“I’m getting a stronger drink,” James mutters.
“No, you’re staying,” Lili snaps, grabbing his arm. Aleksandr’s gaze drops—tight, angry—on her grasp on James. “We need to hear out Petrov’s pitch for the Cato Institute.”
“That’s a little on the nose,” Aleksandr replies. “But I suppose youth lacks nuance.”
“And I suppose old age hardens you to a sense of shared humanity.”
“Bleeding-heart liberals,” Aleksandr says, a dismissive aside to Kara. Lili’s blood scorches.
“It’s notbleeding heartto care about other people, it’s social justice!”
“Your social justice comes at an unacceptable cost to my personal liberty.”
Lili could slap him. “You’re all libertarians until the markets turn down, then you go running to Washington for help,” she hisses.
“I’d say Washington comes running to us.”
“What an effective system.”
“We’re freer than we’ve ever been in human history.”
“If you’re a white man with money.”
“If you’re possessed of a modicum of competence.”
“I’ve told you this before, it’s a stacked game! Not everyone starts from the same starting line, you can’t speak about freedom without acknowledging inequality.”
“What a champagne socialist,” Aleksandr mutters, taking another drink.
Lili thinks she sees red.
Before she can react, James jumps in. “Dad, what were you saying about Monday’s IPO?”
“Ah, one for the books,” George says, easily absorbing the attention fast. “App kids with Andreessen babysitters, I didn’t think they’d make it out the gate—” The buzz of conversation and opinions smooths over the agitation of their argument, the others quickly participating. Variance in APAC venture trends, explosion in late-stage round volume.
Beside her, Aleksandr takes a drink. There’s harsh tightness in his jaw. His hand flexes around his glass; she hates that she ever let him touch her.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” Lili mutters under her breath, more to herself than him.
Except he catches it.
The air shifts with the rustle of his suit, the scent of his cologne, as he leans in closer.
“Can you say that again, sweetheart?” His voice washes over her shoulders, makes her skin tighten. There’s no affection in the endearment. “I didn’t hear you.”
That’s it.
That’s fucking it.
Lili grabs his wrist—doesn’t care what this looks like—and drags him away.
The party is loud behind them, as she yanks him down the hall. They pass staff she knows, people she’d usually greet, but she’s seething. Her frustrated rage—cracking into something deeper she will not let hurt—makes her skin crawl with how much she wants to scream at him. She follows familiar turns, until she pulls him into James’s old bedroom, sounds of the fundraiser distant.
“Know your way around the place, do you?”
“Shut up,” Lili snaps, slamming the door. “I am not a champagne socialist, you absolute fucking asshole!”
“No? You seem at home on Park Avenue,” Aleksandr replies, cruel with derision.
