“Fuck off, man. You know I have to keep my options open.”
“Oh, believe me, I do. But, in case you were curious, there’s nothing wrong with settling down. It’s pretty great, actually. You should give it a try sometime, especially since you have a big milestone coming up.”
“Why must everyone harp on the fact I’m turning thirty?” I ask, tossing my empty can into the trash. “You’re sounding like my mother.”
“Fuck,” Maverick mutters. “Sorry, man. You know I don’t want to be classified with her.”
“I mean, age is just a number, right?” I ask him, kicking my feet out and relaxing back on the oversized leather couch. “I just don’t get why everyone is so hung up on it. What, do my priorities automatically change overnight when I turn thirty? If that’s the case, no wonder people dread it so much. I like my priorities right where they are and I’m nowhere near ready for them to change, regardless of my age.”
“Well, you are Shepard Rhys-Jones,” Mav says with a matter-of-fact tone. “We all know the rules don’t apply to you.”
I really hate it when he patronizes me, and normally, I’d throw a punch to his arm or gut to drive that fact home, but I let it slide since he did just help me unload all my boxes off the moving truck. Just because he’s a whole six months older than I am, Maverick likes to think he knows more about life and shit but he’s wrong.
And I look forward to proving that fact.
“So, how big of a celebration are we doing this year, Shep? Thirty is a pretty big milestone, or so I hear.” Carys laughs and pinches Maverick on his side, causing him to jump back with a surprised yelp.
“You little…” he starts and reaches out to grab her around her waist and pulls her to him, eliciting a laugh from Carys. I pretend to hate it, but deep down, I’m mesmerized by it.
For my entire life, I’ve always looked at relationships from a business standpoint. My parents married because the Rhys’s and Jones’s wanted to form a partnership, hence the hyphenated last name. Fucking pretentious bastards.
It was part of the deal when they married that each family would be equally represented.
All of my parents’ friends have similar relationships, most marrying for status—mergers and acquisitions. I’m not sure what my grandparents’ relationships were like because my maternal grandparents died before I was born and my paternal grandmother died shortly after. So, I’ve only ever known my father’s father. He spent his days in an office and his nights in his study. But I’m assuming they were similar people, my parents being products of their upbringing. That’s how it is in the circle we’re from.
Rich breeds rich.
Entitled breeds entitled.
Silver spoons breed fucking silver spoons.
Except for me and Maverick. Back in school, we gravitated toward each other, seeing in the other something we identified with, an intense desire to be our own people, regardless of what was expected of us. Sure, we followed in our parents’ footsteps for the most part, but we always knew when the time was right, we’d break free from the roles we’d been born into and find our own path.
I’m glad Maverick is finally on his.
And me, well, I’m getting there.
“So, your birthday,” Carys says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “What are we going to do?”
I shrug. “I just want to drink and see something naked.”
“Did someone say naked?” Jules, the guy who helps out at the hotel walks by as we’re hanging out in the courtyard of the Blue Bayou, raising his well-groomed eyebrows in interest.
“No,” I tell him pointedly. I already know what his suggestion will be and the one drunken night I experienced at Revelry is enough to last the rest of my life. About a year ago, after mine and Maverick’s first big sale, they talked me into it.
I regretted it for three days.
I think I was drunk for two of those.
“Come Again?” Carys suggests, smiling over at Maverick. “Maybe we can do the cooking school thing before we go next door for drinks.” She gets more excited with each word. “And invite CeCe.” She jumps up and down and my stomach drops at the mention of CeCe.
The ring of my cell phone saves me from giving away the emotions that get stirred up every time she’s mentioned or comes around.
“Hello?” I say, placing the phone to my ear and walking off to have some privacy.
“Shepard.” My mother’s voice sounds off, which is completely uncharacteristic. She rarely shows emotion or a chink in her well-dressed, high-end armor. “I have some…news.”
After a brief pause, she continues. “Your grandfather has passed. The funeral will be Sunday, so you’ll need to cut your little vacation short and come home.” She clears her throat, bringing back the bravado and smooth outer shell I’m used to getting from my mother. “We’ll have the reading of the will the following day.”
My chest feels a little tight at her news but not sad like I should be after hearing that my grandfather passed. Like everything else in my life, this just feels like a business transaction—something that has to be done and there’s an order to it.
“I’ll catch the next available flight out,” I tell her, ending the call.
“Where the hell are you going?” Maverick asks, making me jump a little before turning around to face him. “You just got here.”
“Dallas,” I inform him. “My grandfather died.”
When the words come out of my mouth, they take a shape and form I wasn’t expecting. There’s a sense of loss left with their departure—his departure. We weren’t close in the conventional sense of the word. He was always so serious and driven, just like my father. But he was never unkind. He sent me to summer camp and made sure I played sports. Back then, I felt like it was because he wanted me to be well-rounded and primed to take over the family business. But through the years, I got the feeling he was living vicariously through me in a way, giving me experiences and freedoms, he never had.
And now he’s gone.
Maverick’s hand comes down on my shoulder and grips tightly. “I’m sorry, man.”
“Thanks, but you know there’s no need for sentimental condolences,” I say, shrugging him off. “This will go down like every other life event in the Rhys-Jones family—a business deal. We’ll show up, wear our black, shake hands with people who don’t give a shit about anything except how much money we have, and we’ll go our separate ways.”
“Yeah, but still—”
“But, nothing, Mav,” I interrupt. “I’m fine, really. Not all grandfathers are nice and loving like yours was, unfortunately. I’m more upset I have to be back in Dallas so soon. Speaking of, I guess I should go back to my place and make my travel arrangements.” I walk toward the door and slide my sunglasses over my eyes. “I’ll talk to you before I leave. See ya, Carys.”
I give them a small wave before pushing my way out into the sultry New Orleans afternoon.
Chapter 2
CeCe
“Thanks, Jim,” I call out over my shoulder to the older man who delivers my mail. Just like everyone else in the French Quarter, he’s like family.