Page 80 of The Billionaire's Ride

I wanted to call her straight away but I remembered Nina’s words—leave that girl alone.She’s right. Kate’s too good for abloke like me. That doesn’t stop me from checking her social media feed regularly. But there’s nothing. Nothing until this morning when she posts a smiley selfie, saying that she’s been in her “design cave”.

If you ask me, the only thing she’s designing is new ways to drive me fucking insane. I hope she really is happy. She deserves that. I only wish she could be happy with me. But clearly, she’s moved on. I need to move on too.

That’s why I’m back in New York City for my artistic debut. But I’m not alone. Mick’s come with me. The two of us have been spending more time together, mending our respective broken hearts with whiskey and Damien Rice songs.

I had to stop by the gallery as soon as I arrived yesterday to sign a few things. While I was there, I tried to push Kate from my mind but Olivia asked me how she’s been. I told her the truth—that I didn’t know because we hadn’t talked.

Afterward, I walked back to my hotel in Soho to help clear my head, but the truth was I wanted to walk by Kate’s family home on Greenwich Street. I stood across the street, gazing up at the four-story brownstone in the middle of Manhattan. I knew she wasn’t there. But it still made me feel close to her.

Now Mick and I are dressed for the gallery event—he in a nice suit with a casually open-collar shirt, and me in my typical white T-shirt and jeans. I almost forgo my leather jacket since this August heat is mad. But it’s who I am. So I slip it on.

“What do you say we grab a drink at the bar before we head over?” Mick asks as we step onto the lift.

I let out a sigh. Part of me is anxious to get there. And another part of me doesn’t even want to go. Going to the bar might help alleviate both of those, so I say, “Sure.”

Walking toward the bar, about a million thoughts are running through my head. All I can think is, what if people hatemy photographs? What if they love them? What if nothing sells? What if they all sell? Whose walls will they hang from?

Then my mind wanders to the photo I hung on Kate’s wall—that gorgeous photo of her in red that day. The only one with any color.

“There he is!” Someone calls out ahead, pulling me out of my Kate haze. I look up and find my brother, Kent, grinning with open arms. My cousins, Dahlia and Dash, are at his side with warm smiles. I glance at Mick who sends me a wink. He’s not at all surprised by their presence.

“What are you lot doing here?” I ask and they each greet me in their own ways—Kent with a pat on the back, Dash with a firm handshake, and Dahlia with a big squeeze. For a moment, I feel lighter.

“You didn’t think we’d miss your big night, did you?” Dahlia says in her L.A. accent that morphs into a London inflection.

“How do you even know about it?” I glance at Mick again who looks guilty as charged. He’s the only one I told. He and Kate, that is.

“I heard it from Mick,” Kent says.

“I heard it from Kent,” Dahlia says.

“I heard it from Dahly, but we should have heard it from you,” Dash adds. “We’ve all been waiting for this day to finally come. I don’t know what finally convinced you, but it’s about damn time.”

Kent passes sparkling champagne glasses to everyone and raises his arm in a toast. “To Drew, who finally got the courage to put himself out there!”

My family cheers and downs their celebratory drinks. The liquid feels warm in my chest. “Thank you. I’m really touched that you all are here for me. I love you all.”

“Aw, look at him getting all mawkish,” Kent jokes.

I am feeling very open even though it’s new and uncomfortable. Will I ever be the same after all that’s happened?

The five of us sip on cocktails and catch up for a bit before heading to the gallery. By the time we arrive at the opening, it’s in full swing. I feel jittery stepping out of the car. The sun has nearly set, and I peer inside the brightly-lit gallery windows. The wired sculptures are no longer standing. Instead, the place is packed with well-dressed art patrons sipping champagne and snatching tiny quiches from the black-tie waiters, all while perusing the various pieces from various artists. Including mine. It’s almost surreal.

“You all head inside. I’ll be right behind you,” I say.

“You sure?” Mick asks.

“Yeah, I just need a minute.”

My family walks inside, looking back at me every few steps. I stand on the street and watch from outside as people pass me on the sidewalk. This is it. It’s really happening. If only Kate could be here too. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her.

I realize I’m stalling. So I take a deep breath and muster the courage to step inside, putting myself out there once more. Mick, Kent, Dahlia, and Dash are lost in the sea of people. So I wander the floor, searching for my display. Peeking over the various heads, I finally spot several familiar photographs. There they are hanging proudly on the wall.

I push through a chatty group to get a closer look and notice a woman wearing a red dress staring at my work. Those legs, those shoulders, that slightly untamed hair—it has to be . . . I tap her shoulder, too twisted up to even utter her name. Half-expecting her to be a figment of my imagination, a brief thrill surges through me when my finger meets her solid shoulder.

She turns around, gasping.Splash!Wet liquid spills over my crotch and down my leg. Now, I know it’s Kate.

“Oh, my God. Drew!” she says, covering her face with her hand. “I can’t believe I did that again!”

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