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“Please call me Bo,” he responded. “Mr. Dawson was my Daddy.”
Geoffrey looked at me and smiled. Bo was a charmer and anyone who met him would agree he was one of the nicest men you could meet.
I popped the trunk of my BMW so Bo could lay the suit bag there and handed him the keys to drive. “No, thanks,” he said, heading to the passenger side. I’d determined he wasn’t a fan of expensive cars either.
Once inside the car I hesitated to start the engine but it was July and so damn hot in Charleston that I had no choice. I knew he was upset and we’d promised to always make sure we were able to express our feelings without judgment, so I didn’t want to drive away just yet.
“I’m sorry,” I began. “I didn’t mean to put you in that position, Bo.”
“Look, Hayes,” he began, shifting positions in his seat. “I am not that guy, okay? I didn’t like feeling embarrassed like that. I was put on the spot and forced to buy that expensive suit without having time to consider if I could afford it.”
I should have said I was sorry and moved on, but that would have been too easy and smart. “The suit was only two thousand, baby.”
I’d never seen Bo lose his cool or even argue his point, but for a split second, the emotions that crossed his face mirrored the battle for self-control. He took a few deep breaths and stared out the side window.
“How much do you have, Hayes?” he asked, not looking at me.
“How much what?” I asked, quickly realizing he was asking about my money while I attempted to dodge the question I always tried to avoid. “Money?” I whispered.
“Yeah, not a specific total, but, you know, a ballpark.”
“A few million or so,” I admitted.
Bo turned to me and reached for my hand. His perfect way of diffusing any hint of friction. “How manyso’sprecisely are we talking about?”
“A few hundred, I think.”
“You think?” he asked, stifling a laugh.
I nodded.
“Did you ever think it might be wise to ask a trusted adviser exactly how manyfewhundreds you have?”
I nervously fiddled with the steering wheel, looking away before slowly turning and gazing into his eyes. “That’s not true, Bo. I lied to you. I mean, I fibbed,” I quickly added. “I think I have more than a few hundred . . . million . . . or so.”
“Are you ashamed, baby?” he asked. “How much are we talking about here?”
“Should I include land and real estate holdings?”
He nodded.
“Businesses and minority ownerships in corporations?”
He nodded again.
“Stocks and liquid cash?”
“Hayes,” he admonished. “Come on, baby, just spill it.”
“More than a . . . billion . . . so I’ve been told,” I said quietly. “But I didn’t earn any of it, Bo,” I confessed. “My grandfather hated my father and put all of it in a trust for me before he died. He set it up so I wouldn’t have access until I turned twenty-five. That was last year.”
“And you still worked for your father at his company?”
“Well, not likereallyworked. More like pissed around and tried to learn how to manage my ridiculous wealth, but I sort of quit that before you met me,” I explained. “I don’t like not working though.”
In typical Bo fashion he took a tense discussion about money and tried to lighten the mood. “I don’t want to brag here, baby boy, but I should tell you that I have a hundred and fifty K in the bank,” he teased, leaning toward me and grinning. “All cash,” he added, licking the tip of his index finger and making sizzling noises.
I should have laughed but I stuck my lower lip out and pouted. “Are you mad I didn’t say anything about my wealth before?” I asked. “But, to be fair, I forgot for a month until I remembered.”
