Chapter 24

Isabella

DAY 17

I’ll wring Gray’s neck. I will. And I won’t feel a flicker of guilt.

At first, I was worried. I looked all around the apartment. I called his phone more than twenty times, each time the panic in my chest buzzing ever more urgently. I had all sorts of horrible visions of what might have happened to him. I considered calling the police and reporting him missing, but looked online and it said someone has to be uncontactable for a while before you do that.

I didn’t even shower, I was so worried. I pulled clothes on and grabbed my purse. That’s when I saw it. I had $300 in there last night. But when I looked this morning only $200. Then all that worry morphed to anger. So Gray stole $100 out of my purse, disappeared without waking me up or leaving me a note, and won’t pick up my calls?

That’s why I’m now storming around my neighborhood, fury pumping out of my every pore. He’s so irresponsible. Like having a reckless teenage boy around. We’re supposed to be going to the hospital later this morning. But he obviously doesn’t consider that to be important. Oh, yeah, who cares about all my customers and employees who are in pain and need reassurance? The more I think about it, the more rage grips me. It steers me around all the local bars. Isn’t that his natural habitat, after all?

I pass by the Irish pub and am about to go in when I see there’s some kind of fight going on. One man’s got another in a headlock, while someone tries to pull them apart. I’ll skip, thanks. How depressing. Obviously drunk and in a fight in a pub on a weekday morning. What kind of lives must they lead? That question would have been a judgmental, rhetorical one just a few weeks ago. But now, for some reason, it’s a genuine one. What would drive someone to be there, doing that, at this hour, instead of working, or studying, or spending time with people they loved? I pause and turn to look in the pub windows to study these men.

It’s Gray. The man doing the headlocking is damn Grayson Fairfax II. I should have known. All that mature contemplation stays outside as I go storming in.

“What the fuck is this?” I yell.

Gray’s so shocked he drops the man, who falls to the ground. “He called me a loser,” Gray says with a heavy slur to his voice.

I help the man to his feet with the aid of the bartender. “So sorry about this.” Then I hook my arm firmly in Gray’s and march him out.

Thankfully, Gray doesn’t resist. We walk down the street back to my apartment.

“You are acting like a loser,” I hiss. “What the hell are you thinking? We’re supposed to be going to the hospital. But instead you steal my money, sneak out, go drinking, and get in a fight?” I check my watch, and my voice takes on a new fury. “And all before ten o’ clock? What the hell is wrong with you?”

He shrugs. “Everything.”

His voice sounds so mournful it gets right under my skin. “Oh, poor you. Poor little billionaire boy. You have such a hard life, don’t you?”

“Money isn’t everything,” he slurs.

“It’s a damn important part.”

“Who cares?” He nearly falls over, and I have to straighten him up, which annoys me even more.

“I care!” I say. “Everyone else in the world cares about money. Except you. You have no concept of what money even is. You know, some people in the world have to work fourteen-hour days to go home with a dollar, right?”

“I forget about those people,” he slurs. “That’s far away. Far, far away.”

“Damn right you forget about them,” I say sharply. “You have no concept of struggle. No concept of reality. No concept of money. You know the opportunity you have right in front of you? You have more money than ninety-nine point nine-nine-nine-nine percent of the world will ever see in their lifetime. You could do so much good with that money, make so much change.”

“Heaven investing, I told you.”

“Angel investing,” I say, infuriated by his drunkenness. “And yes, it’s a good idea. But how are you ready for this? Look at you. Drinking and fighting on a weekday morning. Out here a total mess. Are you sure you can handle all this money properly?”

Something in his voice changes. He sounds less drunk. More in pain. “I’m just a rogue. Just an irresponsible, feckless man-child. I can’t even have a relationship. I’ve never even had a job.”

That takes all the wind out of my sails. I expected him to fight back, defend how right he was, make a thousand excuses. But this feels different. There’s a deflation in my chest. Is that, even… guilt? My voice comes out a lot softer when I next speak. “Come on, let’s get you a water and a meal in here.” We’re passing one of my favorite places, an upscale Jamaican café. “You’ll feel better.”

He allows me to lead him in. I get a full breakfast for myself of ackee, saltfish, and fried dumplings, with a cold glass of sorrel—a pink drink made of a type of Hibiscus—on the side. Gray doesn’t have the presence of mind to order. “The menu’s a bit blurry,” he complains to the woman behind the counter. I order the same for him and lead him over to one of the tables.

He flops into the chair with a huge sigh. “I’m a little maudlin, aren’t I?”

“I’ll say.”

He gives me a wry but sad smile. “Not used to seeing Mr. Confident look like this, are you?”

I shake my head and feel something sink in my chest. This really is the final nail in the coffin. “You’re too unpredictable for me.”

“Oh, no,” he says. “I’m quite predictable. I can be relied upon to fuck up at every given opportunity.”

I can’t help but laugh a little at that. “Oh, Gray. What am I going to do with you?”

He shrugs and pushes his bottom lip out. “I don’t know. Feed me to the pigs.”

I burst out into real laughter. “That’s so random.”

“Yeah.” He plays with his fingers on the tabletop.

Then I see how charming he’s being. I refuse to be sucked into the Grayson Fairfax charm machine. I make my voice cold, hard. “So, where’s my money, Gray?”

He doesn’t look up. “It went down my esophagus in the form of whiskey.”

I don’t know whether to feel sorry for him or be furious. I watch him for a moment, some sick feeling building in my stomach. “Why, though, Gray? Why?”

“Good question.” He looks up into my eyes briefly. His own dark, deep eyes are filled with sadness. Then he looks back at his hands.

“Why are you feeling so sorry for yourself? When you’re the only one doing this to yourself? You have everything going for you right now. You’re about to inherit a crazy amount of money. You’ve seen there’s more meaning to life than drinking and having fun. I really thought you were changing, like I told your solicitor. Maybe I was wrong.”

“Maybe you were.”

The waitress places the breakfasts and the drinks on our table.

“Thank you,” I say to her. My insides feel all twisted up. “I hate this.”

“Hate what?”

“What you’re doing.”

He picks at his food. “And what am I doing?”

“Self-sabotaging.”

He shrugs. “I don’t need to do it to myself. It seems life does that enough for me already.”

A fury leaps up in me. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re the most fortunate and privileged person I know in life. You could do anything you want. You have the world at your feet. Instead, you’re in a bar putting a man in a headlock because he called you a loser. I think maybe he might have a point.”

“Oh, really?” He looks up, his glare like fire. “Well, don’t worry. You can get this loser out of your life soon enough. Don’t worry.”

I puff out a frustrated breath. This is so aggravating. “Look, I don’t think you’re a loser, at all. You’re acting all sorry for yourself, like everything is out of your control. It’s so not true. What do you expect? A good life to just land at your feet? It’s like when anything gets good for you, you run away and fuck it up.”

“You don’t understand,” he says.

“Good. I don’t want to understand. Because it doesn’t make any sense.”

“But there’s something you don’t know.”

I pause, fork mid-air. “And what’s that?”

He opens his mouth then closes it. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”

I refuse to join his pity party. “Well, until you tell me, I have no interest in talking to you. I have to eat this, then do some paperwork, then go to the hospital. Those people are hurting. Shocked. In pain. I can’t let them down.”

Something in his face changes. He looks up at me, his eyes so deep I think I might drown in them. “I want to come. I’ll sleep this off, then—”

“I’m going alone.”

“Please. I care about those people, too. And I don’t want you to do this alone.”

I feel my face screw up with confusion. “What? You’re just jumping all over the place. One minute you have a guy in a headlock. The next you’re like a puppy with big eyes. Now you want to be a hero? A knight in shining armor?” I shake my head. I love this sentiment, that he cares about them and wants to accompany me. But I don’t get it. “You’re one confusing man.”

He grins for the first time since I pulled him out of the bar. “You think it’s confusing from the outside? Try being in my mind.”

I shake my head. “I have enough problems of my own to deal with.”