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Fuck.“She thought I was saying thatIwouldn’t give up billions forher?”
“Would you?” Scott asked.
“I—” It would be foolish, wouldn’t it? Togive up everything I worked for, everything my father and mygrandfather had worked for? I would hate to lose Charlotte, but thequestion would never even come up. How was I supposed to take thathypothetical seriously?
Scott apparently expected me to. “Thisshould be an easy question to answer. You’ve been engaged likeseven times—”
“Five times!”
“—and you never felt like you would give upthe world for them?” he finished, throwing his arms up infrustration.
“No. Never.” Was that how I was supposed tohave felt?
Scott went quiet. Finally, he asked, “Howmuch money do you have?”
“Like, my family or—”
“How much money do you, Matthew Ashe, havein your checking account right now?” he demanded.
I cringed. “Are you gonna be mad if I say Idon’t know?”
“Are you kidding me?” His face flushed andsweat popped out on his brow. “Then give me an estimate.”
I thought it over. “I don’t know. Thirtybillion?”
“Jesus Christ.” Scott had never asked me howmuch I was worth. We didn’t talk about money. I just knew I hadmore.
“Is that a lot?” I asked, and quicklyamended, “I mean, I know it’s a lot to some people—”
“It’s a fucking lot!” he shouted. Then,taking a calming breath, he said, “Okay. I’m sorry. I had a moment.Dude, do you not know how much money you have?”
I shrugged.
“Look, if you want Charlotte back—I know,you haven’t broken up, but trust me, it’s coming—if you want herback, write me a check for thirty billion dollars.”
I tilted my head. “Are you trying to sell meyour sister right now?”
“No, because that would be humantrafficking.” Scott scrubbed a hand over his face. “Go, find yourcheckbook, write me a check for thirty billion dollars.”
I had more than one bank account, some noteven in the United States, but the one I could think of off the topof my head…
I had no idea where I would find thecheckbook. I bought everything with cards. But I knew who would beable to find it. I went to the intercom. “Jason, can you bring me acheckbook?”
“Acheckbook? You don’t even knowwhich account—” Scott stopped himself again. “It doesn’t matter.But this? This is why you’re not ever going to be ‘normal,’ friend.No matter how many baseball caps you buy, no matter how often youcomplain about the fancy house you grew up in, you’renevergoing to be able to understand the world ninety-nine percent ofeveryone else lives in. And it is infuriating to see you pretendotherwise.”
“Wow.” That took me down a peg. “How longhave you been feeling like this?”
He stared at me like a guy who’d finishedputting together a thousand-piece puzzle only to find the lastpiece missing. “Literally ten minutes after we met.”
“Well, why did you become friends with me,then, if you didn’t like me?”
“Because I did like you!” He made anexasperated noise. “Idolike you. We have a lot in commonand that’s why we’re friends. I could ignore your weird povertycosplay. Until—”
“Until it involved your sister.”
He folded his arms over his chest and noddedresolutely.
Jason came in with the checkbook and a pen,handed it over, and left.