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Although we looked identical and actually got on, our personalities and traits diverged at Brooklyn Bridge.
“Yes, you take after your mother. You’re the creative one in the family. And so is that brother of yours. He put that creativity to great use. Some of Hunter’s campaigns are still kicking ass for the firm.”
Yeah, yeah… heard it all before.
“Why do you do this?” I asked, gulping down my fire juice.
“I’m doing nothing, Chase. I’m just calling it as it is.”
“You’re always comparing me to Hunter.”
“Well, you look identical, to start with. So it’s pretty hard to tell you apart. Only Hunter was the one that turned up on time and the one that did the work when asked.”
I took a deep breath. He was right.
“Okay. Get Perry to run me through everything. In point form.”
“Perry’s gone. Heather Sharp’s taken over as CFO. For now, you’ll answer to her. Think of this as your apprenticeship for the top job.” He nodded decisively. “I’ll set up a meeting. We’ve got a new pitch to work on. A promising one. If we get this, it will be a major coup. The company that’s hiring is ready to jump ship. Some natural rejuvenating health product that promises everything except immortality.”
I had to laugh at my father’s dry tone. He was a meat-and-three-veggies type of guy.
“Okay. Tomorrow. I’ll have my thinking cap on, and I’ll be here at nine.”
“Make it eight. Heather’s a stickler for early hours. She does her best work in the mornings.”
As someone whose day normally started at noon, I regretted removing my former coke dealer from speed dial. I’d recently kicked the habit after experiencing heart palpitations. Or was that Ivy and the fact she was the best fuck I’d ever had?
“I’ll be there.”
“And Saturday night. Bring this new girl of yours. We’re leaving in six months. I want you married before we leave, or else you get cut off.”
My heart sank as low as the city’s sewers.
Me married? In six months?
Absinthe was my kind of bar, with mood lighting, comfortable bar stools, and cool, unintrusive jazz. I could have quite easily called that place home.
Setting up bars and hotels was where my true passion lay. Not coming up with catchy slogans for the latest energy drink. But for now, I had to toe the line.
Ben, my old college buddy and trusty drinking partner, ambled over. Never in a hurry, he was relaxing to hang out with and always stayed till the end.
“Hey,” I said, gesturing to the bartender. “What are you having?”
Ben settled on the bar stool and, looking at the bartender, said, “I’ll have a Corona. Thanks.”
“So, what’s the news?” I asked.
“Yeah, he should get parole in a month,” Ben said, nodding to the barman, who set his drink down.
Ben’s dad was in jail for tax fraud.
“That’s great, isn’t it?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I suppose. Mom’s moved to the Hamptons. I can’t see them lasting.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, thinking of my parents and their decision to move to Italy, which left me indifferent for some reason.
My mother was always on my back to catch an heiress, which sounded more like a disease than a relationship, and my dad wanted me to conquer New York.
