“And what about me?” I ask, standing behind Jack.
I have no skills. Nothing to contribute. I assume he’s about to tell me something like I can head security or sign insignificant shit just to keep me busy and make it look like I have a job.
If my own father couldn’t trust me with this club, why would he?
Instead, to my surprise, he replies, “You, Julian… You’ll be my partner.”
I’m hit with the sensation of everything inside me stopping mid-motion.
“Your partner?” This must be a joke. Is he patronizing me?
“Yeah. You and I will manage it together. And after the year’s up, those of us who want to leave can leave.”
I blink as I scrutinize his plan. He wants to run the club with me?
I’m not buying it, but I should be glad. At least this way, I might actually be able to prove to my father that I have a brain. Maybe by the end of it all, he’ll look at me the way he looks at Jack St. Claire.
“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll do it.”
My sister claps excitedly in the corner.
“Wait,” Phoenix says with half hesitation and half exhilaration. “So we’re really doing this?”
“I guess we’re really doing this,” Jack replies. His gaze lingers on me, and it might be the longest he’s looked at me in years. I assume he’s second-guessing his initial plan and just now realizing I’m nothing more than a spoiled brat, which, admittedly, I am.
It’s a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I was raised spoiled. I turned out spoiled.
But just once, I’d like to be more than that.
Weston bounds over to the table and hands us all a sweet vodka shot. With my eyes down, Amelia suggests that we rename the club, since Dad said we should.
When Jack proudly suggests Legacy, there’s a sense of purpose and dignity in it.
Legacies can be tricky. Legacies acknowledge that something great came before, leaving enormous shoes to fill, and I know a little about that. Legacies leave an awful lot of room for disappointment.
The bigger the legacy, the greater the risk. And trying to follow Salacious might be the greatest risk of all.
Swallowing my apprehension, I raise my glass and watch Jack smile with something like faith in his eyes. It might be the first smile I’ve seen on him in years. I hope he knows what he’s getting into.
“To Legacy,” Weston cheers.
“To Legacy,” the rest of us echo.
I toss back the sugary shot and set the glass down on the table. Letting Jack’s words run back through my head, I focus on one word in particular—partner.
I’ve never been a partner, never even had a real friend or been in a substantial relationship, but now I’m supposed to know how to manage this. All I know is how to keep people out and play a very convincing smug bastard. But if we’re going to pull this off, I might actually need to let someone in.
It’s sure to be a disaster, but if it’s what I have to do to prove myself to my dad and Jack and maybe even myself, then I’ll do it.
So here’s to fucking Legacy.
Rule #1: Hold your secrets close.
Julian
A little over one year later
“I’ll be there, Mel.”
