The Billionaire Book Club

“Sure thing, kiddo,” my dad responds without shame or hesitation. “Some stool softeners and some Imodium.”

My head sinks into my hands, and I sink deeper into my seat. Oh my God, why are my parents so embarrassing?

“Don’t those two have opposing purposes?” Cap asks good-naturedly, and my dad, being my dad, doesn’t hesitate to explain.

“You bet. But my intestines are like a sausage casing, son. I can jam a whole lot of shit in there without any movement, but eventually, the casing’s gonna burst, and the results aren’t pretty.”

I can’t even look up to see Cap’s reaction. I’m so mortified, my eyes have actually lost all function. But evidently, my ears still work, because I can easily distinguish a smile in Cap’s voice when he replies, “Oh yes, sir. I get it. I’ll grab both for you and be out in just a minute.”

“Thanks,” my dad says, and it’s immediately followed by the sound of his window rolling up.

I’m still drowning in the situation, scrubbing at my face vigorously, when a gentle hand lands on my elbow. I startle and pull up my head to find Cap standing dangerously close to my door.

“What about you, doll?” he questions softly. “Can I get you anything?”

“Some arsenic maybe,” I suggest, and his teeth sink playfully into his bottom lip. My eyes shoot to the movement like heat-seeking missiles.

He nods toward the back seat where Mark and Connie are arguing over the fact that my dad has now taken off his shoes. “I like them.”

I shake my head. “They’re crazy.”

“Yeah,” he says with a smile. “But it’s the good kind of crazy.”

He squeezes my arm and steps away to head back toward the store, and I study him intently.

Maybe that’s the best way to describe him too.

The good kind of crazy.

Cap

My house on Oneida Lake is one of my favorite places in the world. It was one of the first major purchases I made outside of my apartment in SoHo—one of the first uses of my so-called wealth.

The house is big and inviting, filled with space and amenities, and I guess I intended it as a place for fun. A place for my friends to get together, a place to vacation with big groups, a weekend home of sorts.

Of course, the reality has been different, my schedule only allowing for so much. I’ve been here just ten times in the entire span that I’ve owned it, and I’ve had a group of people with me only half of those.

I’ve barely even broken it in, and still, this time somehow feels distinctive.

“I was thinking of taking Ruby to a race up in Oswego tonight,” I say as my housekeeper Greta sets out lunch on the table in front of us. Mark’s eyes light up at the spread, and I smile to myself.

Mark and Connie Rockford are a walking comedy show, and I love that about them. Aside from fitting in with my personality, it gives me hope that Ruby’s got the same don’t give a fuck spirit inside of her, just waiting to be released. I’ve seen glimpses of it along the way, but it’s almost like she’s just too busy to remember to use it.

“I’d be thrilled if you all want to come along too. I know you came out with the intention of visiting your daughter, so I don’t want to be the jerk who robs you of your time with her.”

Ruby makes wide eyes at me across the table, and I smirk. She’s so talented at being annoyed with me, it doesn’t even take her any effort at all to turn her face into a glare.

“Oswego, you say, son?” Ruby’s dad asks, and I have to bite my lip as she chokes on his last word. He’s said it more than once since I met him this morning, and even if I didn’t like it personally, I’d love it just because Ruby freaks out every time he does it.

Her facial expressions are so dramatic, she’s like a cute, miniature, vaudeville actor.

“Yep. It’s probably a forty-five-minute drive, but the action makes it totally worth it. If you’ve never been to a dirt race before, you’re in for a treat.”

Connie worries her lip, so I smile at her encouragingly. She’s got a whole new level of worry as a mother—something Victoria numbed clear out of herself with cocktails and Xanax—but I can tell the core of Connie is both fun and charming. “What kind of people, exactly, attend these races?”

Ruby sighs, something she does a lot with her mom. I imagine it’s tiring being the subject of so much anxiety, but as someone who never really got any from their mother, it doesn’t seem all that bad. “People, Mom. Like you and me. It’s not, like, a stadium full of sex offenders or anything.”