Chapter 8
eight
tell me i’m right. and pretty.
R yan zigzagged through the end of rush hour traffic to his apartment.
He pulled into the apartment parking lot and tucked his motorcycle under the carport next to Iz’s battered old Civic.
The thing looked like a piece of shit, but it ran like a dream and had a kick-ass sound system. Iz wouldn’t have it any other way.
He unlocked the door and called out, “Hello?”
No answer. Resigning himself to an empty apartment, Ryan plugged in his dead phone and made a sandwich.
He took his sandwich to the living room and turned on the TV, but he didn’t really watch the show.
A pair of lake-blue eyes and smiling pink lips occupied most of the retail space in his head.
It would be easier to forget her if her brains and honesty hadn’t also left a lasting impression.
It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed a date so much, the ending notwithstanding.
He should call her and apologize. Tell her he was an idiot. Explain the situation better. No, the only part she’d buy was the idiot bit.
The small voice in the back of his head, which oddly sounded more like Elissa’s today, told him he’d been an asshole tonight, but it might be worth a shot.
Their mothers were friends—he’d likely be running into her again sooner or later.
More than that, it was the right thing to do.
Iz would say the same thing, after calling him a dickhead first.
Ryan pushed aside the huge DeMarco ego he’d inherited from his father, heaved himself off the couch, and grabbed his phone from the kitchen.
His lock screen informed him he had three texts.
One was from Alex, and two were from someone named Laurel.
The name was familiar, but he couldn’t put a face to it.
Why was she in his contacts? He clicked on the first of her messages received around five, when he’d realized his phone was dead.
L: So sorry I have to work late. Another time?
Wait, what? He reread the first message, then read the second.
L: I’m free Thursday. Can we meet closer to my work?
And the text from Alex, about a half hour ago.
A: How did it go with Laurel?
Had he been on a date with a complete stranger? No fucking way. What were the chances of this? Ryan bet Elissa could’ve told him the odds. He called his brother.
“Who is this?” Alex said.
“It’s Ryan, asshole.”
“You can’t possibly be my brother. My brother never calls when a text will do.”
“What does Laurel look like?” He opened the fridge and stared at the contents as if they held the answer.
“What do you mean, what does she look like? You just saw her.”
“She didn’t show, and my phone died.”
“Well, that’s going to make the next charity event super awkward. Laurel’s the party planner.”
“Just tell me what she looks like. Please, Alex.” Ryan shut the fridge door and thunked his forehead against it, bracing himself for the bad news.
“Yeah, okay.” His brother paused. “She’s an inch or two shorter than you?—”
“I’m gonna stop you there.”
His stomach dropped. Elissa was barely taller than Nonna had been.
If Laurel was almost as tall as he was, he’d fucked up.
He’d been on a date with the wrong woman.
There was no way he was telling his brother.
That would lead to their cousins finding out.
And their parents and aunts and uncles. It would become a funny story they’d tell at every opportunity to embarrass him, from now until eternity. Shit.
“Why? What’s going on?”
Ryan trudged to the living room and collapsed onto the couch.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t know why I let you talk me into it in the first place. Dad would never let me off the hook just for dating someone Mom approves.”
“It was always a long shot, Ryan, but you seemed adamant you didn’t want to work for him. I tried to give you something you could do that was more…palatable.”
“I appreciate that, but now what am I gonna do?”
“Are you sure you won’t work for him?” Alex switched from brotherly concern to chief operations officer.
“The company keeps him busy. Even if you took over for Val, you still wouldn’t see him often.
The pay is similar to your bartending gig and you get benefits.
And if you hate it, quit once Dad releases your trust fund. ”
Ryan had taken on the bartending job five years ago to help Iz’s family when they’d been shorthanded after opening their latest restaurant.
Back then, he had no idea what he’d wanted to do with his degree in global studies.
Now he did, but it would be ten times harder and take twice as long to build his career as a food podcaster without the money from his trust.
“Let me think about it.” Ryan shoved his free hand through his hair, tugging tight and letting the pain ground him.
“Okay, but don’t take too long. Val needs to leave in the next few weeks. House hunting, packing, all that shit.”
“Thanks for the heads-up, Alex. Talk to you soon.”
He had no way of contacting Elissa. If he walked into the Sandpiper without apologizing, her friend would likely have his balls. He’d gotten on the wrong side of a few other best friends of the many girls he’d dated and barely lived to regret it.
There was one thing he could do to redeem himself. Ryan flopped on the couch and texted Laurel.
R: I’m an asshole. You don’t want to date me.
At least he saved some poor woman from having to deal with his bullshit. In fact…
Ryan spent the next ten minutes going through his contacts and deleting at least a dozen of those other poor women he’d wronged. God, he was an asshole. He tossed the phone onto the coffee table, threw his arm over his eyes, and allowed himself to wallow in self-pity.
He had a decision to make. A part of him longed to tell his father to go to hell and take his money with him.
Cut his ties with the DeMarco fortune and sink or swim on his own merits.
The less stupid part of him knew he was incredibly privileged to have access to generational wealth, and he’d be a fool to throw it away.
Could he give the next two years and change to the family business and still live with himself at age thirty?
Ryan had no fucking clue.
The person he could trust to talk this through was Iz, but they had totally different schedules.
Ryan worked nights mostly, sometimes afternoons, while Iz generally kept business hours.
And they had a boyfriend, which meant dates and sleepovers.
He had to wait until they were in the same room at the same time and he had enough bandwidth to handle a conversation Ryan was pretty sure would hurt his feelings.
He went to bed, haunted by the hurt in Elissa’s eyes. If he could have it to do over, he’d keep his damned mouth shut.
* * *
It was after close in the small hours of Friday morning before the stars aligned.
“Shh, Teo’s asleep,” Iz said from the kitchen as Ryan shut and locked the door behind him. They pulled out two beers. “Want one?”
“God, yes. Why are you up?”
“You’ve been trying to talk to me for a couple days. Couldn’t sleep, so figured now was good.”
“What did I ever do to deserve you as a friend?”
Ryan slid onto a chair next to their little four-person table. Iz slid the can of Barrio Blonde across as they sat. Ryan popped the top and took a glug.
“Called my third-grade bully ‘poopy pants.’”
Ryan chuckled. He’d caught hell from his parents, but the fuck if he was going to let some snot-nosed bully push around his best friend. Fucker was lucky the teacher intervened before Ryan’s fist landed in his gut. Ryan would have called expulsion a fair trade.
“So, what’s up, Ry?”
“I fucked up.”
“Not the first time.”
“Yeah, but this was a doozy.”
He told Iz all about the failed date. Told them about the choice in front of him.
“I mean, you work for my family.” Iz polished off their beer.
“Yeah, but they like me. I’ve never been anything other than a disappointment to my parents. Every time I try to stand out, I get a pat on the head before they turn their attention back to Alex.”
“You used to work summers for your grandfather. What would be so different now?”
Ryan had, indeed, worked summers for DeMarco Property Management.
It was part of the deal. Work summers starting at sixteen until college graduation.
The idea was to work in a different department each summer to learn the business as a whole, but also to discover what department would be a good fit.
Alex and his cousins had all played along.
Hell, they’d even seemed to enjoy it. Alex was now their father’s right hand.
Two of his cousins managed large apartment complexes.
One had an entry-level position in the marketing department.
Another studied accounting at the U. And the last was in his junior year of high school and already looking forward to working in the summer.
The first summer after he’d turned sixteen, Ryan had worked on a maintenance crew and enjoyed it. Every day carried a new set of problems to fix, and he was all over the city. One day it would be painting a unit for a new tenant, the next would be fixing a leak, the next would be pool maintenance.
But the following summer they put him in the office working in accounting with his aunt.
Ryan hated numbers, loathed them. He had nightmares during the school year where he was faced with nonsense numbers chasing him through bewildering landscapes covered in graph paper.
He skipped out and joined the maintenance crews.
His grandfather’s face had never been so red as when he had finally caught on to Ryan’s little scheme.
His Nonna had argued his case, and his grandfather had allowed him to continue working maintenance that summer.
He was dead by the next summer, and Ryan’s father had enough crap to deal with afterward.
Ryan was allowed to resume his duties in the maintenance division, and his dad had seemed to forget about him.
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out. But if I want my trust fund, I have to play nice.”
“It’s future security for a couple years’ work. A lot of people would kill for that kind of money.”
Ryan ran a hand through his hair. “I know, first-world problems.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re not real. Do you have a business plan yet? If you gave your dad a hint what the money would be used for, would he lay off?”
“He’d think it was a waste of time.”
Any activity not about profit was viewed as a waste of time and resources.
He needed the trust fund money to help him grow his audience and monetize his creative endeavor.
Ryan was sure, with a little patience, TLC, and being able to supplement his bartending job with his trust fund, he could eventually podcast full time.
“How do you know if you won’t try?”
“Stop making sense, Iz. You’re supposed to be my friend and tell me I’m right. And pretty.”
He finished his beer as Iz laughed at him
“You are pretty, and you’re not exactly wrong,” they said after catching their breath.
“But you’re not exactly right, either. Adulting sucks, and this has to be your decision.
The way I see it is that, yes, you’d have to trade a job you like for one you don’t.
A flexible job for a nine-to-five. But after two years, you can tell that job to suck it and do whatever your shriveled heart desires for the rest of your life. It might be worth it.”
“You’re right.” Of course Iz was right. They had an annoying habit of usually being right.
Ryan was smart and reasonably responsible with money.
Over the next two years, he’d save every penny possible, and with his trust fund, he wouldn’t have to worry about monetizing his podcast for a while.
He could indulge his creative streak for the first time in his life and focus on creating the best podcast possible.
Buying, selling, leasing, and maintaining properties wouldn’t make him happy, but it would allow him to do what did make him happy. Just delayed.
“So, have you made up your mind?” Iz stretched and yawned. Time to settle this so they both could sleep.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I’ll talk to my dad first thing Monday.”
“Good boy.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. Goodnight, Ryan.”
“Night, Iz. And thanks.”
Iz winked as they went back to their bedroom. Ryan grabbed another beer and turned on the TV. It was a Lord of the Rings kind of night.