Page 9 of Surprisingly Us

A heavy weight settles across my chest. I care about this. About the foundation. My parents’ legacy.

I shake my head. “No, we’re going home.”

“Home?” he asks, as he slides into the vehicle beside me.

It’s a good question. For a long time now, home has been wherever I feel like being for more than a few days at a time. But in New York City, I have one residence.

“Yeah. We’ll be staying in Manhattan.”

“And why is that?” he asks.

Ramsey’s used to my restless ways. Never in one place for long. He’s been with me since I left New York City the first time and for efficiency, he always has his suitcase packed.

“Jerrod was there.”

We exchange a knowing glance.

Ramsey groans, before adjusting his glasses. “What did you get yourself into?” He reaches for his neck. “I refuse to participate; my neck still isn’t the same after that tandem bike race three years ago.”

It had been a silly bet between me and Jerrod, his friend Smith, and Ramsey, who by default as my assistant got roped into being my partner. A wager gone too far after too many beers in an Amsterdam bar.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I love your optimism.” He pats my cheek. “It’s precious.”

Recalling what my grandfather had said about the board president’s character, I tell him, “I need to clean up my image. No more parties, no more women.”

Ramsey’s brows shoot to his sandy-blonde hairline, his brown eyes light with intrigue. “No arguments here, but how does that involve Jerrod?”

I tell him about my grandfather stepping down from foundation board president and Jerrod’s desire to take the position. How I refuse to let that happen.

“It’s competing against Jerrod, which I fucking hate, but I hate the thought of him running The Spencer Foundation even more.”

Ramsey nods, he’s my assistant, but he’s also a good friend, and the voice of reason in my chaotic life. I don’t always listen to that voice, but he knows he’s free to give his opinion either way.

“All right. Let’s do this.” He adjusts his glasses, then reaches for his phone. “I’ll set up an appointment with my cousin Percy at Bergman’s. He’ll get you a grown-up wardrobe.”

I scoff. “What does that mean?”

“Your clothes are,” he eyes my suit, “how should I put this nicely? Loud.”

“They’re an expression of me,” I argue.

“Exactly.”

That’s all he says. No elaboration. The point is to be less like I am now.

“Fine. I’ll pick out a few things.”

“And you’ll need new friends.”

“What’s wrong with my friends?” I ask.

Ramsey’s brows climb higher on his forehead. An inch for each confounding statement that comes out of my mouth.

“Do I really need to elaborate?” he asks. “Because I’ve got a PowerPoint presentation worth of material.”

“They’re a little wild,” I concede.

---