Chapter 17

Grayson

DAY 11

Eddie’s coming back today, thank god. He got tired of his Seattle bad-girl babe. It turned out she was trying to fix her life up and wanted to settle down. She had her hopes set on pinning him down. Eddie’s not a settling-down kind of guy, just like me. Sure, I like Isabella. That doesn’t mean I’d want to be stuck in a house with her all the time, with a dog, 1.8 kids, and a Volvo. That’s not how Grayson Fairfax II will be remembered. He’ll be remembered as a man who partied hard, had all the fun in the world, and yes, maybe loved hard, too. Maybe.

I decide on the perfect prank. Eddie gave me a call when he set off from the airport, so I know just how to time it. By the time he gets here after the torturously long drive, it’ll be dark and he’ll be tired. I know how to get under his skin.

About ten minutes before I calculate he’s due to arrive, I go down to the front gate. I draw it closed and change the code. Then I climb up a tree and get my phone out. This is going to be gold. I’m dirtying my Armani suit, but it’s worth it.

Before long I see car headlights make the swerve into the corner before the gate. Haha. He nearly slams into the gate—it’s usually open—then slams the brakes on and screeches to a halt.

“What the fuck?” he says as he gets out of the car. I’ve already pressed record. The streetlight illuminates his angry face. He goes over to the keypad and punches in the regular number. I can see him do it. 4-3-1-8. Nothing. “What?” he says, then types it again. Punch-punch- punch-punch. He stabs at the buttons. He’s getting madder and madder by the second. This is brilliant. “For fuck’s sake!” He tries again, punching the buttons ever more violently.

I laugh quietly to myself.

Then he gets his phone out. I hurry to put mine on silent, my heart racing. He’s going to hear my ringtone from the top of this tree, no doubt. I scramble about with the settings, then flip it back onto video. Ha.

“That bloody Gray,” he says, then tries the code again. “Fucking hell!”

Then, just as he’s about to get back in his car, I call out, “Twit twoooo. Twit twoooo.”

He jumps out of his skin and swerves his head everywhere, looking for me.

“I’m an owl,” I say, desperately trying not to laugh. “Try 1-2-3-4.”

“You fucker, Gray!” He peers around. “Where in the hell are you?”

I turn my phone around to flash at him. “Up here, jackass.”

“Get the hell down here so I can beat your ass.”

I grin. “All caught on camera, my bro. Too bad.” I climb down the tree, then go through the walking gate by the side of the car entrance. I slap him on the back. “Welcome back, jackass.”

He punches me in the side, but not hard. “You’re ridiculous.”

I take a flourishing bow. “I got you good. Now I’m taking you for a drink, as payback for that wonderful footage you just afforded me.”

“All right. But I’m going to get you so drunk that I can push you into the river afterward. Then when the police come knocking on the door, I’ll just tell them you were drunk.”

I laugh and start walking toward the pub. “Don’t you think I should die with a little more glamor? Maybe a plane crash on the way to my private island? Wait til I get my money, bro.”

“How’s that going, by the way? How’s Isabella taking it?”

I shrug. I don’t want to think about that right now. Being with Eddie feels like old times. Before everything got confusing. “Fine. It’s all good. You’ll back me up when old Finky comes around, won’t you? Make him believe it’s all legit, of course.” I stride along, feeling so sure about the world. Everyone else are fuddy-duddies. Me and Eddie run this town. Run the whole world. We’re the kings of fun and partying.

“Yeah. But in that situation, it would be fair to pay me too.”

“Of course!” I say. “I’m going to buy you a Rolls Royce, remember? In purple, with red-leather interior. People say those colors clash, but what the fuck do they know? They haven’t seen the way we roll yet.”

He laughs, but it’s short. Mirthless. “No. I want forty percent. Look how much I’ve spent on you already. It’s only fair.”

“What?” My mind races. “Yeah, you’ve paid for stuff for me, but it didn’t come out in the millions. Maybe tens of thousands. Maybe reaching a hundred, max. You know how much forty percent is? That’s like 400 million pounds.”

“I know.”

“I was planning to give you a cut anyway. But not that much. I have plans for the rest of the money.” I can’t wait to tell Isabella about them.

Eddie gives me a sideways look. “Plans? You can only buy so many yachts and cars and watches. The rest of it will be rotting in the bank. You might as well give it to me, and I can flip it in FX trades.”

I hate this conversation. “I’ll give you ten percent.” That’s fair. “One hundred mil. Not too shabby, eh?” I dig him in the ribs.

“All right, rich boy,” he replies. But his eyes don’t match his smile, and his dig back in my ribs is way too sharp.

I open my shoulders and swagger down the street toward the pub. “Not many people can say their friend put one hundred mil in the bank for them. But not everyone’s friends with Grayson Fairfax II.”

“Don’t you mean Grayson Fairfax the Second, Duke of Albany?” Eddie says with a grin. I can’t tell if we’re back to being fully good or not. There’s this weird vibe hanging in the air, and I don’t know how to get rid of it.

“Sounds disgusting, doesn’t it?” I laugh. “Those old titles don’t mean jack shit anyway. The only thing it means is that more fortune and status grabbers will cling onto my coat tails.”

“There’ll be plenty of those,” Eddie says darkly. “Just make sure you know who your real friends are.”

We reach the pub, and I slap him on the back before we go inside. “Well, you’ll always be my wingman, Eddie.”

He slaps me back. “Players forever.”