PATTERSON
THREE WEEKS LATER
Diamond is packed for a Saturday night, but being the guy who broke the all-time league scoring record has its perks. I was able to call in a few favors and get last-minute reservations.
We’re in the middle of playoffs, and my time has been stretched thin, but I’m now making an effort with my brother and sister. Something I haven’t done in years. Jameson and I are escorted to a booth in the back corner, where we can actually hold a private conversation.
On the way, three different people stop me to talk about the playoffs. We’re up 2 to 1 in the second round, and the whole city is losing its mind. A random guy wants a photo, and I take one with him.
“Must be nice,” Jameson says once we sit down.
“What?”
“Being famous.”
“What are you talking about? You were famous.”
“I was Brooklyn famous. You’re New York famous. There’s a big fucking difference.” He waves at the server. “Two whiskeys, top shelf. His tab.”
“It’s fine, my tab,” I tell the guy.
My brother grins and turns to me. “After you negotiated a sixty-million-dollar contract, you’re buying my drinks for the rest of our lives.”
I roll my eyes, knowing how much money he has. “Oh, you can absolutely afford it. You’re wealthy.”
“Not Patty Cross wealthy.”
I glance around the room. Diamond is an establishment where senators sit three tables away from pop stars, and nobody bats an eye. Crystal chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings, and the lighting is dim enough to feel intimate but bright enough to see who’s worth knowing.
Tonight’s clientele includes a hedge fund manager I recognize from the news and an actress whose face I can’t place but who has definitely been on magazine covers. Nobody approaches our table without permission from the staff. That’s the whole point of a place like this.
The server returns with our whiskeys on a silver platter, along with a small plate of shrimp brochette that we didn’t order.
Before I can say anything, the guy speaks up.
“Compliments of the house, Mr. Cross,” he says. “Congratulations on the playoff run.”
“Wow, thank you.”
He disappears, and Jameson raises an eyebrow. “You’re really living the life.”
“Perks of being a champion.”
“You haven’t won yet.”
“Oh, we have. That Cup is ours.”
Jameson picks up his whiskey. “So, what’s going on? You said you wanted to talk privately.”
I take a sip and then set the glass down. “I’m going to ask Kendall to marry me.”
Jameson nods, like I told him the weather forecast. “Okay.”
“Okay? That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?I’m shocked?I had no idea this was coming?” He takes a sip. “You were willing to give up your career for her.”
“Yes, but also me proposing to your ex-fiancée is a big deal.”
