8. East

EIGHT

east

I DRUMMED MY fingers along the back of an empty seat as I watched the buildings surrounding Columbus Circle pass by. It wasn't often I was the lone passenger in the Sprinter, but I'd stopped by my father's office after classes to check out the new high-rise plans for downtown. He'd won the bid easily, because what other real estate magnates could compete with the company who'd designed Easton Tower, one of the preeminent buildings in the city?

It was why my name opened doors everywhere I went. Why people begged me to make an appearance, to give them publicity.

So what in God's name had happened on Friday night?

Yes, I was still stewing over it. It was the first and only time I'd ever had a door shut in my face—literally—and it'd only made me even more determined to figure out what was happening behind those closed doors.

What was that place? Who was the cockblocker behind the mask? What did King get up to there?

Ugh. The rejection , as Zac had called it, chafed. It just wouldn't do. No one turned me down and got away with it.

On the other hand, a place like that couldn't be so great if they didn't want someone like me there. And Zac wasn't exactly hard on the eyes either.

"Will you be going out tonight, Mr. Easton?" Scotty glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

"Hard to believe, but I think I should take the night off."

He nodded as he pulled in under the porte-cochère at the Waldorf Towers and brought the Sprinter to a stop. "Yes, sir. Let me know if that changes."

One of the doormen rushed to open the van, and I grabbed my bag and stepped out. The guys and I had hit up a few clubs over the weekend, a good distraction to be sure, but tonight I wasn't in the mood. I needed to find a new hacker if Harry couldn't get me the information I needed.

As I made my way across the lobby's marble floors, the reception attendant called out, "Mr. Easton, a moment."

I arched a brow and headed over to her. "Good evening, Sophia. What can I do for you?"

She reached into a drawer and pulled out a plain manila envelope. "This arrived for you."

"Why is it not with the rest of my mail?"

"We were told to give it to you directly."

I took the envelope, stamped confidential ."Who dropped this off?"

"I'm not sure. It arrived during Dave's shift, and when I asked, he said it seemed like a hired bike messenger."

I screwed my nose up. A bike messenger? It couldn't be anything important, then. But curiosity over what I'd find inside won out, so I thanked Sophia and headed to the elevator to open it privately.

Once the doors closed, I opened the tab and pulled out a black envelope with my name in handwritten script on the front. Red wax stamped on the back closure contained a symbol I didn't recognize, and my brow furrowed.

What is this? A party invite?

I flipped it back over and stared at the gold swirl of my name. If it was some kind of party, surely I would've heard talk of it, especially of one going to this kind of expense to get me there.

It did, however, make sense. Unlike what happened on Friday. Of course I was being invited somewhere high class and ostentatious, and with a special invitation, no less. That was the kind of respect my name deserved.

I wonder if the rest of our group got one too?

I tossed my key card on the entry table and was about to open up the mysterious letter when I spotted West sitting on the couch. He had the TV on and was flipping through the streaming services.

"Hey, little late getting home, aren't you?" he asked.

"Unfortunately. Father wanted to go over some plans he wants me to work with him on, and you know how he gets when he talks business."

"Mind-numbingly boring?"

"I was thinking more specific and long-winded. I wanted to see the next building that will carry my family name, and he wanted to impress me with every single detail of the phenomenal deal he made."

"And were you impressed?"

"Pretty sure I fell asleep with my eyes open."

West smirked and tossed the remote on the couch, his gaze falling to the envelopes in my hand. "Whatcha got there?"

Wait, he didn't get one? Now I was intrigued. I had no idea what I was holding. Who was sending me invitations and not my friends? We were kind of a package deal, though truth be told, I was the standout. The leader. It was common knowledge.

"Just something from my father, that's all." Don't ask me why I was lying. West was my best friend and had so much dirt on me he could bury me six feet under. But something about this told me to keep my mouth shut.

Not something I generally did of my own free will.

"Gotcha. You planning to stay in tonight or heading out with the rest of us?"

Even before I'd been handed the letter—which was practically burning a hole in my palm—I'd decided to stay in tonight, but now it was a no-brainer. I was going to have dinner sent up, open this letter, and work out who had sent it and what it was all about.

"I think I'm just going to have a quiet night in."

West's brow shot up. "Seriously?"

"I sometimes do that, you know."

"Since when?"

"Since you all paired up and became nauseating to be around. I'd like one night where I can enjoy a bottle of Beluga without having to control my churning stomach."

He should buy that. It was the truth, just a little exaggerated.

"One of these days?—"

"I'm leaving now," I sang as I walked down the hall toward my bedroom.

"You're going to meet someone," West continued, "and fall?—"

I slammed my door shut.

I leaned back against it and traced my finger around the sharp edges of the envelope, then tossed the package it came in on my bureau.

My curiosity was running rampant now, the suspense killing me as I toed off my loafers and headed to my bed. Once I was comfortable, I looked at the intricate wax seal on the back. There was a pattern there, one I didn't recognize, and I grabbed my phone to take a photo so I could investigate it even after I opened it.

Who had sent this? Who used a wax fucking seal on an envelope these days? And who knew where I lived and how to get this personally delivered to me?

My heart thumped as I slipped my finger under the edge and ran it down to the seal. It broke in half and I pulled the letter free, and what I saw there made it beat even harder.

James Easton,

On Friday, March 15th at midnight, a car will be sent to pick you up.

It's up to you if you choose to accept the ride.

That was it.

That was all it said. The message was in the same gold script that my name had been written in, and it was signed by no one.

What in the fresh hell was going on? Was this some sort of prank? Some kind of payback by someone I had slighted? It could happen. One didn't become, well, me without racking up some enemies. But this didn't feel like a prank. It felt important and screamed money.

But who was more important and richer than I was?

I grabbed my laptop and did an image search on the symbol. When nothing came up, I sighed in annoyance and sent the photo to Harry.

Stop what you're doing and tell me what this symbol is and who it belongs to. Confidential, obviously

Yes, I had commandeered the hacker West had found back when he was stalking his Golden Boy. I needed access and information at all times, so he was now at my personal beck and call. It wasn't long before Harry sent a response.

HARRY THE HACKER:

Initial search comes up empty. Running another now, but the symbol is probably someone's personal, handmade design and wouldn't show up online.

Wow, that was incredibly not helpful, which seemed to be the case with him lately. I really did need a new hacker.

I slammed the laptop shut, tossed my phone aside, and leaned back against the pillows to study the invitation again.

It's up to you if you choose to accept the ride.

Ride from whom? To where? I didn't like being left in the dark.

I also couldn't deny the instructions left me more than a little intrigued.

I tapped the invitation against my palm. Decisions, decisions…