Dom eyes me, then sighs in relief. “At least you didn’t give me the barbed wire speech again,” he says, then pauses, looking disappointed. “But you were thinking it, weren’t you? Come on, Nathan. You’re young. Rich. Attractive. You were dealt a winning hand. Play it, for fuck’s sake.” Dom straightens. “I’ll send you the details so we can talk about it when you’re not being a stubborn ass.”
“Gee, Dom. Love you too,” I say as he leaves, passing my cousin Nick Hutton on his way out.
On paper, they’re nearly identical. Both men come from wealthy families, both have personalities that demand respect and are driven to make their mark on the world. Both are tall, with dark hair and strong builds, but that’s where the similarities stop. Nick’s Marine training makes him more physically imposing, but only until you strike up a conversation and get a taste of Dom’s razor-sharp intellect. Nick sees the good in everyone he meets, while Dom can suss out an ulterior motive in seconds. They exchange a lukewarm greeting for my benefit.
“My God! He lives!” Nick gives Rita a knowing look before he steps into my office. He’s always felt more like a big brother than a cousin. Younger me looked up to him like the sun rose and set on his shoulders, and if I’m honest, older me still does. He’s just one of those guys you want in your corner.
I stand to offer a back thumping hug. “Was there any doubt?”
Nick runs a hand over freshly cropped dark hair—a clear sign he’s frustrated—then chews his bottom lip—a sign he’s trying to hide it. “Seeing as you only leave this room to give that journalist ammo for her articles, there’s been talk we might need to stage an intervention at your birthday party this Friday.”
With a deep sigh, I drop back into my chair. “Not funny.”
“I agree.” Nick swipes a hand over his mouth. “Self-destruction didn’t need a new poster child, man.”
I rest my ankle on my knee, arms crossed in defiance. This might be the first time I don’t want him in my corner, if that’s how he sees me.
“Self-destruction? Really?” I fire back. “I’m pouring myself into work—a charity, mind you—because I might be onto something that could make a difference for a lot of people. Gosh, Nick. I think you’re right. I do need an intervention instead of a birthday party.”
Currently, ROF’s focus is on supporting underprivileged children, but with the economy crushing the middle class there are more and more adults who need help too. People are sick and unable to afford care, even with medical insurance. People need jobs. Or education. Or hell, a roof over their head and food in the fridge. I want to expand the foundation’s scope to include anyone who needs a reversal of fortune—young, old, and in between.
Because Dom is right.
I was dealt a winning hand.
And this is how I intend to play it.
Nick pulls out his phone, unlocks the screen, and reads, “Nathan West’s fall from grace is punctuated by dazzling women decorating his arm, spectacular starlets whose fame insulates them from the dumpster fire that is the former philanthropist’s entrance into his villain era…” He glances up, one eyebrow arched. “Villain era, Nathan. This isn’t you.”
Fucking Fallon Mae. If I ever meet her, I’ll ruin her. And while I’m at it, I’ll take down anyone connected to her. Friends, family, even distant cousins will feel my wrath.
“This isn’t my villain era.”
Though Mina Blake would disagree. Only a villain would charge an obscene amount of money just to send a text.
Nick pulls out a chair and takes a seat. “You’re building some kind of lair—”
Fuck me. Apparently, my cousin disagrees as well.
I sit back in my chair and scowl. “It’s not a lair.”
“You’re drinking. Spending nights out with women—”
“The women are for Dom.”
“You grunt and scowl and sneer…”
I fold my arms over my chest and huff. “I do not grunt,” I say through gritted teeth.
“You just did!” Nick glances up as our aunt Maisie appears in the doorway. Her blonde hair swoops down her back in casual waves, offset by a smart pair of black slacks, a fitted blouse, and heels that look like they could kill a person.
“You heard that, right?” Nick asks, with a wide grin. “Nathan grunted to prove he doesn’t grunt.”
“And he’s scowling,” Maisie replies, smiling through sad eyes. “Maybe everyone’s right about this whole intervention thing.”
I drop a hand on my desk and my companions jump. “I don’t need an intervention! I’m not doing drugs. I’m not self-destructing. Blossom cheated after using me for my money, and I’m channeling my disappointment into building something better for the people who really need it. I don’t see how what I’m doing is wrong!”
“The late nights, the drinking, the questionable company.” Aunt Maisie glances at Nick, who nods in sage agreement, which makes sense since she bullet-pointed everything he said two minutes ago.
I laugh to myself. What will they think after I spend an evening with Frederick Chantal?
“Your actions are tainting the reputation of the foundation. The reputation I’ve spent decades building.” Aunt Maisie’s features aren’t designed for judgment. It sits uncomfortably on her pretty face as she seeks out my gaze. “How are we supposed to help those who need it when every time there’s a headline with your name on it, we lose credibility?”
“Fallon Mae is misrepresenting me.” And if anyone should know that it would be the people standing across from me.
“Maybe that would be easier to believe if you surrounded yourself with less…” Maisie glances at Nick. “What did she call the women he’s out with all the time?”
“Dazzling and spectacular.” He says the words like he’s describing a criminal enterprise.
Maisie flares her hands. “You don’t need dazzling and spectacular to secure donations.”
“The women are for Dom. Not me.”
“That’s not the way it looks in the pictures, Nathan,” she continues, her posture softening from that of the CEO of a deeply respected charity, to the aunt who hosted sleepovers and taught us to build blanket forts. “You are so much better than the way you look online.”
“Maybe if I wasn’t being misrepresented,” I grumble, then hold up my hands because they won’t leave me alone until I concede. “But I hear you. I’ll try to keep myself out of the headlines.”
“Good.” Aunt Maisie closes her eyes and clears her throat. She glances at the floor, then meets my gaze and I don’t like what I see there. “Because the charity gala is in a few months. If you can’t get your act together, I don’t want you there, especially if there’s going to be anyone dazzling or spectacular on your arm.”
