Don’t go there, my mind screams. I try not to bite my tongue.
“Ainsley,” I correct. “Her name was Ainsley, Lachlan.”
“Yeah, just like I said. Good old Anthrax. You dodged that old ball-and-chain like a bail-skipper. Hell, you give me something to look up to. And I thought I was bad when it came to women.”
The mention of Ainsley leaves my skin prickling, and suddenly I’m over this conversation. I move on as quickly as I can.
“Christ, how do I always feel worse even when you’re complimenting me, Lach?”
“Don’t get used to it,” he scoffs. “I have to save my compliments for the women in my life.” He pauses. “All four of them. But if I can help out, bro, in any way, just let me know. I swear I haven’t been to your place in a long time, but I’m willing to help donate for anything you might be missing. Like, the essentials. Lubricant. Ball gag. Condoms…”
“Right. I think I’m good on that front, Lach. And I guess that was all I wanted.” I start to finish the call, but my little bro stops me, calling out before I can cut the line. His voice takes on a slightly panicked pitch. “Hey! Noah…”
“Yeah?”
He hesitates a beat or two. “Are we going to be alright, mate?”
I squint, staring at nothing but open air. “What would make you ask that question?”
“It’s just… I don’t know. I had a feeling.” He stammers again for less than a beat. “Guess it’s me just losing my mind though. Or maybe it’s because you’re back in New York. For longer than I can ever remember you being. Feels like Hell might be freezing over as we speak.”
“Lach, we both went to high school here. I was fifteen when we left Sydney. You were nearly thirteen. We’ve spent half of our lives here in Manhattan. I’ve been in New York City plenty.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s just… I’ve never seen someone so eager not to stay in one place.”
“Yeah, because when you suffered for eight semesters in Finance at the same university as Cyn, getting out of Manhattan feels like breaking out of the penitentiary.”
He snorts. “Yeah, Cyn’s the toughest, isn’t she?”
“You’re saying this to the man who wound up as the unwitting, NYU-equivalent of a ‘prison bitch.’ She owned my ass.”
“She’s good at that, you know…The ass-owning.”
“Stop. I just got a visual of Cynthia ‘owning’ some ass. And now I need to scrub that image from my brain with bleach.”
Lachlan laughs. “And to think, that ass could have been Jase’s. He was crazy about her for so long I thought it would be. Mindy’s the safe choice.”
“We’re talking about Jase here. The human equivalent of a ‘safety belt.’ Mindy was the only choice.”
Jase may have been the older brother. But the responsibility and risks taken for my family, our real estate company, and our livelihoods had always fallen on my shoulders. And they always would.
I’d stepped up when Jase wouldn’t (or couldn’t). And I was stepping up now.
I’d find my father’s watch. Because I didn’t have a choice.
Talking to Lachlan reminds me of that. I’d find a way to fund the deal on the Luxe building… If I had to wring every ounce of blood from my body to do it.
I take a calming breath, the air blowing from my nose slowly. My jaw sets. “Safety belts, ass-owning or otherwise, Lach, everything’s going fantastically. I’m not back in New York because it’s the apocalypse. Hell is still pretty warm this time of year; just ask Cynthia. And you’re not losing your mind. But you might lose your hair, if you don’t quit worrying. Just leave that stuff to me. Have I ever let you down?”
“Of course not.”
“Because that’s what I’m here for.”
The call ends shortly. But so does my patience.
In the sanctity of my loft, with nothing but a lot of scotch on the bar and a little Sinatra on the radio, I throw my phone down, listening to the black mirror crack.
Fuck the universe for playing such a cruel trick.
The only tie to my biological father is missing and so is the fortune I, as his son, am entitled to. Because of a gift I never wanted in the first place.
Clenching my fingers into fists, I bow my head towards the floor. With no one around to hear, I unclench my teeth…and let out a primal scream.
The sound is empty, hollow to my ears.
But so are my chances at finding that fucking watch.
—
SOPHIA
“Sophia!”
“Jesus, Rick, I’m right next to you. You don’t have to scream.”
“Oh yes, I do.” The Alchemist’s general manager turns to me behind the bar. He places the phone back on the receiver, his eyes as bloodshot as the vein on his head. He sighs.
“What the hell happened earlier?”
I tilt my hand, slipping the tray in my hands onto the mahogany bartop. I lean closer. “With what exactly?”
He crosses his arms. “With who, you mean.” He points at the phone. “I just got a call from a Mr. Stockton. Says he just checked his receipt from his breakfast meal. Says you charged him a hundred extra dollars on his bill for ‘quote,’” he glances down at a notepad beside the phone. “‘Being a surly asshole.’” His eyes slant back up at me. “End quote?”
I roll my eyes, strolling to stare down at the pad myself. I read the chicken scratch there. “That’s not true.”
“No?” He presses.
“Nope.” I plant a finger on the page. “I charged him for being a burly asshole. Not surly. But it makes sense why he wouldn’t have made the distinction with all the fuzz in those oversized ears of his.”
I turn back to my tray, picking it back up as Rick continues talking to my back, a habit he’s grown quite good at.
“Christ, Soph. How the hell are we supposed to keep customers when you talk to them like this?”
I spin,
