Trace wasn’t invited to golf with Trump.  I’m still not exactly sure why.  When Cheryl called to confirm the tee time, she came into my office afterward and told me that Trump’s assistant said that Trace wasn’t to attend.  I had to let him down gently, because I knew he wouldn’t take it well.

“It’s probably just a formality,” I reassured him.  “You know, I’m the CEO of my company and he’s the CEO of his.  He wants to get a feel for me.”

“He hates me,” Trace groaned, and put his head in his hands.  “Was it my suit? It must have been my suit...”r32;

r32;“Trace, man, get a hold of yourself.” I laughed at him.  For the first time all day, our friendship seemed to be back to normal.  Our argument earlier in the day about Abbey had caused us to ignore each other, and I couldn’t fucking stand it.  He was my best friend, yeah, but he was so much more than that at the same time.  He’d taken me under his wing, made sure I learned to be civilized...that I could read, that I got my GED, and when he was offered a job at NASDAQ he made sure I was able to get one as well.  That’s how I got started, got recognized.  It’s how I became a Wall Street legend in the eyes of others.  He’s supported me since the day we met, and I can’t remember a time before Abbey came along that we ever seriously argued about anything.

He’s just stressed.  The sudden change to my lifestyle with the boys is something he never expected.  That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway.

Anything else, would probably piss me off too much.

And I’m going to do whatever I can to make this weekend work.  I knew the moment Trace brought up Southhampton, that it was going to involve getting him and Abbey in the same house, and I knew it was something she probably wouldn’t want.  But I want to spend that time away with her.  I want to get closer to her, and to the boys, and staying at my beach house is the perfect way to do it.  There’s not as many distractions there.  I’ll forward my calls for the weekend, and just take my conference on Monday morning while the boys are still in bed.  It’ll be good for us, even if Trace and Abbey can’t stand each other.  We’re adults right? Surely, they can learn to get along for the sake of the kids and have a good time?

I think once Trace realizes just how much I’m starting to care about Abbey his attitude will change.  Right now, I don’t think he trusts her just because she works for me.  I can’t lie, most women in Abbey’s situation would take advantage...use me for their own personal gain.  Not her though.  Abbey is...pure, and she’s lost so much in her life, just like me.  She sacrifices herself now for the boys happiness.  I don’t think she could ever hurt anybody, and what’s more...she gets me, deep down where nobody else can.

I love touching her, kissing her, taking her all in when we’re in bed together.  She’s the perfect lover.  No other woman has been able to captivate me in the bedroom quite like she has.  Her body is angelic.  The way it curves, the way every freckle is in the most perfect, kissable location, is sexy as hell.  The way she says my name, like she needs me, like she never wants to let me go, makes my mind spin, makes me take her over and over again until the sun rises.

I’m pretty tired today.

But I’m sucking it up for Mr. Trump, because as much as I don’t act like it, this is the biggest deal of my career.  Trace’s career too, even though he can’t be here.  I gave him a pretty big work list to get his mind off his anger though.  I hope it works.

“What’s your handicap son?”

My caddy lowers my bag of clubs, and hands me the one he thinks I could use best at this particular junction of the game.  We’re six holes in right now.

Mr. Trump is kicking my ass.

“Six.” I say, as I step up to the tee and take a few practice swings.

“That’s pretty good,” I hear him chuckle.  “Not on top of your game today?”

I try not to tense up.  I know he’s doing this to see what type of guy I really am, if I crack under pressure or not.  “It’s just the beginning.”  I look back over my shoulder and flash him a cocky smile.  “I’m getting warmed up.”

“Ah, yes,” he laughs.

He knows I’m full of shit.

I whack the ball.  It sails through the air, and I slip on my special golf ball glasses to ensure I don’t lose sight of it.  

It lands in the water.

Trump is laughing as I stand here, shoulders slumped in defeat.  There goes the fucking game, the day, and probably any chance I had of partnering with this legend of finance.  Trace will kill me, spend an hour saying ‘how could you fuck this up for us’, and I’ll just sit there and take it, knowing I’m a fucking failure.

“Don’t feel bad about it, son,” he pats my back as he puts his own ball down on the tee.  “Everybody has an off day.  You probably think I’m going to tell you the deal is off though,” he smirks.  “Am I right?”

I shrug as I pull off my gloves and stick them in my back pocket.  “If my game is going this crappy, you must not think too highly of my business sense.”r32;

“It’s just a game,” he smirks.  “Something for us to do, away from the office.  I wanted to get you away from your staff so I could talk to you, one on one.”

He hits the ball.  I’m sure it landed on the green.  “So that’s why you didn’t want Trace around?” I chuckle, knowing it’s bold, but not caring.  I want an answer, and I hate to play games.

I mean, if he has doubts about my business partner, I just dont’ see how this relationship is going to work.

“Mr. Ayala, yes,” he nods, and presses his lips together.  “How long have you worked together, Justin?”

I shrug.  “About seven years now.”

“Do you trust him?”

It’s a fair question.  One that I’m sure he asks a lot of people that he’s about to partner up with.  “Yeah, of course,” I nod.  “He’s...he’s been there through it all, you know?”

“Mr. Timberlake, I’m not sure if I should be the one telling you this,” he sighs, as we walk along to find our balls.  “But I feel like I must, because you seem absolutely clueless about the situation.”

I stop, dead in my tracks, and stare at him.  “What do you mean?”

“Did you know, that Mr. Ayala used to work for Merrill Lynch?”

“N-no...” I shake my head.  “How is that possible?”

“He was very young.  Twenty.  I don’t think you were around then.”

Trace was twenty one when we met, and I had just turned nineteen.  He said he’d been laid off, and was trying to find work, but in the meantime, he would help me any way he could.  He sacrificed himself.  I’d be nothing without him.  “I met him when he was twenty one.  He’s two years older than me.”

“He became involved with a shady associate in the firm,” he tells me, quietly.  “I’m assuming that he was trying to move up the ladder faster than he should have been.  Together, they embezzled over three million dollars.  The only reason he’s not in prison, is because he testified against the other idiot, and was granted immunity.  Now, I’ll ask you again...do you trust him?”

I just stand here, dazed, staring at the man.  I have no words, nothing to say.  I mean, Trace kept it from me, the whole thing.  That's really terrible becasue he’s half of the fucking firm, and most of the time, especially lately, I’ve been leaving him to run a lot of the day to day business without me.  I’ll stay in the office and watch the stocks, deal with a lot of the international clients by phone.  He doesn’t complain.  He loves it, being in charge, and I know that.  But now...I mean...

Jesus.

What if...

No. No, no.  He wouldn’t.  He wouldn’t screw me.  Not after all the hard work we’ve done to get this far.  Why would he? He’s rich, richer than he could have ever imagined.  

But having money, can make your greedier than ever.  I would know.  I’ve been acting like an asshole ever since i gained power here in the city.  I’m only snapping out of it now because...I have somebody that’s showing me a better way to live my life.  But Trace, he’s set in his ways.  He cares about money...everything else comes second in his life.  I hate to admit that, but I know it’s true.

 I know i've been acting just like him, up til now.

“Mr. Trump,” I suck in a long breath after I say it.  “People can change.”

He shrugs.  “I’m not one for second chances.  Especially when it comes to my business and my money.  Justin, I like you.  You have a great mind, and I can tell that just by talking with you.  I think we could do amazing things in the business world, make more profit that you’ve probably ever thought possible.  But...I’m sorry to say, I want nothing to do with your business if it involves Mr. Ayala.”

I rub my forehead.  Fucking Christ.  I don’t know what to do.

“Why don’t you think about it?” He bends down as we approach the spot that his ball landed and picks it up.  “Take the rest of the week to mull it over. Perhaps have a meeting with your partners, look into your companies finances and see if anything out of the ordinary has been going on with the numbers.”r32;

I just nod.  I think I’m still too much in shock to say anything else to him.

“I need an answer by Tuesday,” he tells me softly.  “Or...the deal will have to be cut off.  If you want my advice, I would fire him as soon as possible.  I’ve been in this business long enough to know, that if somebody will embezzle once, they’ll do it again.  They’re a crafty sort...these kind of people.  Don’t put yourself at risk.  You could lose everything.”

He tees off, as if our conversation hasn’t phased him in the least.

Fuck, he basically just told me to either fire my best friend, or lose the biggest deal of my career.  I can’t...how can he expect me to do it?

I guess it’s called being a business man.  I should snap out of it, remember who I am and how much power I have.  Trace is my business partner sure, but I’m still his boss. It’s my duty to keep a watchful eye over him, make sure everything he’s doing is the right thing.  I think I’ve gotten out of that mentality when it comes to him.  He has free reign of the office.  My other partners, I work them like dogs, and while we get along famously in the office, at the end of the day they aren't my friends.  Sometimes I’ll let them come to my place for dinner, or i'll treat them all to drinks at the bar, and they like that, but it’s always a formality.  They’re always kissing my ass, complimenting me, so I’ll give them bigger bonuses.  Trace is the only one there who is there for me and me alone.

At least I thought so, up until now.

I think I’m going to be sick.

“I...I need the restroom,” I tell him softly.

He looks over his shoulder, and gives me a sad, knowing smile.  “Sure, son.”

The toilet water whooshes and swirls in my face as the bile from my stomach disappears from my view.  I lean against the wooden stall wall, taking deep, even breaths, just like my self help tape tells me to do.  It’s not helping, just like it didn’t help that time I went to take the boys away.  

My phone begins to ring, and when I look at the name and number flashing across the screen, the only thing I want to do is ignore it.

But I can’t.

“Hey, guess what.”

Trace sounds excited, and I know I can’t let him sense my anxiety over the phone, so I sit up a little and take a long breath before saying: “What’s up?”

“Oil skyrocketed this morning.  Three hundred dollars a share.  We just profited about seven million.  Hello new yacht!”

“That’s...great,” I say, knowing that it doesn’t sound convincing at all.

“Justin,” he laughs.  “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah.  I just...I’m not in the best place to talk right now.”

“How’s the game?”

“I’m losing,” I mutter.  I really feel like saying, ‘we didn’t finish, we were too busy talking about how fuckin’ shady you are,’ but I won’t.  I can’t.  

“Well how’s he acting? Is he gonna partner with us?”

“I dunno.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks me, his voice a little soft, and full of concern.  “You sound like you just got sick.”

“I gotta go.”

I can’t talk to him.  I can’t.  I’m getting angry and...I can’t right now.  

“What? Justin...”

I hang up, put my head in my hands, groan loudly into them.  For the first time ever in my career, I’m so fucking lost.  I couldn’t make a business decision today if my life depended on it, and that’s very bad.  It’s why Trump is giving me time.  He wants me to sort shit out.

I have to sort shit out.

I should cancel this weekend.

But then I think about Abbey and how I’m sure she’s psyched the boys up for the trip, and I know I can’t back down.  She wouldn’t forgive me, and since neither she or the boys have anything to do with business, I won’t disappoint them.  They don’t deserve to be let down by me anymore.  Hell, maybe I can confront Trace this weekend.  I can get him away from everybody, talk to him in seclusion, and ask him to tell me the truth.

He wont’ have a choice.

Because if he refuses...

I know I’ll have to let him go.
************
“Hey,” Abbey chuckles, sticking her face close to mine as I stare at my menu in a zombie like state.  “Sourpuss? What’s going on with you?”

I snap out of it.  It’s not fair to her, I mean...I brought her out to this great restaurant that she’s actually enjoying.  It has lots of perks like...an English speaking waitstaff, and dishes that don’t include the brains of various animals.  I sat at the computer all afternoon after I got back from golf and made sure I found the perfect place to take her.  I barricaded myself in my office in order to do it, told Cheryl that she better make sure i was left alone for the afternoon.

I shut Trace out.  He tried to talk to me as I walked down the hall to my office.  I blew him off, told him I had things I had to get done before I left for the day.

He’s pissed.  He called my office extension and called me a fucking asshole because Cheryl wouldn't allow him past her desk.

But I still couldn’t tell him why I was shutting him out.

I’m not ready.

I still haven’t been able to take it all in, what I’ve been told.

“I looked this place up online,” I say to her, quickly changing the subject.  “I think the chicken parm is supposed to be the best in New York City.”

She leans over her menu and rolls her eyes.  “I don’t care about chicken parm, and neither do you.  Cut the bullshit, Justin.”

She’s staring stubbornly into my eyes, being able to read every emotion on my face.  I hate that so much, that she can just...dig into me.  But I love it at the same time.  Do I love her? I don’t know about all that.  I doubt I could ever really love somebody because...because when that happens, you almost always get hurt.  Abbey knows that too...

The love of her life is dead.

I care about the girl though.  A lot.  I’m not about to deny that.

“Rough day,” I mutter.

“Okay...explain...”

“It’s business.”  I look down at my menu sternly.  “It’s nothing you need to be concerned about.”r32;

“Right.  I’m just some dumb broad.”

I sigh, roll my eyes and drum my fingers on top of the table.  “Who said that? I’m not at work right now.  I don’t want to discuss work if I’m not there, especially when you’re here...” I trail off, look up at her.  Her expression is softer now.  She’s beginning to understand.  “I had to bribe Lucinda to watch the kids tonight.  You know she’s not the biggest fan of babysitting.  I wanted to spend the night here with you, without interruptions.”

Abbey nods a little bit.  “I’m sorry.”

“No,” I shake my head roughly.  “I...I know you care.  I just...I just don’t see the point in burdening you with things that you have no part in.”

“Are you ready to order?”

The waitress is hovering over us now, smiling, awaiting our requests.

“Ooo I got this,” Abbey snickers and wiggles around excitedly in her chair.  “I can do it this time!”

I eye her playfully and stick my tongue out at her.  The waitress probably thinks we’re a couple of freaks, but I could care less.  

“I’ll have the chicken parm,” she giggles at me.  “I heard it’s the best in New York.”
 
I scoff a little, shake my head, but at the same time...I can feel the tension that’s been building up inside of me all day, start to die down.  She’s making the situation better, and hell..maybe I’ll be able to tell her about it later, tonight...when we’re in bed.

If she lets me get her in bed, anyway.

One never knows with Abbey, and Abbey will always get her way while she’s with me.

I order chicken fricassee, and once the waitress leaves, Abbey asks me if it’s the best in New York.  I dug myself a deep whole with that one, but I’d rather be joking with her.  If I wasn’t, I’d be miserable, and I can’t afford to be.  We talk and joke all the way through dinner and dessert, and by the time I pay the bill I’ve almost forgotten why I was upset at all.

But then it hits me again, so damn fast, once we leave the restaurant.

I go to the edge of the sidewalk and hold my hand out for a taxi, but Abbey pulls my hand back down, and laces her fingers through mine.

“Wait,” she says softly.  “We’re not that far, and...it’s a nice night.  Let’s walk.”

I haven’t walked back to my place in years.  Not since I was illiterate and broke.  The more I think about it though, the more nice it sounds...walking through the city with her tonight, no kids...no disturbances.  I smile, bend down to kiss her lips.  “Yeah, okay.”

We walk the city blocks back to my penthouse, hand in hand.  She asks me all different things about my life.  What part of Tennessee I grew up in, what my parents were like.  I tell her more about Tennessee than I do about my parents.  I’m not ready to dwell on them tonight, and when she doesn’t push me, I know she understands that I’m still not ready.  I change the subject to her, ask her about her family and about Colorado.  She’s a lot more willing to tell me about them.  Her mother is a school teacher and her dad sells cars.  She has one younger sister that’s still in high school.  They’re an average middle class American family, and from what I can tell, she is very close with her parents.

It’s probably why she’s so good with the boys.  She was brought up the right way.  I’m happy for her.  She deserves the best family, the best of everything.

“Justin,” she says, once we’re about a block away from my place.  “I hate to bug you about this but...”

I stop, turn to her and gently run my fingers through her hair.  “Ask me anything,” I say, knowing that the conversation could go a lot of different ways, but I’ll handle it.  I never want to say no to her again.

“I just...I was hoping next week, that you would come to Austin’s game.  I know you’ll have to leave work early but...he was talking to me about it the other day.  He really wants you there.  It would mean a lot to him, and to me.”

Shit, she just has to put it to me that way.  I mean, she knows how hard it is for me to leave work early.  I have so much to do, and now that all this shit is coming out about Trace, I have no idea what state the firm will be in by next week.  “I’ll be there.” I say it so fast, without thinking.

I’m such an idiot...so blinded by my feelings for her that I can’t back down from anything now.

“You...you will?” She smiles.  “Justin, really?”

I shrug.  “If it’s important I’ll be there.”

She squeals a little and jumps up, wrapping her arms around me tightly.  I laugh, and return her embrace, bending backward so I can lift her off the ground and swing her around a couple of times.  She hugs and kisses me so hard, there are tears in her eyes. It’s as if everything in her world is right, and that...that makes me the happiest man in New York City.

Now if I could just figure out what the fuck I’m going to do about my best friend, maybe my life would make sense again.