Chapter 31: Davis
Saturday should have been our last day together. Olivia is scheduled to return to Philadelphia tomorrow, and my plan was to bring her with me to my father’s birthday party, to spend the remainder of the night (and a part of the following morning) fucking her until one of us lost consciousness, and then to convince her to cancel her train ticket so that I could have a car bring us both to Philly on Sunday night.
In a summer where the only plan of mine to come to fruition was the initiation of the FundRight acquisition, I’m not surprised that my Philly plan also fell through.
Saturday morning, I leave for Boston early and spend most of the car ride wondering if I’ll ever see her again. A big part of me is ready to say fuck it and to tell the driver to turn the car around so I can go get my girl. Yet another part of me knows that she asked for this—and I have to respect that.
Besides, my father would murder me if I missed this party. After Kieran’s debacle with the cocaine and the models, I’m back on for the toast. Frankly, I’d rather print out a copy of what I’ve drafted and eat it live in front of all the guests, but I’ve made too much headway with my father over the last eight years to screw up over something as stupid as a birthday. I’ll give the damn toast, and he’ll heartily pretend that I’ve always been the successor son of his dreams.
When I arrive, the Ridgeway estate is already upside down with party preparations. Caterers and decorators are buzzing through the place like we’re about to host a state dinner, and a woman in a headset even charges up to me and informs me that I’m no less than twenty-two minutes late and that I should go upstairs and make sure I have my toast memorized.
To me, that’s the perfect excuse to make myself scarce. I go under the radar for at least half an hour, which I’m proud of, until Julia finds me hiding in my bedroom.
“When did you get in?” she asks as she walks over to my desk to give me a hug.
I love my sister, but I hate how much she looks like Kieran—yet somehow more intimidating. She’s the evil twin, we like to say, and that’s obviously a huge feat.
Julia Ridgeway is the textbook definition of a spoiled, insufferable heiress and she wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s the kind of person who makes a daily habit of wearing stilettos that would bring a normal woman to tears in a matter of minutes, and she likely owns the single largest private collection of bespoke daily wear in the continental US—possibly in the western world. On an off-day, she has made grown men weep in public and on a good day she has literally forced people into early retirement. And all of this is exacerbated by her being twenty-eight, so beautiful that my father literally has an ex-KGB operative on retainer just to make sure that she’s never in danger, and particularly good at spotting weaknesses.
When we hug, it’s cold and stilted, but I don’t care. I would expect nothing less from my sister; anything warmer would be cause for suspicion.
“Not too long ago,” I admit.
Upon hearing that, she folds her arms. “You didn’t come to greet us?” she demands, ticking up a perfectly penciled eyebrow and pulling her model features into a sharp, questioning frown.
“You’re asking why I didn’t eagerly run to greet Kieran? Do you really want me to answer questions that you already have the answers to?”
Julia grins and takes a seat on my bed. “I talked to Kieran about how he can’t show up at your place whenever he feels.”
“Thanks for that.” I walk over to the window seat a few feet away from my bed.
“I’m serious,” she continues as she crosses her legs, letting one Louboutin dangle from her foot. “I told him that forcing himself into your life won’t get him back into your good graces.”
I hesitate before I ask my next question, mostly because I’m tired of thinking about Olivia. Even after eight years of it, I’m no better at thinking about her without feeling completely gutted. “Do you think Kieran is just looking for someone to love him?”
Silently, Julia blinks several times with both brows raised. “Sorry, what?”
Oh that’s right: this is my stone-cold sibling. The one who I haven’t seen cry since she was a literal toddler. The one who legitimately defended Enron that one time because, ‘I’m sorry, since when does this family put people over profits?’
“I don’t know. Do you think he’s lonely?” I continue. “You’re his twin. Does he talk about it?”
“We’re not those kinds of twins,” she reminds me. “Sure, Kieran might be desperate for love. But if that’s the case, why is that your problem? You’re his older brother, not his parent.”
And yet that never mattered to Olivia when it came to her and Charlie. She wasn’t his parent, and still she would have done anything—sold her own body—if that’s what she needed to do to care for him.
“Just a thought,” I offer to Julia in placation. “Forget I said anything.”
A few hours later, my father’s birthday party is in full-swing and in classic Davis Ridgeway fashion, I’m just a sad guy in a tuxedo, pretending to work on his phone but really looking at Olivia’s Instagram.
“Davis,” Corinne says as she appears at my table, her cheeks flushed. “Davis, did I see Gus Winter at this party?”
I draw back my head in mock surprise. “Good to see you too, Corinne. Yeah, I’m having an awesome evening. You know I love a good canape.”
Corinne is about to object when Gray waltzes up to the table and slides his arm around her waist.
“See, I told you that you need to work on your schmoozing skills,” he chimes in. He plants a kiss on her cheek before he reaches out to shake my hand. “Apologies on behalf of my future wife. She spotted Gus Winter and completely forgot that despite all the Davenports and Ridgeways around here, she’s not at work.”
“Fuck off, Gray,” she says in a way that only Corinne Tyler could ever deliver. For one, Gray would never take that from anyone else. For another, when she says it it’s glaringly obvious that she loves this man like nothing else.
“Fine, I deserve that.” He kisses her shoulder. “So, should we take the presence of Gus Winter at this party as a sign that there’s an acquisition on the horizon?” He asks me, wiggling both eyebrows as if this were the peak of salacious news.
“You know I’m not at liberty to talk about pending deals,” I reply. “Especially not to you, Gray, seeing as you still haven’t taken up a role at the company.”
“I’ve got a couple years left before duty calls. Let me live,” he reminds me. “And in the meantime, put Corinne out of her misery and introduce her to Gus.”
“I haven’t seen him yet,” I admit as I glance around the terrace. “Have you…”
I trail off when I finally spot Gus. Tall and foreboding, he’s standing by a fountain and he looks to be in a heated conversation with none other than—
“Julia. Hell,” I blurt out as I chug what remains of my champagne and fumble to put the flute on the table. I manage to cross the terrace in record time and arrive at Gus and Julia’s sides just in time to hear her say to him:
“You are by far the most abhorrent man I’ve ever spoken to, which is saying something because my father used to have Bernard Ebbers over for dinner once a month.”
“Hey,” I interject as I nearly dive between them. “I see you two have met and that we’re already on the topic of Bernard Ebbers. Awesome.”
“I don’t even know who this is,” Julia continues as she practically curls her lip in Gus’s direction. She tosses back her long, blond hair. “I was standing here, and he had the utter audacity to come over here and—”
“Gus Winter is the CEO of FundRight, Julia,” I explain, shooting her the most pointed shut-the-fuck-up-look that I can make. “As in the company I just flew to London to meet with.”
Oblivious, Julia pulls her eyebrows together. “Okay, and? I don’t track you, Davis. I don’t know where you’re traveling for work.”