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I also travel a lot. I enjoy the life of a jet-setter. I keep a home in Paris, another in London, one in New York, and now here, in Boston. I only arrived in the city three weeks ago, but in that time I’ve worked with a broker to purchase a turn-key property downtown, walking distance from GHV’s future headquarters. Unfortunately, it didn’t come furnished. Or rather, it did, but the furniture didn’t suit me. I had everything removed, and I’m working with a team from Pierce Waterhouse to hopefully make it livable within the next month. Oh sure, they told me lead times were well over six months for the products they were trying to source for me, but I don’t live in a world where I have to wait for a single thing. Anything I want, money can buy. So, a few weeks it is. Until then, I’m in the penthouse at the Mandarin Oriental. It’s not ideal, but it gets the job done. They have a decent lap pool and gym, and so far, the service has been top-notch.
So it’s interesting, in some way, that Lainey has been able to capture my attention at all. The very fact that I’ve been taking time out of my schedule to look into her gallery, to come here tonight on the off chance she would be here is completely out of line. Sex is sex, and I’ve not been a good boy in the last twelve years since I left St. John’s, but I also don’t know what a crush feels like. The hallmarks of longing and infatuation are utterly lost on me. I used to make fun of my father’s assistant, Wilson, for acting like a cyborg, and now here I am, halfway there myself.
I’m musing over all of this and sipping my bourbon while the party continues on without me. It’s not until Collette comes to sit on the couch that I realize Jonathan left to go hunt down Emelia. It seems my old friend has a crush. Harrison, meanwhile, is passed out on a chair in the corner. Collette kicks her feet up to rest them on the coffee table in front of her and starts scrolling through her phone.
Here’s my moment, and I don’t let it pass me up.
“So you’re friends with Lainey but you don’t invite her to things like this?”
She laughs, and for a split second I think I’ve revealed my entire deck of cards. I was too obvious—it’s clear how curious I am about her.
Then Collette shakes her head, lays her phone down, and looks over at me like I’m crazy. “Absolutely not. The girl is a porcelain doll—you know, a pretty thing you look at but don’t touch. She wouldn’t be caught dead here. She wouldn’t be anywhere outside of the gallery, and she’s not even there all the time, just Tuesday and Thursday afternoons for like four hours. Besides that, she’s kept under lock and key by that old granny of hers. It’s fucking weird, if you ask me. In some ways she still acts like she’s a kid.”
“She’s younger than us…maybe you don’t know her friend group? Maybe she’s too shy to tell you what she gets up to on the weekends.”
She weighs this option before ultimately shaking her head.
“Doubt it. I’ve asked her stuff before, like trying to figure out what she’s into, if she parties or goes out, and it’s clear she has no idea how the world works.” She sees my deep-set frown and tries to ease up a bit, holding out her hand. “I feel bad. Truly, it’s not that strange. Just…she’s nice, but I don’t know…something’s off with her.”
God, my heart breaks hearing that.
Poor Lainey.
I think of how sad that thirteen-year-old girl would be if she realized even when she grows up, people will still misunderstand her and think she’s odd.
I know better though.
And now, I know exactly when and how I’ll be able to see her again thanks to Collette.
Chapter Thirteen
Emmett
I have one hoop to jump through before I can go see Lainey at Morgan Fine Art Gallery this afternoon: a lunch meeting with Papa.
There was no getting around it. He arrived in Boston yesterday and will only be here for one night before he continues his travels down to Florida for the Formula 1 Miami Grand Prix this weekend. GHV has been a longtime sponsor of the Mercedes team. He enjoys a close friendship with Toto Wolff and never passes up the opportunity to watch the races from Mercedes’ paddock. I wonder what he would say if he knew I was a die-hard Scuderia Ferrari fan.
He’s waiting for me at the restaurant in a private room in the back. Wilson sits beside him, the two of them hard at work. When I enter, they don’t stop on my account.
