Page 78 of Due Diligence

As I stared at her, I realized my palms were sweating. She did that to me. She made me feel unsteady. I thought I would hate that, but it was enlivening—the first thing to inspire me in years.

I braced myself and walked over to her—ready to win her back.

Chapter 21: Cass

I stood on the balcony and gazed out at the city, a glass of champagne in one hand and an unlit joint in the other. My mind raced. I was strongly considering lighting up the joint to quell the asteroid field of thoughts shooting through my brain. That usually worked. But as my shit luck would have it, I left my lighter in a different purse. Of course, there was no shortage of people at this party who would happily light my joint for me—and would probably invite me for a bump of coke just to be nice. But I still wasn’t sure just how much of this night I wanted to forget.

I knew what I wished I could erase. If I were to glance over my shoulder, I would probably see Marcus and the leggy, hot brunette he brought tonight. Erin. The message was clear: He could easily find someone prettier than me. Smarter than me. Taller than me. In fact, he went and did just that.

Erin probably came with so much less baggage, too. I bet her parents would be front row when she got her PhD, andshe would waltz right into a dream career that fulfilled her intellectual and financial needs. A PhD in economics? I bet theWall Street Journalwas already knocking on her door for consultations.

I knew what I wanted to remember too. Marcus was rare. He deserved Erin. He deserved someone who didn’t balk at the idea of commitment, who didn’t seek out filthy words while she fucked guys because she was too damaged to take a compliment. He deserved someone who hadn’t screwed her way through Brooklyn, accepting subpar fucks from guys with no purpose other than to sneak out of her bed in the morning.

A hand came to rest on the small of my back, too low to be anyone else but Marcus. Sure enough, he entered my periphery. The sight of his face still worked up my body, even when I wanted to be angry with him.

He kept his hand on my back and leaned against the railing, his elbow resting casually on top. The pose worked for him, making him look uncharacteristically debonair in the suit he was wearing. If I hadn’t been so pissed off at him earlier, I would have told him he looked incredible. Sharp and expensive. But I wouldn’t necessarily say that he looked better than he usually did. Briefly, I noted how I actually missed the Apple Watch he had replaced with a Cartier watch tonight.

“Having fun?”

I didn’t justify that with a response. Instead, I brought my glass of champagne up to my mouth and took a drink, all while examining Marcus. He didn’t break the eye contact. He simply took another step closer and tucked my hair behind my ear.

“I’m heading out now.” His breath was warm on my skin.

“Congrats.” I noted that Erin was nowhere in sight, but I chose not to mention that.

“I called a car for you too,” he continued as his hand lingered near my cheek. “If you go downstairs, the driver is waiting. Thehotel valet will point you in the right direction. Feel free to head out whenever you want. He’ll wait as long as he has to.”

I exhaled slowly, wondering what choice words to offer him. After a long pause, I decided silence was the best route.

“I’ll see you later,” he said when he pulled his hand away from my face. He lowered it so it rested on top of my own hand on the railing.

“See you Monday,” I responded.

Marcus paused, leaned forward, and kissed my cheek. “Later, not Monday,” he whispered in my ear. The comment rang like a command, more than a recommendation. I hated him for that.

I didn’t watch him leave. Instead, I forced myself to stare out at the city, to appreciate it for its vibrancy. That failed miserably. Almost immediately, I fixated on a panel of windows in the distance, in what looked like an office building. I recognized those fluorescent panel lights, just like we had back at Davenport-Ridgeway. They beamed down on empty offices, whose inhabitants had long left for the weekend. I wondered what they were doing right now.

With a sigh, I put the joint back into my purse and turned around. My eyes scanned the partygoers, nostalgia pinging me. I knew the type. They were overdressed yet underdressed at the same time. Wealth was subtle. It whispered. I could still spot it a mile away.

When I was a senior in college, I would come to parties like this. I would take the train from New Jersey and meet up with friends on slick New York streets, darting into the places where even the scaffolding looked privileged. Without pause, I would throw my father’s credit card down and spring for bottle service. Other nights, I would watch as management consultants and i-bankers nonchalantly rang up bills that totaled more than I now pay in rent every month. Those men—boys, actually—plied me with liquor and promises. They guaranteed me houses in theHamptons and wealth older than America. I was careful back then, only drinking enough to keep up, but never too much to disappear into oblivion. I was always on the cusp. On the cusp of drunkenness. On the cusp of reality. On the cusp of happiness.

At a table, Alex was surrounded by a small horde of women. Scantily clad. Stunning. They weren’t called women though; they were called girls. Some of them were models and others were Instagram influencers. They orbited him like stars on the fringes of a galaxy, laughing at some joke he was telling that I just knew wasn’t funny.

Dating boys like Alex used to be my bread and butter. I could spot them in a crowd and they would always lock eyes with me. Pedigree always found pedigree; that was a fact. Their mystique wore off quickly though. There was nothing behind the credit cards and the clothes. It was no surprise that by the time I was in my senior year of college, I had enjoyed more than my fill of these boys—and was ready for something else. Trevor was like a breath of fresh air. He was tattoos and piercings and sex. He gave zero shits about anything—in a sea of boys with roman numerals after their names that often seemed higher than their IQs. It was a classic rich girl scandal among my circles. Rumors quickly traveled that Cassie Pierson was dating a cater waiter who lived in Brooklyn. The rumors only made the sex better.

Alex brought one of the women into his lap, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. His hands toyed with the short hem of her dress, daring to expose her. He could just get it over with—he could nail her if he wanted to. She would be game, I was sure. But that wasn’t how people like Alex and this woman operated: The song and dance was the most important part of the ritual. Being seen. It was only worth doing if everyone else saw it—and envied it.

I didn’t want to be seen. No good ever came of it.

Without another glance at Alex, I finished my glass of champagne and headed back towards the door to the hotel.

***

As promised, there was a car waiting for me outside of the Peninsula. When I slid into the backseat, the driver informed me he had instructions to bring me to an address I didn’t recognize. That could have been creepy, but then he quickly added that he had also been instructed to take me wherever I wanted to go, if not the mystery address.

Typical Marcus. He had planned for all possibilities, and respect was at the heart of his intentions. It made it so hard to stay angry at him.

Twenty minutes later, when Marcus opened his front door, he smiled too broadly for me to just let that slide.

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