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Chapter One
Dax
Present
“Happy New Year, Mr. Bender.” The man in front of me shakes my hand one more time.
“Please call me Dax,” I tell him. “Happy New Year, Tom. And please give your wife my regards. I hope she gets better soon.”
He grins and walks off, losing himself in the sea of men in sharp suits and women in glittering dresses. I slip my hand into the pocket of my jacket and take a sip from my glass of champagne.
“That went well,” remarks my assistant-slash-advisor, Victor. “He should be telling his friends that you’re a brilliant, thoughtful man, and believe me, his friends are the kind you want investing in your company.”
Former CEOs, bankers and politicians. I could use their money, their connections, and most of all, their expertise. If there’s anything I’ve learned from my father about running a company, it’s that a businessman’s success depends on having all three. And I need more of them than most if I’m going to transform my company into an empire, if I’m going to prove that I can accomplish everything my father has done without ending up like him.
“You should hear from them soon,” he adds. “And if you don’t, I’ll make some calls, arrange some introductions.”
I look at him. Speaking of expertise, Victor Mays has that. I could tell after just talking to him a few times. I count myself fortunate to have him at my side.
I pat his shoulder. “For now, though, maybe you should just enjoy the party.”
Victor glances at his watch. “Oh, there’s plenty of time before midnight.”
I glance at my own golden watch, the one I bought to celebrate the first million dollars I made. Three more hours. I guess that’s plenty of time.
“Wait.” I tuck my hand back into my pocket. “Are you saying we’re staying here until midnight?”
“Why? Are you going to turn back into a pumpkin by then?”
“Funny.” I look around. “I just still don’t like parties.”
“Not even this one? They say it’s the best one in town.”
I can believe that. This ballroom isn’t just located on the top floor of the newest hotel in New York City, right at the heart of it where you can get views to Times Square, which means that right now we have the best seats in the city for watching the ball drop. It’s also one of the most elegant I’ve ever seen. Apart from the lush red carpet and the huge, gleaming chandeliers, there’s a glass dome. The walls that don’t look out into the city have aquariums built into them filled with gold and crystal trinkets instead of fish. The color of the water changes every minute.
The party is Japanese-themed, so the servers carrying trays of deep-fried, battered morsels of food are dressed in colorful kimonos. Three chefs sit behind the sushi bar in the corner feeding the guests. A group of men, also in traditional garb, play music on wind and string instruments.
For sure, this isn’t a bad party. I know because I’ve been to a number in the past months, more than I’d like. Even so…
I shake my head. “I still don’t like parties.”
I know I have to attend them because my company is still new. I’m still new to the business scene, which means I have a reputation to build, and in order to do that, I have to make myself known. I have to be seen and heard.
“What? Did you have a bad experience at a birthday party when you were a kid?” Victor asks me. “Like the clowns were scary or the cupcakes gave you diarrhea or something?”
“I didn’t go to birthday parties.”
I was never invited.
“And let me guess. You didn’t go to any parties during college, either.”
“No,” I confirm.
“What? You just holed yourself up in your room or in the university library?”
The university library. That brings back a memory – the memory of a young woman wearing a pink bonnet and golden glasses sitting at a table with her laptop in front of her.
She had come with some people who were supposed to be her friends, but it was clear she didn’t like them all that much. I don’t think they liked her, either. They had just invited her because she was smart. Very smart. And she knew it. When they were talking about boys or clothes she didn’t say anything, but when the group finally started studying, she lit up like a light bulb and spoke up. Enthusiastically. Passionately. She knew all the facts, all the theories, all the correct numbers. Well, except for the one we argued about.
Until then, I’d never met a woman who fascinated me.
“Pretty much.”
“And you’ve never been to a Christmas party?”
“Apart from the one in DC last Christmas, no.”
“And this is your first New Year’s Eve party?”
I nod.
“What did you do last New Year’s Eve?” Victor asks.
