Page 7

CHAPTER FOUR

Rumor has it he’s worth millions.

Maverick

“ W here were you this morning? I came by, but you weren’t home.”

“I didn’t realize you were my mother.” My voice is sharper than it should be, but I’m in a shitty mood after this morning’s meeting.

There’s a reason I don’t make a habit of owing people favors.

I like to be the one in control. I know what I’m getting into when I accept an offer for a favor. I don’t enjoy being on the other side.

“I’m not, bitch. I was just coming by to see if you wanted Vance to take care of that thing for you.” His voice lowers as he realizes we’re in public and have some secrets we don’t want to share with the world.

“Not right now.” My jaw locks up as I try really fucking hard not to hit something.

“Okaaaayyy. You want to tell me what’s up your ass? Why are you being extra Maverick today?” He says the extra Maverick part like it’s a thing—a girly thing at that.

I sigh and pull open the door to the steakhouse just outside of campus, Studs and Spuds. “Can I just have dinner without a fucking interrogation?” I know I’m projecting my anger on Sebastian. Honestly, it makes me feel better.

“Damn. Let’s get your ass some food then.”

The smell of charcoal and grease hits my stomach as soon as we walk in. But as much as I’m craving food, I desperately want a drink. I won’t order one, though.

“Is this where what’s-her-name works?” I just stare as Sebastian scans around the restaurant. It’s not the first time we’ve been here. I wouldn’t be surprised if he left what’s-her-name with a bad taste in her mouth and the check on the table when he was last here.

“You’re going to need to be more specific,” I mutter, already eyeing Rowan crammed into a booth. “You screw so many people I can’t keep them all straight.”

He scoffs. “I don’t sleep around that much.”

I cock a brow. “I didn’t say sleep. I said screw.” Where I exchange unsavory favors, Sebastian fucks people over for likes. We’re a vicious pair. “Come on. Rowan’s waiting.”

Sebastian casts me a wary glance and cringes. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go over to Gigi’s and make a little money? Gigi will cook you a steak.”

Tempting, but no. The money would be a good distraction, but I actually need to get some things done, and if I go to Gigi’s, I will gamble the night away.

“I need the Wi-Fi here, and the steak is better than Gigi’s.”

Sebastian shrugs. “But I can get high at Gigi’s, and you can win some money.” He arches his brows, pleading. “Besides, you know someone will write your paper for you.”

True, but it’s not a paper and not the point. “What the fuck did you do here, anyway?” Soon, we won’t be welcome anywhere, and I rather like it here.

Sebastian swipes a hand through his hair. “I can’t remember, dude. It’s a problem.”

A big problem, apparently. “You better get your shit together before you get kicked out of college.” His wealthy parents would have him hidden and shipped off to whatever school they could get him into.

More than likely one overseas. He’s the disappointment of the family—exactly why we’re friends.

Like me, he has little faith in the kindness of the human population.

“Havemeyer doesn’t give a fuck how internet-famous you are. ”

“Just two?” The hostess approaches, and immediately, I know Sebastian has forgotten his rep at this place. His eyes turn greedy, and he drops his shoulder like he has some kind of swag.

“No,” I tell her all shitty, casting Sebastian a stern look and brushing past her without a backward glance. Rowan already has a drink when I slide in next to him.

He tips his chin.

I tip mine and then lean down and pull my laptop out of my bag.

“Ugh.” Sebastian groans, sliding into the booth in front of us.

“I need to do a few things,” I answer him, already pulling up the stats I need to review. “Then we can leave, and go to Gigi’s.”

Now that he mentioned it, I want to go too. We deserve to wash this awful day down with a pile of cash.

“Deal,” he says excitedly. “Besides, I need a few minutes. It looks like there are new faces around here. Maybe I can cap off my night at Gigi’s with one of these hotties on my lap.”

It’s like the last few minutes never existed. He’ll either end up in jail or some jealous boyfriend’s bitch.

“Unless you have some outstanding favors for a good time? I’m not opposed to taking one for the team.”

My gaze travels above the edge of my laptop, eyeing the insanity that is Sebastian.

“No,” I clip out, getting back to my spreadsheet.

“Besides, the last time you handled that particular favor, it earned you a pregnancy scare. I can’t afford for you to knock them up.

It voids the favor. They pay for a good time, not an eighteen-year commitment. ”

Sebastian grins, not offended in the slightest. “It was one time, and I haven’t used that brand of condoms since.” Rowan scoffs. “What? You don’t believe me?”

That’s precisely what we think, and when neither of us responds, he takes it as his cue to convince us. “I swear. I switched brands. Even if family dramas are hot right now, I don’t want to go down that road just yet. I like being able to switch up my material.”

For fuck’s sake. The baby isn’t the issue—the material is. Everything in his life is for sale. No memory is sacred. No moment is truly alone.

“What are you doing?” The shrill sound snaps all of our heads toward the bar, where two girls have their hands on a pitcher of beer. “It’s my table!”

The blonde squeezed into a button-up shirt with the top four buttons undone shoves at the brunette who has a tight grip on the pitcher’s handle.

“It’s my table, Taylor. Check the chart out front.

You can’t have all my tables.” Her voice is calm, but it has an edge to it, like any minute all hell is going to break loose.

“I have ten on the blonde,” says Sebastian, already passing over a ten-dollar bill.

“I have ten on the brunette,” counters Rowan, digging a couple of bills out of his pocket too. “You in, Mav?”

I watch the dark-haired girl dressed in the same white shirt hold her position. “It’s my table,” she reiterates.

“No, your tables are over there.” The blonde nods to a group of high school kids who are known not to tip well. “Tucker reassigned your zone.”

At the mention of said Tucker, the brunette drops her hold on the pitcher, and the one stuffed in the shirt smiles victoriously. “Don’t try taking my tables again, or I’ll tell Sam. No one needs you bringing your drama to work.”

“I change my mind. I hope the brunette kicks this bitch’s ass.” I don’t acknowledge Sebastian’s comment.

“Is it wrong that I hope she slams her head on the bar?” That’s Rowan. He’s always the violent one of our group.

I turn and face him. “What do you think this is? WWE?”

He shrugs unapologetically. “A nice reality check never hurt anyone. ”

I scoff. If Rowan is the one giving you that reality check, it does.

I shake my head and turn back to the bar where the girls have now separated.

“Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?”

The dipshit waiter we were saddled with steps in my eye line, blocking my view of the door behind the bar where I assume the girls disappeared into.

“I’ll take a Scotch, neat,” says Sebastian. “He’ll take one too.” Sebastian tips his chin at me.

“No scotch, just water,” I correct him.

“I am so sick of this virgin version of Maverick,” he whines, kicking his foot onto Rowan’s and my bench. Rowan knocks it off quickly. “Where’s the reckless guy I once?—”

I aim a glare right at his playing hand. One look. That’s all it would take for Rowan to jump across the table and break it. Would I do that to one of my closest friends? Maybe.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rowan growls for me.

We don’t feed the rumors of who I used to be. We only feed the rumors about who I am now. The last thing Sebastian wants us to do is start talking about each other’s pasts. His has more secrets than mine.

Our waiter clears his throat awkwardly. “Anything else for you right now?” Finally, I look away and at the waiter still standing here talking and not fetching our goddamned drinks.

“Ye—” I start but then read his name tag. Tucker. “Are you the manager, Tucker?” Underneath is his title in small words reading assistant, not manager. Is this who the girls were talking about?

He stands straighter, proud of his assistant title. “Assistant, yes. Is there a problem?” His tone is professional, but a level of fear bubbles just beyond his flat and dull affect.

The little sniveling shit in front me is a college student.

I’ve seen him around. I didn’t know his name, but that’s not surprising.

I don’t know most people’s names. I can’t be bothered learning names.

You’re either in a contract with me or not.

Those who aren’t are at the table with me. No one else matters .

I glance back at the bar, waiting to see if the brunette has come back out.

She hasn’t.

“Not yet,” I say flatly. I dismiss him by swiping, waking up my laptop, and pulling up an email. The girl behind the bar is not my problem. In fact, she’s not a problem. From the sound of it, this asshole and his bitchy little helper are the problem.

“Uh . . . Okay then. I’ll get you those drinks now.”

None of us acknowledge his existence.

I go back to my spreadsheet and Sebastian back to texting.

I don’t know how much time passes. It seems like only minutes, but when Rowan’s phone dings, it has me pulling my head up and realizing I now have a plate of food in front of me. “When did you order?” Where the fuck was I?

Sebastian snorts. “About twenty minutes ago. You were doing that weird, chanting thing.”

My lips purse. “It’s called brainstorming.”

“It’s called schizophrenia. We’ve asked you to stop talking to the voices, Mav. It’s weirding us out.” He’s fucking lying, and his deep baritone laugh confirms it.

“I’m working out scenarios in my head, dick. I’m not answering voices.”