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Alone now, Gus continues to hold me. He absentmindedly runs his fingertips through the mess on my tits, pleased I haven’t tried to wipe it off yet.
“Did you enjoy that?” he whispers. He finally slides out of me.
I turn on my side, still basking naked. “So much.”
He beams at my response and kisses my shoulder. “Me too.”
“Was that your first time sharing a woman?”
Gus shakes his head, but he doesn’t elaborate. I won’t push him. I have no right to his sexual history beyond his assurance that he’s clean. I will, however, push him on the other parts of his life. After all, he promised me he would try.
And I hope he meant it. Because after tonight, I’m not sure there’s any way I could move on from him unscathed.
***
When we get back to Gus’s room, we make a beeline for the shower. We don’t fuck again though. We instead take turns washing each other under the hot water, meticulous and banal. It’s slow, for the first time ever.
Clean and refreshed, I get into his bed and check my phone. I upload a new picture of myself before Gus climbs in next to me, weaves his arm around me, and tucks me against his abdomen. I had almost forgotten how much he enjoys touching me, like he always needs at least one hand on me. I certainly don’t mind it.
He lets out a big yawn. “I’m so jetlagged,” he murmurs. “It’s late in London.”
“Oh no, big guy,” I warn. “Don’t you dare act like we’re going to roll over and go to sleep. We have to talk.”
Both of Gus’s eyebrows rise. “About what?”
I toss my phone to the side and sit facing him. “Tell me something about yourself. I want to know something nobody else knows.”
He blinks quickly, amusement playing across his face. “I once poured a fifteen-thousand-dollar bottle of wine on a pussy belonging to the daughter of the sixth richest man in the world, and then fucked her in a puddle of it.”
“Nice try, but I told Peter so it doesn’t count,” I retort. My words are soft, but I know he recognizes the seriousness in my expression.
Gus lets out a sigh and rakes his fingers through his thick hair. “You can’t give me some guidance? I don’t know if I can come up with something—”
“Why did you sell FundRight?” I interject.
He quirks a brow. “Interesting pillow talk.”
“It’s not pillow talk. This is a conversation coincidentally taking place in a bed.”
“Fine. Why do you want to know about FundRight?”
“I want to understand your reasoning. The company was thriving, you were up four percent in the last quarter, and your stock rating is still a clear buy. Why sell now?”
“Honestly?” He tilts his head to the side. “Over the summer, Davis and his intern came to London. He and I went back and forth trying to hardball a deal, and the intern—Olivia—finally asked me what kind of legacy I was going to leave.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t know,” he admits with a languid sigh. “Money, power, influence…they’re all good. Great, even. But truthfully, I hadn’t given much thought to what I would leave behind. I still don’t know. I’ve considered starting a foundation or investing in startups, but the idea doesn’t excite me. I donated a building to MIT, funded a wolf conservation org, and paid off the loans for a bunch of kids at Montana State University.” He shrugs. “All of it still feels shallow.”
“So that’s why you’re writing a book,” I fill in.
He nods, but his expression still looks stoic, if not ambivalent.
I reach out and put a hand on his. “August, are you sure a run of the mill business book is going to create the legacy people want from you?”
“Meaning…”
“Well, your entire mythos is being a scary, mysterious genius. To me, it seems like a stretch that you could credibly offer any business advice.”
