I hate him, too.
“I don’t hate him,” Reed lied. “As for the rest, that’s a horrible reason to deny an opportunity most would kill for.”
I loathed that check-your-privilege tone of his, something he’d picked up from being my best friend during my high society days. The worst part was, he was right.
I’d left my parents and their money as soon as I’d turned eighteen, but that unshakeable guilt nagged me. It reminded me I was still more privileged than I deserved. I had a roof over my head, a bachelor’s degree, and a few Hamburger Helpers in my cabinet.
Truthfully, there were signs I’d ignored, conversations I’d overheard, and pieces I should have put together but didn’t. The way Mother never wanted me to visit the factory. The way Dad forced me out of the room every time his business partner Balthazar visited. The secret argument I’d heard between Mother, Dad, and Balthazar just weeks before the F.B.I. and S.E.C. raided our home.
When Mother had sat me down and told me Dad had defrauded everyone, that she was leaving him, and that she and Balthazar had tried to stop him, I hadn’t believed her. The fucking F.B.I. had been looking into Dad, and still, I loved him with a loyalty he didn’t deserve.
He’d screwed his business partner over. He’d screwed the town over. He’d screwed my mother over. And he’d screwed me over.
The worst part? My ignorance made me as complicit in The Winthrop Scandal as my dad. Sophomore year, on the heels of a bomb threat at Eastridge Prep that had turned out to be Teddy Grieger’s bail-out plan for the A.P. Physics test, the school’s administration had held an assembly with the Eastridge Police Department.
Officer Durham gave a cheesy speech about being young adults, having responsibility, and looking out for one another. He’d made one point that, years later, always echoed in my mind when I laid alone in bed and felt particularly masochistic.
If you see something, say something. This isn’t just a slogan. It’s a creed. There is no such thing as an innocent bystander.
I was not an innocent bystander.
My sigh transformed into a long exhale as I bundled my design materials into a ball at the base of my mattress.
“If by horrible reason you mean horribly valid, yes, I agree.” I couldn’t be more petulant if I had jutted my bottom lip out.
“Mature.” I could almost hear Reed shaking his head. “What’s your beef with him? You know what? Don’t answer that. Nash won’t know you work there. The company is huge, and you’re going by Emery Rhodes. Plus, you haven’t seen him in four years, and you look nothing like you used to.”
“You mean, I look like a mess.”
Mother reminded me of this in her monthly emails.
Speak of the Devil…
My phone beeped with another call. I pulled it away from my ear and checked the caller ID. Mother flashed on the screen, a picture of her portrait-style in front of The Eastridge Junior Society displayed in full HD.
She was probably calling to pry info out of me, to see if I’d finally visited Dad or if I wanted to do brunch with her and her boyfriend Balthazar.
As in, Uncle Balthazar.
As in, my dad’s business partner Uncle Balthazar.
As in, the man who had been so close to my family that Mother had instructed me to call him “uncle” since birth.
I hadn’t talked to my mother in months and didn’t plan on starting now. I would sooner talk to Dad.
Anagapesis.
Aesthete.
Yūgen.
Gumusservi.
Muttering pretty words that made me happy, I declined the call and pressed my phone back to my ear in time to hear Reed laughing. “I didn’t say that.”
A woman’s voice drifted over the line in the background.
I winced, absently rubbing at my chest, right above the spot that housed my jealous heart. I wasn’t jealous because I wanted Reed. I knew that ship had sailed as soon as I’d slipped into bed with the wrong Prescott.
Loneliness fueled the jealousy. Mother had Uncle Balthazar. Reed had Basil. And I had a broken heater and endless Netflix binges of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. on my ex from freshman year’s account. I dreaded the day he realized I was using it and changed his password.
“Is that Basil?” I bit a strand of hair, a nasty habit Mother would disown me for. “Tell her I said, ‘hi.’”
We both knew I didn’t mean it. He thought I disliked her for the way she treated me in high school, and I let him believe that rather than tell him the truth, which was that I thought he deserved better.
My neighbor’s chihuahua, perhaps.
Whereas I’d ditched Reed for Clifton University, Basil and just about every other filthy rich Eastridger had followed him to Duke.
They’d been together since and were two seconds away from getting married and having perfectly behaved, blonde-haired, blue-eyed babies. Not the chaotic, wild, black-haired, heterochromia-eyed demon children I’d probably give birth to.
“She says you’d be a fool not to take a job with Nash.”
Another lie from Reed.
When had we started lying to each other so much?
“No, she didn’t.”
If there was anyone Basil Berkshire wanted more than Reed, it was Nash. Though he wasn’t as wealthy as us—as blue-blooded, as pedigreed, as groomed for nine-figure trust funds—he was always above us in some intangible way no one could explain but everyone gravitated toward.
And now, Nash Prescott was filthy rich. No one had an explanation for how it had happened, but it didn’t surprise anyone either.
“Okay, she didn’t,” Reed admitted, “but I think you should work for Prescott Hotels. At the very least, maybe take one of their design internships for new graduates. You’d be designing a hotel, not clothes, but at least it’s kind of close? Maybe? I don’t know. Either way, it’s a good, paying job. Nash doesn’t even need to know if you think it’s awkward. I can get Delilah to set it up for you. She owes me one.”
Beggars can’t be choosers.
Beggars can’t be choosers.
Beggars can’t be choosers.
I repeated the mantra in my head. Let’s be real, I was a fucking beggar. Probably would be for the rest of my life.
“Delilah?” The largest hole in the blanket widened as I toyed with the loose threads.
“The head of his legal department and his best friend, though he’d deny it, the cranky asshole. They’re opening a new hotel in Haling Cove. It’s in North Carolina, but it’s far enough away from Eastridge that…” Reed’s voice trailed off, but I got his point.
“I’ll think about it,” I relented before ending the call about the same time another email pinged on my phone. This time reminding me of a two-thousand-dollar payment I had to make.
Fuck.
I hit redial immediately.
“Yes?”
I ignored Reed’s amused tone and Basil’s whispers. “Set it up, please.”
I swear, I could be naked and on display in the Metropolitan Museum, and my heart would beat slower than it was beating now.
“Just do it, please,” I added when I sensed he’d give me shit for changing my mind so quickly.
“Under Emery Rhodes?”
Rhodes was my grandmama’s maiden name. I’d been using it since I had left Eastridge. Winthrops weren’t exactly popular in this neck of the woods, even as far as Alabama, but at least with my hair back to its natural black, I survived most of my undergrad with no one recognizing me.