Page 2 of Anti-Hero

This isn’t just the end of summer; it’s my final weekend of freedom. On Monday, I start working at Kensington Consolidated. I’m the company’s newest employee … and its future CEO. Not to be dramatic, but life as I know it—light on the responsibility and heavy on the fun—is about to be over.

“Your drink, sir.”

I thank the bartender before he moves on to serve the blonde woman who appeared on my other side. She orders an Aperol spritz, then blatantly begins eye-fucking me.

I’m good at sex. I’ve slept with a lot of women, and every single one sang—screamed, more precisely—my praises. And lately, it’s felt stale. Empty and predictable. We flirt. I buy her a drink. We flirt more. I say I’m not looking for anything serious, and she agrees. We fuck. She asks for my number. I reiterate I’m not looking for anything serious. The end. Happily never after.

And it’s not because I don’t believe in love.

It’s because Ido.

My elbowdrops from the counter. “Did I see Perry?” I ask Flynn casually.

He sighs. “Shit. Yeah. I should say hi. Wanna come with? Make it bearably awkward?”

“You’re needier than a girlfriend,” I say, then push away from the bar.

Flynn snorts as we angle left, toward the high-top table where Perry is standing. They’re scattered throughout the room so people have a spot to set drinks and eat the finger food being circulated.

“How the fuck would you know, Kensington?”

“I don’t need to jump off the Empire State Building to know that Kensington Consolidated would have to look for a new protégé.”

Not that they’d have to look very hard. Half the board would prefer my brother, Sebastian, anyway.

My best friend chuckles. “Don’t let the ladies hear you comparing commitment to a death sentence, man. Might kill the mood.”

“You have a lot to learn about women.”

Some of them set their sights on mebecauseI’ve never been in a serious relationship. They want to be the one who can claim to have changed me—tamed me. And I get plenty out of letting them try.

Flynn grins. “That’s not what your sister said.”

I snort. Most of my friends have hit on my sister at some point, but I’ve never interceded. I know the definition ofhypocrisy. And now …

“Her duke could get you beheaded, Parks. Historically, they take punishment pretty seriously across the pond.”

“She’s really with that Marlborough guy?”

“I think so.”

It’s hard to tell what Lili is really thinking most of the time. She learned, same as me and Bash, that privacy isn’t a privilege naturallyextended to Kensingtons. It’s a boundary line you have to patrol and protect. And when it comes to my sister’s love life, I’m not in the habit of asking for details. But there’ssomethinggoing on between her and Charlie Marlborough. She asked for him, after her accident at the company’s annual gala, looking so devastated that I would have told the Brit to fuck off, title or no title, if he hadn’t appeared equally gutted. And Lili’s supposed to be in Ireland for work, but she posted a photo in London yesterday. Charlie lives in England, and I doubt that’s a coincidence.

“What’s Perry doing here?” I ask as we continue crossing the room.

“He moved to New York,” Flynn replies. “He clerked for a year after law school and is starting at a firm downtown next week.”

“What firm?”

“Dunno. Ask him. He’ll probably try to sign you as a client.”

“I have a lawyer.”

Lawyersactually. Public fascination with my family doesn’t prevent people from trying to sue, extort, or blackmail us.

Perry spots us heading in his direction and waves.

I raise my glass in a silent cheers.

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