The Rich Boy

by Scott, Kylie

  Quality of life: Bliss.

  Ever so gently, he slips my black sunglasses on top of my head so he can see my eyes. “You have to stop looking at me like that, beloved. It messes with me in all sorts of ways.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “Alice.” His smile is slow and warm and I feel it deep in my belly. “Ready to go higher?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  We have lunch at the hotel he’s looking to buy in Boulder. It’s an old five-story brick building in need of some love and care. The eighties redecoration with beige carpet and ugly corporate art is something else. Mostly the clientele seems to be budget travelers and sad people attending a conference on insurance broking. I’d be depressed too if I had to sit through that. But the hotel has good bones and an above-average restaurant. Though a hamburger and fries does generally please me.

  Up in the national park, we stop at three lookouts until the air gets thin and my head feels weird. The views are spectacular. And the rocks and little growths of fungus and moss up high are fascinating. Penny was right when she said the real beauty was in the mountains. We do a drive-by of The Stanley Hotel where Stephen King got his inspiration for The Shining. It’s an elegant old sprawling white building with a hedge maze growing out the front. Perfect for an ax murderer to chase his family around. All of the tourists present, however, put us off taking a look inside.

  While Beck meets with the owner of the hotel in Boulder, I play with my cell. Which turns out to be a mistake. On Instagram, there’s a whole bunch of new followers and I’ve been tagged in a ton of pictures. Me leaving the library charity luncheon. (Okay, so I’m glad that moment of victory got recorded for posterity.) The group of us outside the not-so-secret bar last night with Emma shielding her face with her hand. Beck and I climbing into his Bugatti this morning outside the Heritage. Every damn time we step foot outside our front door, basically. The level of interest in us is crazy. And the names they call me, the things they say…they bitch about my body, compare me to his exes, label me a gold digger and worse. All of these entitled, opinionated strangers. These haters and trolls. It makes my stomach churn.

  I order a vodka, soda, and lime and by the time I’ve reached the bottom of the glass, I’m in a better frame of mind. Less emotional turmoil, more fuck the lot of them. I delete my Instagram account. As if anyone needs all that negative commentary in their head. Life is complicated enough without this shit.

  Next I answer messages from Natasha and Hanae. At least with texting, it’s easy enough to keep things succinct and general as per the NDA. And I’m not lying; everything is fine. There’s a rambling emotional voice message from the lady I met in the bathroom line at the luncheon the other day thanking me for funding her literacy program. Interesting. Then Brian, executive assistant to Beck Elliot, forwards me an email from the gentleman raising money for school lunches. Said gentleman heartily thanks me for fully meeting their monetary requirements.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  I have some questions for my boyfriend, but he’s still in his meeting. So instead, I call my mother. All of the family are alive and well. My niece is thriving and now saying “cow” accompanied by a moo. The child is an animal sound making virtuoso. Our conversation (with my mom not the toddler) is going great up until I ask her about cleaning out my apartment.

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” she asks. “It’s only been a couple of weeks. You don’t want to give it a bit longer? We can help you with rent if that’s the issue.”

  “No, Mom. I’m staying in Denver. A commitment has been made.”

  “Just give it one more week,” she bargains. “To be sure.”

  “I’m not going to change my mind.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Also, I signed an NDA last night,” I say. “So we have to be careful when we talk.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks, voice gaining in volume.

  “Calm down, it’s not a big deal. I signed an NDA to protect Beck and his family’s privacy is all.”

  “What? So you can’t talk to me now?”

  “I can talk to you. I am talking to you.”

  “Explain yourself, Alice.”

  “I just won’t always be able to get into specifics about things and you can’t discuss Beck or my relationship with him with other people. Please try and understand. It’s to protect his privacy.”

  “What about your privacy?”

  “My privacy is fine. I’m not rich and no one cares about me.”

  Now she starts shouting. “I care about you. Your dad cares about you too!”

  “Thank you, Mom,” I say. “It’s all right, really.”

  “They can’t restrict your communication with your family. You should never have signed it. What on earth were you thinking?”

  “Mom.” And I can’t tell her about how Ethan’s ex tried to write a book about the family and sell them out (which would go a long way toward explaining the situation) because that’s covered under the NDA too. “It’s okay. Please trust me.”

  “You sound like you’ve joined a cult.”

  “It’s more like entering rich people land, actually.”

  “They’re taking advantage of your good nature”

  “Have you ever actually known me to be good-natured, though?” I ask. “When was the last time you thought to yourself: Gosh, my daughter is good-natured?”

  “It’s not funny, Alice.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Did you get a lawyer to go through it with you, at least?”

  Oh, shit. “No. It was…um…well, you see, I felt that I had a thorough grasp of the situation and the document. So I—”

  “ALICE.”

  My ear is ringing. Not good.

  “I’m coming out there,” she says, voice determined.

  “Oh God, please don’t. Everything’s fine.”

  “No. I’m coming.”

  “Mom…”

  Beck strides toward my table, all smiles. When he sees my face, he stops smiling.

  “Perhaps I haven’t explained this all very well,” I continue, stating the obvious. “I’m fine. I can talk to you. We just need to be careful. Beck is protecting himself and his family in much the same way any of us would. But it’s a different kind of world with them being wealthy and all, you see? Some compromises need to be made. And that’s all it is, a small little compromise. While I’d love to see you, it’s just a bit early for planning an actual visit. How about in a couple of months? Or I could come home for Thanksgiving! That would be nice, right?”

  Nothing.

  “Mom?”

  “I’ll text you the details when I have them.” And she hangs up.

  “Fuck,” I mutter.

  He takes the seat opposite. “Beloved, what’s wrong?”

  “My, um, my mom is coming to visit.”

  His brows rise and his eyes widen. “Your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Soon?”

  “Yes. At least, I think so.”

  “Oh.” He swallows. “Great.”

  “That was not convincing.”

  I’ve never seen him scared before. Not even during that gory film of Henry’s. But the idea of my mom visiting has set off all his alarms. His shoulders are rigid and his face has gone pale. “No, no. It’s fine. I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “Okay. If you say so.”

  He studies me for a moment. “Beloved, you’re supposed to comfort me by saying you’re sure she’ll love me.”

  “Absolutely. I’m sure she will.”

  “Has she liked any of your other boyfriends?” he asks.

  “No. Not really. Though, I mean, they were all assholes, so…”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s just that Mom is no more used to one-percenters than I was. But I’m sure you’ll win her over. You’re funny and kind and charming.”

  “Yeah,” he says, voice flat. “But I also come with an NDA.”

  “You come with my heart
as well.” It’s as close as I can get to saying I love him without losing all courage. Bravery is so overrated. “She’ll see that.”

  He holds out his hand and I take it, holding on tight. “Thank you, dearest. It’s just that I’m used to society matrons wanting to get their claws into me for various reasons. Hostile moms out to kick my ass for leading their daughters astray and moving them to Denver are a new experience for me.”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  He does the furrowed brow thing. Never has a man frightened of my mother been so hot.

  “But, Beck, just this once, don’t throw money at the problem. With the mood she’s in, she’s certain to take it the wrong way.”

  “You think?”

  “Yes. Don’t buy her anything and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  “Okay.” He nods, staring off into the middle distance. “It’ll be fine.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It’s not fine. As is amply demonstrated at three the next morning when Beck wakes me from a deep sleep.

  “Psst, Alice.” There’s a vague scent of whiskey as he nudges my cheek with his nose. In a move both cruel and unusual, he switches on the bedside lamp. “Hey, beloved, wake up.”

  “No-o-o.”

  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Go away.”

  “It’s important.”

  I open my eyes, but I am not happy. Not even a little. Though once I grow accustomed to the lamplight, the view sure is something. His hair is ruffled, his angular jaw lined with stubble. How do you even get lips so expressive? So flawless? So damn kissable? Despite the rude awakening, I’m already half on my way toward smiling. Beguiled by the boy yet again. I’m so easy for him it’s a sin. He’s lying beside me on the bed, leaning on one arm, looking down at me. The other arm is slung across my middle, fingers creeping beneath the hem of my sleep shirt to check out my panty situation. For some reason, he enjoys sliding a fingertip beneath the elastic and running it back and forth. If I said I minded, I’d be lying.

  “Hey,” I say, voice slow and heavy with sleep. “How’s Matías?”

  “Passed out on the couch.”

  I nod.

  Soon as we got back from Boulder and the various doctors’ offices, we found Matías lying in wait. He wanted a drinking buddy and needed a friend. So Beck took him to The Downstairs Bar. I texted Emma just to check on her. She said she was fine, didn’t want to talk, and was hanging with her mom. Therefore I settled in with a new book for the night. Along with an order of dumplings for dinner because dumplings.

  “I have something to tell you,” he repeats.

  I cover my mouth with a hand and yawn. “What?”

  “Brace yourself.” He pauses. “Are you ready?”

  “You’re starting to make me nervous.”

  “Oh no,” he says, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. “Don’t be nervous, dearest. Everything is fine.”

  “If you say so.”

  He smiles. “I panicked and bought a house.”

  “You…what?”

  “Yes. Though it’s actually more like a big building. That way your mom can have one floor and we’ll have another and no one needs to be in anyone else’s face.”

  Huh.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  “A house?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow.” My mind is a blur. A very sleepy one. And yet… “Why didn’t you just book Mom her own room in the hotel but on a different level to us? Wouldn’t that achieve the same thing?”

  He bites his lip. “Actually, I didn’t think of that. Like I said, I’d had a few drinks and I panicked.”

  “Talk me through this.”

  “Well, we only just got rid of Henry. Who I love, and who, by the way, will also have his own bedroom and living area when he’s back next from school. Great, right?” He gives me a salesman’s smile.

  “Great.” I do not sound convinced. “How big is this place, exactly?”

  “It’s…actually, why don’t we let that be a surprise?”

  “Okay.” I’m not frowning. I’m just confused. It happens at times like these.

  He sighs. “Thing is, when you get right down to it, I just couldn’t handle the thought of any more people sharing this place with us. Getting all up in our grill. Preventing us from walking around half naked. Judging our suitability as a possible life partner for their daughter. Things like that.”

  “I see.”

  “So I called the real estate agent from the charity dinner thing we went to last week. Asked him what was the biggest property he had available that’s still in the heart of the city. Then I checked it out and made the owners an offer. Then I woke Penny up to help rush things.” And then he just looks at me.

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “Yeah.” He scratches at the stubble on his cheek. “It’d been on the market for a while so we got it at a pretty good price. It’s fully furnished including some artwork and is in a very handy location. The owners had already moved to Hong Kong for business so we can have it right away. Time difference sure came in handy for getting it all sorted.”

  “Wow.”

  “You already said that,” he adds helpfully. “It’s kind of exciting though, right? Our first real place together? A proper home. Much more adult than living in a hotel.”

  “Mm.”

  “Anyway, this obviously isn’t my shining moment, what with it being brought on by fear of your mother and all. But I think we should just make the best of things.”

  I have nothing.

  The fingers tapping against my ass still and he cocks his head. “Matías thought it was a good idea.”

  “The soon-to-be divorcé soon-to-be father currently passed out drunk on our sofa thought it was good idea?”

  “Yes.” He just watches me for a long moment. “Beloved, say something.”

  “How drunk are you?”

  “The buzz wore off hours ago.”

  “Are you going to regret this decision later when you’re fully sober?” I ask.

  “No, I don’t think so.” He flops onto his back, putting his hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

  I sit up, stretching. “Go to sleep.”

  “Are you angry at me?”

  “No, Beck, I’m not. A little surprised maybe, but not angry.” I crawl down the mattress to tug at his boots. First one, then the other, hit the floor with a thump. Matías better not be a light sleeper. I undo his belt buckle, drawing it out carefully before tossing it too aside. “Do you want your pants on or off?”

  His eyelids are closed now. “Whatever.”

  I climb off the mattress, heading into the bathroom. In a good and just world, everyone with a hangover would wake to a glass of water and some Advil waiting on their bedside table. It’s only humane. Next, I get back into bed, cuddling up to his side. One of his arms comes around me, hand slipping beneath my T-shirt to rest on my hip. As usual, he slips his fingers under the elastic of my panties. And just leaves them there.

  “I’m sorry my mother terrified you into buying property,” I say.

  He lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s fine. There’s a small chance I overreacted. But don’t tell anybody else that.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “Turn in here.”

  “This driveway?” I ask.

  He nods and I steer my G-Class into a discreet entry for a big old four-story brown brick building. An art gallery, boutiques, and a coffee shop sit either side. It’s only about five blocks away from the Heritage.

  Today I dressed for comfort. Plain white leather Gucci sneakers, my secondhand Levi’s, and a loose navy jersey pullover I think was bought in hopes of me taking up yoga or some such. Ha-ha. As if I’d bend at the waist for anybody. No makeup. A pair of silver framed aviator Ray-Bans cover half of my face. If anyone was lying in wait outside the Heritage to take pictures then they can kiss my frazzled ass.r />
  “The code is 21145,” he says. “It was built in 1934 and has been shops and offices and all sorts of things over the years. The owner of the art gallery next door bought it and started renovating it, turning it into a home about eight years back.”

  The metal gate rolls up and I head down a steep incline into an underground parking lot half filled with vehicles and a couple of motorcycles. Each and every one of them gleams, polished to perfection. One is the Bugatti from yesterday, but the others are new to me. In the middle are a few empty parking spaces sitting before the silver doors of an elevator. This is where I pull in and turn off the engine.

  “Are all of these yours?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I had Smith organize to bring them over earlier.”

  “Where were they before?”

  “At the Heritage in a locked parking area.”

  I nod. “That’s a lot of cars.”

  “I like things that go vroom. And you.” Once we’re out of the G-Class, Beck does a quick inventory. “The Bugatti Chiron you already know. Followed by the Bentley Flying Spur sedan, and the Bentley Bentayga SUV.”

  “A car for every occasion. You like brands that start with the letter B.”

  He stuffs his hands in his pants pockets. “Does that make me narcissistic?”

  “Not sure. But it does make you a fan of alliteration. I think you have very good taste.”

  “Thank you,” he says. “Dad actually had a huge collection of American Muscle. It drove him crazy that I loved the European car makers. But you see the Maserati GT in the corner? He gave me that for my sixteenth birthday. I’d broken my arm skateboarding in New York a couple of months before. Called him from the hospital to tell him, but he never answered. About a week later he had an assistant call to check on me. Rachel lit into him when she found out. The Maserati was mostly my apology, I think. Or him trying to get his ex-wife off his back. Of course, the Escalade behind it was bought for me by Ethan the day after my birthday so I wouldn’t crash my stupid sports car speeding on icy roads and kill myself pretending I was playing a video game. That’s an exact quote from him.”