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“Clara the heiress.” Once, that wouldn’t have even registered as anything but the truth. Now it feels like a put-down. “You didn’t correct them?” I haven’t even got my trust fund yet.
“And say what? That you like to serve beer in dive bars?”
“I didn’t like it,” I protest.
“Yeah, you did. I saw you there, Gretch.”
“Hey!” I give a little shout as he smacks my butt and makes it jiggle.
“A friendly tap,” he says, holding up his hand.
“I don’t see men smacking each other’s butts as a sign of friendship.”
“Happens in the locker room,” he says with what I assume is supposed to be some authority. Not even. “And you are an heiress.”
Maybe we’ve got this wrong. Maybe sex isn’t the problem between us, and it’s this. Warmth. Intimacy. And always, our history.
“Have you thought about what you want to do, outside of your trust fund, I mean?”
“A little,” I hedge. I have been thinking about it beyond a vacation.
“You could buy a bar.”
I slide him a look. “Seriously?”
“Why not? When this is all over.”
“I didn’t like it that much,” I grumble. It’s more like it was the only place in my life I had a little control. A little authority. “I’m not buying a bar, and I’m not going back to how it was before. Brunching with Hadley and bitching about nothing.”
“Fair.” He pulls a little at the sheet, swiping his finger down the exposed part of my spine. I want to stretch out, chase his touch. But I won’t. Instead, I fold my arms under my cheek. “So, what’s the plan?”
“I want to help people,” I say, almost bracing myself for derision.
“How do you see yourself doing that?”
“By using my money for good instead of mimosas,” I answer flippantly.
“Like last night? Host charity galas, polo matches.”
“I’m not talking about the performance of goodness. I want to help people, not host the one percent.”
“So no philanthropy. And no drinking establishments. Shame, you’d make a fortune. I could see those guys loved being abused by you.”
“Sounds like you’re suggesting I become a dominatrix.”
He laughs. “I might know someone who might like to be at your sexual mercy.”
“I won’t share exactly what just flashed in my head, but it involved you, a vacuum cleaner, and a pair of rubber gloves.”
“Sounds kinky.”
“More like a naked cleaning service.” Better get an apartment first. “I want to do something good with my money,” I say, frustration making me unguarded. “And I’m not talking about giving it away so I feel better about having it.”
“Why would you feel bad about having money?” He looks seriously perplexed.
“It’s not that I don’t want it.”
He scoffs a little and shakes his head.
