“Aren’t you worried you made an enemy of him?”
I shake my head. “Not at all. There’s nothing he can do to harm me. If it made trouble for Caleb, then so be it. Trouble for Caleb is Caleb’s business, not mine.” I wrap my fingers around your arm. “Let’s go say hi to your friends.”
You snort. “Those assholes? They aren’t my friends. They’re just some dickheads I know. Guys like I used to be. Rich, self-centered, conceited, and totally useless. Not one of them has ever done a real day’s work in their entire lives. And those bitches on their arms? Just like them. Rich bitches who do nothing but shop on Fifth Avenue and get Botoxed and snort coke and go on never-ending vacations to the Hamptons or fucking Turks and Caicos, all of it on their parents’ dime. Not one of them has ever done a single thing for themselves. And I was just like them.”
“And now?”
“I always wanted to take over for Dad. I wantedin. I wanted to... to be a part of what he was doing. He’s a horrible person and shitty father, but he’s ahellof a businessman. So I was never like those guys in that from the time I was a sophomore in high school I was working in the mail room or in the copy room, working my ass off nights and weekends, paying my dues. Dad never gave me a single break for being his son. He ordered everyone to treat me exactly like any other candidate for every position I angled for. And some people,becauseI was a Cartwright, treated me even worse. But I played the game. I sucked it up and did my best. I’ve worked every single day of my life since tenth grade. I’ve got my own money. I bought my Maserati with my own cash. I bought my condo with my own cash. I got a business loan on my own and raised start-up capital for my business, all without using a single one of Dad’s connections. But none of that matters.” You finish one beer and start on the next. I’m on my fourth sip of champagne. “I was supposed to keep working for him, keep being pushed aside and passed over and treated like shit. And now that I’m in business for myself, he hates me even more.”
“So it sounds you were never actually like them?”
“I acted like them, though. Like an asshole. Entitled. Spoiled. I’ve never been anything but rich. I do what I want, when I want. Yeah, I earn my own income, but I still ran through women like they were nothing. One after another, just for the hell of it. Treated everyone around me like shit.”
“What changed?” I am very curious.
“You.” You don’t look at me as you say this.
My heart sinks. Twists. “Me? Jonathan, I did nothing but what I was paid to do.”
“Iwantyou, X. But I can’t have you, and I know that. It burns my ass, you know that? We’re not even friends. I don’t even get that much. But you... you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.You...matter. You need no one, you need nothing. You don’t take shit, not from anyone. I don’t know what it was... what it is about you that made me see everything differently. I honestly don’t know. I just... since meeting you, I guess I just want to be someone that matters.”
“You matter, Jonathan.” I dare another sip, a longer one, a mouthful of tart, crisp bubbles washing over my tongue, rushing through my brain. “And... wearefriends.”
“But only friends.” It isn’t a question, but there is a faint, vague, boyish note of hope.
It hurts to crush it.
“Yes, Jonathan. Only friends. It is all that is possible.”
“Why?” You turn, pivot to rest a hip against the bar, face me.
I stand with my back to the bar’s edge, flute held in both hands, watching the crowd flux and shift. “I cannot answer that, Jonathan. It just...is.”
“Can’t you change it?”
I let out a breath. “No. I cannot.”
“Do you want to?” Your breath is on my ear. You are too close. Too close. I hate it when you do this. You are my friend, Jonathan. And that is something monumental to me, but you cannot see it.
I wish I could make you see what your friendship means to me. But I do not know how.
“It wouldn’t matter if I did.” I whisper this, because it’s something I should not say. But I do, recklessly.
Thomas is far enough away that he cannot overhear our conversation. I don’t think. But he still makes me nervous. He’s there to keep me safe, and to keep me close. I cannot help wondering what he would do if I were to try to leave, here and now. Bring me back, probably. But... where would I go? The world is an expensive place.
A dangerous one, too.
“Why not, X? Why wouldn’t it matter?” Your voice is so close I can feel the vibrations.
Something snaps inside me. “Damnit, Jonathan! Stop asking questions I can’t answer!” I toss back the rest of the champagne, half a flute’s worth, swallow it, feel it rush through me, burn my throat on the way down, hit heavy in my stomach.
I flee. Through the crowd, head ducked, angling for the small discreet doorway hiding the restrooms. Thomas is behind me, following silently at a distance.
I push open the nearest restroom door, lungs seized, eyes burning, chest aching, heart thumping heavily, seeing through a blur. Stall door, slammed open, slammed closed. Lean back against the cold metal door, fight for calmness. Fight for breath.
I do not desire you, not physically. But there is something there, some spark of need. You incite doubt in me. Make me wonder at my own life, at my ordered existence. Make me question who I am.
And those questions bring on panic attacks.
