Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Despite all this pressure, August still makes time for his fans, for charities, for me. He’s on the road right now. And I miss him madly. When he’s not working, he texts or calls. It only makes me sink deeper. I spent twenty-two years of my life without him, and I find myself wondering how I managed.
“Come on, then,” she says briskly. “Into our suits, then I’ll shake us up some liquid libation.”
“I’ll do snacks.”
“I like my snacks like I like my men. Salty and a little bit nutty.”
Fifteen minutes later, Monica and I float side by side on two white pool chaises. A floating tray connects us and holds our drinks and an assortment of nuts. It’s autumn, but here in LA the weather is warm and sunny.
A breeze stirs, catching the vibrant purple blooms of the jacaranda trees, making them rustle with a gentle shushing sound. Trumpet-shaped petals fall like soft rain.
One lands on my belly. Idly, I pick up the bloom and swirl it. A subtle honey-grape scent releases.
“I need a pool.” Monica sighs in contentment. “The previous owner wasn’t a swimmer, but if you have the means and the room, how you gonna live in LA and not have a pool?”
“I have to see this house of yours.”
She turns my way, and the mirrored aviators she has on reflect tiny images of me. “You really do. I still think you should consider adding some courses on design.”
“Maybe.” If she knew I sketched interiors to relax, she’d really be on me.
“A good designer makes a shit ton of money in this town,” she sing-songs. “I should know. I just paid one.”
Her laughter is husky and free. I find myself smiling.
“I’m guessing the competition is cutthroat fierce.”
“Isn’t everything?” She shrugs a shoulder, then brushes a petal off her white bandeau bikini top. “Besides, you’ll have a leg up in the form of your fabulously rich and well-connected friend.”
When I raise a brow, she grins. “That would be me.”
“I would never ask you to hook me up that way.”
“I know. That’s your problem.”
“Refusing to take advantage of you is a problem?”
Monica pushes the sunglasses up on her head and gives me a level look. “Your problem is in thinking that accepting help from people is taking advantage. There’s nothing wrong with networking when it comes from a place of mutual trust.”
“Let’s just say I witnessed a lot of networking disguised as friendship thrown my parents’ way while growing up. I never want to be like that.”
“Fair. But the key point here is intention. A person in my position becomes very good at spotting fakes. You’re not one. If I know of a situation where you might benefit, it gives me pleasure to see it come to fruition.”
“You sound like August.” I trail my fingers through the cool water and watch it ripple. “He wants to outright pay the taxes on this place, and I keep telling him no.”
“I gather he’s made it clear it’s not a burden to him and he wants to help because he cares for you.”
“Well, yes. But accepting his help is a stopgap, not a solution. Taxes come up every year. And wouldn’t feel right—no, more than that, it wouldn’t feel like my place if he was the one paying for it.”
She hums thoughtfully, and we fall silent. Sunlight hits the glass in Monica’s hand and the pink cocktail glows. She licks an errant drip along the rim before taking a long drink. Settling back with a sigh, she turns her attention my way.
“It occurs to me that you’re thinking about this whole money thing the wrong way.”
“How so?”
Holding up an elegantly manicured finger, she takes another sip. “Damn that’s good. I’ll tell you how. You are wealthy. You just don’t seem to realize it.”
“Please don’t tell me August’s wealth is my wealth,” I say with a sigh. “It’s just . . . not.”
Monica snorts. “The good state of California begs to differ. When you marry him, you’ll get half. However,” she adds with another raised finger, “that’s not what I’m talking about. Look, I hear you. Having your own money is important. But you’re so worked up about not taking anything from August that you don’t see what’s right in front of your face.”
“What?”
“This!” She waves her hand around at the grounds.
“But I don’t want to sell it.”
“You don’t have to.” She adjusts her pose to face me. “Doesn’t matter. You still hold ten million in equity in your hands. You don’t have to sell the house to utilize some of it. You just have to think smarter.”
Her words swell within me, and I sit back with an unsteady breath. I haven’t been thinking smart. Flutters of anticipation and anxiety war within my belly.
“You’re right.”
“I know I am.” Her teeth flash white against the red of her lipstick. “Your grandparents gave you a wonderful gift. Generational wealth. People love to sneer at it, as though those who benefit from it are unworthy. And God knows there are assholes who are completely undeserving. But isn’t generational wealth the dream?”