Page 3 of Jesse

The one who came up with this plan.

CHAPTER TWO - JESSE

“Tell me why I’m doing this again?”

My personal assistant, Zach—who is also my cousin, which is a really long story I rarely have the energy to get into—slaps me on the back and says, “Because people hate you. They look at you and see three things, Jesse. Spoiled, rich asshole.”

He pauses to pour a glass of water. I hold out my hand for it, but he takes a sip instead. I narrow my eyes at him and say, “OK. So what if they think I’m a spoiled, rich asshole? What are the other two?”

“No, those are the three things.”

“That’s all they see when they look at me?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Zach says.

I turn back to the full-length mirror and straighten my bow tie. I don’t even remember the last time I put on a tux. I hate this kind of shit. It’s not my thing. “Then this is not going to change anyone’s mind,” I say.

“You give people too much credit, dude. They will see you go there tonight and stand up on that stage like a fool. They see you get bought for an ungodly amount of money you are definitely not worth, and then they’ll see how much that one sale contributed to the end-of-night total charity fund for all those kids, and their stupid little hearts will forgive.”

“How come they don’t see you as a spoiled, rich asshole? You’re the same as me. Worse, actually.”

He smiles that charming Boston smile and shrugs. “I’m discreet. You… just never learned to embrace discreet.”

It’s sorta true. Well, it was true back in my twenties, but I’ve spent the last five years cleaning up my image and no one cares.

So tonight I’m selling myself at the Billionaire Bachelor Auction.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Because it’s also so not my thing. It’s actually my brother Joey’s thing. It was supposed to be him selling himself tonight, not me.

“Does it ever occur to people that I had nothing to do with the rich part? I mean, what the fuck? How can people hate me because I have money? It’s not my money. I was just born into it.”

“It’s the way you spend it, asshole,” Zack says. “Take me, for instance. I’m just like you in some ways.”

“All the ways,” I say.

“I have the same last name, the same trust fund, the same good looks and charming chin dimple. But I spend my money on things no one hears about. I also work for a living. That makes a difference.”

“You work for me, dumbass. I pay you. Way too much, in fact. And your trust fund went missing. I saved you."

“Still,” he says, handing me his used water glass and picking up his real drink—a very expensive Scotch that my money bought. “We’ll find that trust fund one day. And when I go get that windfall of cash I still won’t spend it the way you do. I am humble, Jesse. You… you’re… whatever the opposite of humble is.”

I set the water glass down and say, “Glad to see that all that fucking money I spent on four years of private college went to good use.”

Zack points a finger at me and says, “I appreciate that, by the way. And you know I’m good for it. I’ll totally pay you back when—”

“I know,” I say. “Once you get that trust fund.” I have to roll my eyes. “So how come Johnny doesn’t have to do this shit? People hate him just as much as they hate me.” Johnny’s my oldest brother. The definition of anti-social asshole. And I’m not just saying that. When people look up reclusive, eccentric billionaire in the dictionary there’s a picture of Johnny Boston’s face.

Zack shoots me a look as if to say, Do I really need to spell it out?

He doesn’t. I know why Johnny’s not here. He’s been in his self-imposed exile two floors up from me for the past several years. But Joey, this is totally his kind of thing. He would love to be on stage having women fall all over themselves to pay money for him. Except… he’d probably want that money for himself when the night was over. Or, maybe not. I don’t’ really know the dude. But he’s not any better than me, take my word on that.

Still, I’m the bad brother. I’m the arrogant one. I’m the asshole.

It’s not even true. Johnny is definitely the biggest asshole of us three. But somehow he manages to pull off this dark, broody personality and make it all sexy and alluring.

“Look,” Zack says, walking over to me to fix the way I straightened my bow tie. “It’s gonna work, OK? I know these past five years have been tough for you.” He grabs my shoulder and squeezes. “You’ve had it the worst, I think. But this is gonna be good for your image. And it makes people happy, Jesse. When people are happy and you’re responsible, their hearts and minds open up again. They are able to forgive and forget.”

But I’m not buying it. I’m only here as Joey’s stand-in. He was the one they invited.