Page 14 of Spades

Dad scoffs. “Then what the hell are you planning on making of yourself?”

“I’ve thought it over, Dad. And I want to take over Uncle Stephen’s old shop. The haberdashery in Uptown.”

Dad drops his jaw. “You want to spurn politics…for men’s fashion?”

“The shop has been abandoned for nearly a decade. It’s just sitting there, gathering dust. The family already owns the property. I want to bring it back to life.”

Dad runs his hands through his hair. “You realize your Uncle Stephen was a bitter old queen, right? The black sheep of the family?”

“I don’t care about that. I share his love for menswear, for looking good. Is that so awful?”

Dad takes a deep breath in. “Maddox, are you…like him?”

I scoff. “No, Dad. Not that it should matter either way. But you don’t have to be gay to care about how you present yourself to the world.” I eye the Armani suit he’s wearing. “Youcertainly dress nicely.”

“I dress this way because that’s how I’m expected to dress, Maddox.” He runs his hands up and down the label of his jacket, scowling. “Believe me, I’d spend every day in a T-shirt and sweatpants if I weren’t the goddamned mayor.”

“Regardless, Dad, this is what I want.” I grab the lapels of my own jacket. “Thisis my passion. Not politics. I’m sorry.” I turn back toward the ballroom. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a slice of birthday cake with my name on it.”

And a gin and tonic, even though I’m underage. I’ve been drinking all night. It’s my party, after all.

Dad grabs my shoulder. “Maddox. You’re eighteen now. I’m no longer legally obligated to provide you food and shelter.”

“I never asked you for a damned thing.”

“Good. I’ll happily sign over the deed to that old haberdashery to you in exchange for half of your profits, if you make any. But that will be it. If you want to throw away your future, I certainly won’t be financing it.”

I jerk, nearly stumbling, but I catch myself. I won’t let the old bastard see that he got to me. “So you’re cutting me off?”

He sears his gaze into mine. “Yes, Maddox. I’ll cut you off. If you need seed money for the new business, you’ll have to take a small-business loan, which you’ll be responsible for. You’ll be responsible for all your own expenses, and I wouldn’t expect any inheritance to come your way when your mother and I die.”

“Dad…”

“Or…you can go back in there, tell the guests it was all a joke. You’ll go to Yale. Tuition is already covered because of your legacy status, but I’ll cover your room and board for four years. And then three years of law school. You’ll leave school debt-free and ready to pursue your own political career. Carve your niche in the Hathaway family legacy.” He narrows his eyes sternly. “It’s not too late to fix this, son.”

Defiance flares through me. “You’re right, Dad. It’snottoo late.”

* * *

And I did it.I fucking did it.

My old man stayed true to his word. He signed the building over to me in exchange for half of my profits. He gave me a one-week grace period to get the hell out of his house. Luckily, there was a small loft over the shop itself that I could use as an apartment. Most of the family friends who gave me money canceled my birthday checks before I could cash them, but I was able to hold onto a few of them, just enough to furnish the small apartment. I went to several banks and finally secured a loan of a hundred grand to fix up the shop and buy my first round of inventory. Within a few months, I was open for business.

And I couldn’t be fucking prouder of myself.

It was pretty scant there for a while, especially since my father was eating up fifty percent of my profits. I lived mostly off ramen noodles those first few years—so I guess I got a little bit of the college experience after all—but I slowly but surely eked out a living.

Meanwhile, my dad’s political career went south. A few sexual scandals came to light after he passed some highly unpopular legislation, and he lost his reelection bid in a landslide. He divorced my mother shortly after, leaving her with next to nothing. They, of course, had a prenup—no one in my family gets married without one. And then he dropped dead of a sudden heart attack within twelve months of his loss. I didn’t see a penny of the fortune he had amassed. Nearly all of his assets went to the various charities he supported, but he did leave me two things.

His car. The Rolls-Royce that I drove Alissa home in just last night.

And the membership to his club.

Why he did that is anybody’s guess. I sure wasn’t going to question it. Aces Underground is the most exclusive club in the city, and my father’s estate is paying my membership fees in perpetuity.

Maybe he wanted to give me one last taste of the high life, convince me to turn back to the dark side, follow his footsteps, restore the Hathaway legacy.

It’s tempting. Not because I want to undo what my father did—it’s his own damned fault that he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants or his brain in his skull—but because he left a small fortune in a trust, available to me on the sole condition that I go back to Yale, pursue the political career he always wanted for me.

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