My chest rumbles with laughter. “I’m shocked you haven’t been asked to head the EPA by now.” I’m met with Cesar’s middle finger. “Who’s the pro we’re playing with?”
His grin widens before he announces, “Chandler Wharton.”
My eyes almost pop out of my head. Chandler is the hottest thing in golf right now. He’s only twenty-three but has already racked up enough wins to have people predicting he’ll be the next Tiger Woods.
“I’m fucking in. Who’s our fourth?”
“I was going to call Bouvier.”
“Auburn or Monty?” I ask.
Cesar huffs out an exaggerated breath and shakes his head like hejust can’t deal with me. “Are you fucking with me right now? Monty couldn’t golf his way out of a paper bag.”
I grin. “Okay, so you, me, Auburn, and Chandler. Sounds like a winning team.”
“Hell yes, it is. You sure you’ll be able to get time off to fly here from London? I know you’re all important and shit now.”
“I’ll be there,” I assure him. “Gotta save all the whales down in the wetlands from that hole in the ozone.”
“I fucking hate you,” he says dryly.
“I fucking hate you too. Send me the details, and I’ll see you in January.”
“Sounds good. By the way, is your sister single? Since I have to get married anyway, I?—”
I hang up on him, and he promptly sends me an emoji of a diamond ring. I send one back of a bomb and then return my phone to the charger.
Cesar and I have been friends for years. We met at Stanford when I was in grad school and he was in undergrad, so he was a few years younger than me. Neither of us cared for recreational drugs, so after both leaving a party that had gotten a little out of control one night, we ended up drinking at a small bar.
I found Cesar to be witty and very relatable. We both loved women and good booze, and, like me, he put a lot of pressure on himself to succeed in the family business. His vague descriptions of his family’s dealings were my first indication that perhaps there were some… unsavory aspects to the Marnotti family.
But it didn’t matter to me. He came home with me for a Spring Break, and then that summer, he invited me to stay for two weeks at his family’s home in New Orleans. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but it was the farthest thing from what I found.
His family was friendly and welcoming, much like my own. They were obviously rich as fuck, but there was a warmth in the Marnotti home that I didn’t see often in my other wealthy friends’ homes.
Not to mention the food. Good god, the food. For lunch we would dine on jambalaya, étouffée, and all other kinds of delectable Cajun dishes. Then in the evenings, the entire family would gather in thekitchen to cook Italian food. Everyone had their job to do, though no one else ever touched the sauce. That was Nonna’s domain, and she’d let loose a string of Italian curse words at anyone who dared to try and help her.
After dinner, Cesar and I would head to Bourbon Street where we'd get drunk and pick up a couple women to take back to Cesar’s fuck pad, which was an apartment a few blocks away. I was astounded the first time he told me his father bought him that place when he was sixteen so he could, and I quote, “have some privacy to do what boys do.”
We had some damn good times in that apartment. We never had parties there. It was exclusively for after-hours fun.
I roll to my back on the bed and stare at the barely visible ceiling fan rotating around and around. I miss seeing my old friend. Every time I go back to Houston, I’m so busy with my family, I feel like I don’t have time to make a road trip over to Louisiana to see him.
My fingers trace along the edge of the 1800-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. Once my dad retires and I move back to the States, I’ll have more time to do whatever I want.
I find it saddens me when I realize that’s still about five years away. I truly love living and working in London, but I feel like I’m missing out on so much by being here.
As my eyes drift closed, my mind goes hazy with the thought… only five more years until the day I can move back home and take over at the helm of Hale Cosmetics.
But as it turns out, that day comes way sooner than expected.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Joe the… billionaire?
Mindy
“You’regonna make this new job your submissive little slut,” I say aloud, pumping myself up as I stand on the busy sidewalk.