Survival of the Richest (The Trust Fund Duet 1)

And then there’s no way I can hold myself back.

I launch myself at him, feeling every square inch of muscle on him, made tired from whatever he did this long night. He folds me up in his arms. There’s relief and gratitude—and love, in a form more pure than anything I’ve known before. Love without expectation. Without greed. Without jealousy, which I didn’t think was possible. There’s clapping and hooting in the background, but all I can hear is his murmured words in my ear.

“For you,” he whispers again, fierce.

He may show up with a legal document and a casual smile, but it was no small thing. It broke some principles inside him, the same way that wrecking ball broke some old hopes inside me. We aren’t whole people who hold each other. We’re each cracked and bruised, but we have each other. God, we have each other.

It’s only when Sutton turns again, holding me close, that I see Christopher’s dark form against the jarring yellow of the construction equipment. He speaks to the men in quiet terms, his movements decisive and maybe a little stiff. It must have hurt him, this injunction.

It must have hurt him, to lose his business partner.

Did it hurt him any to lose me?

He speaks to me again only when most of the crowd and the construction crew have left. I’m standing in the large foyer of the library, which is quite a bit brighter now that the whole front wall has turned to rubble. Sutton didn’t want to let me in—not until they’ve had engineers to make sure it’s structurally safe, but he let me in as long as he stands beside me. There’s probably something important about that. He’ll let me do anything as long as he can stand beside me. I don’t plan to stay long, since I’m quite certain he’ll throw himself bodily over me if a brick were to fall down.

The beautiful panes of art deco glass have shattered completely, leaving only misshapen metal in their wake, a skeleton without any flesh. It makes me shiver, looking up at that.

Rocks shift as Christopher steps into the space. He leaves several yards between us. Does he despise me now? My stomach clenches. I care about him more than I want to, even now.

“You’ve won,” he says. “For now. The crew decided to start another job.”

Sutton was the good-old boy who convinced them to wait for this project. For all his money and power and determination, even Christopher couldn’t make them wait any longer.

It strikes me again that he doesn’t seem angry. Remote, is how I’d describe it. That makes me worry for him even more, like maybe he’s going through shock. A million dollars is a huge amount of money. Is it gone? Bile rises in my throat. It can’t be gone.

“I’ll buy the library from you,” I say, impulsive.

Before I can realize that Christopher would never accept that, any more than he would dip into my trust fund all these years. That would be unethical. For a man I don’t trust, he’s remarkably trustworthy.

“No,” he says, his voice hard. “Thank you, but no.”

Then he turns and walks away, leaving the two of us in the rubble.

There’s a sense of loss so wide and so deep, my legs feel weak. My eyes close. Sutton is there to catch me this time, his embrace warm and understanding. I’m not the only one who lost someone. “You were friends,” I say, looking back at him. Sutton’s eyes are shadowed to a dark sapphire, his brow furrowed.

“We were.” There’s finality there. “He’s the past. You’re the future.”

And I know he isn’t only talking about his friendship with Christopher. He’s talking ab

out my relationship with Christopher, which has always been too complicated to define. Maybe it doesn’t need to bother me anymore, the amorphous shape of us. It’s over now.

I turn around in Sutton’s strong arms, tilting my head up. “You’re my future.”

He pulls me flush against him, and I feel him harden. His lids lower. Electricity runs from the center of his body to mine, making me ache and flush everywhere. “Christ, I want to take you back to that counter and finish what we started.”

My cheeks turn warm. “There are still people outside. And no doors.”

A low growl vibrates over my skin as he nuzzles my neck. “And strictly speaking I don’t own the library anymore, the company does, and I don’t work for it. We’re trespassing right now.”

Something spears my stomach. We don’t have a right to know what happens to this old library anymore. We gave that up, along with Christopher. Ironic, because he’s the one who wanted to destroy it. There’s nothing here but history and potential.

There’s nothing here for us right now.

In the days that follow I’m alternately called a vandal and a grass roots activist by the local media. The Tanglewood Historical Society invites me to speak at their meeting, which I find ironic enough that I decide to go. Besides, Sutton lives here. We’ve gone out every night the past week—to Thai restaurants and burlesque clubs. There’s no part of the city we don’t want to explore, so I might as well put down some roots.

My speech is short and sweet and encourages change through art. There’s a small reception afterward with tea and bourbon croissants, which makes me think I might come back to another meeting. If nothing else I’d like to show them we aren’t all fist-fights at theatres.

Mrs. Rosemont doesn’t seem to hold it against me. She greets me warmly and thanks me for my work in helping save the library. “We thought it was hopeless, near the end.”