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But what if she’s a vegetarian?
And the vegetarian option. Tell Leah I’ll pay the extra for both
My phone buzzes instantly. I expect it to be Esther giddy with excitement that Oscar the Grouch finally has a date, but it’s just a notification saying I’ve received a call from a blocked number.
Margot.
It’s like her bitch radar has detected the latest possible development through the airwaves.
I ignore it.
After I ended it with Margot, I threw myself into work more than ever before. I guess that’s why Noah is worried.
In a way, he’s right. As much as Margot and I weren’t compatible, I do miss occasionally spending time with people who aren’t employees. I have been feeling that part of the break-up, no matter what I tell my brothers. I’ve felt more existentially alone than I ever have in my life. I’m not sure why.
It might be partly because my brothers are now working so closely together at Invested Enterprises. They all have each other. Not that I wanted to join their start-up; I don’t have time. And I never wanted to break free of Maddox Enterprises like they did—or maybe it’s more of a case of not having that luxury. Either way, now, I’m steering the ship alone, with a handful of Dad’s old cronies.
Every night I go home to my five-bedroom penthouse, which should feel like a haven, or at least a success story. For a while, it did. But lately, it feels more empty than it ever has before. Just another reminder that I seem destined to be a grumpy lone wolf for the rest of time.
My driver drops me off outside my building, ready to park the limo in the basement garage.
I should head straight to my home office, but I’m too distracted. The conversation with Noah and Cleo is playing on a loop in my brain.
I was stupid to tell Esther I’d be taking a plus one. What are the chances of Cleo finding someone who would agree to such a ridiculous plan, and at such short notice? And even if she does, do I really want to go ahead with it? A fake date for the weekend suddenly seems more terrifying than a real one.
Knowing my luck, the kind of woman who would agree to such a thing will probably be a total nutcase.
The one thing that stops me from calling the whole thing off is the thought of pissing off Margot. It’s too damn appealing.
If I do end up bringing some air-headed (hot) twenty-three year old, Margot will be absolutely livid.
The thought makes me feel a fraction less surly.
I pour myself a whiskey and take it out onto the roof terrace, leaning against the balcony railing to take in the city.
I bought this apartment six years ago. The helipad and pool are nice to have, but being this high up, with these panoramic views over the city, that’s what really sold me on this place. The sunsets are something else.
Not that I make it back from the office in time to enjoy them most nights, but that’s just part of the Fortune 500 lifestyle. I know this. This is how I’ve lived my life.
Tonight it doesn’t stop me from wondering what it might be like to experience what everyone else seems to find so easily in life. Fun. Enjoyment.
Love.
I’ve never even detected an inkling of that feeling. Of caring. Of wanting more. Every single time, inevitably, the women want more and I want less. They get clingy and greedy and I pull back. They get mad because I’m too distant and I retreat even further. They cry and I get more jaded and more pissed off. It’s always the same.
Sometimes—like right now—I feel like I’m missing out on something huge.
According to my brothers, my love life wouldn’t be such a disaster if I could just loosen up a little, and they’re probably right.
It occurs to me that I’m turning into the exact thing I’ve spent my life trying to avoid. I watched my father work his guts out, spending far more time in the boardroom than he ever did enjoying his money.
So what am I doing, then? Why am I repeating the same pattern?
What’s it all for?
Maybe I do need a vacation.
And suddenly, the thought of hiring a tween to act as a buffer between me and my bitch of an ex feels like too much work. I feel exhausted just imagining how it might play out.
