Trillionaire Boys' Club: The Connector

by Aubrey Parker

  You’re not that kind of person. You’re sweet. You’re nice. You’d never use anyone for your own means. You’d never compromise your integrity. You’d never spread your legs and let a guy you just met put his dick inside you. You’d never get angry that a guy abandoned you, then tell him so by letting him fuck you up the ass. You’d never let yourself be used. No, Alex — you’re not that gullible. You’re not a pawn in some game. If Nathan’s doing anything, he’s dating you. And you’re going to those dates in a pink flowered dress, wearing your promise ring and thinking pure thoughts. Because you’re a virgin, you’re pure, you’ll only ever take your clothes off for someone you love. Someone like me.

  “I don’t really feel like justifying myself to you.”

  This seems to break his heart. I watch his face crumble, knowing I should care but unable. Nathan’s instructions dog my mind. So does the fact that I haven’t outright rejected them.

  I conjure a thought that I haven’t quite shaken, despite trying. One Corey echoes, almost as if he’s psychic, hitting me where I didn’t realize until a few hours ago that it hurt: “He’s using you.”

  “You don’t even know him.”

  “He’s almost thirty. He’s always with all these other girls.” Corey soft-foots around the issue, and I can tell he’s still trying to think of me as unsullied. But I wasn’t a virgin when I came to college, and I’m sure as hell not now.

  “So what, Corey? What’s it to you?”

  I must really snap at him, because Corey holds up both hands, palms out. “Hey, I’m just trying to look out for you.”

  “I’m a grown woman. I don’t need your protection.” And it’s literally true. If he came at me, I’d fight dirty to win. I’ve already learned these lessons well.

  “Just a bit of perspective, I mean. He’s—”

  “I don’t need your protection,” I repeat. “And I don’t want it.”

  “Alex …”

  Something about Corey’s face makes me furious. I know he’s trying to be a friend. But I’ve spent enough time today rethinking the past week — and the truth of the world that Nathan says has been lurking beneath my life all along — that I sort of hate everyone. I hate the men who’ve only helped me because I’m pretty, then rummaged through my panties while I was away. I hate the fact that I got in with Nathan thanks to my body, and that he’d have me use it — and more — on Ashton. I hate that Corey loves me, even though I know he’s sweet.

  I’m fed up. Because right now, I hate me most of all, for being so naive. For being blind to it all until Nathan ripped the wool from my eyes.

  My response comes out hateful. I know I’m hurting him, but right now I want to be left alone. “Nathan’s not raping me. I like having him inside me. He makes me come harder than I’ve ever come before. And if I want him to fuck me, then that’s none of your goddamn business.”

  I think Corey will fight me. I think he’ll run away ruined. I think he’ll get Jenna, and call in reinforcements.

  Instead, he looks at me with pity, then leaves me.

  I watch Jenna for a moment in the scant light, wondering if Nathan is right.

  Of course he is. I shouldn’t involve Jenna. She’s my friend. Even if she seems to think Moran is hot, I’d be a terrible person to even consider making their introduction more formal — to ply that arrogant son of a bitch not with my sexuality, but with hers.

  I keep watching Jenna, trying to justify.

  She’d want Moran to want her. She’d enjoy it.

  And even if he kicked her to the curb like all the rest, Jenna’s smart enough to anticipate it. She might even do it all on her own, if she got up close and personal enough with Ashton. I wouldn’t even need to nudge them. Jenna’s not above casual sex with a hot guy. He’d go to her and she’d go to him and they’d have their fun. Then he’d get bored and move on, but that’d be fine, because Jenna’s not dumb enough to think it could be anything more.

  Nathan suggested I use Jenna to ply Moran — but I’d never consider such a thing because Jenna’s a friend.

  Although really, when I think about it, I’m sure it’d be okay with Jenna. I could even tell her what I was doing, and that would make it all right.

  But I can’t lie to myself about the truth of what would happen next: Ashton would use then discard her.

  And, expecting it or not, I know Jenna would feel betrayed. I know she’d cry. I know it would hurt her, even if she never blamed me. It would still be my fault. And I’d be the type of person who uses people, just like Corey said Nathan is using me.

  And that makes me wonder: Is Nathan using me for sex? Or has he been using me from the start to reach Ashton, so I can make the crucial connection that will ignite his Trillionaire Syndicate?

  He couldn’t be that underhanded.

  But even as I contemplate, my skin aches for his touch. My mouth misses his kiss. My pussy yearns for his cock. No matter what reason Nathan might be using me, I’ll never see him again if I stop now.

  I look at Jenna, considering her beauty. Ashton would be on her in a red-hot second, if I can make this connection. And then I’ll have Nathan again, at least for a while.

  I’m like a junkie, hooked on a drug called Nathan Turner.

  It’s a good thing I’m not the kind of person who’d sell my friends out for another hit — but then I think of the awful things I said to Corey when he tried to warn me, and I think of the face I’ve been seeing in the mirror.

  Am I a bad person?

  I look at Jenna and think of Nathan. Of how I’m at a decision point, knowing that if I fail this test, whatever I’m doing with Nathan will be over. I’ll be off my intoxicating new drug, forced to go cold turkey.

  I strip naked and slip under the covers. My hand finds my pussy wet, and I do what comes naturally, knowing there’s something very wrong with me.

  I fall asleep minutes later.

  And dream of dark things.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  NATHAN

  MY PHONE RINGS AT 1 a.m.

  At first I’m sure it’ll be Alex calling. She left on a strange note, and I’ve been feeling that something’s unfinished between us. Alex was offended when I said sex was her best weapon, bothered when I compared business to Krav Maga, and quiet when she understood what I was suggesting: that if she wanted to get at Moran, her friend Jenna would be best for that particular job.

  It wasn’t until after she left that I saw it all as Alex must have. She’s probably decided that I was suggesting using Jenna as an underhanded tool. Which I was. But it seemed to bother her more than it would have ever bothered me.

  The way I see it, Ashton is going to fuck someone. I saw them leaving the administration building, and noticed how he kept looking at Jenna — but what’s more, I saw how she kept looking at him. They both want it, and if Alex were in the middle to make it happen, Moran could be greased. Two birds with one perfectly polished stone. Alex can facilitate a hookup that, under different circumstances, would probably happen anyway — albeit with predictable next-day-regrets. So what’s the big deal?

  That’s what I told myself, as the vibe lingered in the wake of Alex’s sudden departure: it’s no big deal. I pretty much told her that she should use any possible weapon to win. I basically called Jenna a loaded gun. I more or less suggested that Alex maneuver Jenna into Ashton’s bed as a bargaining tactic … so long as he signed on my dotted line first.

  So what?

  I can still feel Alex skin under my fingers, see her when I close my eyes. Smell her on my tousled sheets. And as my craving lingers, it’s paired with an odd little fear: that as fine as I’m feeling about Alex right now, she’s feeling less than fine about me. All evening, I’ve had the feeling that she didn’t leave me angry, but left somewhere close to it.

  The way she looked at me when she left, after I made my suggestion.

  It’s no big deal. If she has Jenna, then she should use Jenna to crack the stubborn case of Ashton Moran. It’s only sensible
. All’s fair in love, war, and business.

  But I’m somehow dead certain that Alex is telling herself something different. I’m sure she’s uneasy, and it’s a tension I caused. I’m sure she’s restless, for reasons I can’t explain, and that might warrant a 1 a.m. phone call.

  But the call isn’t from Alex. It’s from Geoffrey.

  “Boss.”

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “No,” Geoffrey says. “My phone doesn’t have a clock on it. Nor does my computer or iPad. I’ve lost all the clocks in my apartment, and have boarded all my windows so I can’t tell whether the sun is even out. I’ve gone totally Howard Hughes, so no, I have no idea what time it is.”

  “What do you want?”

  Geoffrey works for me rather than the other way around, but he’s never abided stupid questions. They’re a waste of his time. Fine by me. I only want people around me who believe that their time is valuable.

  “I just got an email from Alyssa at Banner PR.”

  Great. So this is about Moran. He’s been dominating my life, and I hate him for it.

  I rub my hand over my face — I’m not up at 1am by choice. I’m preoccupied thinking about Alex and my certainty that something is wrong. I’m not staying up late. I’m sleepless, and exhausted.

  “And?”

  “She’s asking again about terms of your original offer for the Syndicate and if I had any thoughts on his proposed counteroffer. She told me not to bother you.”

  “You suck at following directions.”

  “She’s positioning,” Geoffrey tells me. “I can smell it. Setting things up so that when they formally respond to your request, I’ll be prepared to expect a counter rather than a simple acceptance. She told me not to bother you but knew I’d tell you, so that you’d be primed as well.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “He knows that you need him more than he needs you,” Geoffrey says. “Still.”

  “What about the collegiate deal? Alex Wynn’s friend set that up, and Alex is firmly in the middle.”

  I can practically hear Geoffrey shrug. “Things like that are always a game of chicken. That Corey kid took a shot on your behalf and hit the bullseye, but now Moran probably feels sure that the deal will go through regardless. He only the introduction, now he can negotiate without us. It’s good for the college and he knows it. Nobody is doing Hurricane a favor.” There’s a pause. Then: “He doesn’t need you to make that deal, Nathan.”

  I swear. I’m a by-any-means-necessary kind of guy, but Ashton’s so unethical he makes me look like a Boy Scout. What he’s just done violates a central rule in the businessperson’s code of conduct. If Moran plans to proceed with the college deal no matter what, that means he’s cutting Corey, Alex, and most importantly me out of the middle. He wouldn’t even have the deal without us, but now he’s kicking us to the curb. It’s sort of like a band’s agent doing the hard work of arranging a gig … and the band thanking her by signing directly with the venue to save the commission.

  “How sure are you that you’re right about this?”

  “Ninety percent at least,” Geoffrey says. “Alyssa is shrewd. She sent the email late because she knows that I’m up but that you’re probably not. I could read you what she wrote, but let’s just say that it’s all carefully worded. If an email could wink to imply something it’s not actually saying, this email is doing that to me now. I’m sure she figured I’d wake you up. It’s a subtle power move. But you don’t need me to tell you that, Nathan. Ashton is a narcissist. Why wouldn’t he do that deal without us? Why would he feel beholden to you in any way, now that he’s more or less got it all in the bag? You need him in the Syndicate to get the Boys’ Club plan to work, but he doesn’t need the Syndicate. He has all the advantage, and he’ll make you beg.”

  “I don’t need Moran to make the Boys’ Club work.”

  Geoffrey knows I’m lying to myself. Of course we need Moran. How are we supposed to make a collection of young, hotshot bad boys attractive to the world without the biggest, loudest asshole on the block?

  “I’m not giving him double voting rights. It sets a bad precedent. Everyone will demand it from here on out.”

  “You don’t have to give double rights to everyone,” Geoffrey says. “Moran is more essential than the others will be. You can do without them.”

  “If it’s only a few,” I say, nodding against the phone. “But if enough won’t join because they want special treatment and I won’t give it, then we’ll never hit our trillion-dollar goal. And worse, it’ll sow dissent from the start. Everyone will know Moran has more power than the net worth he’s bringing to the table, and they’ll resent it. Not a good way to start a new group.”

  “Well, we need to figure something out. Because if you won’t use double voting to entice Moran, you’ll for damn sure need to find something.”

  But then I remember. I have something, and it’s getting lined up already.

  You’d think smart men couldn’t be led around by their dicks, but history says different.

  It’s not men who have toppled the world’s greatest empires.

  It’s women.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  ALEX

  I WAKE UP FEELING A thousand years old.

  Jenna’s bed is empty, and at first I have no idea what time it is. I don’t have any morning classes today, so it could be any time at all and Jenna would have let me sleep. I’m still exhausted, but the sun seems to have been up for a while. I’ve been snoozing in a sunbeam, and I’m a little sweaty for it. How that didn’t blast through my eyelids and wake me, I’ve no idea.

  But once I’m up, I’m up, so I drag my feet to the bathroom. I flinch from the mirror, recalling some of last night’s darker feelings. But then I look, and it’s not as bad as I thought. I look tired — my eyes are a bit baggy and my hair looks like eagles have taken up residence — but I’m not wrinkled like my grandmother, and I find no desire to hold my reflection at bay with the sign of the cross.

  I feel curiously disconnected. I remember how I felt for most of yesterday evening and into the night, but all those thoughts now feel like they were from a shadow self — not me, but a soul cousin. I wasn’t drunk; it’s not that I have to fight for the memory of what got me so upset. I know exactly what it was, but no longer think it’s so worthy of concern.

  Nathan did suggest that offering to introduce Jenna and Ashton Moran might give me an advantage — which, in turn, would give him an edge in the bargaining, since I’m ostensibly on his team.

  And Nathan did suggest that if I then withheld that introduction, I’d have an even stronger lever. Because even though Ashton is one of the world’s most desired men, he’s also (like a lot of billionaires) a bit A.D.D. and maybe even a tad obsessive. Men like Ashton tend to fixate — deciding on one objective, then pursuing it until it’s achieved. Jenna’s extraordinary beauty gives me a decent shot at making Moran forget, for a while, that he has his pick of the world’s women. At least long enough to agree to Nathan’s Syndicate, on Nathan’s terms.

  I remember last night — thinking that Nathan was right. The Trillionaire Boys’ Club is a bit chicken-and-egg. Until Moran’s in it, the Club can’t get started. But five members after Moran is in, it’ll be a snowball rolling downhill. At that point, Moran would kill to take part. So even though Nathan needs Moran now more than Moran needs Nathan, positions will flip. Moran knows this, so convincing him to join won’t be hard.

  Jenna is grease on the wheels. The cherry on the top.

  And I remember how my own agreement made me feel: like I’d changed, the way Corey implied. I really am someone else. Bad-girl Alex has replaced the good girl that Tony Wynn raised to be tough but fair. Now I’m her evil doppelgänger.

  I’m a rule-breaker. I’m a sexual deviant.

  I think with my pleasures first, my brain second.

  I’m self-destructive — and when it suits me, I’ll offer my friends up for sacrifice.


  But now, as I look in the mirror, I realize that it was only the night that made it all feel so much worse than it is. Of course I’ve changed. I’ve grown up a little, which is what’s supposed to happen with adulthood, but I’m not compelled to make any choices other than my own.

  My friends do matter. My world isn’t only about satisfying my carnal desires.

  And besides, it’s not like Nathan said he’d end this … this whatever-it-is that he and I have, if I refuse to help make his deal by using my friend.

  I brush my teeth. I watch my reflection, telling myself that everything’s fine. I’m not bad, like I felt last night. I can do what I want, and will.

  Still, the thought of Nathan’s anger hurts more than it should. And I don’t know why.

  But he wouldn’t be mad, would he? He’d have to understand.

  Don’t I matter to him, the way it seems that he matters to me?

  I spit, feeling foolish. What’s wrong with me, engaging in some sort of Cinderella fantasy? I’m a freshman. Nathan is a 28-year-old industry magnate. Do I really think this is anything more than a fling? Do I really think I’m something more than a notch on his belt?

  I wash up, and on the way back into my room I remember what I said to Corey. How I treated him. I’m wretchedly embarrassed. I don’t need to betray Jenna to be a bitch. I’ve betrayed Corey already.

  I quickly dress, feeling urgent. I glance at the clock. I’m reasonably sure of Corey’s schedule, and I think I have a decent shot of catching him in his room if I can get up there in the next five minutes. I don’t bother to grab all my stuff — just my keys, the small wallet from my purse, and my phone. Forget breakfast; I’ll get it after I find Corey.

  I knock on his door. I hear nothing, so I knock again.

  I hear footsteps inside — either Corey or Dulles.

  My phone rings. I look at the screen and see that it’s Nathan.

  Corey opens the door. I’m expecting anger, resentment, embarrassment, or all three. Instead I see reluctant pleasure — the look of a beaten dog greeting his owner, wanting to be happy but still fearing the hand.