"Well, why don't you come along?"
I laugh, refraining from answering, and she continues.
"The invitation's there, just sayin'.”
“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.” I need to stay focused. This evening is charming—too charming—and I can feel myself softening. But I'm not ready to let her off the hook. "What does your mother do?" I ask, switching gears. "Does she work?"
“Yes, Mom still works,” Blair says. “She runs an antiques business that's grown substantially over the years. She turned her passion for upcycling and knowledge of antiques into a successful enterprise and has a chain of boutique shops across three states. Her online sales are soaring too."
"So entrepreneurship runs in the family?"
"Yeah, Dad had his own construction business. Started with a single pickup truck and built it into something pretty big before he died. So Mom and Danny are very comfortable financially. If they weren’t, I’d take care of them, of course."
"And what about relationships?" I ask.
"I’ve been in one committed relationship," she admits. "We were together for about two years. She left me because I worked too much, which, to be fair, I did. After that, it was just a string of casual flings and short-term relationships. Most women turned out to be after my money—I've become pretty good at spotting the signs of a gold digger." She pauses. "But even though I have a nice penthouse, I don't really live lavishly. I was never a party animal, more like a programming nerd, so I'm not one of thosepeople who'll spend a fortune on champagne in clubs or go crazy in Vegas."
"No, you don't seem like that type," I say. "So what do you like to do in all your free time?"
Blair hesitates, then blows out her cheeks and shakes her head. "Honestly, I know this sounds terribly dull, but I don't really have any hobbies. I like to walk through the city and I go running every morning in Central Park where I talk to this homeless woman named Valerie?—"
"What?"
"Yeah… I’m not even sure that's her real name though. She's this character who wheels around a shopping cart full of stuff. We have random conversations and I carry cigarettes around for her, though I don't smoke."
"Oh?" I frown and try to picture Blair hanging out with a homeless woman. Somehow it's not even that hard to imagine.
"I'm not exactly selling myself here," she says with a self-deprecating laugh. "I genuinely don't do much else apart from coffee meetings with my accountant, and sometimes I meet up for lunch or dinner with friends who probably wouldn't give me the time of day if I wasn't wealthy." She pauses, considering. "I used to love hiking, but I haven't done that in years. I have my pilot's license, but I sold my jet because it seemed like a waste of money to keep it after I stopped working. I still charter and fly myself from time to time. But mostly, I just spend my days trying to figure out what I want to do next."
I regard her across the candlelit table. "And you still have absolutely no idea?"
"Well, I did set up a charity," she says, her voice taking on a note of pride. "The Davis Foundation for Employment Inclusion. We help people with Down syndrome and other intellectual disabilities find work. We partner with companies to createjob training programs, provide ongoing support, and work to change workplace attitudes."
She smiles as she talks about it. "We've placed over three thousand people in jobs—everything from office work to restaurant services to retail. Danny was actually one of our first success stories."
"That's very cool," I say. "You should be proud of that."
"I am. But it’s not keeping me busy. I have an amazing team, and there's not much for me to do anymore except write checks." She takes a sip of champagne. "But I’m considering looking into real estate. That's something I'm interested in—maybe buying and renovating derelict historic buildings with Mom. We’ve talked about it."
The waiter appears to clear our plates and pour more champagne. I realize I'm actually enjoying this conversation, this glimpse into who Blair really is. She's not the careless rich lothario I expected her to be. She seems thoughtful, a little lost, clearly devoted to her family.
"So you're basically a very wealthy woman with a lack of direction," I summarize.
"That's about the size of it, yeah." She sighs. "Pathetic, isn't it?"
"Not pathetic," I say. "You have the world at your feet. You can do anything you want; just take your pick."
Her expression grows serious, and when she meets my eyes, there’s vulnerability in them. "If I can pick anything," she says, "I'd want to spend more time with you, if you'll let me."
My stomach does that annoying flutter thing again, and I roll my eyes while I try to ignore it. "Of course you'd say that. You orchestrated this whole crazy thing just to get me here." But even as the words leave my mouth, I have a feeling she actually meant it. I might just give her more than an hour after all.
42
BLAIR
The sky has surrendered to darkness and the city lies beneath us like a constellation that's fallen to earth. Manhattan's lights are endless—the geometric grid of yellow streetlights, the glow spilling from apartment windows, the red taillights of cars threading through the arteries of the city. I love my view; that's why I bought this place.
"Can you tell I was hungry?" Liv asks humorously, setting down her fork after finishing the last bite of dessert. "I couldn't let a good dinner go to waste." She gestures around at the setup. "Though I have to say, this is no doubt the most expensive conversation I've ever had."
