Page 97 of Gold Rush

“Dude, I know. I was just—sorry.” Leo looks away, reaching for his beer.

I force my facial muscles to relax from the glower I didn’t realize had appeared. Rhody appears surprised. Kit? Kit is fucking smiling.

I don’t give a shit if people think I’m dating Rory for a gold rush, not to receive my own inheritance. But it does bother me that anyone assumes Rory doesn’t have other assets.

It makes me think of what she said at dinner the other night—“I thought he wanted my money more than that.”

I hate that Rory thinks that, let alone said it. I hate even more that I’m not certain she was wrong—that Carson might have seen dollar signs when he looked at her. Money does buy happiness for some people, but Rory is priceless.

“Do you know where you’re going to propose?” Kit asks Rhody.

My phone begins buzzing as Rhody starts listing off ideas.

“I gotta take this,” I say, sliding off the stool.

I go out the back exit since it’s closer to our table. A guy is smoking by a dumpster in the alley. He nods at me, stamps out the cigarette, and then heads back inside.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Flynn. How are you?”

“I was better before you called.”

He sighs. “One of these days, it’d be nice if I could have a mature conversation with my adult son.”

“What do you want, Dad? Because we both know you wouldn’t be calling otherwise.”

“Greer Wayland is visiting New York on Saturday to tour some apartments. Your mother and I are planning to take her to lunch. We expect you to join us.”

“I’m busy on Saturday.”

“Yes. With this lunch.”

“With my life, which doesn’t include entertaining a twenty-two-year-old. I don’t know if it was you or Mom who gave Greer my number, but it was totally inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate?” Julian scoffs. “You’ve known Greer your entire life. You grew up together.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “So?”

“So, we’ll see you at lunch. The Waylands have done a lot for us.”

“You mean, Dan has done a lot for you.”

“Yes, he has. He’s the reason you have the trust fund you’re so eager to receive and spend. The least you can do is indulge his daughter for a few hours.”

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll have proven, yet again, that your immaturity and irresponsibility know no limits. I’m tired of having to tell you that, Flynn.”

Not as sick as I am of hearing it.

“Why weren’t you at dinner?”

My father sighs. “Is that where this animosity is coming from? Your mother let you know we couldn’t make it.”

“Yeah. An hour before with no actual reason why.”

“Unlike you, I ordinarily honor my commitments. That means, in the rare instance I can’t do so, I’m allowed some latitude.”