Martin Rosenberg is more than happy to make the Bank of the USA the face of the project. Undoubtedly he’ll open a branch in the complex, providing a whole range of banking services, including cheap home loans. It’s going to be great publicity for him without the bank putting up a lot of capital. It makes good business sense.
I tell him, “I’d like to finalize the plans as soon as possible so we can start construction at the beginning of next year. We should get some big names involved, like actors and sports figures. I’ve already contacted Make It Right, the foundation started by Brad Pitt to build homes for the victims of Katrina. He’s agreed to work with us and give us advice.”
We’ll need all the advice we can get—it’s proving an uphill battle to go through the red tape involved in such a big development. We haven’t even acquired the land, which is up for tender in about a month. But I don’t think it’s going to be a problem, especially with the connections Martin and I have.
While I’m on the phone, I hear a knock on the door and wave Alex in. He and I are often the only ones in the office on Sundays. As my legal compliance director, Alex is my right-hand man, in and out of the office. We’ve gone through a lot together, and I’d normally tell him if there’s anything bothering me. But for some reason, I haven’t told him what happened with Elle; I’m not sure if I want to hear what he has to say.
After I’ve hung up the phone, I tell Alex all the news about the West Chelsea project and show him the latest plans. His eyes lighting up with enthusiasm, he rattles off tons of new ideas. The project was his idea in the first place, and once I’ve got it rolling, I’ll get him to take over and head the project while I’ll move on to the next.
I make notes on my legal pad, but I soon start doodling in the margins: a row of dots and an assortment of Pacman figures. Has Elle truly reached Level 150? I wouldn’t be surprised—she’s a pro at that game. I smile to myself at the memory.
“Ryder?”
I look up. Alex is leaning over my desk.
“Sorry, what were you saying?”
“What’s going on, man? It seems you haven’t been yourself lately, you’re so distracted. I’m starting to worry about you.”
“I’m fine, really.”
“Did you get any action last night?”
“No, I wasn’t in the mood.”
Feeling gloomy and dispirited, I’ve been trying to keep myself busy in the past few days. On Friday night Alex and I grabbed a quick dinner before dropping into The Rock, an indoor climbing gym, for a climb on its 50-foot wall. The next day was a beautiful fall day, so we drove up to the Gunks for a day of steep and challenging climbs. At night Alex insisted on visiting an exclusive club, where I soon lost him to some buxom redhead. When an attractive blond sidled her body up against me on the dance floor, I tried hard, but obviously not hard enough because for inexplicable reasons, I couldn’t go through with it. I hated myself for it—I wanted to forget.
Alex furrows his brow. “This is so not you, bro. What’s bothering—hey, it’s not that racing chick, is it? GSX?”
How the hell does Alex know? I’ve told him about me helping Elle when her bike broke down, but he doesn't know about our date. Am I that transparent?
“There’s nothing going on between us. She didn’t want to have anything to do with me once she found out who I am.”
Laughing, he slams his hand on my desk. “No way! Isn’t that usually how you get them into bed in the first place?”
“I know, it’s weird, right? You’re not going to believe it, but she has moral objections against having money.”
I tell him about the incident in the diner and how Elle is involved.
He nods his head. “Yeah, I think I saw that protest on TV. Bankers are the real looters? Haha. Come to think of it, it’s actually quite funny. Isn't it just your luck to find the one girl in the world who you’re interested in, but who hates you for your money?”
“Shit, man, it’s not funny. Now she doesn’t want to see me anymore. And there’s nothing I can do to change her mind.” Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Hey, I haven’t seen you so miserable in a long time. Maybe the last time was when you lost big in the stock market. Remember when you were long S&P at the time that Lehman Brothers fell? And you lost ten million within a few hours? Well, that’s how you look right now.”
I rub the back of my neck. “She said she’s not my type. And I’ve been thinking, I don’t even know what my type is.”
If anyone should know it’s Alex. God knows how many women we’ve gone through over the years.
“Let me see. Blond, sexy, curvy, well-dressed. That’s what you go usually for. But I don’t know, man. You’ve never shown an interest in any of them for more than an hour, at most a night. But I can tell you one thing. You’ve never been remotely interested in a girl like that racing chick. Ever.”
“No, I haven’t, have I?”
“Let me ask you this. Do you just want to sleep with her or is this more? How much do you like her?”
I shrug. “I have no idea why, but I like her. A lot.”
“In that case, I say: go for it.”
“What do you mean? I already told you, she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“Come on now. The Ryder I know is as tenacious as a bulldog. Once there's something he wants, he figures out a way and won't let anything or anyone stop him.”
“But what if she really doesn't want me? Wouldn’t I just be wasting my time?”
God, I can’t believe how whiny, how needy I sound. But I’ve never been rejected by a girl before. I feel miserable; it’s like she has ripped out a chunk out of my body, leaving me hollow inside. I don’t want her to make me feel any worse.
“Hey, I’m probably not the best person to give you relationship advice. The only girl I’ve ever loved left me for a rich, bald guy. Can you believe it, leaving hunky me?” Alex flexes his biceps, and I can’t suppress a chuckle.
“But bro, I do know this: if you think she’s worth it, you can’t just let her go without a fight. And if anyone can do the impossible, it’s you.”
Before talking to Alex, I had all but given up on Elle. Now that he’s giving me a little sprinkle of hope, I’m seriously considering if I should go after her. I have never pursued a girl in my life. I’ve never had to; they’ve always come willingly to me. If I decide to do this, I will find myself in uncharted territory, and I can’t deny I find it somewhat daunting.
Alex slaps his stomach. “And now, my friend, it’s time for dinner.”
“Great idea.”
I unlock my desk drawer to grab my cell. When I lift it up, my eye falls on something at the bottom of the drawer—it’s the strip of photos we took at the games arcade. I pick it up, and Elle’s darkly lined eyes are staring at me, her pink lips curled in a cautious, slightly anxious smile. On one photo she’s biting her lip, and it instantly brings back memories of the night we went out—the night we kissed.
A warm wave briefly surges into the emptiness inside me, but is soon followed by a slicing, lingering pain. Damn, I long to see her again; to crush my lips against hers; to feel her soft body against mine. After listening to Alex, it sounds so tempting to go after her. I can’t deny that the risk-taker in me craves the challenge—one of the biggest I’ve faced for a long time. Even so, I worry that even if I am successful to take her in my arms, I may get too deeply involved with her. If this rejection already feels so bad, I know she has the power to undo me; to break my heart; to destroy me.
I realize that all I need to do is figure out the answer to one question.
Is she worth fighting for?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Elle
The mouthwatering aroma of spices, coconut, and cooked rice fill my nostrils as I step into Curry Leaves, my sister’s favorite Malaysian restaurant in Flushing. When Rose spots me, her eyes dip to the helmet tucked under my arm, and she shakes her head. “You’re not still riding that motorcyc
le, are you? It’s dangerous. You could be killed one day.”
“Come on, sis, you’d probably be glad to get rid of me.”
I wink at her, but she responds with a scowl.
“Don’t joke about things like that, Elle. I’m worried about you. Promise me you’ll be careful, okay? Don’t go too fast.”
“Uh-huh.” I sit down, hiding my grin behind the menu that I’ve snatched off the table.
The waitress appears, and Rose asks me, “So, are we having the usual?”
I nod, and she rattles off our favorite dishes—laksa, Hainanese chicken rice, and beef satay—while I take a few sips of water. I look at my sister’s immaculate white blouse, which is buttoned up to the top. She’s actually very pretty, with her big eyes and delicate features that she hides behind glasses, and her slim but shapely body that she likes to cover up. Even though she is the complete opposite of me, both in appearance as in attitude, she’s always there when I need her.
“I almost forgot.” I pick up my backpack and pull out a plastic bag with the clothes I borrowed from her. “Thanks for this.”
“You’re welcome. So, how did it go?”
“It went really well. We managed to shoot a video of the CEO of the Bank of the USA while he was having breakfast.”
She scrunches up her nose. “Poor man. Was it just you or did one of your friends help you?”
“There were three of us.”
“What? That’s a bit unfair, don’t you think, three against one? When all he’s trying to do is enjoy his breakfast in peace.”
“He wasn’t by himself. He was having a meeting with his fund manager, this De Luca guy, undoubtedly to discuss how to make even more.”
Damn, I didn’t mean to mention his name. But it’s unlikely Rose has ever heard of him.
Wrinkling her forehead, she looks up to the ceiling. “De Luca, did you say? It wouldn’t be that fund manager billionaire, would it?”
“How would you know? We could hardly find any intel on him on the net.”
“Remember Alice Ho? My friend who got a perfect score on her SATs?”
Of course I know her—Rose always goes on about her straight-A genius friend who won full scholarships to three Ivy League schools.
“Yeah?”
“Well, she was an intern with his company. I still remember because she couldn’t stop harping on and on about it, even when we were supposed to have a fun day out shoe shopping. It used to drive me crazy.”
I take a big gulp of water. I can’t believe Rose actually knows of him; this is my chance to find out exactly how much.
My voice cracks a little even though I’m trying my hardest to contain my excitement. “So what did she say? What’s he like?”
“She couldn’t stop gushing about him.”
“Why, did she date him or something?”
I feel an irrational feeling of jealousy bubbling up. Ryder couldn’t possibly be interested in Alice Einstein. She’s not just smart, she’s pretty, too. Damn.
“No, I don’t think so. I’m sure she’s tried, judging from how she kept on raving on about how hot he is, and brilliant, too. But apparently he doesn’t date—at all. With the money he has, women are probably falling at his feet. He must be going through them one or two a night. Or he’s gay, who knows?”
Rose covers her giggle with a napkin while I let out a relieved breath. If I’m sure about anything, is that Ryder’s not gay. But as for him not dating? I’m pretty sure that’s what we did—over two nights, we had drinks, we danced, played games, shared dinner, had a picnic. I’ve never wanted to label them as dates, but that’s exactly what they felt like, even if I’ve never had one before, not even in high school, and my drunk college hookups certainly don’t count. I’m quite sure that if the breakfast incident hadn’t happened, he would have asked me out again.
“I bet he’s your typical rich bastard—you know, private jet, mansion, servants.”
She shakes her head. “No, that’s what was so interesting about him. She said he was very down to earth; he doesn’t even have a driver. When Alice’s dad had a heart attack, she found out he paid for the surgery and hospital stay, even though he went to great lengths to cover it up. Apparently, he is an extremely private person who doesn’t like to draw any attention to himself.”
Our dishes arrive so we stop talking and start digging into the food. We talk about Jasmine, our little sister who’s a senior in high school. Miraculously, I manage to steer her away from the topic of Thanksgiving. I know I won’t be able to hold off much longer as it’s only three weeks from now, but I’m planning to conjure up a last-minute excuse like I do each year.
We finish dinner later than I expect, and I speed back to the campus for my evening meeting with The 99. When I walk into the classroom, it’s already packed. The chairs are set out in a circle as usual, but contrary to our usual weekly meetings, all seats are taken. Another semi-circle of chairs placed behind the circle is also full. Since I’ve joined The 99, I’ve never seen so many people in any of our meetings. Then I remember Adam called this special public meeting straight after our protest to attract potential new members. It is one thing to hear how successful our campaign has been, but another to see more than fifty people hanging on his every word.
I grab a chair at the back of the room and place it so I have a good view of Adam, who is seated in the inner circle. Mark, who sits about three chairs to his right, winks at me, but I pretend I don’t notice. In his usual passionate fashion, Adam talks about what The 99 stands for and why we oppose the one per cent of the population that holds the majority of wealth.
“What we do is not just talk and complain, we take action. Many of you came today because our latest protest has struck a chord with you. We’re planning a lot more of those in the future, targeting that one per cent of repulsive looters who grab all the money for themselves. Together, we’ll make them pay!” Adam throws up his fist, and the regulars cheer.
A deep male voice asks, “But what if that one per cent actually helps? Look at what Bill Gates has done to eradicate polio in the Third World.”
Oh no. That voice…it slices through me like a searing knife, sending chills up my spine. What the hell is Ryder doing here? I move my chair and angle it to get a better view at the inner circle.
Yeah, it’s him all right, slouched backwards on his chair, legs spread out. Wearing a black turtleneck on a pair of worn jeans, dark hair mussed, he looks positively hot.
Unable to shift my gaze from him, I hear Mark’s nasal, whiny voice. “Yeah, but how many Bill Gates are there? Most of them care shit for everyone else, only for themselves.”
“Does that even matter? Fewer people are dying of polio because of him.”
“You can’t possibly believe—hey, don’t I know you?”
Mark jumps up and points at Ryder. “I know you. I’ve seen you before…yeah, you were with Rosenberg at the breakfast meeting. You’re that billionaire fund manager.”
Ryder lifts a dark brow. “So what if I am?”
“Why would someone like you attend this meeting?”
“I thought this is a public meeting. Didn’t he,” he says, cocking his head to Adam, “say everyone is welcome here?”
“Yeah, but he also explained that we are The 99. You’re clearly not part of us. You’re the one per cent he was talking about. One of the looters. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why? Maybe I want to find out more. Maybe I want to get involved.”
“To do what, spy on us? So you can throw your money at shutting us down?”
His contorted face beet-red, Mark takes a step towards Ryder, who rises from his seat. Although only a few inches shorter, Mark looks scrawny in comparison.
“Are you trying to make fun of us? Huh?” Mark pushes him hard in the chest with both hands, but Ryder doesn’t budge.
Adam, pale-faced, stands up. “That’s enough, Mark.”
Ignoring him, Mark raises his voice even further. “What stunt are
you trying to pull? You know you don’t belong here. Go back to your multimillion-dollar penthouse before I make you.” Stretching out his arm, he points to the exit behind me.
Ryder’s eyes follow his finger and instead of the exit, find me. He freezes momentarily, and in his eyes I read a mixture of surprise and something else—a flash of heat. My pulse speeds up and entranced by his gaze, I can no longer hear what Mark is shouting.
Why did he come? If Rose is right and he is the private person she claims he is, this is the worst place to avoid drawing attention to himself. Surely, he must have known that the moment he opened his mouth, he set himself up for trouble. If he’d wanted to talk to me, he could have called or texted me. Even if I failed to reply—which I probably would—he could have turned up at my apartment or at work like he did before.
A movement in the corner of my eye brings me out of my trance. Mark has followed Ryder’s gaze and found its object. His face full of rage, Mark makes a fist behind his back. He can’t be serious. He’s not planning to…?
He is.
“No!” I scream.
Pushing aside chairs and ignoring people’s curses, I rush towards Mark. In slow motion, I see his clenched hand approaching Ryder, who attempts to dodge it, but it is too late. Mark’s fist connects with the left side of his face, right next to his eye. Surprise flickers on his face, but Ryder remains anchored on the spot, motionless apart from his hand slowly moving up to his hurt eye. Why doesn’t he fight back? Judging from his muscular build, he could easily overpower him with one push.
I finally reach the inner circle and put my body between Mark and Ryder, whose eye is reddening and will probably develop into a black eye. I am beyond furious. Goddamn Mark. If I had a knife, I would stab him right now. Instead, I push him backwards on his bony chest multiple times until he is as far removed from Ryder as possible.
“You. Asshole. Stay away from him,” I hiss.
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