You have got to be kidding me. As this thought runs through my mind, I storm out of the door and quickly walk to the garage to get my car. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I press the automatic open button for both the garage and gate. I try to picture all of the scenarios that could be putting me in this position, and admittedly, there’s a lot.

The glowing lights on my car screen read ten-thirty, and I breathe a sigh of relief because it’s still an “acceptable” hour to be out and about. At least Mother and Father won’t have an opportunity to breathe down my neck about being out too late. One of the many lovely perks of being Santiago Alvarez. Though, in recent months, they’ve become less strict with me, as though they’ve given up on fixing me.

My phone rings, cutting off my stream of thoughts, and I glance over to the car screen where it reads “Damon” in glowing letters.

“Hello?”

“Hey, man, when are you going to get here? We’re waiting, and you-know-who is…impatient.”

I scoff, pressing down on the gas pedal even harder. “Well, tell him that I’m going as fast as the speed limit allows and that he can wait.” 

“Santi-”

“Damon, just tell him that I’m on my way. There’s no reason for him to be so impatient. It’s not like I have anywhere else to be. I’ll get there when I get there.”

“You said that last-”

“That was once,” I say, cutting him off before he can finish his sentence. Okay, maybe it’s been more than once that I’ve forgotten about my commitments, but sue me for losing track of time here and there. To be fair, there might be a few instances where I’ve intentionally left people hanging when I previously let them know that I would be there, so that doesn’t necessarily count as being forgetful.

“Yeah, believe what you want to, man. It’s not me you’re trying to convince. Just get here and get him calmed down he’s not happy that you’re late.” Damon finally says, sounding a little bit more than stressed.

“He’s never happy. I’m on my way, though. Tell him to stop fretting, and that he can rest assured that I’ll be there.” I say, my tone more annoyed than before.  Clicking the button to end the call, I drop my phone into the passenger seat, not allowing Damon to keep talking. It’s not that I want to be this rude, but I would much rather be doing this instead of dealing with his talking for the rest of the drive. I’m only five minutes away from The Enchanted Ivy now, and there’s no reason to carry a conversation with him anymore.

The security cameras on the gates scan over my car, and they flash green as they accept my license plate, the large gates swinging open for me. Tapping my fingers against the wheel in tune with the bass that’s filling my car with a vibration strong enough to shake the water that’s in my cupholder, I roll up the elaborate path to the main parking area. The winding road glows in the beam of my headlights, and I suck a breath in before parking next to all of my friends’ cars. My eyes glance over each of their vehicles but don’t linger, because I know that all of theirs pale in comparison when parked next to mine. Yes, that sounds harsh, but it’s simply the truth.

My seventeenth birthday present was better than my eighteenth—which was just a few months ago—in the sense that this one gets much more use. I don’t dislike the shares in the Korean business—was it phones? Maybe cars?—that my parents bought me, but those aren’t nearly as fun. I much prefer the excitement of driving my car to wherever I please, rather than watching screens with graphs that display hundreds of numbers and dollar signs. One can only look at the dollar number that comes with the shares, not slide behind the wheel and press the gas pedal as the lights of the night fly by. Maybe it was their way of trying to push me into the business world, or maybe it was simply the only gift they could think of. Either way, there’s no more time to ponder the meaning behind it, because Damon is approaching me with the stressed look that he only wears whenever Lyle is around.

Lyle has a way of stressing Damon that no one else can pull off. Maybe it’s the fact that Damon is the youngest of us and Lyle is the oldest, or the fact that—in the nicest way possible—Damon is at the bottom of the food chain in our group, with myself being at the top.

“What’s he all worked up about?” I question as Damon reaches out to slap my shoulder.

“Apparently, he’s not too happy about you being late, so our little golfing tournament isn’t going to be too pleasant.”

“Why not?” Surely Lyle isn’t that mad about me being late and skipping a few hangouts, right?

“You’ll see.” Is all Damon says, falling into step with me as we make our way onto the golf course.

“So you finally decided to leave your mansion and join the rest of us?” Lyle calls out when we near, his figure visible under the lights that line the concrete path of the court.

“Something like that. What’s up?” I question, straightening as I stop, intentionally looking down at him as I speak. Matteo has told me to stop doing it, something about trying to intimidate people the wrong way, but I see no problem with it. Especially if it’s someone like Lyle.

“You think you’re so special, only coming to hang with the rest of us when you feel like it, huh?” Lyle essentially sneers.

“No, that’s not exactly true. Some of us have other commitments, you know?” I take a breath. “And some of us run much bigger operations,” I say, reminding him that while he comes from money, I have a lot more at stake than he does. Us Alvarez are easily at the top of the pyramid, with a few other families at the same level. Not Lyle’s, but the Valentino’s for sure. Shuddering as the name passes my mind, I bring my thoughts back to the current conversation.

“What, so just because you come from-”

“Don’t.” I say, reminding him that just because he hasn’t been around me in a while, doesn’t mean he gets to slander my name whenever he feels like it.

“Whatever. You’re late to the party, so you didn’t get a vote on the rules. Loser pays for tomorrow night.” Lyle says, a bite in his words.

“Tomorrow night?” I question.

“We’re all going coming back here—the club—and having a party.”

“But won’t the club just handle all of that?”

“If it were a club party, yes. But this is private. We’re inviting all of the important people, so just be there.” Lyle says, stepping back to where the rest of our friends are gathered. “Oh, and I wouldn’t want to lose.”