“Because it’s literally amatter of fact. I grew up always knowing I was going to be a billionaire when I was an adult. My family has always been rich. Going back almost a hundred years, my family has always had money. There is no denying it.”
We have led very different lives. “I can’t even imagine what that might be like.”
He forks and chews on a piece of apple. Thinking. Always thinking. Carefully considering what’s he going to say before he says it. I can’t even describe how much I respect him for it, even if it doesn’t mean much for the speed of our conversation.
“Well, you are rich now,” he finally says. “And that is also a matter of fact.”
“Not billionaire rich,” I argue for the sake of arguing. A £160 million might as well be billions to me. I haven’t even begun to think about it.
“Not yet, no.”
Confusion skitters over my mind. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means usually people who are billionaires started out having money to help them get there. And now you have money. You’re a hell of a lot closer to being a billionaire than you were twenty hours ago. Closer than most people will ever be. Just more matters of fact.”
I mull over what he says. But it still feels like we’re talking about someone else.
“I don’t care about having a billion pounds.”
A shrug. Indifferent, disinterested. “You say that now.”
“I’ve said that always. And I always will,” I say with more emphasis than I mean to. Like it should matter what he thinks about what I think about money. Him. The guy who could buy up small countries and have them call him Emperor Grumpikins if he wanted.
“Like I said, you say that now. Things change.”
“This won’t.” I say it with a shake of my fork to underline my point.
He doesn’t argue with me this time. No matter how long I wait.
“It’s very annoying how you do that,” I grumble after a minute. I wait for him to ask what I’m talking about, but he doesn’t. He just keeps eating his piece of apple like I said something benign about the weather. “You’re doing it again.”
“If you say so.”
“Kingsley!”
“Yes, Luna?”
“It’s impossible trying to argue with you.”
“And yet you keep trying anyway.”
I angrily stab a grape, and it slips out of my fork and topples onto the floor. I quickly chase after it, giving me a chance to distract myself from yelling at him.
His uncanny ability to unbalance me is infuriating, and no matter how much I scramble, try to get an even footing, he always has control of the conversation, and I’m just struggling, trying to keep up. And that’s not something that usually happens with me. Or maybe I’ve just never been around someone like him before.
Completely self-assured, self-confident, not needing a damn thing from me.
Somehow, that revelation calms me, like there’s really nothing I can do to get a rise out of him, so there’s no use trying, and I can just relax.
“How did you know my father?”
He takes a deep breath, resting his fork on the side of the fruit bowl. Rubbing his hands together, he stares out the window for a few beats. “He was my mentor. He was my grandfather’s best friend. My grandfather mentored him, and in turn, he mentored me. He guided me my whole life. He showed me what it was like to run a business, when to get close to people, to the work, and when to step back. He was one of the best men I’ve ever known.”
I hadn’t expected that.
I don’t know what I thought he was going to say, but that wasn’t it. I thought he was probably a work colleague. A friend from the club. Someone my father respected. Acquaintance circling the same societal sphere.
I didn’t expect him to know my father better than I ever had. Ever could have.
