Page 79 of Manhattan State of Mind

I take them to the garden, our footsteps crunching against the gravel.

“Holy shit,” Matty lets out, his voice rippling through the evening air.

His reaction is a cue for the rest, a symphony of gasps and murmurs echoing around.

But I’m only interested in one reaction. I glance over at Lucy. She stands there, frozen, mouth slightly agape. “It’s like a… paradise,” she manages to get out.

I can’t help but chuckle. “That’s the idea.”

They drink in the scenery. The cabanas, the trails, the lush foliage—all painstakingly designed to be a peacefuloasis. A labyrinth of hidden paths winds through the greenery, enhancing the tranquility.

But it’s the infinity pool that really steals the show. Perfectly heated, it melts into the horizon, blending seamlessly with the mountain backdrop.

I’m not fooling myself here. I know well enough that a sprinkling of Zen design elements and a few shrubs don’t equate to some sort of spiritual awakening. But I’m hopeful that Lucy sees it as a signal of my intentions. A sign that I want to make real changes, even if they start small.

I want to create a space for her to unwind and recharge. A place where, just maybe, her view of me might start to shift.

“There’ll be yoga and meditation sessions at dawn and noon,” I continue. “There’s no need to slave around the clock. Manage your time—be productive when inspiration strikes, relax when needed. Use all the amenities at your disposal. Trust me, your productivity won’t suffer, in fact, it might just enhance by the week’s end. Some of my most radical ideas have emerged from moments of relaxation. It’s a hard-earned lesson.”

Matty, never one to hold his tongue, leans in to whisper to Lucy. “This is nothing like the last hackathons,” he mutters, disbelief lacing his words. “I swear he’s had a brain transplant.”

A smirk pulls at the corners of my mouth.

True, previous hackathons were hosted at my Vegas mansion, a venue synonymous with the ethos of “work hard, play hard.” In Vegas, I compensated grueling work with hedonistic nights on the strip, all financed by a limitless credit card.

“Tomorrow, we hit the ground running,” I announce. “I want groundbreaking strategies that will render every other casino as appealing as a dingy, back-alley gambling den. But you’ll only work for half the day. The other half, you can opt to relax here, or for the adventurous, I have a little something up my sleeve.”

Their suspicion is palpable as they all exchange uneasy glances.

“Paddleboarding on Lake Welch. I can assure you, out there on the waters, your best creative ideas will surface.”

Their stunned silence is a priceless picture.

My eyes find Lucy. “Lucy,” I offer, my tone softening, “you’re not obligated to join in, but I genuinely think it could be an effective stress-buster for you, given recent events.”

As she considers my offer, I find myself holding my breath. Then, she graces me with a smile and a nod.

Jackpot. That’s exactly what I need. A relaxed Lucy, open to spending time with me.

The image of Lucy, glowing under the sun in a swimsuit, revs up my anticipation. It’s going to take every ounce of self-control to keep my cool around her.

TWENTY-ONE

Lucy

Matty has assured me that JP is in the throes of a midlife crisis. Regular men typically navigate this life stage with a cliché convertible (ideally with a much younger, barely clothed woman riding shotgun) or by becoming cycling-loving MAMILs (Middle-Aged Men in Lycra). But those are your average Joes.

Over an aggressively healthy breakfast—with enough kale and avocado to make a nutritionist weep with pride—we arrived at a mutual conclusion. JP, having savored a life seasoned with the indulgent excesses only billions can buy, now seems to crave the opposite. When you’ve spent decades living in obscene luxury, you eventually crave the mundane as a novelty.

And so, it’s paddleboarding. And meditation, and yoga, and all the other pastimes typically found on the covers of wellness magazines. He’s not going to find his midlife salvation in the roar of a red sports car engine because he’s probably had a garage full of them for ten years. Maybe he thinks this newfound Zen will make him immortal or something.

I couldn’t tell Matty that JP confided in me about his plans to start wellness retreats under the Quinn & Wolfe brand.

I have to admit, I’m feeling relaxed. I woke up feeling shockingly Zen this morning, even after a night of Matty’s deafening snores. Maybe it was the lush bed. Or the lingering dreams of Daredevil…

Our brainstorming session on the beautiful lawn this morning was refreshing too. JP kept his distance and let us work. Working with the team was actually fun—everyone was relaxed and joking.

We’re en route, winding our way through the rugged mountains to Lake Welch, and an unfamiliar calmness is seeping into me. It’s a sensation I haven’t felt in what seems like ages. I’m so tired of feeling adrift and confused, like I was born yesterday.