Page 62 of Trust Fund Baby

When he went back inside, I stared at the card for a long moment before pulling out my phone and hitting Hallie’s name. She answered on the second ring.

“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately.

I had barely stepped into the crosswalk after the “walk” signal illuminated when a taxi blared its horn, eager to make the turn. “I have the walk sign, asshole!” I shouted over my shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Hallie tried again after I left the chaos of the intersection behind me.

“Why would you assume something’s wrong?” I asked, weaving between a woman with a stroller and a man walking three miniature poodles.

“Because you never call me in the middle of the day. You reserve that for emergencies only.”

“We should really fix that, but you’re right,” I replied. “This is one of those times.”

She sucked in a breath. “Okay … hit me.”

“I quit the art gallery.” The words tasted even better out loud the second time. I could hear my own footsteps, the hum of the city, and beneath it an electric current running through me.

“You quit?” she asked, incredulous.

“Where are you?” I said, ignoring her panic. “I have so much to tell you. I think I could go for a drink, maybe five. Who’s to say? Wow, I had no idea the kind of weight quitting would lift off my shoulders. I’ve got so much energy and have no idea what to do with it all.”

“I’m at lunch with James,” she said cautiously. “Can we walk it back to when you said you quit?”

“Send me the address. I’ll meet you there.” Then I hung up, a grin tugging at my mouth as I kept walking. The card the man gave me still clutched in my hand.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this crazy idea could crash and burn. But I had done more insane things in my life. I had taken bigger leaps of faith. The hardest part was always taking the first step.

But right now? This ending had the feeling of a new beginning.

22

Seb

The bass was so loud I could feel it in my teeth.

Bodies pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in this rooftop bar, gyrating and moving to the sound of the music. I had no idea whose party this was but had seen some people that ran in the same social circles as me posting about it on social media. It sounded like a far better option than drinking through another bottle of scotch in my penthouse by myself until I couldn’t see straight and any memory of Roxie was too fuzzy for me to focus on.

The air was thick with sweat, perfume, and the acrid bite of expensive cigars that part of me wanted to seek out so I could acquire one for myself. A waiter slid past with a tray of champagne flutes, and I snagged two without asking. The first went down in a few gulps, the second I cradled just long enough to pretend I wasn’t desperate as I worked through the crowd, looking for the perfect place to perch for the night.

Some girl in sequins appeared out of nowhere and dropped herself over my arm, laughing at something I didn’t hear her say. I let her talk, let her press closer, let her think she was my distraction for the night. But every time she touched me, it wasn’t her I felt—it was Roxie.

Always Roxie.

I drained the second glass and excused myself from the sequined girl, ignoring the look of disappointment on her face as I went on a search for something stronger. The DJ cut into another bass-heavy track, the kind that rattled your ribs, and for a few seconds I could almost trick myself into believing the pounding in my chest was just the music, not the slow, stupid ache I’d been carrying for weeks.

The one I spent most of my time trying to dull without much success.

I managed to flag a bartender down to order myself a glass of scotch despite the absurd amount of people pressing in close. As I waited, someone I vaguely recognized slid a line across a low table in the corner. He caught my eye and grinned like he was offering me a winning lottery ticket. I didn’t even bother pretending to think about it as I shook my head. Even in the middle of burning my life down, there were still boundaries I wouldn’t cross.

By the time I got my glass of scotch, my appetite for chaos had waned. No longer did the human desire for gluttony and debauchery seem like such a good idea anymore. I downed the drink and tossed down a bill that would cover it and then some.

I stumbled out onto the street; the city light was starting to bleed into morning as I flagged down a car. Somehow, I managed to recite the correct address to the driver before I leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes.

The past six weeks had felt stagnant. Every day that passed since Roxie’s gallery event, I became less and less focused on work and more and more focused on how I could dull my mind enough to stop thinking about her.

I still hadn’t found the answer.

As if on autopilot, I walked into my building, pressed the button for the penthouse, and eventually found myself inside my apartment. The sun was now high enough to spill light through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. My place looked worse than I remembered leaving it last night. There were empty bottles lined up like trophies on the counter. Takeout containers cluttered the coffee table and kitchen island. Various suit jackets and crumpled dress shirts were long forgotten on the back of the couch.