He sinks back into his chair. “Good morning.”
I tilt my head. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
He shakes his head and holds up his coffee. “This is helping. You?”
I shake my head, too. “Nope, and I haven’t had any coffee yet. What are you working on?”
“My foundations. Do you want some?” he asks, nodding to his cup.
“Do you need help?”
“Why would you offer to help me?” he asks, flagging down the server.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I wasn’t exactly nice to you last night,” he admits. The server arrives at the table. “Can she get a coffee?” he asks, nodding to me.
“Of course.” The server walks away.
“That chick really fucked you up, didn’t she?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Nah. I think I’m moving past all that at this point. My family did, though.”
“Yeah, families can do that. My parents are great, but they aren’t the most supportive when it comes to my career choice,” I admit.
“And then you run into a man who takes you to bed and runs the other way when he finds out your career choice,” he says.
“Thanks for the reminder.”
He presses his lips together. “I’m sorry for the way I reacted. For what it’s worth, I think what you’ve built is pretty damn amazing. As you know, I just came here to lay low, and after my father had me sign that paperwork, after Tatum started asking me for favors…it all just felt like people who are supposed to be the closest to me only care about what I can do for them. I unfairly put you in that same column.”
To be totally honest, I’m shocked by his words. “Would you still?”
“If I met you today, probably.” He shrugs. “I can’t apologize for treading carefully. But knowing what I know now?”
I nod, prompting him to go on.
He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. “Of course not.”
His words feel like a relief, and I think I visibly relax.
“So the foundations,” I say. “Can I help with anything?”
“I signed off on a few things for Archway, but I’m in limbo on another foundation,” he says, staring at his laptop screen. “A new one. My mom left a foundation in my name when she died, and I talked to my lawyer with an idea, but he didn’t love it. Neither did my agent.”
“So talk it out with me,” I suggest.
“I had this idea to do something involving gambling addiction.” He says the words just as I take a sip of my coffee, and I swallow wrong.
I choke at his words.
He wants to create a foundation centered aroundgambling addictionwhen he’s currently suspended because of…gambling?
I want to be supportive, but that seems…dangerous.
“What did your lawyer and agent say?” I ask carefully.
“My lawyer said it’s risky, that it’ll look like damage control. My agent said it’ll look like I’m throwing money at the problem.”
