Page 6 of Lodged

I thought he was going to say he was disappointed in me or something, but of course, this guy is kindness personified. I turn around with a smile on my face, and he immediately beams, noticeably relieved. This guy should really be on a GQ magazine cover or something. His eyes sparkle like two bright stars against the night sky, and his unruly hair is a perfect mess; I’ve seen him pass his hand over his head at least a hundred times today, but somehow he still manages to look amazing.

“You, uh, didn’t. I’m used to worse things than being laughed at. You’re always so nice and kind. And I’m not…” I shake my head because I’m just rambling; I’m not used to losing my words. I’m usually very well-spoken—a skill I developed from reading so much from a young age. My parents didn’t go to college; my dad was a blue-collar guy. He worked hard and was always busy, but he loved to read. Every Sunday, he’d solve the newspaper crossword puzzle, making it a family affair. My oldersiblings would help with the dictionary, and Rain and I would try to guess words—or even make them up sometimes. Sunday mornings at home were the best.

“That’s the thing, you shouldn’t be used to being ridiculed. You are an amazing person, Ruin. Never forget that.”

He turns on his heel, and I’m left there by the lab door in awe. No one outside my family has ever been this nice to me.

Chapter 5

Gio Bianchi

It’s two months before my dissertation presentation, and I’ve been crunching numbers and running experiments over and over again to make sure my data is solid. I know all my data by heart—the methods I used, the variables, the statistics, and even the potential errors. Everything. I’m pretty sure if I had a roommate, they would say I recite my experiments in my sleep. It’s the only thing I think about. I’m obsessed.

Good thing I live by myself.

In the first year of my doctorate degree, I rented an apartment just outside of campus, and I really enjoyed being able to walk to and from campus most days. But after investing the trust fund my grandpa left me, I came across more wealth than I could have ever dreamt of. At first, I thought I would be able to live a comfortable life without worrying about money.

But as time passed, I kept making more money in the trading market, and I didn’t have the time or knowledge to keep up with my fortune. Luckily, my best friend is a financial wizard. Penny became my financial advisor two years ago, and I’m one of the top 10 most coveted billionaires in the world, according to Forbes.

Having such a large capital is both a blessing and a curse. I despise the spotlight—all I wanted in life was to be able to own a nice house and a good car, be able to visit my siblings often, and have a good enough financial cushion—enough to live comfortably if I ever lost my job, and until I found a new one.

But Penny is a shark and lives for the thrill of investing and making money. In the two years she has been managing my money, I went from a few hundred million dollars to three and a half billion. I’ve donated a lot, but somehow, Penny always manages to grow the gold pot again.

My most recent donation was twenty percent of my fortune to the State of North Carolina to build a science park—a place where all universities in the state could send scientists to conduct research or utilize the facilities to optimize their experiments. I made the donation anonymously, of course. But I’ve kept tabs on the usage and development of the project, and they’ve broken ground already. It fills me with joy to know that I was able to help so many people excel in their work. Work, that in most cases, will have a direct impact on the betterment of humankind’s quality of life, or on the conservation of the environment, which is my passion.

Penny: Hey, boss, do you have time to chat today?

Speak of the devil. I’ve been avoiding her like the plague all week. I know she wants to talk about investments and numbers, but all I have on my mind is my dissertation.

Gio: No. You know my assets better than anyone. Could you please handle them like you’ve been doing and fill me in at the end of the month?

Penny: It’s the end of the month, boss.

Fuck, I honestly don’t have time or head space for this.

Gio: Please don’t call me boss. It makes me feel old, and we’re the same age. I’m working really hard to have my manuscript ready before defending my dissertation. Can we please deal with this later?

Penny: Fine. I was simply trying to take your mind off of your dissertation, but yeah, I’ll see you around.

Gio: Thank you! You’re the best.

Lifting my arms into the air, I stretch my back, turning my head side to side to stretch my neck muscles, as well. When I check the time on the computer, I realize it’s three in the afternoon, and I haven’t had lunch. I don’t think I had breakfast, either. The ungodly sound my stomach decides to make at that exact moment confirms I’m correct. I have to go find sustenance, since I haven’t been to the grocery store this past week, either, thanks to the dissertation consuming my every thought.

I grab my keys and wallet on the way out, and as soon as I close the door behind me, a wave of humidity hits me. I can’t wait for the fall weather. How many times have I said the same thing in the past month?TMTC—Too Many Too Count.

My place is located two blocks from Main Street, and I always enjoy the walk and looking at all the unique houses in the area.

This is an “old” neighborhood in the sense that houses are either Victorian-style—like mine—or twentieth-century bungalows. One of my favorite parts of living here is the plant life people have in their gardens: a mixture of azaleas, roses, and native species. In fact, there’s an amphitheater in the heart of the neighborhood, surrounded by a beautiful rose garden.

I’m about to cross the street when I hear someone crying. I stop to listen better since it’s not unusual to hear toddlers crying around here. I think the amphitheater holds a story time for kids once or twice a week. But this cry sounds like it’s from an adult. I know it’s none of my business, but I go investigate anyway.

Even if I had fourteen million guesses as to who I'd find crying in the bushes, I never would have guessed it was someone I knew, someone who's been running through my mind on a loop. The person I find crying uncontrollably is one of my students—Ruin. Her unmistakable red hair is dancing with the wind, the sunrays hitting it through the shadows the tree top creates. She’s wearing a burgundy dress, which contrasts beautifully against her creamy skin. Her back is to me as she sits at the bottom of the amphitheater, her chest rising and falling as she continues to cry. I make my way to her slowly—I don’t want to startle her.

When I reach her, my shadow falls over her, and she quickly wipes the tears before looking up at me. as her gaze meets mine, a mix of panic and surprise transforms her face. I offer her a kind smile, though I’m sure I’m one of the last people she wants to see while crying her heart out.

“Gio, hi,” she says as she stands up. Once she’s at her full height, I can appreciate the dress she’s wearing. It has a vintage vibe with a damask print, sleeves that widen toward her wrists, and a flowy bottom. As she turns fully, I notice her brown suede boots when they click against the concrete—she looks stunning, even when her beautiful face is blotchy from crying.

“I’m sorry for interrupting you, but as I was heading to grab a bite, I heard someone crying and wanted to see if I could help.”

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