Trillion(40)

He turns in the doorway. “You as well.”

The dining room grows hollow with his absence. Domiciliary staff move about the estate, cooking, cleaning, arranging. The noise comes in echoes and waves. The amount of time and energy it takes to maintain this place is mind blowing.

Trey’s got to be lonely, living here by himself. Though I suppose he likes it that way. No one to bother you. No one to fill your head with silly, meaningless words, tease you with cheesy pet names, or leave wet towels on the floor in the morning.

I’m one of those rare forms who enjoy being single.

From what I’ve gleaned, he’s not much different.

They say similar attracts similar, like attracts like.

In the strangest, most inexplicable way, it makes sense—he and I together.





Thirty





Trey



Present



“Ames speaking.” Nolan comes on the line after a time-sucking twelve-minute wait despite the fact that our call was scheduled in advance.

Ass.

Broderick and I trade looks across the desk.

“Nolan, it’s Trey. Wanted to give you an update regarding the progress of your contract stipulations,” I say.

“So soon?” He chuckles from the other end. “It’s been what, two weeks since we last spoke? Don’t tell me you found your soul mate already. What agency did you use?”

My jaw tightens.

“It’s rather sudden, I know. But when it feels right …” I try to keep a straight face knowing I sound like a love-drunk sap. If he knew me better, he’d see through the act.

Don’t get me wrong—Sophie’s incredible.

But I’m not pussy-whipped.

And certainly not in love.

“I was actually calling to tell you personally, that we intend to marry in the coming months,” I say. “Thought you should hear it from me first before you read about it in the Times.”

“Trey …” He exhales into the phone. “You really think I’m that big of a moron? I know what you’re doing. You can’t tell me you met a girl two weeks ago and now you’re running off into the sunset together. Pretty convenient timing, wouldn’t you say?”

“This sort of thing happens all the time. It’s nothing new. We’re not the first. We won’t be the last. If you’d like to question the authenticity of our relationship, then I invite you to come to Chicago for a visit and meet her.”

“Hm.” His voice is muffled, as if his hand covers his mouth. “That’s actually not a bad idea. Though I’m not a huge fan of the Midwest. Why don’t the two of you come east? Just bought a place in Martha’s Vineyard. We’re taking the kids there next month. You could spend the weekend as our guests …”

Fuck.

I’m not worried about selling our relationship as authentic, but the idea of “vacationing” with Ames and his family is about as appealing as stabbing my cock with a blunt butter knife.

“What do you say? Anabelle loves entertaining,” he says, referring to his wife. “Could be a good time.”

Doubtful.

Broderick’s brows rise, a silent coaxing, and he nods, letting me know where he stands on this proposal. We’ve come this far. Now we don’t have a choice.

“Email me the dates, and we’ll make it happen.” I feign excitement.

“Excellent,” Nolan says. “Can’t wait to meet the lucky girl.”

I stab the red button on the intercom to end the call.

“Think of it this way,” Broderick says, “it’ll put you that much closer to the end goal. A week with Ames and his family. A quickie wedding. A baby … What’d I tell you? You always get what you want. Somehow it works out for you every damn time.”

My office phone rings, and I check the time.

“I’ve got a conference call with senior management in web services,” I say, motioning toward the door.

He leaves, and I pick up the receiver.

When I’m done, I make another call, this time to Sophie.

She answers on the second ring.

“You getting settled?” I ask. It’s strange knowing she’s in my home without me.

“Trying to.” Her voice is an echo, like the sweeping halls of the estate swallow her as she makes her way around. “Only got lost twice today.”

I laugh. “Won’t be long until you know the way around there like the back of your hand.”

“I’m aiming for the end of the week, but that might be slightly ambitious given the fact that you have an insane amount of rooms …”

“To be fair, I don’t know what’s in half of them. One of these days you’ll be giving me tours,” I say. A flight itinerary reminder pops up on my screen. “Don’t forget to pack for this weekend.”

Not that Seattle is littered with paparazzi, but I’m already envisioning grainy shots of the two of us strolling the city blocks, in baseball caps and sunglasses, arms around each other like some kind of celebrity couple trying to enjoy the real world incognito.

We’ve got this …

“I’ll have my assistant add you to the manifest,” I say. “We leave Friday at noon.”