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"You know me all too well," I smile, grabbing the glass and downing its contents in one swig. "I'm in some deep shit."
I look out the windows of my office, across the city skyline, and over the steady river of traffic snaking between buildings. It's one thing to look out across the city from 50 floors up, and a whole other thing when you're viewing it from a cardboard box on a street corner. If I don't fix this shit I'm in, I'll be t
hat guy on the corner, with one foot from the fucking gutter. Just thinking about this causes a thin film of sweat to pool on the nape of my neck.
"You may be in some deep shit, but if you don't slow down, you'll be under this desk, drunker than you've been," Andrew chuckles, slapping his hand down on the mahogany, "instead of bending another intern over it."
"What makes you think I have plans to bang an intern today?"
"Are you kidding?" he says, eyes wide. "We've been best friends since college. That's long enough to really know a person. And I think the real question is: When do you not have plans to bang an intern?"
I watch as Andrew laughs again, this time, the laugh is deep enough to make his belly shake.
"Are you telling me you've never bent anyone over your desk?" I ask.
"Not like you, man. I don't think anyone can keep up with you. What's the official count now? 100—or maybe 1,000? Don't tell me it's more than that."
We both laugh and slam back another shot of whiskey.
"I'm just giving you a hard time," Andrew smiles. "But I'm not shocked its come to this. And you're like a brother to me, man. The last thing I want is to see you hit rock bottom. Sure, you play hard, but you work equally hard. I know that, and so does everyone else. I've watched you build this empire. I don't want to watch you lose it too."
He says this with a sincerity in his eyes that's touching.
"Unfortunately, I think I have more than a few enemies—unhappy rivals in the world of business, and any one of them would be more than fucking happy to see me fail," I say.
"I'm sure it's not that bad," Andrew shrugs. "It can't be all doom and gloom. You're painting a bleak picture, but I'm sure you'll think of something. You always do."
"This time is different," I say, shaking my head. "I think this time … I'm out of fucking options. I'm fucking serious."
Andrew sits back in the soft leather of my couch, deep in thought. He's flicking his wrist, swirling a few pieces of his remaining ice in his glass. It's making a repetitive clinking sound.
I've known him long enough to know that when he's deep in thought, it's best not to break his concentration. The man has always been a deep thinker, which is why he's one of the best attorneys this city's got.
I pace the office, quiet but tense.
Finally, Andrew breaks the silence. "I might have a solution."
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "Really? If so, I'm all ears. Give it to me."
"Have you heard of Athena's company?" he asks, his eyes locked on mine.
"Wait, you mean Athena Hawke? The Athena Hawke of Millionaire Matches, Inc.? Of course I've heard of her. She eats men for breakfast. She's ruthless, which explains why she's so successful."
"You scared of her or something?" Andrew laughs.
"Of course not. I'm Malcolm fucking Bane. Women don't scare me—not even women like Athena. It's just an observation."
"Good, because her entire business model on matchmaking is like a contest you could enter.”
"Contest?"
"She calls it 100 Days," Andrew says. "And only Manhattan's richest are invited to play."
"Why is that?"
"Because the buy in is $100 million per person," he smiles.
I let out a shrill whistle. "Pretty steep for a contest. You gotta to be fucking kidding me, Andrew.”
