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“I’ll go home,” I say, but I stumble over the last word, and Yenn releases a loud groan.

“Take this one,” she says, already moving away from the cab, but not before shouting our address at the driver. She pushes me into the vehicle, and right before she closes the door, she says, “I’m sorry, I love you,” in one breath, and slams the door shut.

The relative silence inside the car is jarring, and my ears ring from the sound of nothingness.

“Gold Coast?” The cab driver looks at me from the rearview mirror, and I stare at the side of his face from behind the plexiglass divider.

“Yes,” I say, drawing out the last word. I’m worried and I’m drunk and I should be okay enough to be there for my best friend.

Shame sits heavy on my chest like an elephant.

We idle at the curb, and I turn in the seat to watch Yenn’s head disappear into the cab behind mine. She’ll be okay for now. I bet King’s there, and once I’m good, I’ll go.

I’ll go be there for her.

Wetness plops into my lap and trails down the line where my thighs press together.

Crying. I’m crying.

And hallucinating my crushes.

And letting my best friend down.

Another tear joins in on the race.

“You gonna puke in my cab?” the driver asks. I catch his gaze again and shiver. It’s late. A glance at the dash says it’s just after three a.m. Velour would have been closing soon, anyway.

The cabbie still stares at me, not making a move to pull away from the curb.

“No, I’m not gonna puke,” I say. “But I will close my eyes.”

I catch his gaze one final time before sliding my eyes shut.

11

STORM

Idon’t want to be here.

Velour istheplace to be, and the only reason why I’m here right now is because the VIP section I’m sitting in has a collective net worth of $13 billion. And they will give me a fraction of that.

Not give. Invest.

Grow.

My idea is that if I can bring the investors to my father, he’ll see I’ll do what’s necessary to close the deal and honor myfiduciary responsibility.

An echo of my father saying those two words over and over has me grinding my teeth, and my fingers flex against the back of the velour loveseat.

At the end of the day, my dad’s right. Idealism has a place, but it’s always going to be second to the bottom line. Stratos’ singular function is to manage and grow money for our investors.

That’s it. Anything extra is, well…extra.

I really need Axel to come up with something to knock Lakeland off his pedestal because my plan isn’t going very fucking well.

“I don’t know, Storm. I mean, I could probably get you a meeting with my dad, but…you know he gets weird about stuff like this. He doesn’t like blurring that line between personal and professional.” Mason York leans back on the opposite plush black sofa with his arms spread wide and a girl tucked into each armpit.

Mason and I went to high school together, and while he’s not the sharpest, he’s a relatively nice guy.