I toss down my things and join her on the couch. “I worked this morning, then went to Marianne’s house to discuss how our pitch went.”
“And?”
“They want in. So we get to start putting it all together now.”
Lyndsey perks up immediately. Though it still doesn’t feel like the real Lyndsey is talking. “That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!”
I eye her suspiciously.
“So, how are things with you and Zach?”
Crap. What does she know?
“We’re fine.” I roll one lazy shoulder forward. “I still haven’t seen him in over a week, but I talk to him every day. I guess there’s something going on with his dad.”
“His dad.” She looks surprised. “Have you met his dad?”
“No, we’re not quite at that stage yet.” We’re not even at the stage where Zach will meet me, let alone his family.
“But you know who he is.”
The icy fingers of terror slide down my spine. That’s the second person who’s freaked out about Zach’s dad in one day. “What is it? I mean, is he in the mob? Should I be worried about someone throwing a sheet over my head in the parking lot one evening after work?”
Lyndsey’s nose wrinkles upward. “No. They don’t do that.”
“How would you know?”
“I dated this guy a couple of years ago, and you know.” She waves two frantic hands out in front of her as if erasing words off a whiteboard. “Nevermind. It’s not important. You know how they have that Huntingdon Gala every year?”
“No. Why would I know that?”
“Well, everyone who’s anyone goes there,” Lyndsey explains. “Rich people, like...filthy rich.”
I twist a hand in the air, unimpressed. Why can’t she just get to the point? Put me out of my misery already. “Great. Lots of rich people all in one place. What’s your point?”
“Did you know that Zach’s father is the owner of Hawthorne Enterprises?” she asks. The name is only vaguely familiar. Lyndsey’s thumbs move over the surface of her phone so quickly, I don’t even have a moment to contemplate what she’s doing before she shoves the phone into my face.
She’s opened up an article about the Hawthorne family and their business ventures. The article continues with photos of the patriarch, a snowy-haired gentleman with an immaculately groomed mustache. His haughty bearing and polished appearance reminds me of something straight out of an advertisement for yachts. The word “pretentious” comes to mind. If this is Zach’s father, I can’t imagine them being anything alike.
The journalist adds something about Hawthorne’s son taking over the business when his father retires. As I scroll down further, a photo of Zach beside Hawthorne appears on the screen, and I’m just as confused as I was when we started this whole conversation.
Had this always been Zach’s plan? Had he turned to teaching for something just to pass the time? If this was the type of family Zach came from, there is no doubt, at some point in the future, he will return to those roots. He will leave teaching, abandon any volunteering he claims he wants to continue, and return to the glittering world in which he was born.
I will be no more than a distant memory. Because girls who came from dirt poor families who can’t even make their rent payments, do not marry billionaires.
“His family is worth over ten billion dollars,” Lyndsey says. Her eyes continue to shine light beacons on a foggy night.
“This doesn’t make any sense.” I’m still trying to wrap my head around what’s happening. “I mean he has money, but not like that.”
“You didn’t know who he was?”
“Well, did you?” I ask. “Did anyone on campus? All the stories I heard were about how he feeds off the souls of his students!”
We were all so blinded by his terrifying reputation that no one thought to look the man up. Even that doesn’t make any sense. Shouldn’t all rich, wealthy bachelors be widely known across the country? They should especially be recognizable in their own backyard.
As if anticipating the questions circulating in my mind, Lyndsey shakes her head wildly. “No, he’s not easy to find. If you read through the article, they call him Rider Hawthorne. His middle name it looks like. And any other sites where you would expect to find that information seem to be mysteriously deleted from the record. These rich people don’t mess around with their privacy.”
I’m still processing all of this information when she reaches out to take my hand. “Aly, that isn’t everything.”