Page 20 of From West, With Regret

I pull out my wallet and drop a one-hundred-dollar bill in front of him. His eyes go wide before he offers me a thank you and stuffs it into the tip jar sitting on the back shelf.

“What’s this fundraiser for?” I ask Holt as I finish off the last of my first beer, then swap it out for the fresh one.

“My sister Julianna is raising money for underprivileged kids in the city. She runs a scholarship for those who’ve grown up in low-income households.”

“Oh, wow.” I raise my eyebrows, shocked to hear the type of fundraiser his sister is hosting, considering their upbringing. Children of the mayor of New York City have never experienced a life of uncertainty. At least not in the monetary sense.

“Surprising, right?” Asher says, laughing.

“Why is it surprising?” Holt asks him, his brows slanted.

“Nothing.” Asher shakes his head, stifling his laughter. “I just wasn’t expecting it, coming from your family.”

“My father was the mayor, Asher. He always ran charity events and fundraisers.” Holt chest puffs out defensively. “People always think we’re assholes because we have money, but not all of us are. We try.”

Asher’s laughter is cut short. “I know. I wouldn’t be friends with you if you were a complete asshole.”

Holt cocks his head to the side. “So, you’re saying I’m alittlebit of an ass?”

“I think that’s exactly what he’s saying.” I can’t help cracking a smile. “If it’s your sister’s fundraiser, why are you holding it here?” I glance around at the party. The rooftop is large, and having been here a handful of times, I understand why it is great to host a party of this size, but it seems out of place for Holt.

Holt rolls his eyes. “I owe her.”

“Owe her for what?”

“For ruining her birthday party a while back.”

“Oh.” Asher points at Holt, his face lighting up with recognition. “When you invited your family’s enemy? What was his name again? Rome?”

“Yeah, him,” Holt mutters, giving Asher a side glance as he lifts his drink to his mouth. Once he swallows the pastel liquid, he adds, “I’d rather not talk about it. The important thing now is she can’t hang it over my head.”

Asher laughs, tipping his head back. “Oh, she’ll never let it go, but at least you’re trying.”

“I figured she would never completely let it go. Have you met my sister?” Holt mutters, his blue eyes scanning the crowd. “Where are the girls, anyway?”

“I’m not sure,” Asher says. “Last Charleigh told me, she and Selene were gathering up a few of the bouquets they were donating for the auctions.”

“Auctions?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He points toward the other side of the roof to my right. “There’s a silent auction over there. You should check them out.”

“I will.” I nod, taking another sip of my beer. Even if there isn’t anything that piques my interest for the auction, I’ll probably end up donating to Julianna’s charity anyway.

I keep the secret of my understanding the recipients of Julianna’s charity to myself and grab a fresh beer before leaving my friends to go check out the auction. I weave through the crowds, not recognizing a single person. Bouquets of black and white flowers are set in the center of each table, and I catch a glimpse of Selene, as well as Asher’s fiancée Charleigh, adjusting a few flowers on top of one of the larger tables. I recognize both of them from Julianna’s party months ago.

The one Holt said he owed his sister for ruining.

Though I remember that night for a different reason.

It was the first night I’d seen London in years. Raven hair, gold rings on each finger, the heart-shaped birthmark stamped on her hand. I was still getting over my shock of seeing her again when I recognized the man who’d wrapped his arms around her.

My brother Heath.

I swallow the memory of that night down with a swig of my beer, already on my third since I got here.

Walking toward the auction table, I read the clipboards laid out. Yachts and private jets are among a few of the prizes. I scoff under my breath, not understanding why rich assholes only feel the need to donate to charity unless they get something in return. Maybe it makes them feel righteous in their gluttony.

I shake my head at some of the bids already written down, when I catch a glimpse of black and blue coming from the lower portion of the roof. Behind the table is a metal and wired balcony overlooking the lower portion of Heath’s rooftop property. Stairs to my left lead down to the large swimming pool. It’s strange seeing a pool this size on top of a building in the center of Brooklyn, but considering its Holt, it doesn’t surprise me. What sends the blood shooting down from my brain to my feet, though, is the woman floating in the middle. Her black hair is splayed out around her, floating on the surface. Her long arms are spread out beside her, and her feet are slowly kicking below the surface, keeping her in place. Her eyes are closed, mouth closed too, her ears beneath the surface.

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