2
Knox
One Month Earlier
“Don’t forget,” Foster says at the end of his quick check-in call. He does this a lot, reaching out to make sure I’m alive when he hasn’t heard from me in a few weeks. It’s annoying, but he means well. Or maybe I’m just used to it.
“Don’t forget what?” I ask. Rolling my eyes, I turn in my office swivel chair toward the floor to ceiling windows behind me. He’s distracting me from my work. I may as well enjoy the view of the Manhattan skyline and the bright sunshine flowing into the room.
“That engagement party’s tonight. Your secretary said she RSVP’d for you, so I don’t want to hear shit about you backing out.”
I run my hand over the line of my jaw and it ticks. “Sure. Whatever, I’ll go for a bit.”
“Fucking right. It’s about time you quit this anti-social hermit fuckery that seems to get you off lately. Who’s your plus one?”
“I don’t plan on being there long enough to need a plus one,” I grunt as I get ready to hang up. A civilized pre-wedding event isn’t my scene. He should know that already. “Be glad I’m going at all.”
“Fuck,” he groans. “Okay.”
“Look, I gotta go. Duty calls, and all that.”
I hang up before he has a chance to answer. If it weren’t for the fact that the bride-to-be is the daughter of one of my family firm’s biggest clients, I’d send my regrets like every other invite that crosses my desk. Weddings aren’t my thing. In general, people aren’t either.
“What the fuck were they thinking, hosting this party indoors?” Foster grumbles the question. He glances around the grand hall that’s filled to the brim with people sucking back drinks like there’s no tomorrow. Us included. “I mean, what sort of event planner lets their client agree to an engagement shindig inside in mid-June? Can you see why I showed up in casual board shorts and a t-shirt? I was seriously expecting to be poolside or under a big extravagant tent.”
I’m not in the mood for talking, or I’d reply that it’s more than likely that Foster’s ‘casual’ outfit costs more than the whole damn party itself, which is why they let him into this posh event looking so ridiculous. I love the guy, but he’s grown up with so much money that he doesn’t understand or care about the nuances of dress code. He spent his life with several generations of crazy famous Hollywood directors as his role models. Bottom line, Foster hasn’t grown up in the real world like the rest of us. Pool parties in the evening are standard when it comes to his life outside of work.
There are only two things that ground him. Me, of course, and the work he does at his day job. And even that job is a stretch. Hell, he spends his days with his billionaire business partners, running a hedge fund company that helps other insanely wealthy billionaire clients get that much wealthier. He doesn’t get that not everyone lives in never-never land like his crowd does.
I mean, my family does okay. I shouldn’t judge him too harshly because well, I’m also a billionaire by birth. The Steele family name means something in the airplane manufacturing business. We’re considered one percenters in most circles, but the difference between Foster and me is that the way I see it, this wealth is just as much a curse as it is a blessing. Even so, the level of Steele family affluence is nothing compared to the fortune Foster Evans III has amassed over the last two centuries. No wonder he won’t quit introducing himself as Foster Evans III. As in the third. The title fucking says it all.
He nudges me with his elbow. “Yo. Dude.”
“I don’t fucking know,” I reply with a grunt, tugging at the collar of my shirt. “I don’t pay that much attention to the ins and outs of engagement parties, since I’m never going to be at the center of one. But I imagine the groom-to-be let his fiancée and wedding planner run the show. That’s probably what good fiancés do… whatever their fiancée wants.”
“The poor fucker.” Foster shrugs. “He used to be so chill before he met this random chick. I mean, she’s pretty all right. She’s from a good family too, so I can’t drag her name through the mud too much, but there’s no fucking substitute for living single. Not to me… and most definitely not for you. Dude used to be like us, enjoying the life and everything it has to offer. I can’t believe he was up for this whole settling down shit. One by one, my squad’s going soft. Everyone’s getting tied down.” He looks around. “There’s just you and me left.”
“You say that now.” I chuckle to myself. “But you’re also the same douchebag who hooked up for a while with that girl you bought at the virgin auction. What was her name again? Delilah?”
“Her name’s Lilac, you blue-eyed son of a bitch. And that was different.” His defensive tone makes me grin.
“Yeah? How?”
“Just drop it. That was more of an experiential thing.”
“So you say, but you two almost ended up getting hitched, if I remember correctly. This guy tonight would probably have just as much to say about your fucked up romantic shenanigans.”
“It may have been a little fucked up, but it doesn’t compare to actually going through with a wedding.”
Clearly Foster isn’t about to have his mind changed.
“Whatever.” I step back and give him an intense look. “But don’t deny you almost went down that road…or up the aisle. However you want
