Page 81 of Keep Vegas

I say, “I didn’t know how to keep or protect the good in my life. I was a moron, surely you knew you were in love with a moron in Paris. That can’t be a surprise.” I place my water in the cupholder and unbutton my sleeves.

She inhales sharply and then steadies her hands on her knees. “I always felt as if I was going to be a story you told people about your wild time in Paris. I never felt current, especially after France,” she says while cracking my heart a little. She can’t think that.

“That’s not true.”

“It is. In France we were equals. You saw us on equal footing. We were all students without limits or parents. We carved out our own world. We were out drinking and falling into each other’s beds, but when we returned to our realities. I was never a part of your life. At your birthday party I felt like an afterthought. You didn’t introduce me to anyone there and I was left alone. The first time we were supposed to be a couple outside of France and I realized we weren’t. Your parents made me feel intrusive so I left.”

My heart plummets.

“But…” She shifts to her side, and then my bold girl looks directly at me, and I see the fire return.

“Until Vegas, and then LA.”

“And, now Target.” I add.

She says, “Yes, and now Target goes on the places where I felt we were on equal footing.”

Thank Christ.

I roll up my sleeves and move to face her. “Who do you want to meet? My judgy Aunt Lisa? Or my parents who forbid me to date anyone seriously until I was a junior in college? And ironically, right now.”

There’s a silence between us, then things start hitting me over the head. Things I should have told her but didn’t because I was eighteen years old, and mostly, I was thinking about fucking her and getting away from expectations.

Harvard became my exit from the life I was groomed for. I’d put the fire out from inside the house. I studied marketing instead of economics and advertising instead of finance. I carved who I wanted to be in the wake of heartbreak and confusion left behind by my wild girl. I’m not sure I’d be proud of who I am today had she not busted us both up.

I shake my head and refocus on her, pushing my thoughts to the side. “Something’s gnawing at you, go ahead. This is the only place and time to do this. Sitting on lounge chairs in a store, hungry, sweaty, raw from a funeral and three weeks spent flying in, sleeping at that nightmare motel, and eating mostly off of their breakfast buffet and doughnuts. So, fucking bring it on, Preston. Let’s sweat this out. Let’s get to the other side.”

“I wasn’t important enough to be included in your life. And considering the multiple lies I was juggling, it was easier to leave you that way. But I don’t want to be kept in the dark anymore.”

“I don’t want you to think that you’re small anymore.”

“I’m not, but you still see me as little. Mostly because I forgot to tell you that I’m larger than life now.”

I sit up and take her hand. “You’ve always been larger than life, you’re just aware of your own power now. And as for introductions, Dax, Hayden, Colton, Law and Robbie are the only people in my life worth knowing. My folks are amazing people, but their whole lives are dictated by money. How do we keep it? How do we spend it? What’s the legacy the money should speak? There are trusts and codicils and plans for grandchildren who are all a thin whisper of a reality.”

I’m on a roll, but she puts her hand on my forearm. “Should I see if we can crack open some bourbon or something?”

I laugh and shake her off. I’m getting to a point I didn’t realize I could make. I’m starting to see my life in a way I haven’t been paying attention to until explaining it to her.

“The questions about money never stop lately. How will it all look when it’s spent or lost or found? When it’s doled out to multiple divorces and engagements? They don’t care that I’ve gotten divorced this many times, they care about the money. What do the shareholders think of my ‘antics?’ Does the board still care about the billions I lost when I’m about to launch something they don’t fucking understand?”

“You lost billions?”

“I never intended to tell you that.”

“Wait here.” She bolts off her chair and down the aisles. I sip my water and gesture to the family that walks by, taking in my frame in full repose on the patio furniture.

Her hair is trailing behind her while she runs back. She stands at the end of my chair and points a large black gun like thing at me, then turns it on. Fake money comes shooting out of it and all over me.

“Does this help? It’s the ‘Make It Rain Money Maker’ and only fifteen dollars.”

I bust out laughing as I roll around on my chair in the fake money. She’s laughing, the red-shirted employees are not. There’s fake money everywhere as she sprays the cash to the sky.

“Well, you didn’t really have to tell me since Forbes pretty much summed up what a colossal mistake Bugle was. But I wanted you to think I cared.” She winks at me.

“Cookery is a big fucking deal.”

She sits down and hands me the gun. “If it tanks, give this to your dad.” I grin again.