"You know, Father doesn't it think hotel living really fits the Maxwell family standards," Evan said.
I sighed. "It makes sense seeing as I'm on the ground in the communities where I work."
"Speaking of that." Evan sniffed again. "Why did you pick that little town on the other side of the bay? No one knows it's there. Couldn't you have gone for a higher profile city in need?"
I glanced over the Bay Bridge to Tasha's little sliver of a neighborhood. "I didn't base it off ratings. The main street is seeing a revival, young families are moving into the area, and they had the perfect building just waiting to be converted."
Evan gave me a pinched look. "It's just an odd choice. There's nothing there."
"That's the point, Evan. It's charity. They need a community center, and I am donating one," I said.
"It'd make more sense if you lived there." Evan pulled a sour face. "You're not moving to the East Bay, are you? Maxwells have always lived in San Francisco."
I headed up my front steps, hoping Evan would have to jet off somewhere else. Anywhere else. "I like the little town. I'm not saying I'm moving there or anything, it's just a nice place to start."
I held my breath. Every time I talked about the community center construction project, I waited for someone to call me out on it. There was a definite need for a gathering place in Tasha's town, but soon someone would wonder why I chose to build my first major project in her backyard.
"Well, at least you're starting to get press for this so-called new 'work' of yours," Evan said. He jangled the keys to his new sports car. "I mean, it's one step above charity luncheons and craft bazaars, but at least it's something."
I stopped at my front door. "Would you rather I was jet-setting around the world, partying, and having the time of my life?"
"Frankly, that would feel more normal than this," Evan said. "Anyway, Father told me to check in on you, and now you can tell him I stopped by. I have to get going if I want to make my tee time."
I didn't bother to wave as Evan sped off in his sports car, revving the engine so the whole neighborhood would notice. My thoughts were across the bay.
For the first few months after Hyperion was sold, I spent my time making the charity rounds, but my brother was right. There were only so many luncheons and silent auctions that I could stand. So, I started working on my own charitable outlets and finally settled on community renovations. It had started off quietly at first, but now my approach was gaining interest.
It would only be a matter of time before Tasha noticed my efforts were sprouting in her own backyard. If she even still lived there. I had heard a few weeks back that she had moved, but no one seemed to know any other details than that. I hated Tasha's low profile even as I emulated it myself.
She was still on my mind as I traversed my empty mansion. Upstairs there was nothing but a tailored suit hanging on the back of the master suite door. My small suitcase lay open on the long marble counter in the bathroom, and all my other measly possessions were safe in storage.
I lifted the suit off the hook and held it up. It was the same one I wore to the yacht party. The same one that Tasha had peeled off me in her attempt to get me out of her system. I wondered for the thousandth time if it had worked for her.
It had made things worse for me. I rehung the suit and turned on a cold shower. Just the memory of Tasha still made me sweat.
I jumped out the shower fifteen minutes later to the incessant ringing of my phone. I grabbed the one white towel left in the house and wrapped it around my waist. "Berger, where are you?" I asked, answering the call.
"Downstairs. What are you doing in that empty house? Get down here so we can go out and party," Berger said.
"I'm just getting dressed. Front door's open," I said. I hung up the phone and finished drying off.
By the time I made it downstairs, my former colleagues were playing an impromptu game of hockey with a can of caviar from my realtor's thank-you basket. I stopped the improvised puck with my foot and shot it back towards Berger.
"There you are. We couldn't find you in this mausoleum," Berger said.
"It's not that bad," I said.
Berger glanced around the white marble mansion. "Not bad if you're eighty," he declared.
The others agreed and made a string of jokes about the echoing home.
"Are you done yet? Can we get out of here?" I grabbed my suitcase and carried it to the door. "I'm going to throw this in the trunk. I'm heading to a hotel tonight."
"I don't blame you," Berger said. "I feel like I'm about to get interred."
"Then let's go," I said.
I herded the guys towards the big arched front doors, but Berger slipped around me. "Looks like you started to get a little work done on the place. Smart idea, taking down this wall."