"That's right! Open up for daddy."

No fucking way.

I pause outside the large mahogany office door and smirk. For a middle-aged balding man, I guess Mr. Eddy Garibaldi, the interim-CEO of Carlisle Industries, still got some game. I'd let the man finish his business, but Chad's supposed to come over to pre-drink before we dominate Esquire tonight.

I bang on the door and hear shuffling inside. "Ow! Fuck- Come in!"

Maybe she bit him. Poor bastard.

Hesitantly, I push open the door. I don't really want to see the man in a compromising position, but I've got shit to do. As soon as my eyes dart to my dad's second-in-command, I start laughing.

I knew I was giving him too much credit.

Mr. G's hovering over a large terrarium, holding a napkin in one hand and a syringe in the other.

"Oh, Asher, hello!" Mr. G puts down the syringe and walks over to his desk. "Please take a seat. Sorry about that. I was feeding Rex his medicine when you knocked, and then he bit me. The little guy has an infection and is probably in lots of pain."

Yeah, because you're keeping him cooped up inside a glass cage. What kind of idiot keeps a tortoise in the office?

Garibaldi's been in charge of Carlisle Industries since dad was locked up. Even though CI had to pay a multimillion-dollar settlement to hundreds of plaintiffs, operations have recently returned to normal. It's back to business as usual, granted, with extreme precautions and heavy oversight. I think the whole lawsuit was a wake-up call to all the executives that even conglomerates can suffer severely if called out on unethical practices.

Kicking my feet up onto his desk, I recline back into the ergonomic chair. "You wanted to see me? I'm here. So, what's up?"

Mr. G clears his throat. "Get your feet off my desk, Asher."

"Come on, dude. It's Friday. Live a little," I smirk as I pull out my phone and start swiping.

Left. Left. Left.

Where did all the hot girls go?

"Oh, like you're living?" Mr. G slams a newspaper on the desk. "Asher, you can't keep doing this shit, it makes the company look bad. This is the fourth article in the past two weeks."

I pull the paper closer and read the headline. .

I really should send Hunter a gift basket for bailing me out. Last weekend was fun as fuck, aside from the drunk tank and Chad whooping some dude's ass. He deserved it, though. Chad saw this guy slip something into a girl's drink, so we decided to knock him around a bit. He should've been the one they arrested if you ask me. We were doing a public service. Luckily for me, I was blessed with impeccably good looks and charm. All I need to do is breathe, and a girl will drop her pants. I'm not even kidding. It happened once.

I shrug as I slide the exposé back to my mentor. "There's no such thing as bad press, right?"

Mr. G's jaw tightens as his cheeks burn up. "Wrong! This is the epitome of bad press." G-Man sighs. "You've got to get your act together; otherwise, there won't be a place for you here."

I scoff. Oh, no. I never thought about it like that.

Mr. G continues, "We also requested your midterm marks from NYU."

"Ok, and?"

"You're getting D's in every class." Garibaldi crosses his arms. "You're smart, Asher. How are you barely passing? I don't understand. The work you produce for us is fantastic, yet you can't pass Accounting Principles, really? You work with numbers and spreadsheets all the time. What gives?"

What G-Man doesn't realize is that I don't want to work at Carlisle Industries, ever. But at the same time, I don't want to lose my inheritance by blatantly saying I'm out like Hunter and Jack did. Dad said I have to finish my degree before I'm allowed to work at CI, so I'm trying to put that off for as long as I can. But I can't really fuck up the company's spreadsheets; otherwise, other employees will get in trouble, and I don't want that hanging over my head.

"To my understanding, a D is still a passing grade, is it not?" I get up and slip my phone into my back pocket. "Listen, G, if that's everything then I gotta bounce. Thanks for the pep talk, though."

"Can you try and not get arrested tonight?" Mr. G calls out just as I'm leaving his office. "Also, you should know that your mother's got a copy of the transcript as well."

Great. Hurricane Trish must be brewing at home.

Ever since I came home from the UK, she's been on my ass about everything. I don't know if she's bored and straightening me out is her new little project but her constant nagging is one hell of a buzzkill. Not only did I agree to live with her but I also attend all my classes at NYU and come to work every day at Carlisle Industries, what more does the broad want?

"Thanks for the heads-up." I pull out my phone and text Chad. Change of plans. We're drinking at yours. "Later." I salute him and head down to the parking lot.

As a thank-you for coming back to New York, my mom gifted me a Tesla Model X. This car has about as much sex appeal as a piece of paper. There's no engine grumble, no manual transmission, and it has assisted parking; if you can't manually park a car, you probably shouldn't be driving. Basically, this car looks like a bar of soap and sounds like a microwave. I used to have a sick '88 IROC-Z, but apparently, a Tesla is safer. Women and safety, I don't get it. All cars are safe if you know how to drive them.

Chad buzzes me up to his apartment and the security guard scowls at me as I make my way to the elevator. He's probably still pissed that Chad went to third base with a chick in the lobby last weekend. I don't see how that's my fault, though. I'm not the one that's an animal. Personally, I can wait until I'm inside.

"Bro, what's up?" Chad coughs out smoke as he greets me. "Want some?"

Chad's like a combination of Shaggy and Fred from Scooby-Doo. Man is always high, but he's got the swagger of that ascot-wearing motherfucker. Chad had a football scholarship to Ohio State but they took it away after he had a miserable second half of his last season. Now he goes to NYU for Sports Management. I guess those who can't do...manage.

"Nah, dude. Night's young. I don't want to be incoherent before we even go out." I walk over to the fridge and pull out a beer. Shit. My arm is so itchy. "You got some cream, man? This new tattoo is killing me."

People say getting tattooed is the worst part, I disagree. It's the healing that sucks. It's like an irritating rash you're not allowed to scratch.

"Yeah, on the nightstand in my bedroom."

There's only one reason a guy's got cream that accessible. I narrow my eyes in disgust. There's a mental image I could have lived without. I grab the bottle of lotion which is conveniently positioned next to a box of tissues. Nice, Chad. Discreet as always.

"So, what's the game plan for tonight? Balcony suite at Esquire?" Chad asks as he applies another layer of hair gel. "Do you think they're going to let us in after last weekend?"

I whip out my dad's platinum credit card and wave it in the air. "Dude, we singlehandedly covered their full month's rent last time, I think we'll be fine."

"Are you going to buy shots for the whole club again?" Chad laughs. "Your dad's going to kill you once he sees his credit card statement."

I shrug as I take a sip of my beer. "Good thing he doesn't have access to his finances in prison."

Sandal Hill Penitentiary is barely a prison, it's more like a shitty 2-star resort. It's fundamentally fucked up that the wealthy get to play supervised tennis in prison while everyone else has to worry about getting shanked in the mess hall. Tabloids are calling what he did a white-collar crime, stating that the fact he even received jail time rather than time served is a miracle. The whole judicial system in America is plagued with corruption, it's no wonder dad thought he could get away with bribery and fraud.

Chad sits down on the couch and flips on the TV, turning on NBC. Nothing like Friday Night Football to get the party going. Yawn. I plop down beside him and pull out my Juul. These things are so lame but I've been smoking way too much lately.

"So," Chad begins carefully. "Did you hear that Samantha's back in town?"

Real smoke it is.

Before Sam, I used to only smoke socially at parties but after everything that went down senior year, it became a daily habit. I walk over to the balcony and light one up.

"Who'd you hear that from?" I ask casually, trying to feign indifference. Why would she want to come back to NYC?

"Trey said he saw her on campus last week," Chad answers.

Thank fuck. At least she's going to Columbia and not NYU. Although, that means I'll probably see her around. The tension in my chest becomes more apparent as I think about what went down that day. The betrayal, the lies, the soul-crushing realization that you can't trust anyone.

"So, what happened with you and Molly last weekend? Are you planning on keeping this one around?" I ask, changing the subject. The last thing I want is for the memories of Sam to ruin this weekend. Considering she pretty much-ruined everything else in my life.

"Molly was...fun but she's as dumb as a pile of sticks." Chad takes a swig of his beer. "She didn't know the difference between a fumble and an interception. Can't have a girl like that in my life."

I laugh as I toss the butt into the ashtray. "Dude, you've got to stop attributing sports knowledge to intelligence." I think Chad just wants to date a female version of himself.

Chad whips a cushion at me but I duck and it flies through the balcony door and over the railing. Well, at least he still has the arm of a QB. Ohio State is clearly missing out.

"I don't think you're in any position to give me relationship advice." Chad shakes his head. "How many girls have you been with since Sam?"

My jaw twitches briefly but I shake it off. "Not the same thing. I'm not looking for anything long-term."

"Oh, yeah? Do the girls you bang know that?" Chad cocks his head as he grins.

"One hundred percent, they do." I lean against the balcony door. "I just think most of them hope they can change my mind."

"And no one can change Asher Prescott's mind, right?" Chad laughs as he gets up and grabs another beer from the fridge.

"No one's done it yet." I shrug. "Plus, I don't have time to deal with the nuances of dating."

"Cause you're so busy." Chad scoffs as he tosses me another drink.

"I am," I state annoyingly. "With school and work, my schedule is packed."

"Have you even decided on a major yet? Or are you still taking general studies?" Chad sits down and pulls out his weed pouch and starts rolling.

"I've still got time to decide," I answer honestly. "I don't really know what I want to do."

"Dude, you know exactly what you're going to do. You're going to get a business degree like your dad wants and work at CI."

I don't want to sit here and argue with Chad, we've had this fight so many times already. "Yeah, you're probably right." I sigh and nod towards the TV. "Half-time's over, game's on."

"Finally." Chad turns up the volume as we both recline back into the couch. A couple more hours of mind-numbing sports and then we can get lit as fuck.