Caught Between Two Billionaires

TRUST FUND

I learned early on that men and money can’t be trusted. They both have a knack for vanishing when you need them the most. But there must have been a glimmer of hope left in me.

Because it’s my stepbrother who shatters me completely.

The taste of salt hits my tongue before the limo driver even opens the door, casting a watercolor light on the sleek leather interior. We’re at the dock that houses Boston’s most luxurious boats, all stocked with caviar and champagne before they set sail.

The driver’s face is hidden in shadow, the sun creating a halo around him, but I know he’s expressionless. Like that time I sweet-talked my way into the flight attendant’s lounge? He showed up in his black suit and bland smile, having combed the entire airport with security.

Like everything else in my father’s life, he’s cold, predictable, and costly.

Gravel crunches under my sandals. I squint against the brightness. Seagulls swoop overhead as I step onto the long deck, hunting for their breakfast, oblivious to the pounding of my heart against my ribs.

I’d know which yacht belongs to Daddy even if I hadn’t seen it before. It’s the biggest, the best. The one that shines the brightest, with Liquid Asset emblazoned on it.

The sunlight is split by the silhouettes of three people.

Three people, not one. Disappointment catches in my throat. What was I expecting?

Last year, Daddy’s new wife got so drunk she tossed her champagne flute into the air. It came down in a splash of pale liquid and bubbling despair. After the steward cleaned up the shattered crystal, once the wife had retreated belowdecks to sleep it off, Daddy sat staring out at the dark sea. I sat beside him. “Why?” I asked, finally voicing the question that had been gnawing at me for years. “Why do you keep marrying these women?”

He was a bit drunk himself. Not enough to juggle with the glassware, but enough that his eyes held a distant sadness. He pulled me close, and I snuggled against him like I used to when I was a little girl, inhaling his cedar-salt scent.

“I love your mother,” he said then, using the present tense. He loves her.

There shouldn’t have been enough of the naive little girl left in me to believe it meant my parents would reunite, not after ten years and even more spouses between them. They couldn’t even coordinate my spring break visits without a go-between—me, of course. But maybe a part of me thought there wouldn’t be a new wife this year, after that admission.

Well, now I know for sure. There’s no chance of them being together, not even in the same room. But it would be nice if Daddy had stopped marrying his way through every divorcée in Boston’s high society. Like the limo that picks me up from the airport, there’s a new model every year.

Daddy smiles at me from the deck, and I can’t help but return his smile. Can’t help the little sprint I make down the rest of the deck before throwing myself into his bear hug. We’re far from a picture-perfect family, but I always love seeing him. I may be fifteen years old, but the little girl inside me still wears pigtails and wants to run to her daddy.

Even if it means tolerating the strangers he marries.

“How’s my girl?” he asks, tucking me into his side.

“Sleepy.” A man in a rumpled suit had snored next to me the entire flight, which would have been more annoying if I hadn’t swiped his phone and read his emails using the plane’s Wi-Fi. Someone had a secret girlfriend in New York City. Well, she used to be a secret. A few clicks changed that as we were flying over the Atlantic.

Guilt still twists my stomach, but then I picture my mother as that man’s wife. More likely, she would be the secret girlfriend. Men shouldn’t be allowed to hurt her so much.

“You can take a nap after brunch,” says the woman I was hoping wouldn’t address me.

“Harper,” Daddy says, giving my arm a secret squeeze. He’s never forgotten the time I yelled, You aren’t my mommy. Never mind that I was seven years old. “This is Louise Bardot. Louise, this is Harper. Isn’t she beautiful?”

I’m surprised I don’t get frostbite, that’s how icy this woman’s smile is. “Everything you said about her is true, Graham. She’s an absolute doll.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say just to see her dark eyes flash with anger.

Daddy’s smart enough to run a Fortune 500 company, but he can’t figure out when a woman is lying to him. Or maybe he knows, because he steers me away from her. “There’s someone else I want you to meet. This is Christopher.”

There have been other boys. Other girls. Most of the time we ignore each other, having bigger problems in our messed-up rich-kid lives than the stepsibling of the month. Sometimes one of them will take a swipe at me, with cutting words or a surprise shove as we pass in the hallway. A preemptive strike, so I know better than to mess with them.

I don’t want to mess with them. They’ll be gone by next year.

There’s no reason Christopher should be different.

Except that he is.

Even bathed in sunlight, he manages to look like a shadow, with jet-black hair and dark eyes. He’s taller than me, taller than Daddy. His arms are solid and muscled beneath the thin cotton of his black T-shirt. He’s wearing jeans, technically, but there’s nothing casual about him. Not the way he carries himself, as if he needs to protect something—maybe himself. And definitely not the way he’s looking at me, his intensity a physical touch against my skin, like he’s made of ocean and I’m sand, washed away, washed away, becoming smooth and pliable beneath him.

He nods slightly. “Your dad talks a lot about you.”

“You never came up in conversation,” I blurt out. I would have remembered if he had. He has the aura of a victorious warrior, like a knight from the medieval times. The kind who would have stood up for the common folk, but also demanded his due.

Dad clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Harper.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of Christopher’s mouth. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Bullshit,” I retort, unable to hold back. “I bet you’re in the top ten percent of your class.”

“Valedictorian, actually,” Dad interjects, his voice brimming with pride. “Now he’s a freshman at Emerson, studying business with a 4.0 GPA. You could take a page out of his book.”

It’s no wonder Dad has a new wife every year. The only thing he knows how to do with women is piss them off. “He might have good grades, but can he paint a three-story Medusa on the gym wall?”

A bitter laugh escapes him. “That little prank cost me a brand-new science lab.”

Even after two coats of thick white primer, the outline of her full lips and wild snake hair, painted dark and furious in the wee hours of the morning, using the folded-up accordion stands as scaffolding, was still visible.

Dad’s new wife coos like a pigeon, and he goes to fix her a drink. That leaves Christopher and me alone on the deck, the remnants of his perfect GPA and my expensive prank lingering in the air between us.

“Dad seems to be quite fond of you,” I say, unable to hide the bitterness in my voice.

He chuckles softly, which only fuels my anger. “You’re one to talk.”

“He’s my dad. Of course he loves me.”

“Right. That’s why you had to paint the gym to get his attention.”

Jerk. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“So you’re not a spoiled rich girl?”

A pang of hurt resonates in my chest. “We both know you’ll be out of here next year. I’ll never see you again, and you’ll never see me, so let’s just steer clear of each other for the next week, okay?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to learn a thing or two from me?” he teases, mimicking my earlier words.

“If I want to learn how to make enemies and push people away, I’ll give you a call.”

He blinks, and for a moment, I think I might have actually hit a nerve. Then his eyes harden. “I’ll keep my distance,” he says, his voice so icy it sends a shiver down my spine despite the sun’s warm rays beating down on my bare shoulders.

It’s not the worst interaction I’ve ever had with a step-sibling, but it’s the first time I think I initiated it. Apparently, I’m not above throwing the first punch, especially if the guy is smart and good-looking.

But he’s not really a guy, this one. He’s a freshman at Emerson College. Business school. No wonder Dad adores him. He probably thinks he’s found his rightful successor, since his rebellious daughter has no interest in taking over the family business. That will never be me, but I was right about one thing.

Christopher will be gone next year. They always are.