“What is it exactly that you do again?” I ask, feeling a little odd that I still don’t really know everything about Trent Latham.
“Not a whole lot for a while, I reckon,” he says, putting his arm around me and announcing he’s on vacation as of this moment.
“I did all my business a while ago,” he explains for my benefit. “Nowadays I just let things run. Pay bills mostly, and hopefully make sensible choices about where to invest. It’s pretty boring really.”
“And what do you see yourself doing?” he asks me, sounding like the businessman again.
“Is this like a ‘where do you see yourself in five years?’ question?” I ask, trying not to giggle, but I can tell he’s serious.
“Why not? It doesn’t matter if you don’t know either,” he adds. “I’m just curious.”
I take a moment to really think about it. Considering my college education, my student loans, and the fact I have no real skills or prospects, it’s an easy answer.
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “But if I could make a wish? I’d prefer to do as little as possible.”
Trent laughs loudly, slapping his naked thigh and kissing me again.
“I like that plan,” he says, still smiling. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to do nothing in particular, I’m proud of you for reaching that conclusion so early in life,” he adds, making himself sound old which isn’t how I see him.
Age is just a number, and Trent has more energy as well as youthful looks than most men half his age.
Not to mention his other talents, so it’s no real surprise to learn he’s as successful as the TV makes him out to be.
“We still have a lot of today left,” Trent says, glancing at his Rolex thoughtfully.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask, happy to spend the rest of today in bed with him, but just as eager to start living a different, new, and more exciting life.
“We could do anything you want. A little lunch, maybe some shopping?" he suggests, raising his brows up and down, but instead of thrilling me like it should I feel that old familiar pang of regret.
The great thing about being around Trent is he makes me feel like a million bucks.
The truth in my head hurts, because I know I don’t have a million dollars.
I’m pretty sure I’m overdrawn on my account courtesy of the dress and hairstyle I shelled out for to go to the reunion.
Trent’s not totally oblivious to my problem. He’s a man who knows what he wants and has it because he’s clever. Because he can see things in people. Because he helps people to help themselves.
“We’re together now, Brooke. You’re mine,” he calmly explains. “And, I’m yours. Everything I have is at your disposal, so don’t make a face or look like you’re gonna expire every time something has to be paid for, okay?” he asks.
“I don’t want you worrying about anything, so we can set things up so you have your own money too if you want. No point walking around with an empty purse or feeling like you have to ask for what’s rightfully yours,” he says firmly.
I don’t mean to, but I can feel my expression change.
This is all new to me and worlds apart from the conversations my dad and I have, the arguments we have about money.
“But I can’t just live off you,” I protest. “It isn’t fair.”
Trent shrugs and thinks for a moment. “Okay, we’ll set it up so you’re on the books. Good idea by the way.” He winks. “You can be an employee, starting with a generous base salary, working your way up to the boss,” he says with a deadly serious expression before he breaks out laughing again.
“I mean it though, Brooke. We can set it up Monday. I’ll have the accountant arrange it.”
I feel confused. “But what do I actually have to do?” I ask, worried I’m maybe getting myself into more than I bargained for.
“Nothing.” He smiles. “Just be you. I’m just letting you know not to worry about something silly like money is all. Okay?”
I guess that’s settled then, but I feel my head spinning still.
I’ve never known anything as long as I can remember apart from never having enough or always having to hear people complain about money because they never have any.
Trent talks about it like it’s air or sunshine, or even the rain. Like something you needn’t worry about because it’s always sunny here and it’s always raining somewhere else.
And if you need some air, just open your mouth and breathe.
“You don’t have to buy a yacht,” he says confidentially. “Maybe we could just start with some lunch? I’m starving,” he groans, laying back and clutching his belly, as though he really is in pain from hunger.
I gasp, then cringe as I remember the double serving of mac n’ cheese in the microwave from yesterday.