Page 30 of Ashes of Saints

“Failure is simply information. I look at what happened and learn from it. Then obviously don’t repeat it.”

I clear my throat and try to focus on the conversation.

“You are still pretty young. How did you know you wanted to do this?”

Parker leans back in his chair.

I wonder what lucky woman has sat on this man, straddling him and feeling his c—

Focus, Aurora.

“It was a case study we had to read at Brown. I was initially uninterested in the paper, but by the end was almost champing at the bit to get into the real world and start buying broken companies.”

How?

I figure he didn’t work behind the bar and save. He must have had some help.

“Did you have the money to do that immediately?”

He shrugs. “My father died, leaving me a nice chunk of money.”

I thought so.

Not every family can help their kids, but the fact my mother suddenly had so much wealth and never offered to help me in any way has always felt strange.

She did pay for half my college tuition. I paid the rest.

I am grateful. Very. Then she buys a multimillion-dollar penthouse, and I don’t know how she did that.

“That’s nice.”

Parker meets my eyes, obviously picking up on the tone in my voice. It’s nothing to do with him, but it snuck through. I guess I’m still bitter about all those late nights waiting tables and then having to study until the early hours.

“Ten million. I could’ve become some trust fund asshole. That just seemed boring.”

I smile.

It is cool that he did something with it instead of just taking fifty of his not friends to Majorca for three months and spending it on women, drugs, and booze.

I feel the urge to tell him how proud I am of him, but I’ve said enough dumb things for one night. Clearly, the familiarity I felt when we first met was way off. Those blue eyes of his still nudge at my memory, but I never went to Brown. I don’t know anyone that has, and I’d know if I met Parker Stone before.

He's not a man you’d easily forget.

“You could have. Instead, you’ve built an incredible career. That’s amazing. I, on the other hand, have an art degree and no idea what to do with it.”

“What do you want to do?” Parker asks, pushing a utensil along the white tablecloth.

I lift a shoulder. “I don’t know. How do you figure it out?”

Parker studies me, but his expression is unreadable.

“I know, I know. I should know by now. I’m twenty-six.” I shake my head and sip more of the delicious and expensive wine he ordered.

It would happily have three more glasses, but the bottle is empty.

“Some people don’t work it out until they’re older. What are you good at?” he asks, sounding more invested in the topic than I am.

Or perhaps he’s just more sober.

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