Page 26 of Gold Rush

“Where are you guys working?” I ask.

Kristin and Chelsea list off prominent firms. Colleen is clerking, like Naomi, at the state level rather than a federal court.

The passive-aggressive comments continue.

“You look tired. The office must be understaffed.”

“I’m so glad I won’t have to commute until the fall. You must have a private car.”

I respond to the swipes politely. The staff I work with is fantastic, and most subway cars have air-conditioning.

Treat others how you want to be treated, is how I was raised.

This is hardly the first time someone has made derisive assumptions about my wealth. I’m spoiled or greedy, indulged or lazy. There’s no acclimation process to being born rich. It’s normal until you realize it isn’t. And then people want what you’ll share, or they want to judge you for it. Very few have fallen into a third category—viewing me separate from my net worth.

I say goodbye to the girls and turn back toward the bathrooms. Flynn is leaning against one of the concrete pillars spaced throughout the building. He’s looking toward the bar, not at me, but he’s close enough to have overheard the entire conversation.

I march up to him. “What are you⁠—”

His eyes cut to mine. “Be meaner.”

I swallow hard. He was listening.

I lower my voice. “I’ll ask for your advice when I want—oh, wait. I’ll never want your advice.”

Rather than look offended or amused, Flynn tilts his head. “See? You don’t take my bullshit. Why didn’t you tell those girls to fuck off? Oh”—he pretends to have a realization—“I get it. You’re antifeminist. I can handle your contempt because I’m a big, strong⁠—”

“Bye, Flynn.” I continue walking. Toward the exit, not the restrooms. I’ll pee at home.

He keeps pace easily. “Tonight was fun.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“I was.”

“What are you even doing here?” I grumble.

“I’m a proud alumnus. I bleed crimson.”

“So does everyone.”

“Thanks for the biology lesson. Speaking of, how is our sex life? Some of my friends might ask too.”

I immediately regret not replying in all caps to Naomi—AWFUL. Flynn seemed totally absorbed in sharing his adventures. But I should have known he’d spy over my shoulder.

“No one will.”

“Clay did.”

I stop walking. “What?”

“Well, he was a little more subtle than that. Technically, he asked if we were dating.”

“What’d you say?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck you, Flynn.” I resume walking.