“Dougie and Robert were in the same class at Harvard,” Alex starts. “Before my dad’s wife married him, she dated Dougie all through college. Their senior year, Dad basically stole Linda from Dougie. So, that’s how it started.”
“How it started?” I repeat.
“It gets worse. Did you ever see The Social Network?”
I nod.
“Picture what happened between Zuckerberg and all the people he screwed over, but with a start-up that flopped and lost hundreds of thousands of the founders’ own money. Dougie was supposedly the biggest investor, too. He’s Eduardo Saverin, and my dad is Zuckerberg in this scenario. But whenever the failure gets brought up—in press, and even more so in private—each of them makes a point to blame the other.”
“Damn,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” Alex says. “After they both finished grad school, Dougie made it his life’s mission to have Robert disregarded from every job he wanted in New York. He eventually got one at LC and worked his way up the ranks, but it took him a lot longer because of Dougie.”
“They both sound so ruthless,” I say.
“Were, and still are,” Alex says. “Two men intent on each other’s destruction.”
“Is that why Dougie became our CEO?” I ask. “To steal Robert’s legacy?”
What would my mom have thought about that? Legacy was so important to her. In her eyes, there is probably no greater sin than overwriting someone’s name once they’re gone.
Alex turns onto his back, puts an arm over his forehead. “Maybe. I think part of it had to do with Ellis and me,” he admits. “When we were old enough to apply for Harvard ourselves, my dad started to care about my schoolwork and extracurriculars. He even came to my college counseling sessions.” Alex says all this in the same clinical tone he used earlier, as if it’s boring, monotonous stuff. Like he’s trying to keep some unnamed emotion at bay.
“And when I got in … I was thrilled, of course. But I also felt like I’d finally pulled myself over the top of a cliff I’d been climbing for four years. Like it was a reward I fucking deserved. When I got the acceptance email, I forwarded it to my dad, and he replied with two words: ‘atta boy.’ Which is, objectively, the most affection he’s ever shown me,” Alex says, laughing dryly. “Ellis Dawson didn’t get in, didn’t even go to college at all. He lives in LA now and does photography. But I think Dougie viewed my acceptance and his son’s rejection as some sort of loss. It revived his hatred of my dad years later, and that’s why he gunned for CEO when he heard Robert was stepping down.” Alex sighs. “I mean, that’s my theory, anyway. But who really knows.”
I hate that Alex was collateral damage in two grown men’s power plays. Even worse, I hate that he knows it.
He looks tired. Not in the physical sense, which—yeah, that too. But he looks like he’s finally dropped the face he wears for the world. Right here, in this bed with me.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can think to say.
Alex shrugs, sinking closer to me. “Their rivalry has never really affected my daily life, to be honest.”
“No, Alex. I mean, yes, I’m sorry about all that, but I’m sorry about … about me. How short I was with you. I mean, for weeks, I was just, like, the worst.”
Alex laughs gently, and I do, too.
“I judged you before I knew you, and I’m just really, really sorry.” I hope he can hear the sincerity in my tone. For once, I hope that emotion is on my sleeve. “You’re hardworking, and thoughtful, and good at your job. Great. You’re great at your job. Please don’t put in your notice. We would definitely be worse off without you.”
The whites of his eyes are visible now, and they’re shining with something that looks a lot like triumph. “I had a feeling you were worth waiting for. And anyway, I could have been more forthcoming. Cleared up your misconception much earlier.”
“I wouldn’t have, if I had been in your position,” I whisper. “It takes me a while to open up to people. I should have known to be more patient with you because I need other people to be patient with me.”
He nods. “Okay. Noted. I can be patient with you, Casey. Very, very patient.”
I feel the ghost of his breath on my face. Moonlight is shining through the window, illuminating the hairs on his arm, standing on end. The blanket he’s using doesn’t even cover his feet. “You’re cold,” I say.
“I’m fine,” he whispers.
I lift the edge of his comforter, creating a cavernous shadow of warmth between his body and mine. Wordlessly, Alex slides closer to me in the dark. My heart stumbles over itself as I let the comforter fall back on top of us both.
“Comfortable?” his voice rumbles. My eyes peek open to find his closed.
“Mm-hmm,” I acknowledge.
“Night, Casey.”
I yawn. “Good night, Alex.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Someone is pounding on the door.
At first, it’s in my dream. Heavy footsteps on stairs. They beat like a drum, a prelude to foggy Shakira lyrics, and then, the pounding is here—on the other side of my skull—and I’m awake.
The crown of my head catches sharply on Alex’s chin. “Oomph,” I grunt. My hands fumble for purchase against his chest and I push, sliding sideways off him.
His arms pull my body back against his as he shifts onto his side. “They’ll go away.” His voice scrapes along my ear, blowing hair around my temples. “Promise.”
This is … the coziest. Ultimate. Unbeatable. I feel practically drugged.
“Who is it?” I croak.
“Someone who’s got the wrong apartment,” he grumbles.
Surprisingly, there’s no awkward morning talk, no weird adjustment between halfway-drunk-bed-buddies and mostly-sober-morning-after. I got up too many times in the middle of the night for that. Every time I woke up to pee, Alex would shift and wake up in the process, releasing me from his arms—which I’d rolled right into somewhere during the stage of falling asleep. After the third time I came back from the bathroom, and he wrapped me up again like a koala against a tree, he simply murmured against my neck, “You need a catheter.”
Curse my kitten bladder.
There is a kind of suspension of disbelief hanging between us. I don’t—can’t—think about our physical positioning too hard right now. But also to note: why didn’t my other two one-night stands want to cuddle for warmth?
Can I even classify what’s happening here as a one-night stand?
Knock, knock, knock!
Alex groans. Or maybe growls. The sound vibrates through his body and into mine. And then, that voice—the same one from two days ago, outside the elevator in our building lobby—booms. “Alex, it’s your father!”
His body stiffens around me.
We both shoot out of bed like guilty, horny teenagers. I scramble back on my knees, lose my balance, fall backward. My head hits the carpeted ground with an unforgiving thunk. The comforter is tangled around my legs. I squirm like a fish on the floor, trying to unwrap my blanket burrito, spitting out my hair and also eating it.