Page 89 of Over the Limit

He snorts in response. “Sure it is.”

“I’m being straight with you. I was helping her out from her mum by running interference and she’s helping me out.”

“I’m hoping by helping you out you mean by having her mum put in a good word for you with Gravitas. Monica holds a lot of pull.”

“I’m well aware.” I stretch my quad and look at the trail back down the hill. “Stay out of my love life, Dad.”

“Love life? I wasn’t aware you had one.”

Shit. Didn’t mean to say that.

“My dating life. My love life. My sex life. Do you need a diagram?”

“Relax.” He chuckles. “Now is not the time for a distraction. That’s all I’m saying. This might be the contract that sets you up for the rest of your career. You’ve had good ones so far, but Lach, I have a feeling everything is going to fall into place more than it already has.”

In my actual love life, yes.

Everything else though?

Shit. Everything else feels like how I did when I hit the wall the other week.

Confusing.

Unknown.

A clusterfuck.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Blair

“So I’m thinking a nice dinner. Caviar. Cristal. Maybe a top pastry chef flown in. A few drivers attending will be an added bonus—”

“A few drivers?” I ask Monica Chamalet. That’s an out-of-the-blue request. Not only is she asking that I have a Michelin-starred chef fly in to cook dinner for Tori Michelle, but now that I throw in a few drivers as well.

Jesus.

“Yes. A few. Ten maybe. I mean that would be a requirement of course.”

That’s half the fucking grid. I put my face in my hand and scrunch my nose. This phone call is not going how I’d planned. When I sent her flowers as a thank-you for the help, the last thing I expected was her calling to thank me . . . and put in a formal request for billionaire-like things for Tori. Yes, I’m more than grateful for her performing at the gala and was planning my own thank-you, meager as it may be compared to these requests, but still . . .

Now to try and head this off at the pass—without offending her.

“Monica . . . I appreciate all your suggestions. They are quite . . .” Ridiculous. “Fabulous. I’ll gladly present them to my bosses and see what they say. Because we are a charity, we’re on a budget—”

“But sometimes the more you spend, the more you’ll take in.”

Says a woman who eats caviar like it’s ramen.

“Agreed.” Have patience, Blair. “Time is winding closer . . . and while we clearly want Tori to know how appreciative we are, and you for encouraging her to donate and perform for the gala, there’s only so much we can do in such a short amount of time.”

Her laugh is deep and rich and reverberates through the phone line. The sound of a helicopter—at least I think that’s what it is—whop whops in the background. “Money can buy anything, Blair. Even time. And admittedly, when you’re my age and have what I have, you can make ridiculous requests and expect people to fulfill them. Right or wrong, it’s how the world works.”

I lift my eyebrows and just shake my head. Clearly spoken by someone who has way too much money to comprehend boundaries and who uses it every chance they get.

“Like I said, I’ll do my best but can’t make any guarantees.”

She sighs in resignation. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being my pushy, old self. I just want this night to be perfect. This gala is going to be everything.”