He grins. “Always such a fierce negotiator. All right. Our contract is hereby amended. Sign here.” He puts out his palm and I mime signing my name across it. And then, with a charming, seductive smile, he slideshis hand in mine and leads me away from his swimming pool to continue the tour.
“And here I thought only guys with small dicks had a thing for sports cars,” I say. “I couldn’t have been more wrong.”
We’re standing in Reed’s expansive garage, which is filled with not one, not two, not three, butsixgleaming sports cars. As we’ve walked down the line of them, Reed has waxed poetic about all of them—although none more so than his Bugatti, parked at the far end. His pride and joy.
After Reed has finished telling me about his car collection, we come upon an elaborate shelving unit on the far end of the garage that’s filled to bursting with outdoor-adventure and sporting equipment. I ask him a few questions about all of it, just to be thorough, and he talks enthusiastically about his love of fitness. I gesture to a surfboard, and he tells me a few stories. I gesture to a set of golf clubs and ask if he’s a big golfer, expecting him to nonchalantly dazzle me with his prowess on the links. But to my surprise, Reed says he hates golf. “I’d actually rather get a root canal than spend a day golfing.”
“Then why do you have a fancy set of clubs? Just in case you wake up one day with the nagging impulse to torture yourself?”
Surprisingly, the question elicits a contemplative expression from Reed. A deep furrow in his brow, followed by a deep exhale. “Okay, Intrepid Reporter,” he says. “I’m going to throw you a bone, kid. I promised CeeCee I’d let you unpeelonelayer of my onion during this interview. So, let’s unpeel it now, and get it out of the way—like ripping off a Band-Aid. That way, we can relax the rest of the week with no stress.”
“Sounds great,” I say, even though I’m thinking,Oh, honey, if you think I’m stopping at one layer unpeeled, then you don’t know me at all.
For a moment, Reed runs his fingertips over the gleaming head of a golf club, looking lost in thought. Finally, he says, “When I was growing up, my father was obsessed with golf. So, of course, since I idolized my father, I wanted to be obsessed with golf, too.”
Holy crap. I didn’t see that coming at all. I can’t believe Reed is talking about his father, without any coaxing.
Reed says, “My father used to golf every weekend. And, of course, during the week, he was busy with work and his mistresses. Although I didn’t know about that second thing until much later. All I knew was, if I wanted to spend time with my father, which I did, then I had to pick up golf and tag along with him on the weekends.”
My pulse is thumping in my ears. My fingers feel like they’re physically itching with the urge to take notes. But I stand still, holding my breath, afraid to do or say anything that might break this unexpected spell. I don’t know what’s prompted Reed to give me this scoop, and I don’t want to do anything to make him change his mind.
“Finally, around age twelve, about a year before my father got arrested, I could finally hit from the back tees, where he teed off. And, man, he was so proud of that. In the clubhouse, my father would tell anyone who’d listen, ‘My boy, Reed, is only twelve, and he’s already hitting off the back tees!’” Reed looks wistful for a beat, before his face darkens. “And then, out of nowhere, the FBI raided our house at dawn one morning and dragged him away. Suddenly, his face was all over the news. The press was saying he was some kind of monster. But since I knew he was innocent, I kept playing golf every weekend by myself, so I’d continue making progress, and continue making him proud once the trial was over and he came home.”
Oh, Reed.The look on his face is making my heart squeeze.
With a deep sigh, he frowns at his golf clubs like they’re flipping him off. “Obviously, nothing worked out the way twelve-year-old Reed thought it would. The jury convicted my father on all counts. He got sentenced to one hundred sixty-seven years in federal prison. And, for the first time, I devoured all the articles about him. I learned about the mountain of evidence against him. And I realized the jury had gotten it right. My father had done all of it. He’d lied and cheated and stolen, over and over again, while pretending to be a pillar of the community.” He sighs. “And, all of a sudden, I felt ashamed to be me. Ashamed of my name. I worried people would think I’m just like him. A liar and a thief.” His dark eyes find mine. “And I sure as fuck didn’t want to play fuckinggolf anymore.”
My stomach clenches at the hardness in his eyes. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through in your childhood, Reed.”
“Everybody’s got shit from their childhood. Terrence Rivers just happens to be mine.” His Adam’s apple bobs. He manages a thin smile. “All right, Intrepid Reporter. My onion has now officially been peeled, in accordance with my promise to CeeCee. How about I show you some memorabilia in my home office now?” He gestures to a side door. “From there, I’ll show you the gym upstairs, your room... and, finally, mine.”
30
REED
“This is so cool!” Georgie says, shoving her nose into a framed gold record on the wall. For the past ten minutes, I’ve been showing her various items of memorabilia in my home office, figuring it’ll go into her article. And, as expected, she’s been geeking out over all of it.
“That one was for RCR’s debut,” I explain, chuckling at Georgina’s enthusiasm. “It was my first gold record, so I keep it here, rather than with the others at the office. When I got that first one, I didn’t even have a full-time staff yet. River Records was just me, hustling my ass off. So I feel like it belongs here.”
“You must be so damned proud of everything you’ve accomplished. Hell,I’mso damned proud of you.”
I try not to smirk like an asshole at how adorable she is right now. So fresh-faced and excited. But, truly, in this moment, Georgie being “proud” of me is like a cute little house kitten congratulating the king of the jungle on a kill.
“Have I said something that amuses you?” she asks, resting her hand on her hip.
I pause. Shit. Apparently, this girl can read me like a book. “Only in the sense that I find your enthusiasm and adorablenessslightly amusing.”
“See, the thing is, though, when you look at me like I’m a silly little girl when I’m simply talking, it comes off as condescending—like you think I’m stupid or you’re somehow better than me. I mean, yes, I realize you’re wildly successful. But that doesn’t make you an inherently better or smarter person than me.”
Oh, for the love of fuck. “Georgie, I don’t think you’re silly or stupid whatsoever. On the contrary, I think you’re wickedly smart. And I don’t think I’m better than you, or anyone else. I mean, yes, of course, I think I’m better than ninety-nine percent of the world’s population in terms of my business acumen, at least in my industry. And, yes, IknowI’m better in bed than any man you’ll ever sleep with in your entire life. But, other than those two areas, I’m fully aware I’m just a humble, ordinary guy making his way through life, as best he can.”
She rolls her eyes. “There are many adjectives to describe you, Reed Rivers. But humble and ordinary aren’t two of them.”
I cross my arms over my chest, beaming a huge smile at her. “You know, Georgie, when you roll your eyes at me like that, when I’m simply trying to have a conversation with you, it comes off condescending. Like you think I’m silly and stupid and you’re better than me.”
“Good. I’m glad you’ve understood my body language to a tee.”
I chuckle.
