“I don’t want to know,” I rush to add when it seems like he’s about to add some detail to his story.
“All I am saying is that I want you to have fun but not to get hurt.” He pats me on the back and moves off to gather his things. “Enjoy your party tonight. I’m flying to Paris in a few hours. Let me know if you want anything from there. I could pick something nice up for your friend just in case you need it later for an apology.”
Dad’s idea of saying sorry is a $25,000 bracelet. I think he buys them in bulk from Cartier.
“What’d you do this time?” I ask, starting up the machine.
“I may have forgotten the little minx’s name.” One side of his mouth quirks up. “The ladies don’t like that. You wouldn’t have that problem since you’ve lived like a monk all these years, but in case this is the start of some inglorious descent into a life of true debauchery, do try to call them by their correct Christian name. It gets very expensive when you forget things like that.”
“So another bracelet?”
“Son, the bracelet is for things like not remembering that she likes two spoonfuls of sugar in her coffee. Forgetting a name while you are intimate with a woman requires a private plane ride to Paris and an exclusive visit to the Place Vendôme.”
“Good thing I won’t have that problem. Besides, I don’t know what Al told you but Mallory’s not a thief so I don’t have to lock anything up.” Not that I have much. There’s a few watches that could fetch a nice price but I’m not like my dad. I don’t have jewel-encrusted figurines around the house and shit like that.
“What is she then?”
I increase the speed of the treadmill to nine and slide the noise-cancelling headphones over my ears before answering. “Your future daughter-in-law.”
The shock on my dad’s face after I made that announcement still makes me chuckle hours later.
“What’s so funny?” asks Mallory as we oversee the caterers putting out bags of chips and dip along with coolers full of soda and lemonade and booze. Mallory insisted on the food being party food—whatever that meant. And it had to look like we made it ourselves instead of hiring someone. In fact, she actually wanted to go and buy all the shit for this party but when I explained to her that I was not carting enough chips and drinks in my Maserati to supply two to three hundred kids, she allowed me to call a caterer. It’s bad enough I had to have Fast in my car, let alone carbonated drinks and junk food.
“My old man.” The heat lamps set up around the pool are barely warming me up. I can’t believe my classmates are so anxious to come to my place that they’re willing to strip down to their bathing suits in the middle of fucking January. Mallory has a flannel blanket tucked around her shoulders.
“Where is he?” She turns around, craning her neck to see inside the house.
“Flew to Paris.” I stare at the roundness of her ass and wonder if I have time for another run before the mob gets here.
“Business?”
“I suppose you could say that. He fucked up with his latest girlfriend and has to fly her to some jewelry store to buy his way back into her bed. Or their bed since she’s basically living here.”
“Wow. That’s…something. You live a very different life.”
“You should get used to it.”
“Nah. I don’t think so. I mean…it’s great that you’re letting me hang around but as soon as I find my own place, I’m going to be out of your hair.”
Her words are more alarming than a case of Coke blowing up in my car. “The hell you are,” I growl. “This is your home now.”
She turns back and gives me a frown. “I’m not going to leech off of you for the rest of the semester. I figure I can find a job. I talked to the caterer and they pay some decent wages. I was thinking—”
I slash my hand through the air. “Stop then. No more thinking. You’re not moving and that’s final.”
“Deuce, your place has one bedroom. I can’t sleep on the sofa for the next twelve weeks.”
“Then you can have my bed.” Obvious solution. I smile.
“Where are you sleeping?”
The smile drops off immediately. I guess the option of bedding down together doesn’t interest her or didn’t even enter her mind. After our kiss on Monday, she’s pretty much avoided all contact with me so it’s probably the former. She doesn’t want me touching her and she’d rather work a job delivering food to others than continue living in my house. “How much?” I blurt out.
“How much for what?”
“How much money do you want in exchange for you staying at my place?” The question comes out before I think of the consequences.