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And there in the tranquility of the life I built—the life I sought desperately after decades in the hustle of London, where I made my billions—I realize I built this life for her before I ever met her.
***
Two months later
“Go get her,” Brent orders as he enters the kitchen, his face serious.
Confused, I look up from my breakfast. I’ve been pushing yogurt around a bowl for the last twenty minutes, thinking about how Julia loved eating Greek yogurt in the morning. She loved it so much, I was already looking into getting cases of it shipped to the cabin weekly because they don’t sell the brand she likes on this side of the country.
“What are you talking about?”
“Julia,” Brent clarifies needlessly. “Go get her. Get in your big, fancy plane, fly to Paris, and go get her.”
I drop my spoon into my bowl and take a deep breath. I’ve been trying a new thing called, “staying calm.” It’s going well.
“Why would I?” I ask softly, working hard to keep the annoyance off my face.
“Because you obviously want to.”
“So?”
Brent takes a seat at the kitchen island across from me. “Look, I’ve been in Montana for a month now, and you’ve been despondent—even for you.”
I shoot him a glare. “I may not pay you anymore,” I remind him, “but I sure as shit can make you homeless, Brent.”
So much for staying calm.
He sighs for what must be the millionth time this month, a placid expression on his face, something between amusement and tedium. “Do you remember how we met, boss?”
“The flat on Juniper Street.”
“Right, but how we actually met,” he pushes. “As in, how we actually got to know each other.”
“You lived across the hall.”
“And you did so much cocaine that you passed out in the hallway with a bloody nose one night,” Brent reminds me. “I found you, cleaned you up, and you told me all about a woman named Constance who broke up with you because she didn’t think you were enough for her. Not rich enough. Not ambitious enough. Not connected enough. But you swore to me, in your coke-addled stupor, that you were going to change the world. You promised me you were going to become rich, famous, and so powerful that people would piss themselves to know you.”
“What’s your point?” I grunt. Nowadays, the memory of Constance doesn’t plague me with shame and embarrassment like it used to, but nobody enjoys a play-by-play recap of the time they went on a bad coke bender.
“Well, all those things you mentioned, you made happen,” Brent replies. “You changed the world and became rich, famous, and so powerful that people would piss themselves to know you. Gus Winter, you make everything happen...”
I sigh and grab my coffee mug to get a refill, recognizing this conversation won’t be a short one.
“…Until Julia Ridgeway came into your life.”
“Oh, here we go.”
“Seriously,” he presses. He stands to follow me around the kitchen island. “You obviously want her, so go get her.”
“Can’t. Her father has as many resources as I do. He was clear: if I’m in her life, he’s cutting her off.”
“Yeah, but you’re a billionaire. She doesn’t need his money.”
“But she has a father.” I turn and face him again. “And two brothers. She has family traditions. Thanksgivings. Easters. Christmas parties. The works. If her father cuts her off, she loses everything. I’ve spent my whole life missing the family I never had. I’m not going to take her family from her.”
He frowns before shaking his head. “But you had a family.”
“What are you talking about? I’m an only child whose dad died and mom abandoned him when he was young. I didn’t have shit.”
