Rider saunters back to the table, a cocksure smile on his face. “Yeah, I guess you were right. She’s into me.”
I give him a golf clap then take a drink of my beer. We eat in silence for a couple of minutes as Rider soaks in his own personal victory. In a lot of ways, he’s still getting used to having money and the prestige of being a powerful lawyer – and all the perks that go with it. I don’t know if it’s because he came from a humbler background, but sometimes Rider acts as if he’s ashamed of doing so well financially. He sometimes seems embarrassed to be enjoying it.
“What about you?” he starts. “When are you going to find somebody you can be serious with?”
“I’m serious with you all the time,” I retort.
He arches an eyebrow at me. “I’m serious, Sawyer. You’re a good guy –”
“Some would dispute that characterization of me.”
He chuckles. “Be that as it may, you’re a good guy. You deserve to have a good woman in your life.”
“Don’t you read the tabloids, man?” I grin. “Why should I? I can have a different woman every night.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Most eligible bachelor in Manhattan,” he groans.
“That’s what they say.”
“Frankly, I’m surprised you’re still in the regular tabloid rotation,” he observes. “I mean, it’s not like you’re a well-known celebrity, or really, all that interesting.”
“No offense taken, in case you were wondering,” I laugh.
“Please. You know what I mean,” he waves me off.
I shrug. “New York is built on power and money. I’ve got money; some people think I have power,” I answer. “And because of that, the fucking paparazzi are up my ass all day.”
He seems to consider my answer for a moment and purses his lips. “I guess you being a stupid rich kid didn’t help much either.”
I nod, a rueful smile on my lips. “No, it did not. I certainly gave them plenty of fodder back in the day.”
It wasn’t always this way – the paparazzi constantly being up my ass. For years, I managed to live below the radar of the tabloid bullshit, and if I was mentioned, it was usually in connection with my father and as nothing more than another New York trust fund kid. But as I got a bit older, I admit that I did some stupid shit, and my antics caught the eye of the tabloids. Back then, I enjoyed being the center of attention and living a rock star lifestyle – endless parties, different women on my arm every night, and generally outlandish behavior. As my father was always fond of saying, I enjoyed the spotlight and making a spectacle of myself – though he usually said it with a heavy note of derision.
He wasn’t wrong, but it wore thin pretty quickly for me. All of a sudden, I had cameras following me around all the time, documenting who I was with and what I was doing. My private life wasn’t private anymore, and everything I did was gossip column fodder. And once my father passed and I became the face of Compass Development, the fishbowl I’d been living in only seemed to get smaller.
Yeah, it’s a monster of my own creation. I know that. I know it’s my youthful indiscretions that I’m still paying the price for. But I’m not that booze and drug-addled kid anymore. I’ve grown and changed. And yet, the tabloids continue to paint me as the idiot I used to be. They continually try to fit me into their preconceived narrative. Which is why I’m resentful about it and hate the paparazzi so much.
Rider smirks. “I tried to warn you.”
I run a hand through my hair and nod. “You did. And I didn’t listen.”
Back when my fame – or perhaps notoriety is a better word for it – was first forming, Rider had tried to tell me to tone it down. He knows I’m an intensely private person about most things and tried to warn me about the train wreck that was coming. But I was too caught up in the party haze fueled by far too much booze, too many drugs, and way too many women to notice – or care.
“All the same, I think it’d be good for you to find a girl,” Rider presses. “Settle down, have some kids. I remember once upon a time, you’d talk about wanting a family of your own. I bet minivan driving, soccer dad Sawyer West will be far less entertaining to the tabloids.”
“Those ideas are long in the past, man,” I tell him. “And it’ll be a damn frigid day in hell before you catch me driving a minivan.”
A frown creases the corners of his mouth. “It wasn’t that long ago you talked about having a family of your own,” he says. “And I have a friend who’s got a friend that –”
I hold up my hands in mock surrender and laugh. “No more blind dates,” I tell him. “The last time I took you up on that offer, it was a fucking disaster.”
“Okay, there was no way I could have known that woman had as many issues as she did,” he laughs along with me. “She hid her crazy really well, man.”
“And what makes you think your friend’s friend will be any different?”
“I’ve met her,” he tells me. “She’s great.”
I drain the last of my beer and sit back. He’s right. It wasn’t all that
