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“Hey, you’re going to come good. I know you are.”
“Thanks, Lachie.” He reached into his pocket for a cigarette.
“I’d better go and grab the girls before they’re hit on,” I said.
“Good idea. Harry’s gorgeous, don’t you think?”
“Sure. I mean, I’m more taken with Miranda. But Harry’s pretty.”
Before I could go get them, Harriet and Miranda came and joined us.
“Coming?” Orlando asked Harriet, offering her a cigarette.
“You bet.”
As we watched her push Ollie’s chair, Miranda said, “That was an amazing show. I can’t believe how talented you all are. And you, Mr. Hot Drummer”—she wiped her brow—“you made me hot and bothered.”
I laughed. “Good. Nice and wet, I hope.” I took her into my arms and held her close.
She felt good. Life felt good. That one night in jail had helped me reflect on what truly mattered. I’d always expected everything to go my way in life, not due to some inflated sense of entitlement but because I’d always been an optimist. While staring over the edge, I suddenly realized just how fine the line was between misery and happiness. But not until I’d admitted to myself that Miranda was my soulmate did hope take center stage.
Life suddenly began to move at a whirlwind pace. Two days after the Red House gig, I landed in Europe.
Despite the sunshine, the crisp air felt like cold water to a sleepy face, reviving me after the long flight.
Britney clutched her arms shivering. “It’s brisk.”
The flight had been comfortable enough, apart from Britney drinking to excess, becoming frisky, and offering to suck my dick. One of the advantages or disadvantages of traveling first-class was that one could easily join the mile-high club. I was a member. But not with Britney. I’d pushed her away, reminding her that I was in love with Miranda, and turned up my earphones.
I pulled out my cell and texted Miranda. “Arrived safely. Love you.”
My phone pinged almost immediately. “Love you too.”
I smiled and put my phone away.
Instead of going for a tour around Geneva, as Britney had suggested, I headed straight to my hotel room and crashed. I’d never been good at sleeping on planes.
The following day, we went to an office with antique furnishings and dark wooden shelves filled with leather-bound books. The full-length windows boasted unhindered views of mountains that resembled giants watching over the shimmering blue lake. Mesmerized, I welcomed that feeling of warmth one got when seeing something rare and beautiful. It also inspired me to book a European trip for Miranda and me when life returned to normal, which I hoped would happen soon, after sorting out my inheritance.
A spectacled bald man directed us to sit on leather armchairs. A few moments later, his PA delivered a tray with cups of coffee along with cognac in crystal glasses and chocolate cake.
I’d discovered that an early-morning hit was the norm in Europe. And with my gut a little tight from anticipation, the spirit was timely.
Because of Tamara’s demands, the smell of money had me in its thrall. I’d never had such a desperate need for cash before, and I hated how it made me feel.
After we’d gotten over the small talk, the solicitor said, “You receive six billion dollars but only on the proviso that you marry Britney Gane.”
I shot up like a rocket and turned to Britney. “That wasn’t the arrangement. My father said he put two billion aside if I chose not to marry Britney.”
He passed me a document. “It’s all there.”
I took the folder from the man and, without waiting for Britney, charged out of the office.
Britney raced after me. “Hey, you need to sign.”
Our voices echoed in the marble lobby. I wanted to yell so desperately that it became painful to whisper. “Who fucking set this up? And what about the promised two billion dollars that came with no fucking strings attached?”
She studied me. A hint of triumph shone from her cool stare. “We both set it up. He agreed to my terms.”
