I get in my car and steer almost two hours out of The City towards the Hudson Valley. My ass is dead by the time I reach the mansion. Cars are already parked in the expansive driveway leading an even more imposing house oozing with money from all sides. I park my BMW 3 series M340i next to a fucking Rolls Royce Ghost. There are a couple of Bentleys, Ferraris, Lagondas, think of a car, it is here somewhere. It's not just the cars or the house, everything here seems mad expensive, the gardener must also be paid in the millions.

I exit my car making sure to wipe the awe off my face because awe together with fear paints you as the underdog and I am not at this stupid gala to be seen as such. The person I was scheduled to meet appears to my right and steers me away from the main entrance where the red carpet is laid out and a couple of paparazzi are lurking.

We enter through a backdoor that leads us to an expansive kitchen with a couple of chefs milling about tasting this and that, as delicious scents waft out of the stainless steel pots. To my hungry stomach. It's torture but I have a mission and being lured by a meal is not part of the equation. Unlike Tara who seems to cave whenever I set a plate of good food in front of her. Seriously, that girl should have higher standards. I stop myself before I continue thinking about her, I shouldn't be doing it in the first place.

"He is waiting in the third room to your right." my guide says and leaves me standing in a hallway downstairs. I reach the door and knock. It's my first time meeting whoever is behind this door and I don't trust him one bit.

"Come in." a gruff authoritative voice answers. I open the door at the same time someone leaves a room to my right. I catch a glimpse of a black dress with a bit of cleavage showing. I wonder if Tara is here yet. "Take a seat." the man says.

I do not take kindly to being ordered around but I let it slide since we are meeting for the first time. The man across the desk from me doesn't seem much older than me, but the cold authoritative aura he has about him ages him at least a decade. "What do you want from him?" He asks immediately. Geez, I thought we should start at hello?

"This is a nice party. Let's have a drink first." I say ignoring his question. He looks displeased for a moment but then obliges. It's then I notice the wheel chair. He presses a couple of buttons and it propels him to a built-in liquor cabinet. He pours us both a glass of liquor and comes back with both in his hand. I take it from him now feeling like a bully for making him do that in his -condition

That kind of pity dissolves the moment he fixes me with his hard eyes and dives straight into business. I have no choice but to stop stalling. By the end of the meeting it is established we want the same thing. "I have something that would be of interest." he says an uncharacteristic excited glint appearing in his eye.

He presses buttons on his wheelchair propeling him to the door prompting me to follow him. We enter an office furnished with an oak wood desk, brown leather wall cushions and a matching leather sofa set by a bay window. I find myself drawn to the window. I stand there hoping for a view of the countryside but all I see is what looks like a miniature BLM protest right at the front gate.

"What is going on?" I ask.

"Someone was in here." he says, not really answering my questions. I turn to look at him. He is looking at the table like whatever he lost will magically reappear if he looks hard enough. To be clear, it doesn't.

"I am talking about that." I gesture at the commotion outside. He comes to the window too and looks every bit as discombobulated as I am.

"Let's go find out." Instead of heading to the stairs he goes back down the way we came until he presses a disguised button on the wall and an elevator door I had not even seen opens. He enters and waits impatiently for me to get on too.

I want to laugh the moment we reach downstairs. Imagine a couple of expensively clad snobs huddled together dancing to classical music but each time looking over their shoulders like they are afraid something is gonna attack them from behind. Except this looks worse. It's quite the jittery freak fest.

Another man approaches us and exchanges a few words with my interlocutor. I barely catch a word they say. The newcomer turns and leaves just as fast as he came.

"The house has been made the target of a protest. The police have arrived and are clearing it up." he says his gaze focused on something. I follow his gaze and instantly understand the reason for the coldness in them. A few yards away, stands the man I desperately want to bring down.

His arms are wrapped around the waist of a younger woman whose back I can only see. Despite being older than their grandfathers, bimbos never cease to thirst over his money

Before I avert my attention, I catch a glimpse of her face. A feeling I know all too well emerges and I see red. To see Tara letting this man touch her rubs me the wrong way.

Why isn't it me with her arms around my neck, twirling her around, and bringing her back to grind her hips softly into me and look into those infinite brown pools she has for eyes? I meet the old man's eyes as I stare at his dance partner, I blatantly hold his eye for a second too long in which he whispers something in her ear and she responds with a laugh.

I am fuming by the time I leave the main area. At some point the commotion subsides and I start hearing cars pull out of the driveway. Is Tara going home with him? My mind can't help but muse.