Ash decided to do the guy a favor. After all, they were good friends back in college. Just because he had a falling out with his family didn’t mean he had to push all his friends away, so Ash pulled out his best suit and got ready. A navy suit with a crisp white shirt, matching shoes, and a vest that clung to his slim waist. He pulled out his best cuff links and made sure every hair was put in place.
The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass his family in their hometown.
Because that meant they would know he was home. And they’d descend on him like a herd of wild animals.
Ash tried to push Kallie from his mind. He hadn’t heard from her and he was growing anxious. He was so confident in the fact that she would call. Confident in the fact that the second she read that note, her number would have popped up on his phone. But two days have gone by and he had heard nothing. No phone call. No voice mail. No text message. Nothing. Ash was beginning to think that what they had on the island was fabricated. A product of the alcohol and the decadent foods and the beautiful, romantic landscape.
And a night out on the town would help Ash clear his mind.
Ash rode to the club and pulled up in his best town car. But when he approached the front doors, he saw the club was already packed to the gills. His friend found him immediately and shook his hand before bringing him in for a massive hug. He figured there was someone, somewhere taking pictures of the moment. Ready to blast it out to the magazines and get the name of the new club out there for everyone to see. But Ash was used to that kind of thing. Every friend of his, no matter how close, always needed to use his fame and prestige for something eventually. To forward their own agenda or create their own business. That was why Kallie had intrigued him so much. In some ways, it was why he liked her response to him having money.
Even though her response to him had driven a wedge between them.
After his friend talked with him for a little bit and thanked him for coming out to their opening night, Ash retired to the quiet VIP section of the club. It was glassed off from the rest of the place and the music wasn't as loud, which gave Ash somewhere to perch and think. But staring at the crowd through the glass quickly made him feel like a fish in a bowl, and he didn't like it. It reminded him of why he’d left New York in the first place. Even though the space was quiet, he didn't like the fact that someone had to be wealthy in order to have the experience. To shake hands with the owner of the club. To perch in a little glass house that was more comfortable than the rest of the floor below him. Ash hated the way the wealthy were treated as somehow more special than the rest of the community.
The rest of humanity.
The longer Ash sat in his seat, the more it reminded him of why he had pulled away from his family. His parents would have loved something like this. They would have loved the private butler that came up to Ash and offered him a drink he didn't even order. They would have loved being suspended in this small glass house, so they could look down their noses at everyone else grinding on the floor below them. Tease them. Ridicule them. Pick apart their outfits and laugh like it was a joke created for their pleasure alone. It was like the rich needed to be insulated from the crowd but still visible. So that the less fortunate had something to aspire to.
That was the ego rich people carried around. That was the ego his parents carried around. And it was the kind of ego Ash left behind when he took up his place on the island.
To him? It was all bullshit. Every last bit of it.
Ash took the cocktail from the man with the tray and figured he would have one drink. People could take their pictures and his friend could ride off the coattails of his name, then he could return to his apartment and the seclusion it provided for him. He didn't care for New York. He didn't care for its constant press of people. The crowded clubs and the paparazzi clamoring for pictures of the rich and famous. Clamoring for tidbits of his life they could sell to the front pages. St. Barts was quiet, even during the tourist months. And even when the tourists were on the island, there were plenty of secluded areas for him to go and enjoy himself. Enjoy the beauty and the solitude of the island.
New York didn't have those kinds of places. Everywhere he turned, there were people who wanted to know him. People who wanted to benefit from him. People who wanted to ask for his money and pitch him ideas for start-ups he could invest into, so they could go straight for his wallet.