Page 89 of Gold Rush

Flynn had fun, and he wound up exactly where I am.

I make things harder than they have to be.

Like overanalyzing every aspect of an explicit arrangement. It doesn’t get any more straightforward than a plan where you pretend to date. Flynn is sleeping with me because I’m the only option who doesn’t violate our agreement. The sex is so good, so different for me, because Flynn is so good at sex. He texted Wren to convince her this was real. Replied to the photo because he’d correctly guessed someone else had suggested I send it and might see his response. Everything is explainable.

“Rory?” he says, and I realize we’ve been sitting in silence.

“I’m here,” I reply quickly. “Just tired. I had more to drink than I normally do.”

That last sentence feels important to add. I feel like I’ve said too much during this conversation, starting with calling him in the first place, even though I told him it was an accident.

It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since I left New York. I should be able to go way, way, way longer without wanting to talk to Flynn.

“Get some sleep,” he says. “And drink some water.”

“Okay. See you Monday.”

“See you Monday.”

We hang up simultaneously.

28

Kensington Consolidated is an intimidating building.

Oliver Kensington is an intimidating man.

He sits, fingers steepled under his chin with the New York skyline behind him, waiting for me to explain what the hell I’m doing in his office. He’s a busy, important person. My decades-long friendship with his nephew and expected successor is the sole reason I was able to talk my way in here during what’s supposed to be my lunch break and is likely his.

I might not have the funding in place, but that doesn’t mean I can’t move ahead with other aspects of the foundation. I want to hit the ground running as soon as my father provides my inheritance. Kit was right; Oliver is an excellent person to ask for advice. Not only does he have personal experience in this area, but his connections span across the country, not just this city. But sitting here, I can’t stop thinking about how I plan to make this foundation a reality. How I’ll have to sit here again, asking for his blessing to marry his daughter, knowing I have no intention of following through on that request.

Asking for Oliver’s blessing to propose didn’t even occur to me until now. One of many things I’d failed to consider regarding Rory.

For years, I’ve had a front-row seat to how close Oliver Kensington is with his daughters. They share the sort of relationship I can’t imagine experiencing with my own father. Rather than expensive paintings or diplomas, the walls in here are covered with framed family photographs. The newest addition hangs left of Oliver’s desk—Rory standing between her beaming parents, beneath an ancient oak, at our graduation in May.

I have a similar picture with my parents, but it more resembles one of those stock photos with stiff smiles that come in new frames.

“Sure I can’t get you anything?” Oliver asks again.

“I’m fine. Thanks.” I shift in the armchair, clearing my throat. “I have a, uh, favor to ask.”

Oliver’s eyebrows rise. He nods. “Go ahead.”

“The thing is …” My knee bounces. God, this is brutal. Would he even say yes if I asked to propose to Rory? How the fuck did Charlie get through that conversation with Crew? Kit’s father is equally intimidating. “The thing is, I’m looking to start a foundation. Kit mentioned you might have some advice.”

Surprise is evident on Oliver’s face. Whatever he thought I was going to ask, it wasn’t that. Did he think it was going to be about Rory? We’ve only been “dating” for about six weeks. Then again, he famously married Hannah the night they met.

“That’s admirable,” he starts slowly.

I shake my head. “Not really. I … a friend overdosed in college. I could’ve done—I should’ve done—more to help him. He’d never experimented with drugs before. Then, all of a sudden, he barely cared about anything else. I thought it was a phase. I knew it was a problem but I didn’t realize how …” I exhale. “I know most schools already have resources available, but some students are scared to utilize anything affiliated with a university. I know Penn was—Penn was concerned about his parents finding out he was using. He was on a partial scholarship and didn’t know what would be kept confidential or could be covered by mandatory reporting.”

Oliver nods. “So, you’re looking to create a network that prioritizes anonymity?”

“And that’s adaptable. No two situations are the same. Some people want someone to talk to and are using as an escape. Others need to go to rehab, but don’t have the financial means or the ability to arrange that for themselves. Ideally, anyone who contacts the foundation will receive an individual treatment plan. Some have supportive families; some don’t. Even if they’re close with their parents”—I think of Nora and Byron—“college is where most people are on their own for the first time. Between that sudden independence, the stress of academics, and social life … sorry, I sound like a pamphlet. But there are studies to support how vulnerable a stage it is. I’ve done research.”

Oliver smiles. “You sound well informed. I have no doubt you know much more about this topic than I do. In terms of the general process, I am on the board of a couple of foundations and would be happy to talk you through a few preliminary steps in a practical sense. No doubt your legal knowledge outstrips mine as well.” He glances at the clock. “I’ve got a meeting coming up, so why don’t we set up a time to talk soon? That’ll give us plenty of time to discuss details. This might sound strange since I’ve known you for most of your life, but I’d like to get to know you better, Flynn. My daughters are two of the best people I know, but neither of them appreciates watching a Yankees game with a cold beer. I have a feeling I could rely on you to consider it less of an obligation.”

I smile, my nerves finally settling. “Yes, sir. That sounds great.”