Page 58 of Faking It with my Small Town Billionaire

One minute I hate him; the next minute, I miss him.

Maybe hate is too strong a word. Let’s go with detest, abhor, loathe, dislike. Oh, wait. All those words mean the same thing. All right, so my sarcasm gets worse when I’m tired, but let’s just say he’s not my favorite person right now.

After a strong cup of coffee, I call the nursing home. Apparently, Mom is fine and has integrated right back into her normal routine. I suppose that’s what happens when you can’t remember what you did the day before.

Maybe, on some level, it’s a blessing in disguise. Not that I would wish that disease on anyone. That being said, a little amnesia would do me no harm right now. I’d love to forget what happened yesterday.

In a mindless trance, I spend most of the afternoon on the porch, just staring out across the lake. With the sounds of the water and the birds in the trees, I slip into some kind of meditative state and completely zone out. Maybe I can’t forget what happened yesterday, but I can certainly tune out of my own life for a while.

When I come back to Earth, the sun is low in the sky. Its reflection glitters across the lake like a thousand explosions happening every millisecond. Dad always loved this place, and this was one of the reasons why. It just holds such beauty, and wonder, and surprise. No day is ever the same, no sky is ever the same, no reflection is ever the same.

I look at my phone and notice another bunch of missed calls from Orson. Maybe I could send him a text, just to let him know I’m okay. Instead, I decide to make another call.

I’ve been putting this call off. I don’t really know why. Partly because I’m too tired, partly because I don’t want anyone judging my decision. But the fact of the matter is this: I need some help and good advice from people who know me and love me.

So I call my sisters.

23

Orson

My head is sore this morning. Maybe I had too much of an intimate relationship with my bourbon last night. It probably doesn’t help that my head was overrun with thoughts, and I didn’t go to bed until past one in the morning.

Smart, Orson. Real smart.

Sleep was a combination of tossing, turning, bad dreams, and waking in the night, so this morning, I look and feel like death warmed up. And I still have to travel to the city. I head into the shower and blast the cold water. I breathe in sharply. While the pain I feel all over my body certainly takes away from my thumping head, it doesn’t stop the pain in my heart.

Calling Lily yesterday didn’t work, but it doesn’t stop me from calling several times again on my way into the office. She doesn’t answer. Now there’s a surprise. There’s no point leaving a voicemail; I can’t imagine she’s going to listen to them either.

When I finally get into the office, my phone rings, and I immediately lift it, but I feel a wave of disappointment when I see the caller is my grandfather.

“What?” I say when I answer. It’s completely rude, but I’m too tired to care.

“And good morning to you too,” he says, his tone laden with sarcasm.

A wave of dread washes over me at the thought that his spies might have seen Lily leaving the apartment with all her belongings yesterday. I can feel my heart beginning to thump hard against my rib cage in anticipation of what he’s going to say next.

“I apologize,” I say quickly. “I’ve had a busy week.”

“Indeed. I hear things are moving along well in Willow Creek.”

It takes me a second to realize he’s talking about the plans for the upgrade of the town.

“Yes. Yes, they are. We have more sponsors on board, and I hear there are even more investors interested.”

“Very good, Orson. You should give yourself a pat on the back.”

Right now, I want to give myself a punch in the face, but I don’t want to reignite my waning hangover. The headache is not long gone.

“Have you put a date in your diary for four weeks?” Pops asks.

“Four weeks? Why? What’s happening in four weeks?”

The old man chuckles into the phone. “My, my, you have had a busy week. Your birthday is in four weeks, son. We’re throwing a party at the estate to celebrate you inheriting your fortune.”

I take a deep breath in. “Right,” I say, reeling at his words.

One might forget their birthday, but it’s unlikely they would forget inheriting an empire, and yet, with Lily leaving, I’ve been a little distracted by wondering if she’s all right.

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