Page 6 of Hard Count
Leaning into the promise of opportunity to fund their lifestyle. There was a way she held her chin when she was talking to people with money, slightly elevated, slightly tilted, and Piper could identify a man’s net worth by the angle of her face before she said a word to him. Donna Ashton had already tossed back two glasses of champagne since they arrived and was now on her third, which was her favorite buzz before entering the dark side. Piper had stopped counting his mother’s drinks when he was fifteen because counting them didn’t change the number. Carlo Rossi had evolved into Dom Pérignon by the time he got to college, but the volume hadn’t changed. Piper knew the booze was practically a sibling to him and his twin sister Alexis.
His father was already on his fourth drink by eight, which meant he was at the version of himself he liked best. Confidentand certain that the evening was already a success. He was talking too loudly to a film producer about a script neither of them had read.
Piper had been calculating when he could leave since the third song.Rockstarby Post Malone filling the ballroom was a vibe Piper could not match with the over-65 crowd in the room, loitering near the silent auction tables looking for tax write-offs.
“You look like someone who would rather be anywhere else.”
The voice came from his left. Piper turned.
The man was in his early forties. Dark hair going slightly silver at the temples. A Tom Ford suit perfectly tailored to his body in a way that told Piper he didn’t miss chest day or any other gym day for that matter. He held a glass of scotch. He was not looking around the room, scanning for a conversation that benefited him. He was looking at Piper.
“I’m fine, you?” Piper said.
“You’re doing the math. I’ve watched you do it for the last twenty minutes. You’re figuring out what time you can leave this snooze fest.”
Piper kept his expression steady. “Well, thanks for observing the wildlife.”
“I like observing,” the man said with a look similar to a lion hunting his prey. He held out his hand. “Jayson Days.”
Piper took it. “Piper Ashton.”
“I know who you are. Senior year Stanford. Four hundred and twelve yards against USC last year. The ball you threw on fourth and twelve was the best throw in college football this year.”
“It was a good catch.”
“It was a good throw.”
Piper glanced at him sideways. “You watch college football.”
“I watch exceptional people.”
It was supposed to be a compliment. Piper took it as something else but could not name what.
They talked for fifteen minutes about football, then the conversation took a turn into the loneliness of being exceptional at something most people didn’t understand. Jayson listened more than he spoke. Piper had never met a man who did that. Every adult man in his life was a talker. His father, his coaches, the recruiter who had flown out his junior year. They filled rooms with themselves. Jayson was removing himself from the room to make space for Piper, which Piper understood later was his own technique.
Jayson handed him a card. Heavy paper stock with gold embossed print. Just a phone number and a single word: Days.
His father showed up behind Piper.
“Pipe. Pipe, honey.”
The bourbon was on his breath before the words were. “Do you know who this is?”
Piper kept looking at Jayson. “Yes.”
“He’s a billionaire, just sold a chip company for billions.” His father said it the way he said most things after drink three. He said it loud enough that people at the bar turned in their direction. Piper cringed in embarrassment.
“I’ve enjoyed meeting your son, Mr. Ashton.”
“Please, Jayson, call me Dan. We should all have dinner. Donna would love to meet you properly. She’s somewhere.”
He gestured vaguely toward the ballroom, where Piper’s mother was laughing with her hand on a stranger’s arm, her eyes lighting up like Bambi. “Donna. Donna!” Dan yelled.
She didn’t hear him. She was doing what she did. The champagne could only hear so much.
Jayson’s eyes stayed on Piper.
“I would like that,” Jayson said.
