Page 18 of Trust Fund Baby

It was necessary.

“Are you done already?” James asked me.

I gave a half-hearted wave. “I’m out of shape.”

“You’re twenty-seven and do two-a-days with your trainer.”

I ignored him, wandering toward the bench and collapsing onto it. The sun glinted off the court, and I grabbed my water bottle, letting the silence stretch just long enough for James to stop hovering and start playing solo against the wall. He’d got the message that I needed a minute.

Honestly, I’d already forgiven Roxie. At least the rational part of me had. The part that knew we were seventeen, stupid with hormones and insecurity and too much privilege for our own good. Even if the pain never quite went away.

What she did wasn’t some world-ending betrayal. It just felt like it at the time. When you’re seventeen and already halfway in love with someone, watching them choose someone else, even for a second, can feel like the ground breaking open beneath you.

But it wasn’t the kiss that had stayed with me. It was the silence after. The way she’d vanished like none of it had meant anything. As if I’d dreamed the whole thing up in my head.

I raked my fingers through my sweat-soaked hair and wished I hadn’t had that coffee. My mind was already spinning, imagining how it would go—stilted conversation, polite small talk, and once again pretending like we hadn’t spent half our lives together. Even if I dreaded all of that, just simply being near her again would make it all worth it.

“If I agree to this, you have to promise one thing.”

James finished smacking balls against the far wall and walked over, tossing his towel across his shoulder. “Name it.”

“No matching outfits with Hallie. You guys already look like a walking romcom. I can’t be seen with that kind of energy.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous. But if you and Roxie decide to kill each other in the boathouse, I’m not intervening.”

“I’ll try to keep the bloodshed to a minimum.”

James grinned. “We leave Friday.”

“Right.” I stood, grabbing my water bottle and following him off the court. “And just so we’re clear, I’m not interested in Roxie. So if we go out to dinner, it won’t be a double date.”

James snorted. “Sure you’re not.”

I shot him a look. “I’m not.”

“Sebastian Whittaker not going for an eligible, attractive woman? I’ll believe it when hell freezes over.” Then he clapped me on the back and kept walking.

I told myself I was only going for the weekend, the sunshine, the drinks, and the escape. Roxie being there was only incidental. A minor inconvenience.

Surely nothing could happen between the two of us.

By the time I got back to the office, the sun was high and unforgiving, and my shirt clung damply to my back under my blazer. A clear indication that summer was finally making its way into the city. The elevators in Whittaker Holdings were as slow as ever.

Monica, the receptionist outside my father’s office, looked up as I entered. With long legs crossed, she leaned against the desk, her glossy lips curving into a smirk that seemed to dare anyone to approach her.

“Well,” she drawled, tapping perfectly manicured nails against the tablet in front of her, “if it isn’t New York’s most reluctant heir.”

I approached and rested an elbow on the counter. “Monica, nice to see you. Remind me, what time does your shift end?”

“That depends,” she said with a lift of her brow. “Are you asking because you’re finally going to take me to a nice dinner, or because you want to make bad decisions again?”

I gave her my best boyish grin. “Can’t we do both?”

She laughed and rolled her eyes, but deep down I knew she loved when I flirted with her. “You’re terrible.”

“I know.” I winked, then looked down the hall to my dad’s office. “Is the king in?”

“Waiting on you, actually.” She tilted her head. “He’s in a mood.”