Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 36553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
“Get everything squared away?” Ezra asks as I approach him. He’s standing at the bar, two tumblers in front of him, pushing one in my direction.
“Yep, it seems your Millie is sick, by the way.” I take a sip of my drink, the burning sensation giving me a moment of reprieve from the hunger that stems from Vanessa Taylor.
“She’s not my Millie.” Staying quiet as he denies what we both know is the truth is easier said than done. I’ve known Ezra forever. Forming a bond with your friend when you both come from the wrong side of the tracks and growing up together does that to two young boys. Now we’re self-made billionaires, something no one would have ever expected. All they saw were two young boys, working to help my mother and Ezra himself to make ends meet in any way they could. It was by sheer luck and a shit ton of determination that we were both accepted into an Ivy League College as well as received a full-ride scholarship. The debt that most incur while attending a prestigious school never came. We worked the entire time, starting our company while still in school. The four of us—Ezra, Theo, Boston, and I—were roommates in the dorm on campus, and while Ezra and I didn’t have the startup money like Theo and Boston did, they never held it against us. Ezra and I had the hunger, the thirst, and the drive to succeed. Not saying Theo and Boston didn’t, because they did, busting their balls right along beside us. The only difference was, they had a fallback plan where we didn’t. Now, ten plus years later, we’re in the black, making a bigger headway each year. Our business is expanding and soon, we’ll be branching out around the country.
“Whatever you say, Ezra, whatever you say.” I turn around, listening to the auctioneer once again. This time, there’s nothing that holds my attention quite like Nessa did.
“I’m going to plead the fifth. Now, what do you say we spend more money? You can’t be the only one to bring something home.” Too bad I don’t tonight. Soon, though, very soon.
“Remind me again why we’re here?” I change the subject, ready to leave before the meal is even served.
“Besides the fact that it’s a tax write-off, that it’s a great way to network, and you need to quit being a damn recluse?” Childhood friends, college roommates, business partners, and what does he do? Call me out because I’m not like him. I’d rather not deal with this type of bullshit. Behind the scenes is more my speed, staying out of the headlines, having zero social media presence, and not dealing with people who are willing to throw you under the bus to get ahead.
“Being a recluse is better than pretending like our money is actually going to benefit anything good. Look at this place, renting The Met. You tell me if all of this money is actually benefiting anyone.” These things are a joke, one that I’ve avoided like the plague, except for tonight. I take a healthy gulp of the bourbon, feeling the burn as it slides down the back of my throat, knowing I’ll be needing a couple more of these to get through the stuffy bullshit.
“Actually, you’d be shocked to know that everything is donated, the plates cover the cost of the venue and food, and whatever is left goes right back into the charity, along with all the money they’re raising with the auction,” Ezra’s states, shocking me that this is a charity that isn’t full of crooked CEOs taking the money and only a small percentage goes where it’s needed.
“Well, fuck me running. I never would have thought.” I’m at a loss for words. “What are you going to bid on?” The paddle everyone was given is in Ezra’s hand. My own has been retired to the trash after bidding and winning on Nessa.
“Did you even read the email I sent you or the pamphlet they handed you as we walked in?” Ezra’s tone is incredulous. I ignore him. If it’s not work, it ceases to exist in my mind. He should know that better than anyone.
“I can’t say that I have. If it weren’t for Boston heading down south, I wouldn’t be here.” I was given notice yesterday that I’d be required to attend. Our company, Four Brothers Inc., had acquired two tickets, and there was no way Ezra was going to let fifty thousand go to waste even if it was for charity, so it was up to me to be here, on a Saturday night no less.
“Yes, we’ve heard. All of us have. In fact, I’m pretty sure half of the state has, for that matter. Now, shut up and play nice.” He never did tell me what he was going to bid on, and I don’t do as Ezra suggests. Instead, I turn my back, taking another healthy sip of my drink. The fact that I’m wearing a tie on a Saturday along with a suit should tell him more than enough. Even if it means working, you won’t find me wearing this attire. Not on a weekend at least.