade. Twinkling string lights strung between potted trees. A DJ spinning something moody and electronic. Champagne towers and passed appetizers and beautiful people saying beautiful nothings to each other.
This was my world. This was where I belonged. Where I'd always belonged.
I moved through the crowd with ease. Kiss on both cheeks for Miranda, whom I'd dated briefly three years ago and who now pretended we'd never slept together.
Firm handshake for Jonathan, whose father played golf with mine when he was still alive, and who always wanted to talk about investments I didn't understand.
"Absolutely." I flashed my signature smile. The one that promised everything and committed to nothing. "I'll have my assistant reach out."
I wouldn't. She knew I wouldn't. But we both played our parts, and she drifted away satisfied with my response.
A man I'd met at someone's birthday party last spring clapped me on the shoulder. "Dubois! Heard you're working for your brother now. How's that going?"
I laughed like it was the funniest thing I'd heard all night. "You know how it is. Family business."
"Sure, sure." He leaned closer, breath sour with whiskey. "Hey, I've got this investment opportunity. Very exclusive. If you could mention it to Sebastian..."
"Send me the details." I was already stepping away. "I'll take a look."
I wouldn't do that either.
This was the dance. Smile, nod, promise, forget. I'd been doing it since I was old enough to attend my first charity gala, dressed up in a tiny tuxedo while my grandmother introduced me to people whose names I couldn't pronounce.
I snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and found a relatively quiet corner by the bar.
Somewhere out there was a woman willing to marry me.
A woman who could stand in front of my grandmother and make her believe I'd finally grown up.
I just had to find her. Maybe tonight would be the night.
Maybe I'd bump into some fallen angel, drop to my knees, and beg her to save me from my own family.
Stranger things had happened.
"Whoa… why the long face? Did someone kill your dog?”
Isaac appeared at my elbow, two drinks in hand, his usual grin firmly in place. My best friend since prep school, partner in every bad decision I'd ever made. He was shorter than me by a couple of inches, stockier.
We'd met when we were twelve, both miserable at an exclusive summer camp neither of us wanted to attend. He'd stolen a counselor's golf cart. I'd helped him hide it in the lake. We'd been inseparable ever since.
I glanced at his head. He still hadn’t gotten rid of that bloody mullet. I told him it was a bad idea, but Isaac only listened to Isaac.
"I don't have a dog," I said.
"Exactly." He handed me one of the drinks. "You should get one. Dogs love you unconditionally. Never ask where the relationship is going."
I snorted and took a long swallow. Whiskey. Good whiskey. Isaac knew what I needed before I did.
We stood there for a while, watching the crowd. A woman in a silver dress caught Isaac's eye, and he nudged me with his elbow. "Two o'clock. Blonde. Legs for days."
I looked. She was beautiful, objectively. The kind of beautiful that used to make my pulse quicken, that used to send me across the room with a smile and a line and absolute confidence in how the night would end.
"Not tonight."
Isaac turned to stare at me. "Not tonight? Did I hear that correctly? Xavier Dubois, passing up a gorgeous woman?"
"I'm not in the mood."
"You're never not in the mood. What's going on with you? You've been weird all week."
"I haven't been weird."
"You showed up to work on time three days in a row. Three days, Xavier. That's a sign of the apocalypse."
I didn't answer. I was… well, ashamed to admit to anyone that I was a victim of my grandmother’s ploys. Sometimes, I feared she was doing this to me due to my… unique origins. But I knew Eleanor Dubois better than that.
"Seriously. Talk to me. What's happening in that pretty head of yours?" I heard Isaac say.
I briefly contemplated telling him what was going on. Maybe he’d be able to find me a wife. Isaac was resourceful when he wanted to be. But before I could make a decision, a hand touched my arm.
I turned to find the redhead… uh… Bian… no. Brianna? Well, B-something. She was wearing green tonight. A dress that was more suggestion than fabric, clinging to curves I vaguely remembered exploring. Her lips were painted red, and she was looking at me like I was something she wanted to devour.
"Xavier,” she purred. "You never called me back."
"I've been busy."
"Mmm." She stepped closer, fingers walking up my chest, leaving trails of heat through my shirt. "Too busy for me? That's criminal." She leaned in, lips brushing my ear. "We should have more fun. My place is ten minutes away."
This was the script. This was where I said yes, where I let her lead me out of the party and into my car and back to her apartment. Where I’d lose myself for a few hours in something physical and uncomplicated.
But then for some stupid reason, I asked, "Have you ever thought about getting married?"
The words came out before I could stop them.
She pulled back. Blinked. "What?"
"Marriage." I heard myself continuing, like I was watching from outside my own body. "Settling down. Being serious about someone."
She stared at me for a second, then threw her head back and laughed. When she looked at me again, there were tears in her eyes. "Are you drunk?"
"Stone cold sober."
"Then you're having a breakdown." She shook her head. "Xavier Dubois doesn't do serious. That's why I like you." Her hand flattened against my chest, pressing gently. "Drop it. Let's go back to my place, and I'll help you forget whatever existential crisis you're having."
It seemed I was full of stupid decisions tonight, because instead of letting her take the lead, I said, "What if I did? What if I wanted to be serious? With you? What if we…"
She kissed me.
It was meant to shut me up, and for a moment it worked. Her lips were soft and insistent, her body pressed against mine, and I let my hands find her waist on instinct. This was familiar. This was easy. This was the Xavier Dubois everyone expected.
But my heart wasn't in it.
I went through the motions, kissed her back, but I felt nothing. And the part of me that would have twitched by now was oddly calm.
When she pulled back, her eyes searched my face. Whatever she found there made her frown. "Call me when you're fun again." She stepped away, smoothing her dress. "This version of you is kind of depressing."
I watched her disappear into the crowd and ran a frustrated hand through my hair. What the hell was happening to me?
"Did she just reject you?" Isaac materialized at my side, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. "That might be a first. Did I just witness history? Should I mark this date on my calendar?"
I was in a bad mood already. "I'm leaving."
"What? It's barely midnight."
I was already walking toward the elevator, weaving through the crowd, ignoring the voices calling my name.
The elevator ride down was quiet. The lobby was quieter. My car was waiting where the valet had left it.
I took the long way home. I needed the time to clear my head and figure out what the hell I was going to do about this unfair ultimatum. I was running out of time. And I was still in the very same spot I’d been three months ago.
No romantic prospects whatsoever.
Damn it. If Grandmother took another property off my inheritance, then I might just call it.
I hadn't expected this to be so difficult. I was Xavier Dubois. I was a catch, supposedly. Women had been throwing themselves at me since I'd hit puberty. I'd spent my twenties drowning in attention, in options, in the absolute certainty that I could have anyone I wanted whenever I wanted them.
So why, now that I actually needed someone, did every woman in Manhattan seem to be running in the opposite direction?
Maybe it was the desperation. Women could smell that, couldn't they? The difference between wanting them and needing them. B-something had sensed it immediately.
Great. Wonderful. Excellent feedback.
I still hadn’t figured it out when I walked into my apartment. It was dark when I walked in. No grandmother lurking in the shadows, thank God.
I stripped off my jacket and dropped it on a chair. Poured a whiskey I didn't want. Stood at the window and watched the lights and felt the walls closing in.
I couldn't lose everything.
The trust fund, fine. I could theoretically survive without the money, though the thought made me break out in a cold sweat. But it wasn't just the money. It was my name, my access, my place in this world. It was the safety net I'd never had to think about because it had always been there.
What would I be without all of it? Who would I be?
Damn it. I was being too poetic tonight. Might as well just write a book about this. I drained the whiskey and went to bed.
I lay there for twenty minutes, staring at the ceiling. My mind wouldn't stop churning. What would I do? Where would I find a wife? What’s going to happen to me now? I threw off the covers and got up.
My home office was a room I barely used. It had a desk I'd bought because it looked impressive and a chair I'd never sat in, and bookshelves filled with books I'd never read. Decoration, mostly.
I turned on the lamp and opened my laptop.
Kim had sent me files earlier that day. Acquisition targets, financial projections, and market analyses. I'd glanced at them this afternoon and felt my eyes glaze over.
I opened them again.
The first file was a breakdown of the Southeast portfolio. Hotels in Florida and Georgia, their current valuations, and their potential for development. Kim had highlighted the key points and added notes in the margins, translating the financial jargon into something approaching plain English.
I read it. All of it. Then I read it again.