Page 4 of Old Money

“I’m going to go check on the status of your phone,” he says. I nod as our hands break from each other.

A little while later, Dr. Simon is cleaning up his supplies, and we’re headed back downstairs. He and Julian talk for a few minutes, and then I see Julian hand him an envelope as Russ walks him to the elevator. Tyler is nowhere to be seen, and suddenly, I’m aware that it’s just me and the random billionaire who swept me up to his tall tower today.

There are three large brown bags on the massive kitchen island, and Julian grabs them, walking toward me. There are three huge couches in the middle of the sunken living room centered around a large fireplace.

“Before you sit,” he says—not that I was going to—“I thought you might want to change. I guessed on sizes, but one of my assistants grabbed a few things in a few different sizes so you could wear whatever was the most comfortable. I thought you might want to…get the day off of you.”

One thing about me is that Ihateto feel like I owe people. Gifts make me uncomfortable because I have this overwhelming sense that I’m only worthy of them if I can return the favor. But today, I can’t seem to care. And he’s right. I want nothing more than to get this outfit off of me. I want to burn it.

“Thank you,” I say.

“There is shampoo and soap and everything you should need in the bathroom in your suite. If you need anything else, I’ll be right down here. The phone should get here by the time you’re done.”

I nod and go back upstairs. I choose an ultra-soft sweatsuit and some fluffy socks from the bag and get into the shower, turning the water as hot as it will go. And while the room fills with steam, I sob quietly against the glass.

I get myself together, wash my hair and body, and get dressed. When I get back downstairs, Julian is plugging a phone into one of the chargers that has magically appeared from one of the arms of the couch.

“Just in time,” he says. “Aaron said that he was able to get into your cloud and download your contacts. He is still working on getting your pictures, but the contacts are here.” He hands me the phone. “Do you want some privacy?”

I think about it for a moment.

“No,” I say. “Could you sit with me?”

He nods, grabbing a glass of whiskey off the table and scooting closer to me.

“Of course.”

JULIAN

I’m trying to stay as calm as I can. I watch as she opens her contacts, her fingers shaking as she types in the first name. “Lucy” flashes on the screen. It rings a few times, but no answer. Someone named Maddie is next, but she doesn’t answer either. Spencer is next, and while his call goes directly to voicemail, he texts her back immediately.

“He’s okay,” she breathes. “He is locked in the arts building with his graphic design class. They’ve been in there for three hours,” she reads. “He’s talked to a few of my other friends too.”

I see her scroll back through her texts, sending some off to the people who didn’t answer. She stares down at the screen for a few moments, willing it to light up, but it doesn’t. Finally, I put my hand on top of the phone.

“Hey,” I say, and she looks up at me. “It doesn’t mean they’re not alive. Phones could be dead, cell towers down…there are no answers yet.”

I’m trying like hell to sound convincing. Statistically, her friends are most likely alive. Carrington University is a tiny little school in Connecticut that has gotten the reputation over the last few years of being almost as hard to get into as the Ivy Leagues. It’s small, but out of twenty thousand kids, statistically, her friends are hopefully okay.

“Hungry?” I ask. She’s been with me for hours, and she hasn’t even mentioned food. She shrugs.

“Not really,” she says. I know I should encourage her to eat, but I’m letting her set the pace right now. I want to ask her questions: figure out how she ended up on the East Coast, figure out why she ended up at Carrington, learn more about her. She’s a tiny little thing, her short black hair tied up in a knot on her head, her dark-green eyes streaked and bloodshot. “Is there any news on flights yet?”

I shake my head.

“Not yet,” I say. “But my people are on it. Checking in on the hour, every hour, until we can get her on a plane.”

She nods.

“Thank you, Julian,” she says, biting her bottom lip. “For all of this.”

I lean forward, putting my hand on hers again.

“Thankyou, Sawyer,” I say. “Did you decide where you want to stay?”

She clears her throat and tucks a stray curl behind her ear.

“If it’s okay with you, I’ll just stay here,” she says. I nod, fighting a smile. I was hoping she’d say that. I want to keep an eye on her, although I don’t really know why.

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