This probably isn’t the time to tell her I sleep naked. “Right,” I say, wondering if I packed something that can be used as pajamas. I should just call Mom’s personal shopper in the city and have her bring something over.
“Okay. So. Cool.” Aspen clears her throat again.
“Okay.” I pause. “So, uh, you want lunch?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out. A normal person might assume it’s his mom texting to say she’s sorry, but I know better. Athena Grant isneverwrong.
It’s actually a message from the AmEx concierge service that comes with my black card. A couple of weeks ago, I asked them to get us a reservation at La Mer, an upscale seafood restaurant in L.A. that opened last week. There’s a long waiting list, and I wasn’t sure if they could do it, but apparently they came through. Tonight at seven.
The note specifically states that there’s a dress code, which I didn’t think about. I didn’t tell Aspen to pack something fancy, and I didn’t pack anything, either.
But such a minor inconvenience isn’t going to get in the way of splurging on Aspen.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
“Yeah. It’s actually the concierge letting me know about our dinner reservation. I totally forgot about it because there’s a waiting list, but apparently, we’re in.”
“Awesome!” She smiles.
“The thing is, there’s dress code. And it’s sort of formal. You didn’t pack anything that could pass for a cocktail dress…?”
“Oh.” She bites her lip. “I didn’t. Um. I thought it was going to be a casual vacation. Maybe we could drop by my grandparents’ place and grab something? I left some stuff there.”
It’s a sensible solution, but I don’t like it. Knowing how frugal and careful Aspen is with money, it’s probably some basic item she bought on sale years ago and has worn a lot already. Nothing wrong with that, but I want to spoil her and get her something new and pretty to add to her wardrobe. I’m still annoyed over how rude Sadie was to Aspen about her old phone, and if I had a good excuse to get her the latest model, I would. “No need. I’ll just ask Marketta to bring us something.”
“Who’s Marketta?”
“My mother’s personal shopper. Convenient when you don’t have much time, and her taste is great, too. Plus,Ineed something to wear. I didn’t pack anything suitable either.”
“Um… How much is it going to be?” she asks, her cheeks going slightly pink. “I mean, you know. Approximately.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I say it casually, like I don’t notice her reaction. “Mom’s paying.”
Her eyes go round. “She is?”
“She told me she’d foot the bill for everything. That’s probably why she didn’t want me bringing a lot of people over.” The lie rolls from my tongue easily. I’ll be providing for my girl, not Mom. But Aspen will never accept it if she knows it’s coming from me because she’ll feel like she owes me.
“But why? We’ve never even met.”
“You helped me get an A+ on the group assignment, remember? Mom takes my grades seriously. Way more seriously than I do.” Only because she wants me to successfully transfer to a fancy school so she can rub it in Jeremiah’s face, but Aspen doesn’t need to know that sort of boring and unimportant detail. “And you made sure I was okay after my fall on the polo field. Mom feels terrible about not being there for me. You know how mothers are when their kids are injured.”
I’m laying it on thick—the reality is, I have no idea how Mom gets when I’m injured. I’ve been healthy as a horse all my life, and even if I were to be deathly ill, she’d probably just put me in a hospital with some super-famous specialist and get back to her life.
But Aspen’s nodding slowly, seemingly convinced. “Well…okay, I guess.”
“In fact, you see that bag?” I point at the burgundy bag sitting on the bench. “It’s yours.”
Aspen’s jaw slackens. “What?”
I nod. “Most definitely. She reminded me again on the phone just now. She loves to give presents to people who’ve been kind to me. Brings her joy.” Against all odds, my pants do not burst into flame.
“I don’t know what to say. It’s so extravagant.”
“You don’t have to say anything because you deserve it. Think of it as something you earned because of your good work. Go on. Take it. Enjoy it.”
Aspen picks it up and runs her hand along the leather, her eyes bright. I’m no bag expert, but even I can tell it’s really nice. I can only imagine how it must look to a woman.
