Gage Lily’s fingers close around the pendant of the necklace she’s wearing. “You’re a jewelry designer?” “A closeted one.” So, it’s not a guy or her douchebag ex who gave it to her. “Can I see?” She lowers her hand. I reach for it, turning the pendant around, examining it from different angles. I let it drop against her chest and trail a finger along the chain. “This is well made,” I say. “Thank you.” Shy Lily is back. “Is it silver or white gold?” “Neither, it’s stainless steel.” “Why stainless steel?” “Unlike silver, it doesn’t tarnish, and unlike gold, it’s affordable.”
“You had it made? I assume it’s not handmade.” “I outsourced the production. Italy and Spain are both top exporters of stainless steel. However, manpower in Spain is much cheaper, and the Spaniards rival the Italians when it comes to master jewelers. Since I was living in Paris, traveling back and forth between the two countries was easy.” “Smart.” “I had two prototypes produced—one for me and one for my best friend for her twentieth birthday. We’re the same age, but she was born four months before me. Nadine loved it. She insisted there was a successful business waiting to emerge from my creative conc ept. That gave me wings. The first design was plain. But I graduated to something with a little more bling—cubic zirconia surrounding the pendant. I was thrilled with the end result, but I wanted something that had more presence. I upped the ante by opting for Swarovski crystals.” “You’re talented. I’m impressed.” “Thank you.” “Is Nadine your business partner?” “No, she isn’t. This is a solo venture.” This woman has more layers than I expected. She’s interesting, gorgeous, smart, and far more daring than she gives herself credit for. There’s also a sweet vulnerability to her that’s so darn attractive. “How did you and Nadine meet?” “We met in boarding school in Switzerland. We shared a room with four other girls, but we fast became friends. She’s a brunette to my jet-black hair. She stands three inches taller than me. I hate her for that.” She laughs. “So, your best friend’s dad is France’s former President Laurent Rocard de Vill epin. That’s wild.” She nods. “Since she’s half American, will she come and join you in the States?” “No. Nads is too Parisian to ever leave Paris. Not to mention, she earned her right to stay in Paris the hard way.” “What do you mean?” “For years the French referred to her mom, Marciana, as a modern-day Monica Lewinsky. The French don’t tend to bat an eyelash when a husband or wife stray. Nads’s father not only lied about having sexual relationships with an intern from the French PR company that oversaw the publicity for the charitable campaign his wife chaired, but said intern was an American. Three months after the scandal broke, a whistleblower leaked she was pregnant to the French press, and then, outed him to a US newspaper for a big pay day. Le President claimed he didn’t have any sexual relations with that woman. In fact, they never crossed paths. But his penis crossed paths with Nads’s mom’s vagina.” “Good one.” “Marciana’s parting gift from that internship wasn’t only a stained dress soiled with le President’s semen, it was also a bun in the oven. She never left France, dead-set in her determination to force le President to acknowledge her and her baby. She found a job with an American company with an office in Paris who was willing to sponsor her work visa. That opportunity allowed her to give birth in France. Five years later, she got her French residency. It took twenty years for the former President Laurent Rocard de Vill epin to acknowledge his illegitimate daughter.” “Nadine’s mom weathered that scandal like a champ,” I say. “She did. It took courage.” “What does Nadine do for a living?” “She owns a flower shop in Paris called Blue Belle—it’s a tiny shop with a pretty blue façade. It used to be called La Boîte Fleurit, but she changed the name when she inherited it. She’d been working there since she was sixteen. The owner didn’t have children, and none of her nieces or n ephews were interested in the business. Or the hours. Nads gets up at the crack of dawn Monday to Saturday to make it to the flower markets. Between her shop’s colorful exterior, the evocative name, and the old school jazz music playing nonstop in the background, she’s managed to create a timeless atmosphere in her shop that ke eps her clients coming back. In the last year or so, since her father has
recognized her as his daughter, he’s used his connections to further her business. Blue Belle is now the go-to florist for many high-ranking French politicians.” “Good for her for making her mark instead of trying to shine in her father’s shadow.” “I agree.” “Does your father know?” I point to her necklace. Her hands fly to her neck to cover it. “No, he doesn’t know I’m a jewelry designer.” “How do you manage to ke ep that a secret?” “I pay cash,” she says. “I never use up my monthly food allowance, so I squirrel away what I don’t spend. That way, I don’t leave any traces. He would disapprove of my project and belittle it.” She wrinkles her nose. “The list of cons he has for me is long enough.” It pisses me off to hear her say that. Her idiot father should support her dreams instead of squashing them. Or worse, forcing her into a sentence of misery. “Who’s on the pendant?” “This is an old French coin—the one Franc. The figure is Marianne. She’s been the national personification of the French R epublic since the French Re volution. She stands for liberty, equality, fraternity, and reason. She’s also the portrayal of the Goddess of Liberty—” “The one Statue of Liberty was modeled after Libertas—the Roman goddess of freedom.” She nods. “Yes.” “Again, the freedom theme—same as the song.” “Indeed,” she says. “How did you come up with the idea? French francs were r eplaced with Euros a long time ago, I can’t imagine it’s easy to find coins.” “I found an artist in Paris who does r eplicas of old franc coins. I was able to strike a deal with him because I would be buying them in multiples. I figured I had plenty of time to source something on a grander scale for when the project took off.” “Smart,” I say. “What prompted the idea?” “Mama’s memory pushed me forward with this project.” “In what sense?” “She struggled to make ends meet. She never sugarcoated our reality. We could only afford the basics. Sometimes, we’d have hotdogs for dinner for weeks on end. And I’m not talking about name brands. I’m talking about a generic brand of sausage sliced in half and wedged between one slice of white bread—whatever was on sale. The mustard and ketchup were packets from Mc Donald’s. Mom would stuff her pockets with condiments and sugar when she stopped by for her weekly cup of coffee—one of the only luxuries she allowed herself. Watching QVC was her es cape. She could shop to her heart’s content, without spending a dime. She always commented on everything that flashed on the screen. Jewelry was her favorite. Especially the lines from celebrities who would create affordable versions of the pricey counterparts they wore in real life—” “Or what they want the public to believe they wear in real life.” She works her lower lip. “I’m sure you’re right.” “It’s a great tribute to your mom.” “That was my goal,” she says. “Although, I no longer live in a tiny, crappy, bordering on dilapidated apartment with rickety furniture in Escambia County, Alabama, and I get a colossal monthly allowance, none of it is mine. It’s my father’s. And he never misses a chance to remind me he holds the purse strings. As long as I toe the line and don’t cause waves, my account is r eplenished on the first of each month, like clockwork.” She averts her gaze. I don’t rush her. “I guess in many ways, I’m still that little girl, sitting on a beat-up couch, next to Mama, watching QVC, and listening to her shopping advice.” She returns her attention to me. “This”––she touches the pendant––“is the type of jewelry Mama would go crazy for. Especially because of the French connection––a country she would never have been able to afford to visit. We were too poor to afford a
motel in a nearby state, let alone get on an airplane. I can hear her now, ‘Lily, darlin’, that fine piece of jewelry right there would be worth the monthly payments’.” She laughs, but it’s devoid of lightness. The weight of her revelation stretches between us like the English toffee sauce Mom used to make at Christmas, pulling and clinging. “Can I ask a personal question?” She takes in a de ep breath, and exhales on the word, “Sure.” “If Fisher never acknowledged you, how did you come to live with him?” “I’ve never lived with my father. I still don’t.” I level her with a quizzical stare. “We’ve never lived under the same roof,” she says. I frown my confusion. “How is that even possible?” “After Mama’s passing, I lived in my father’s Connecticut house.” “Alone?” She shakes her head. “The house was fully staffed with a cook, a house cleaner, and a butler. Since it was too late for him to register me in a new school, my father hired a full-time governess of a sort to look over me and tutor me.” I incline my head, as if trying to discern if my ears are playing tricks on me. She nods, answering my silent question. “You can’t make that shit up.” “I suppose not.” Wow. “How did you communicate?” “Phone. Emails. Texts. Video chats.” “Who came for you after your mom’s death?” “Henry, the butler with the Australian accent.” “Fisher doesn’t have siblings?” I’ve never cared to find out. “He has two sisters and a brother. All younger.” “You don’t know your aunts and uncle?” “I know them as much as I know my half-brothers.” The most over-the-top soap opera doesn’t measure up to this unbelievable story. “The following school year, I was shipped to Switzerland,” she says. “Once I graduated from boarding school, I moved to Paris to attend university. My father has an apartment in Paris, but he bought me another one because God forbid, we’d share a roof. Someone might learn of his dirty little secret and that would be so, so bad. Now, I live in New York, in a house my father bought me on the Upper East Side. He lives on the Upper West Side––the opposite side of Manhattan Island.” I’m incredulous. “Fisher Edgington has gone out of his way to pretend I don’t exist,” she says. “He’s done such a smashing job of it, he forgot my twenty-first birthday. He hasn’t been ke eping score of the milestones in my life—unlike my half-brothers. He’s so obsessed with his sons, he knows how many times a day they burp.” The statement is coated with bitterness. “How did Fisher meet your mom? They’re from different worlds.” “A few months after turning eighteen, armed with a high-school degree, Mama moved to Florida with her older sister. They set their sights on Miami. They figured working at a five-star hotel—even if it was as room service staff—was the closest they’d get to living a glamorous life.” “Your father was a guest at the hotel?” “Yes. He was in Miami for an extended three-month business trip. He spotted Mom and he had to have her. My mother fell for him, not knowing he was married because he never told her and he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring—there wasn’t even a tan line.” Asshole cheater. “It’s only when she got pregnant, and told my father, she found out he was married and had another family in New York. She was devastated. He made promises to help her out financially, but made it clear, they’d never be together. Mama moved back home because Miami was too expensive for a single mom with insignificant job experience. Her sister stayed behind, because she was dating this guy and things were getting serious. Soon after returning to Alabama, Mama got another surprise after her first doctor’s appointment. She was pregnant with twins—” “You have a sister or a brother?” “I had.” Past tense. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t remember my sister. She died when we were five months old. She suffered from a birth defect. Identical twins get hit with the same health issues since we share the same DNA, but in this case, I was spared.” Jesus. “Where was your father in all of this?” “He was in the picture until Mama announced she was carrying twins. It became a little too real and a little too overwhelming—he stopped coming down to visit her in Alabama.” “Your father never sent money?” “He did for a while, but that dried up at some point.” “Was he aware of your mom’s dire situation? After all, he knew she was a young single mom.” “He didn’t care if I went to school on an empty stomach most days, or if Mom had bought my clothes from thrift stores because Walmart was too expensive, or if the landlord would look at me like I was a slice of chocolate cake when he’d come knock on our door, demanding the rent money that was always late. Nope. Those were none of my father’s concerns.” Although not a billionaire, Fisher is extremely rich. He wouldn’t have struggled financially. Why not st ep up to the plate? Fucking deadbeat dad. “At least your father manned up after your mother passed away.” She sneers. “Mama didn’t leave him a choice.” “How come?” “Mama didn’t date for most of my life. Around the time I was about to turn twelve, she met this guy. He was good to her and to me. I was excited at the prospect of having a father figure. He wanted to rewrite Mama’s story. On their one-year anniversary of dating, he planned a trip to Miami. I stayed behind with Mama’s best friend and her kids. I remember waving them off before they hit the road. Then, a few days later, Mama’s best friend is telling me Mama would never come back... because she was in Heaven.” Her voice breaks. “Mom and her boyfriend died in an accident on their way back home.” I place a hand over hers. “If it hurts too much, you don’t have to continue.” She offers a sad smile. “That’s sweet of you to say, but it’s only a wave of melancholy. It happens when I recount my story.” Been there. Done that. I tuck a strand of long hair behind her ear. “Only if you’re sure.” She nods. “Okay,” I say. “A couple weeks after Mama’s passing, her best friend announced I’d be moving to New York to live with my father. I assumed I’d be staying with her. I knew nothing about legal matters surrounding a parent’s death and what that meant to the child.” “You had to deal with the death of your mother and a man who was going to st ep in as a father figure. On top of that, you found out you had to leave Alabama to live with a father you didn’t know. That’s a lot for a kid to handle.” “It was.” She nods. “I asked Mama’s best friend why I couldn’t stay with her. She told me Mama made sure I’d be taken care of if anything were to happen to her. My grandfather was never in the picture and my grandma had passed away when I was a kid.” “What about your mom’s older sister?” “The boyfriend she stayed behind for in Miami turned out to have a side hustle for a drug lord. It’s not clear what he did to piss off the kingpin, but he ended up with a bullet between his eyes. My aunt suffered the same fate.”
My eyes widen in shock. “Yeah, it’s pretty gruesome,” she says. “Mama made sure I had an insurance policy—one my father couldn’t dispute.” “How did she manage that?” “My aunt was ordinary looking, but Mom was incredibly pretty when she was young—” “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Lily blushes. “Thank you.” “Sorry I interrupted you.” “That’s okay. Even after he fessed up about being married, my father couldn’t stay away. He was taken with her. Mama wised up real fast. She pulled a soap opera stunt.” “A what?” “DNA testing. She stole his toothbrush, hairbrush... and even underwear.” I whistle. “She wasn’t leaving anything to chance.” “She took things one st ep further.” “Blood samples?” She laughs a little. “She took photos of my father sle eping when they were together in bed. She k ept the incriminating details in a small suitcase. When she died, her best friend knew what to do. Tracking down my father wasn’t that complicated, given his status. A couple weeks after Mom passed away, Henry, the butler, came to take me to New York.” “Jesus, you didn’t even know the guy.” “I didn’t know my father either at the time. I had never met him. I only knew of him. In fact, I thought Henry was my father until he corrected me.” I shake my head. Unbelievable. “We flew together to Connecticut—my first time on a plane.” She continues. “I went from slumming it in a tiny apartment to living in a big, luxurious house similar to the ones I’d only seen on TV.” “Your father wasn’t there to greet you?” She said as much, but I can’t get over it. “It took three months before my father came to visit.” She lets out a breath, audible and sad. “He needed time to set things in motion so he could ship me to Switzerland, undetected. That ninja move didn’t prevent his wife from finding out about me.” “One of your father’s staff members blew the whistle?” “I assume.” “Unless it was your mom’s best friend.” “She swore it wasn’t her." I nod. “After the way Fisher has treated you, I don’t understand why you’re willing to go along with his idea of having you run a PR company you’re obviously not interested in.” “My father pushes my half-brothers to play their part in furthering the Edgington name and fortune––” “But you don’t even have his last name.” She averts her gaze for a beat. “To this day, he still blames me for losing a significant chunk of his fortune in the divorce. Going along with his master plan is my way of making up for his loss.” Un-fucking-believable. My jaw tightens to the point my teeth are about to shatter. Everything about her story flares the protector in me. “Jesus Christ, Lily, did you even hear what you said?” I don’t give her time to answer. I’m irate on her behalf. “You’re willing to suffer through a career to gain your father’s acc eptance? If he’s not able to appreciate the woman you’ve become, fuck him.” She shouldn’t be bending over backwards for the approval of a man who treats her with such disrespect. Regardless of the DNA connection. “It’s easy to say when you have both parents.” If you only knew, sweetheart. “If I turn my back on my father and half-brothers, I’m essentially...”–– her small hands twist in her lap––“an orphan.”
“Your father and half-brothers don’t acknowledge you and they don’t respect you,” I say. “Not to burst your bubble, but I lost both my parents.” Her surprise is broadcast upon her face. “So, my siblings and I are orphans.” “I’m sorry.” Guilt morphs her beautiful features. I brush it off. “You didn’t know.” “Did you lose them at a young age?” “I lost my dad when I was eight––” “You were only a boy.” “I was,” I nod. “He died of a heart attack. I didn’t understand much about death. All I knew was Dad would no longer be sitting at the dinner table with us, help me with my homework, or doing father and son things together. He was gone.” She places her hand against her heart. I continue. “My father was twenty-seven years older than Mom. In fact, he was my grandfather’s best friend.” Lily’s eyes radiate with shock. “Oh, wow.” “Your mom’s story and mine have parallels,” I say. “Mom was in an unhealthy relationship for years until her loser of a boyfriend walked out on her for good, leaving her with a mountain of common-law debt. She had no choice but to move back with her parents with her two daughters. Dad always claimed he fell for Mom before she got in volved with her asshole ex, but since he was much older and her father’s best friend, he stayed away. When she returned home, he didn’t miss out on his second chance. He played his cards right. He offered Mom a job at his construction company. Working together allowed them to get close. Soon, Mom was dating the boss. A year later, he proposed. I was born eighteen months after their wedding.” “What a story,” she says. “You have two half-sisters?” I nod. “And an adopted sister. She’s also older. My half-sisters head a couple of my European offices. Lana is forty-four. She used to work for a leading TV network. She’s posted in London, and oversees the London, Paris, Milan, and Madrid offices. Marika is forty-two. She’s a former content director for MTV in LA and New York. She now oversees the Copenhagen, Amsterdam, and Berlin offices. She lives in Copenhagen. My adopted sister Sara is thirty-eight. She’s whip smart, which is why she’s a doctor. She’s an anesthesiologist, who recently got promoted as a chief physician at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center here in LA. All three are married. Lana and Marika have kids. Sara is trying.” “From the sound of it, you get along with your sisters,” Lily says. “I do. I love them. Mom always joked that when I was a baby, I was their baby, not hers. They never allowed my tiny body to touch the floor. They would carry me around like a doll. They spoiled me rotten.” Lily laughs. “I understand your half-brothers would resent your arrival,” I say. “Eight years later, you’re all adults. It’s surely time to bury the hatchet.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m not holding my breath.” Which begs the question, why are you trying so hard? “Did your mom also pass away from an illness?” Lily says, changing the subject. I rub the back of my neck. I knew the question was coming. It’s a natural progression. It still doesn’t prevent the familiar pang of guilt that hits me whenever I think of Mom. “No, she didn’t.” I ke ep my answer brief. Lily’s expression suggests she’s waiting for me to elaborate. The topic of my mom’s death is off the table. She shifts on the blanket. Her cheeks are flushed. No doubt she’s embarrassed by my stoic reaction. “I’m sure your mom is looking down at you from Heaven and she’s proud of the man you’ve become.” “Right back at you,” I say. “I’m sure your mom is beaming with pride at the woman you’ve become.” She moves her eyes to a spot over my shoulder. “Thank you for saying that.”
“I’m not bullshitting you.” I take hold of her chin, forcing her attention to me. “You’re an incredible woman. Don’t let the way Fisher and your half-brothers treat you dictate your self-worth. Don’t give them that kind of power.” She shrugs. “It’s hard to do.” “The more you do it, the easier it will become.” I lean forward and drop a soft kiss on her lips. The gesture surprises me. I don’t date anymore, so I’m never in a position to demonstrate PDA. Even when I dated, that was never my MO. “You, mister, are a real Jekyll and Hyde,” Lily says. I humor her. “In what sense?” “One minute, you’re demanding as fuck. The next, you’re so tender.” “Ke eping you on your toes.” I wink. She shakes her head. “Tell me about Stream Tunes? I could do a search, but it’s more fun hearing it from the mastermind.” “Those who can’t sing or play instruments, DJ. I took it one st ep further by launching a successful streaming service. The end.” Lily laughs. Her lightheartedness is contagious. “Talk about giving someone the Cliffs notes to your life story,” she says, still laughing. “It took me forever to give you snippets of my life, and you summarized your existence in three clipped sentences. Sheesh. Way to go to make me feel like I suffer from verbal diarrhea.” “Is that your way of saying you want more?” “I do.” “Sheesh.” I borrow her word. “Tough crowd.” I chuckle. “I wanted to be a rock star. That was instant bad ass factor and guaranteed chick magnet. Cliché, I know.” She giggles. “I doubt getting girls was ever a problem.” “I had my awkward years.” “That’s a blatant lie. You?” She waves a finger up and down my body. “No way. I’m sure you were born with swagger.” “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but the swagger came much later.” “Do tell.” She wiggles her ass on the blanket, getting in a more comfortable position. “Unlike pretty boy Beckett—” “Is that his nickname?” “That’s what we call him,” I say. “You have to admit, it suits him to a T.” “Not that I want to badmouth him, because I like Beckett, but you’re right. It’s the perfect nickname.” “There you go.” I wink. “Pretty boy Beckett is a natural born singer. I can’t carry a tune to save my life. After many hours of practice and too much money thrown out the window in the form of lessons, I had to come to the conclusion, I wasn’t much of a musician either. So, I decided to focus my energy on my hobbies, creating music playlists and tinkering with computer codes—” “Creating music playlists? We share something in common.” “We do.” “Sorry, you were saying.” “During my senior year, I became obsessed with this new girl who transferred to our school. I overheard the blonde complain that her boyfriend spent too much time gaming. I wasn’t much better, but her boyfriend didn’t know it bothered her. I did. I also overheard her lament to her friends about inequalities in the gaming world. There should be cool computer games for girls who didn’t want to play bang ’em and shoot ’em down or sports games. This girl was totally out of my league––pretty, rich, and unattainable. She even had a rich girl name––Blair Elizabeth Marie Collins. None of that stopped me from trying to catch her attention. I went home determined to win her over. For hours after I was done with my homework, I would tinker around with codes until I created a game I thought girls would love.”
“What did you end up with?” “Rodeo Doll.” “What’s that?” “Mom’s favorite movie was Pretty Woman. She must’ve watched that movie a thousand times. She always said every girl dreams of meeting a man who tells her she can shop to her heart’s content on his dime. So that’s what I did.” “You sent Blair on a shopping spree on Rodeo Drive?” “I created a virtual experience.” “Oh.” “Hours of hard work paid off. I was so proud of myself when I created an online game that would answer her prayers. Rodeo Doll allowed you to create your own doll avatar based on a photo you uploaded on the app or you could create a fantasy version of yourself, go virtual shopping in the most luxurious shopping areas around the world, dress up, decorate your deluxe virtual suite located in one of the best ZIP codes, and socialize with other like-minded fellow players. Basically, with Rodeo Doll you could live large without the sticker shock.” “That’s so cool.” I shrug. “I thought so.” Lily frowns. “Blair didn’t like Rodeo Doll?” “I didn’t have what it takes to get the girl.” “What do you mean?” “I’ve always been tall, but awkward—my long legs were always in the way. I also had a bad experience with an overzealous coach who constantly pushed me so hard, I’d end up puking my guts out at football practice. That only made me the target of ridicule. My teammates didn’t spare me. So, sports and I were distant cousins. On top of that, my social skills weren’t sophisticated—some might say they still aren’t. All that to say, the prissy princess lifted her nose at my game, and chose the mayor’s son instead, who happened to be a star quarterback. To make matters worse, Blair didn’t turn me down in private. She did it in the middle of the cafeteria during lunch.” “That’s cruel.” “Yeah, my ego was crushed. I was certain I wouldn’t survive, and if I did, I knew I wouldn’t recover. I had nothing to offer compared to a rich, star quarterback.” “But you did. Her boyfriend ignored her. You listened and you created a video game for her.” Lily shakes her head. “Blair was severely misguided.” “True, but revenge is so sweet.” “How so?” “Blair turned her nose up at a game that came to be loved by hundreds of millions of users.” “Note to self, don’t piss off Gage.” “Damn right.” “Details. I want details.” I’m happy to oblige. “Out of spite, I k ept perfecting the codes. Eventually, I made the game public. I had invested so much time and sweat equity in it. Why not allow others to enjoy it? Given Blair’s reaction, I didn’t expect much. To my surprise, it became a hit, real fast. My half-sisters who were working in showbusiness at the time, connected me with the right people who helped me with trademarks and other legalese. I ended up forming a corporation at the tender age of eighteen, with my sisters and my mom as board members.” “So gifted at such a young age.” “I had the skills, but I owe the women in my life for believing in me. They were convinced I had something big on my hands. I decided to ride the wave. Lo and behold, a few years later, Mattel approached me, wanting to buy me out. We’re talking about a life-changing offer. I took the money and moved on. I was twenty years old, and I was rich. My sisters and Mom benefitted handsomely as well. With my pockets lined with money, I set my sight on a new challenge.” “Your streaming music service?” “No. DJing.” “Why DJing?” “I wanted to travel the world, but I didn’t want to rough it like a bohemian, and I didn’t want to use all the money I earned from the sale of Rodeo Doll. I learned from one of the best DJs in Los Angeles. Little by little, I was getting booked. I made a name for myself and became one of the most in demand DJs in LA and Vegas. When the international bookings poured in, I packed my bags and I was off traveling the world.”
“Do DJs get paid well?” “It was good money,” I say, “but the perks were the wow factor.” “What kind of perks?” “The most epic parties and the privilege of rubbing elbows with celebrities.” “Sweet.” “Although I was only spinning records in the club scene, I was viewed as a rock star. I even had a Swedish heiress commission me to DJ her wedding to a Finnish billionaire—two dynasties merging as one. Not only did she fly me on a private jet, but she paid me a fortune for the wedding night rec eption and two nights of post-wedding parties, on top of putting me up in the most luxurious Stockholm hotel. It was wild.” “I feel a but coming.” I wink. “But, I was constantly jetlagged. Since I never stopped coding, I combined my love for music and my computer skills together to establish myself as a leader in the music streaming business. The conc ept behind Stream Cloud was a natural progression. I poured my heart and soul into the project—much like I had with Rodeo Doll. In no time it became the world’s largest online community of artists, bands, DJs, and audio creators. In the process, it also became the number one platform to stream and listen to music online for free. It’s still ads-free. With Stream Tunes overshadowing it and competitors entering the market, it’s no longer a leader in terms of platforms built for new artist discoverability, but it made its mark.” “I didn’t know that belonged to you.” “It does. That’s how I cut my teeth. Stream Cloud acted as a springboard to Stream Tunes.” “That explains why you’re the brooding, grumpy type––I mean, so serious all the time––there are too many computer codes colliding in your head.” I stifle a chuckle. “Watch it, little girl.” She laughs her head off. Her exuberance is contagious––almost enough to thaw my frozen heart. Almost. “The reason I’m a freaking ray of sunshine all the time”––the sarcasm is unmistakable in my voice”––is because everyone wants a piece of me.” Her expression turns somber. “Michaela alluded to that.” I’m not surprised. I’m enjoying my time with her, I don’t want to bring the mood down by talking shop. “Going back to your assessment of my personality, I have a team of pro coders, so I don’t touch that side of the business anymore. My job is to show up at the office in a suit and tie, and strike deals.” She shoots me a dubious glance. “I doubt it’s that easy.” I let out a self-d eprecating laugh. “You’re right, it’s not.” “But, you’re a king among kings, so you must be doing something right,” she says. “My father began his career as a low-level insurance salesman with a high-school degree and worked his way up to become a Wall Street Wolf and earning a part-time MBA. He bought out the company he was working for when the owner—who never got married and didn’t have kids—was ready to retire. Sure, he’s grown the company, but he took it over. He didn’t build it from the ground up.” The way Fisher spins his tales, you’d think he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and he had an Ivy League education. Shyster. “Speaking of which, how did you find the money to fund Stream Cloud? You have mad coding skills, but what about servers and such? Storing all of those songs can’t be cheap.” With a cocked eyebrow, I study her. She cringes. “Was that a dumb question?” I shake my head. “Not at all. That was a smart one. Most people never ask the question, although servers are the lifeline of any streaming company.”
She blushes. “Allow me to r epeat myself. You underestimate yourself, angel.” The rosiness coloring her cheeks de epens. I cut her some slack. “I met pretty boy Beckett and the rest of Random Misconc eption when their record company hired me to DJ one of their parties.” “At Rhys’s party, Cesar explained Beckett, his older brother Holt, their cousin Jace Halsey, and Hall of Famer drummer Rod Wolfe, aka Dom’s baby daddy, were once rock gods.” Rod Wolfe is a soon-to-be father. What has the world come to? Of all the guys in my inner circle, I was certain he would be the last one to cave in. Like Mom always said, “When you find the right person, it’s because you were fated. The love gods rearranged the sky so you could be in the right place, at the right time, in the right situation––aka, you’re both single. You owe it to yourself to grab that person by the hand and never, ever let go.” She held on to that belief decades after my dad passed away. Until a snake oil salesman came into her life and pretended to love her. I stare at Lily a little too long. I shake my head, breaking the spell I’m under. Where were we? Oh yeah. “Random Misconc eption was on top of the world, so it made sense for them to party on top of the world.” Lily furrows her brows. “Which means?” “Mom was moonlighting as my booking agent and doing a fine job of it. I was in Bali when she sent me an email to let me know she had received a request for a gig at CÉ LA VI Marina Bay Sands in Singapore for VIP clients––” “Oh, that’s supposed to be an amazing party spot.” “You know of the place?” “Nads and I have it on our bucket list after we saw the photos of a celebrity we follow on social media. We launched into a furious online search because we were certain the photos were Photoshopped.” “That’s how I felt when I saw the photos.” “For good measure, we checked out videos of the venue. No Photoshop required.” “I had the same reaction. Still, I wasn’t pr epared. When I got there, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Or my luck.” “Wow.” She says that with stars in her eyes. Why do I have the urge to make it my mission in life to take her there? “CÉ LA VI is an open-air restaurant perched on the 57 th floor of Marina Bay Sands with one of the most jaw-dropping panoramic views of the city skyline and Singapore,” I say. “It’s mind-blowing—the best rooftop bars on the planet.” “I believe you.” “As if the setting wasn’t over the top, when I found out who the VIP clients were, I almost lost my shit.” “I hear you.” Lily points a finger over her head. “That was me yesterday, when I met Keira Knightley. She’s a huge star.” Never mind the rest of the star power at Rhys’s birthday party. “Multiply the starstruck effect by four. It was the equivalent of DJing from heaven for gods,” I say. “It’s was an unforgettable experience. After that, Random Misconc eption requested I DJ several of their parties and even some personal and family events. That’s how we became close. When I needed funding for Stream Cloud, my sisters helped me put together a kickass business plan, and I presented it to them. I had money, but not enough. The guys jumped onboard. I thought it was going to be a much harder sell, but I guess it’s true what they say. Timing is everything. I had a project that had legs, and these guys’ pockets were weighed down with money. It was a match made in heaven. When I wanted to take things to a grander scale with
Stream Tunes, they didn’t even bat an eyelash.” “It must be amazing to have people who root for you.” I stroke her cheek with the back of my hand. “You have those people in your life, angel. Your best friend Nadine, your self-appointed big sister Michaela, and yours truly.” She responds with a shy smile. “So, you’re the guy responsible for turning rock stars into billionaires?” She veers the conversation away from her. I see what she’s doing, but I let it slide. “Beckett is a self-made multibillionaire thanks to his partnership with Rhys. His shares in Stream Tunes only served to make him obscenely rich. As for Rod, Holt, and Jace, you could say that. Jace’s older brother Jagger also invested. Same for Lochlan Berkshire––Rod’s business partner, the band’s former roadie, and Jace and Jagger’s cousin. So did Levi Aldridge, another buddy in the music industry. Their belief in my vision not only ensured my rapid success, it made them paper billionaires in record time. When the valuation of my company hit twenty billion dollars a couple years ago, I purchased their shares, making them bona fide billionaires. Without those guys and the blind faith they had in me, I wouldn’t be where I am today.” “The moral of the story is, not getting the girl was the prize,” she says. “Blair must be slapping herself upside the head. Unless she ended up marrying a prize winner. Who knows? Her husband might hold the Guinness World Record for the most eggs smashed on your head in one minute while yodeling. Sure, you make it in the history books, but it’s not as sexy as being crowned a billionaire mogul. Don’t get me wrong, an honorable mention is an honorable mention. However, I doubt it affords you the luxury of riding in style. A chauffeured Rolls Royce Phantom, a Wiesmann GT MF4, and God knows how many other pricey vehicles? Take that, Bitch Blair!” I bark out a laugh, my whole body shaking. My laughter is so boisterous, I’m aware of people glancing our way. When I regain my composure, Lily is staring at me, almost in awe. “What?” “Can I make a confession?” “Shoot.” “You’re fucking sexy when you laugh.” The fact she swears when she says that, is such a turn on. I’m fucking hard. I’m on my feet. My need to corrupt her consumes me. “Let’s go back to the hotel.” My voice is gravelly. Her head jerks back. “But what about the ice cream?” I extend a hand. “I intend on spreading it all over your heavenly body and licking every inch of you.” Taking my hand into hers, she shoots to her feet. “Time to go.” Not so innocent Lily. My cock swells up even harder.