Trillionaire Boys' Club: The Internet Giant Read online

  “I was just mad.” And I still am. But now I’m also confused. It’s hard to say which end is up with this enigmatic man.

  “But you were right. You deserve better than me, and what we’d built started with a lie. There was no way out, so I went away. I’d say I’m sorry I hurt you again, but that would just be another stupid apology you won’t believe. It wouldn’t change things for you. It would only make me feel better at your expense, if you accepted it.”

  I shake my head. “You’re such a strange man.”

  He nods toward the restaurant, and when he does his face brightens.

  “Now that, in there? That, I’m proud of. What’s more the opposite of an apology than destroying yourself? I didn’t try to convince you I’ve changed. I told you that I’m an asshole and that I’ll never stop hurting you. And I made sure that Ross knew it.”

  “Why did he have to know it?”

  “Because if I hadn’t done that just now,” Onyx says, “Aiden would have found a way in with him. He’ll almost for-sure still try, but after my little speech I don’t think Aiden will make headway. And that’s good. Because if we ended up doing this deal — Forage and Anthony Ross — in any way, shape, or form, it would have started here. With us. With me, and the lies I’ve told.”

  I’m trying to be angry at Onyx, but my anger is mostly gone. I can’t forgive him, but that’s okay because he isn’t looking for grace.

  “It was too much, Onyx. What went wrong was between you and me. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Not for my sake.”

  He shakes his head, agreeing with me. “For the ghosts.”

  I inhale the evening air, trying to figure this out. I don’t know how I feel. Strangely, I’m touched. But I’ve always been an idiot that way.

  “I made that ‘ghosts’ thing up, you know,” I tell him. “I used to believe in things like karma, but now it just seems so …” I shrug, because futility. “All you just did? It was founded on a lie, too.”

  “That’s okay,” Onyx says. “Because I lied to you, too. Just a little lie, even though it’s a huge one. Even though it’s the last lie I’ll ever tell you.”

  “What’s the lie?”

  “That when I went away, I stopped loving you. The truth is I never stopped.”

  “So why …?” I don’t know how to finish.

  “Because I broke you. I couldn’t come back, and when I returned this time, I couldn’t do it honestly. I knew you’d forgive me. And like I’ve said, I don’t want to be forgiven.”

  “Why not?”

  Onyx shakes his head. He’s looking around for a cab as he does, and miraculously, one appears at the end of the street, dropping its passenger three doors down. Onyx raises his hand to hail it. The cab heads right for us, its light on.

  “Forgiveness isn’t something I’ve earned with you, no matter how much I do to repent.”

  He gives me a grim little smile and a nod, and the cab pulls up beside him. He reaches for the door and has it open, stepping in, when I physically grab his coat and drag him back out.

  “Forgiveness isn’t something you take. It’s something that’s given to you.” I reach past him, close the cab’s door with Onyx still on the curb, and wave for the driver to leave. “And as much of a bastard as you’ve been to me, I’m not going to sit here and allow you to be so rude as to refuse a gift.”

  He wants to be touched, but he shakes his head. “You’re broken, Mia. I broke you.”

  “Then you’d better start making up for it.”

  “You’d be stupid to believe I’m different now.”

  “I am stupid,” I say. “And you’re a liar.”

  “You don’t love me,” Onyx says. “You’re just brainwashed.”

  “Don’t tell me what I am.”

  He looks at me for a long, long moment. We measure each other. I’m extending a mental hand and Onyx seems to be wondering if he can trust it. This time it wouldn’t be him who’d betray me. It’d be my trust that betrays his refusal of it.

  I know. It confuses me, too.

  “This is a mistake,” he says as he takes both my hands. “We’re just two fucked-up assholes in a downward spiral. I don’t really love you and you don’t really love me.”

  I lean my head against Onyx’s chest.

  “Liar,” I say.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  ONYX

  It’s a full month after Mia and I head back to Seattle before I take my first business trip to Chicago. I decide to have lunch with Alyssa.

  “So did you see her?” she asks from across the table, after we’ve settled in.

  “Who?”

  Alyssa reaches over our water glasses and slaps my arm. She’s more comfortable relaxing these days. She’d never have smacked a client before. Not in public.

  “You fucking know who.”

  “My mother,” I say.

  “I’m talking about Mia Stover. Stop being an asshole.”

  “Never. I’ll never stop being an asshole.” But I’m smiling.

  I’ve been doing that a lot since that night outside the restaurant. Maybe Mia was right about me. Maybe I am a better man now that I won’t admit I’m trying to be.

  “You’re slipping, Alyssa,” I say when she just glares at me. “Photos have been taken. People magazine. Us. The gossip mags have caught wind of the Forage king’s brand new squeeze. And not in the sense that you set Ashton Moran up with a press-friendly squeeze.”

  Alyssa squints. She really doesn’t know the press says I have a steady woman now, despite being in PR all her life. She really has gone to whole new shores. And my bomb — admitting to a “brand new squeeze” after she asked about the girl we both figured wanted to rip my throat out — is only confusing her.

  “I don’t get it.”

  I sigh, then smile wider. “Yes, I saw Mia while in Inferno. I couldn’t avoid her, despite your best advice.”

  “And?”

  “And we’re engaged.”

  I hold up my left hand. Alyssa squints at it.

  “What am I looking at here?”

  “Men don’t get engagement rings. It’s such a ripoff. But Mia isn’t here to show you hers, so I’m improvising.”

  Alyssa looks at my hand, which still has no jewelry. “You’re a weird guy, Onyx.”

  “My fiancée agrees.”

  “Is it a stunt? Something you and Aiden dreamed up to … I don’t know … play an angle?”

  “Like you did with Moran?” I shake my head. “Believe it or not, Onyx Scott has gone straight.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I think I’d know if I were playing an angle with Mia, Alyssa. We actually just like each other.”

  “And you aren’t cheating on her.”

  “Of course not.”

  She looks at me for another few seconds, not quite believing. “So … what? She’s moving to Seattle?”

  “We’re figuring that out. There’s still the matter of Forage Education.” I try to remember what I’ve told Alyssa. Last she heard, Forage Education was the reason I went to Inferno in the first place. Turns out, we might build there after all. She can work remotely from Urban Design — now that we’ve returned it to Simon, letting him keep the infusion of cash that updated all their systems — but Inferno is still Mia’s home. I wouldn’t run Education, but I could check up on it if we choose to live there.

  Or we could have a handful of homes. Mia always wanted to travel, and our money flows freer than water.

  Alyssa nods at my mention of Forage Education — but instead of asking about our plans to build it in Inferno like I expect, she says something else:

  “And Education and its infrastructure is what you’re pitching to Ross, anyway.”

  I blink up at Alyssa. “What?”

  “Education. Anthony Ross. Infrastructure. Am I not saying the buzzwords right?”

  “Where did you hear that?” It’s not public. Not even a tiny little
bit. I’ve never had a bigger secret.

  “From Aiden. He called last week.”

  “Why did Aiden call you?”

  “He wanted to know if I knew who handled Ross’s PR.” She looks at me.

  I know my eyes are wide, and I can tell that makes her suddenly wary, almost suspicious.

  “What did you tell him?” I ask.

  “I have no idea who handles Ross’s PR.”

  “Good.”

  “Why is it good?”

  Because that nest of snakes shouldn’t be opened. Because I love Aiden like a brother, but I burned some serious bridges with Anthony Ross … and it’s hard to trust what it might take for Aiden to rebuild them.

  I don’t like hearing this from Alyssa. We’re supposed to be partners. What is Aiden hiding?

  “Never mind,” I say.

  “I told him to try going through Ross’s foundation if he wanted an inside track. Aiden’s supposed to be this big philanthropist anyway. Spread the wealth in the right directions, y’know?”

  I let that settle. I should be pleased, but so much about this makes me nervous. Aiden didn’t say a word about trying to renew our personal connection to Anthony. It’s like he doesn’t want me involved, for reasons I can only guess at.

  “I suppose.”

  “He said something else,” Alyssa says, biting her lip and touching a long, red-painted finger to her chin. “Do you know this girl? The one who’s been giving him problems?”

  “What girl?”

  “So you don’t know. No biggie.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  “It’s nothing. Just some bitch. I figured you might know something, since you just came back from Inferno.”

  “Wait. Why does that matter? What does Inferno have to do with any of this?”

  “The girl is from Inferno. Just a coincidence.” She sees me staring, notes my intensity, and must decide I’m making a mountain out of a rather by-the-way molehill. “Seriously. He just mentioned her for like ten seconds. Forget I said anything.”

  I nod. I sip my water. Then, after a long pause, in my most casual tone, I ask, “What’s her name, just out of curiosity? The girl who’s bugging Aiden while he’s bugging Ross. Did Aiden mention her name?”

  “Jeanine,” Alyssa says.

  I look out the window. It’s raining. Shocker, for Seattle.

  But then Alyssa says, “No, wait. Not Jeanine.”

  I look back at her. She seems to be thinking, her face scrunched up.

  “Jamie,” she says. “I think her name was Jamie.”

  WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?

  (Read on for a sneak peek of The Philanthropist)

  The story of the Trillionaire Boys’ Club continues in The Philanthropist.

  SNEAK PEEK: THE PHILANTHROPIST

  Continue reading for a sample chapter of the fifth book in the Trillionaire Boys’ Club series:

  The Philanthropist

  CHAPTER ONE

  JAMIE

  In Anthony’s house, with him gone on one of his seminar tours, I feel like a little girl again. I’m a lot taller than when I last played hopscotch and jumped double-dutch, but Anthony’s castle on the hill is so big it’s like the whole world has grown around me. I’m tiny in this palace. And with Caitlin beside me, I’m giggly, light as air.

  We chase each other through the enormous rooms and around the many balconies looking down upon the Del Mar waves. We’ve been drinking, but not too much. It’s like I’m a child all over again.

  “Okay, time out,” Caitlin says, stopping by a column, holding her chest and fighting for breath. “If I keep laughing and running like this, I’m going to pee my pants.”

  “Do it and I’ll tell Rudy.” This threat is about making fun of Rudy more than embarrassing Caitlin. Her boyfriend has said that he thinks girls peeing their pants is hot. Neither of us knows if he’s joking — and Caitlin, who sleeps with him, is half certain he’s going to go gross-fetish on her.

  “Do it and I’ll tell your dad,” Caitlin counters.

  She means Anthony. My dad died when I was little, and Caitlin isn’t cruel enough to bring him up.

  “What are you, eight?”

  “You started it,” she counters.

  “So you are eight. Are you rubber? Am I glue? Does everything I say—”

  “You’re retarded,” Caitlin slumps to the floor and, with this sage proclamation, I deem the topic closed. I also decide that perhaps we are more than a little drunk.

  Anthony has been like a father to me for most of my life, but it’s only in the past ten years or so that he became famous … then stupid famous. I’m not used to his new place, even though his insane wealth has become surprisingly comfortable. I don’t live large, just like I don’t (and never did) live with Anthony, so being in such an opulent house — a damn castle — is new enough to make me giddy. The place is filled with secret passages. It’s like spending the night in a Scooby-Doo cartoon.

  Tonight’s recipe was always going to be one of excitement and mischief — left alone to explore the billionaire life on my own. But when I found out that Caitlin was in town and that we could do a Girls’ Night Out? Well. That’s when the tequila appeared and shit got real.

  “I’ve had too many margaritas,” Caitlin says.

  “There’s no such thing as too many margaritas.”

  “I’m a junior partner at an LA law firm. I’m a professional. And you? You’re an architect.”

  “I remember,” I say, “but thank you.”

  “We’ve had too many margaritas for such professional women.”

  “This is the age of liberation. Professional women are allowed to have as many margaritas as we want.”

  Caitlin stabs a finger at me as if tallying a point. She used to do the same thing when we were girls. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear we still were. Instead of being 25-year-olds who wear suits to work, we could be pre-teens with pigtails. Margaritas have rewound the clock. Removed inhibitions, made us happy, urged us to rush through the halls looking through all the rooms, and reduced our maturity by at least an order of magnitude. Soon, if we keep this up we’ll start contemplating the finer points of cooties. Especially with me on leave and Caitlin on vacation — both of us temporarily irresponsible in the big house where no one is home. We have a week. Empires could fall in that amount of time, and with that much evening tequila.

  “You shouldn’t drink to forget your problems,” I tell her.

  “Look who’s talking.”

  “I don’t have any problems.”

  “Yes, you do. Your childhood best friend is fucking your fake daddy.”

  “Who’s …?” But then I realize she means herself. She’s probably not technically my childhood best friend, but she’s close. We grew up together, and if she hadn’t moved to California, we’d probably have grown the rest of the way up together back home in the Falls. She’d know my current best friend, Mia, better. She’d have met her on-again, off-again boyfriend Onyx who co-founded the Forage search engine and became a billionaire, too.

  Billionaires are everywhere these days. There’s Anthony, there’s Onyx and his partner Aiden, who I’m in the middle of tormenting as best I can.

  Well, not right now. Right now I’m drinking and playing hide-and-seek. I’ll get back to cockblocking Aiden’s attempts to cozy up to Anthony in the morning.

  He doesn’t stand a chance.

  “You’re not fucking anyone,” I reply. “Except Rudy. Who wants you to pee on him.”

  “He hasn’t said that.”

  “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t.”

  “Gross.”

  I shrug. “Well, I think we both know that Rudy is gross.”

  There’s a moment where I think she’ll protest, but it’s true; Rudy is gross. He cleans up okay and isn’t bad to look at, but the man has zero ambition. He and Caitlin started at the law firm around the same time, but she’s close to adding her name to the marquee and he’s still just a step
up from the mail room.

  And the shit she’s told me he likes in bed? Gross.

  “I had to settle,” Caitlin says, “since I can’t ride your fake daddy any more.”

  “You never rode my fake daddy.”

  “In my dreams I did.”

  “Great.” I’d better end this. Caitlin doesn’t have the best filter, and this isn’t a discussion I want in my head.

  “He must have a huge dick,” Caitlin says. “I mean, you’ve seen the size of his hands.”

  “Ugh.”

  “And you know he’s all enthusiastic, probably uses his on-stage voice when he’s giving it to you.” She impersonates Anthony’s seminar voice — the one the world knows, from when he’s on stage doing his magic. It’s rough from his years speaking, but deep like thunder. A voice to match his larger than life personality.

  “‘I’m going to reframe your personal paradigm!’” Caitlin says in her horrible Anthony voice, gesturing with her too-small hands for emphasis. “‘Spread your legs so I can NLP your pussy!’”

  “Gross! You know I hate it when you talk about Anthony like that.”

  Caitlin slumps to the floor. Now we’re sitting. Refilling our margaritas will be that much harder — though honestly, I’m not sure I can find the kitchen without a trail of breadcrumbs.

  “Oh, come on,” she says. “He’s not your real dad.”

  “He’s basically my dad! And he’s 43 years old!”

  “So? 43 is the new 23.”

  “I didn’t grow up in his house, but every day for years, he taught me—”

  Caitlin interrupts, her brown eyes eager and irreverent. She has a tiny overbite. Guys think it’s cute. I don’t have the overbite, but otherwise we could be sisters. We both have brown hair, small frames, long legs, thin, slightly upturned noses. And the same big, curious brown eyes, based on what I see in the mirror and what I’m looking at now.

  “Did you ever go on vacation with him? With the Anthony Ross?”

  I don’t like where this is going. Caitlin used his full name and gave herself away. He’s usually just “Anthony” between us, and she’s not easily star-struck. She’s around famous people all the time — and her job often comes down to kicking those famous people right in their big giant egos. But “Anthony Ross” has sex appeal in the press, and right now it’s like my usually cool friend wants to taste his name on her tongue.