Page 41 of The Art of Almost Losing It
“No. I can’t just take the money, Graham. If you wanted me to just take the money, then you shouldn’t have brought me out in public to brunch in my parents’ neighborhood where all their friends would see and think I’m dating a billionaire!” she screams. “I am currently in a very delicate social situation.”
“Stupid rich girls.”
“Stupid misogynistic fuckboys,” she retorts. “Guess your little porno fantasy blew up in your face. Sucks to suck. Here in the real world—”
“The Upper East Side isn’t real life.”
“People are expected to act a certain way. A girl from my social circle is expected to show up to events with the boyfriend everyone thinks she is dating.”
“Is this some weird fantasy? I saw all the romance-book notifications popping up on your phone,” I mock. “I’m never going to fall in love with you or sweep you off your feet, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Of course not—you’re an animal. This is business. You put me in a bind. I have to pivot. Man up. The party is at five thirty. Bring a gift. I’ll send you the link to the registry.” She calls out after me, “Also, we have a charity garden party in April.”
I slam the bathroom door. Kick it.
“Fuck!”
I have to do it, right? Or when the police show up looking for me—and they will—I’ll lose everything. My money. My business.My respect. My parents will hate me. My siblings will never speak to me. I’ll rot away in prison.
Cursing, I storm downstairs to my study and hurl the checkbook against the window.
I need to get rid of her. I peel off my jacket. I have to get rid of her. Not kill her—I’m not a monster, I’m not—but she cannot stay here.
I need… I look around wildly. I need to…
Well. I need to call my brothers.
“You fucking piece of fucking shit.”Grayson’s fist connects with my face.
I grunt and go down.
“Whoa, whoa!” Spencer grabs me as I collapse, the room spinning, to the floor.
“My man has to be arm candy for a very important date.”
“Don’t hit him.” Aaron turns on Grayson, who looks like he’s winding up for another punch. “You’re going to hurt him.”
“He deserves to be hurt.” Grayson’s green eyes—our father’s eyes, my eyes—flash. “I should throw him off the fucking balcony. He’s a monster. He’s just like Dad.” He and Aaron circle each other. “You gave me so much shit because you said I was just like Dad, and then here’s Graham kidnapping girls off the street.”
“Based on her Svensson Investment profile,” Finn says, flicking through his phone, “she sounds like a grown-ass woman. Very impressive résumé. She went to Yale.”
“Fuck you.” Grayson kicks me in the stomach.
I double over, wheezing. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“Oh, so she kidnapped herself?” Connor drawls. “But thanks, bro. Really takes the heat off me. Also, is this a good time to tell you all that I lost a fuck ton of money betting on crypto?”
Grayson lunges at him.
“What! Graham’s the family fuckup now, not me.”
“Look”—Spencer holds out his arms—“can we all just calm down?”
Grayson glares at me.
All six of us were born in the cellar to unwilling mothers and our psychopath father. Grayson, the oldest, recently came back into our lives. He and Aaron, the second oldest, are trying to mend their relationship. Spencer and Finn are the next oldest, and Connor is the useless baby.
A shit-eating grin slides onto Spencer’s face. “We need to figure out what Graham’s going to wear to the engagement party.”
