Chapter 4 - The Golden Boy's Party
The terrace of the private chalet at the St. Regis Aspen smelled of woodsmoke, Cuban cigars, and vintage Dom Pérignon.
Jake Bennett leaned against the carved cedar railing, his cashmere-clad arms crossed casually, watching the dusk settle over the Roaring Fork Valley. The town below was twinkling with million-dollar fairy lights, a playground for the world’s elite, and right now, Jake felt like the king of all of it.
"Look at him," Julian Davies, Jake’s college buddy and vice president of acquisitions, said, raising his champagne flute. "The man is practically glowing. That's the look of a guy who just closed a six-million-dollar valuation and successfully escaped diaper duty for seventy-two hours."
The four men standing around the roaring gas fire pit erupted into laughter.
Jake chuckled, tipping his glass toward Julian. "Hey, it’s all about setting boundaries early, boys. You give an inch during the first two weeks, and suddenly you’re the guy who spends his entire weekend assembling cribs and heating up formula while your career goes down the toilet."
"Is Olivia still blowing up your phone?" asked Marcus Lee, a tech broker from San Francisco who had flown in on a private jet that morning.
Jake pulled his iPhone from his pocket. The screen showed zero missed calls.
"Nope," Jake said with a self-satisfied smirk. "I told her before I walked out the door: 'Do not call me unless the house is on fire.' You have to train them, Marcus. Women operate entirely on emotional manipulation. She was sitting on the floor, pretending her cramps were an emergency, literally crying about how she couldn't stand up. All because she wanted me to cancel a non-refundable penthouse suite and hold her hand."
"Man, that's cold," Julian laughed, though there was a slight edge of hesitation in his eyes. "You left her alone with the baby? She only gave birth ten days ago, right?"
"She has food, she has the internet, and she has Netflix," Jake said dismissively, waving his hand as if swatting away a fly. "Our mothers had babies in the woods and went back to plowing fields the next day. The modern medical industry has convinced women that giving birth makes them disabled. Besides, the nanny starts Monday. She’s fine."
"To Jake!" Marcus toasted, clinking his glass against Jake’s. "The only man in Boulder with the balls to take his birthday back!"
"To freedom," Jake toasted, draining his glass.
He felt invincible.
Downstairs, the chalet’s private chef was searing dry-aged wagyu ribeyes. Later tonight, they had a VIP table reserved at the Caribou Club, where two female promoters from an agency in Los Angeles were scheduled to join them. Jake had already taken off his platinum wedding band and tucked it neatly into the zippered interior pocket of his leather toiletry bag. Just for the weekend, he told himself. A man deserved to remember what it felt like to be hunted.
Around nine o’clock that evening, after three bottles of vintage Cabernet and two rounds of tequila shots, Jake’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out, squinting through an alcohol-induced haze.
It was an unknown number with a Denver area code.
Jake sneered. "She's using a neighbor's phone. Unbelievable."
"Who is it?" Julian asked, slurring his words slightly as he leaned against the granite kitchen island.
"Olivia," Jake said, tapping the red button and declining the call. "She never stops. If I answer, it’s going to be forty-five minutes of sobbing about how she can't find the thermometer or how the baby won't latch. I'm not doing it. Tonight is about Aspen."
He went into his settings, turned on 'Airplane Mode', and slid the phone face-down onto the bar.
"Chef!" Jake bellowed, clapping his hands together. "Bring out the dessert! And open the Macallan eighteen!"
For the next forty-eight hours, the world ceased to exist outside the perimeter of the Aspen luxury bubble. Jake skied the black diamonds of Ajax Mountain in the mornings, drank champagne at the mid-mountain lodge at noon, and spent his nights in dimly lit VIP booths surrounded by loud electronic music, expensive perfume, and the flattering laughter of people who only cared about the balance of his bank account.
He didn't check his email. He didn't check his voicemail. He didn't think about his son, nor did he spare a single thought for the woman who had spent thirty hours in labor ten days prior to bring that child into the world.
By Sunday afternoon, as the Cayenne was brought around by the chalet's valet, Jake felt refreshed, rejuvenated, and fully prepared to return home to his picturesque suburban life. He would walk in, kiss Olivia on the forehead, hand her an expensive souvenir candle from an Aspen boutique, and magnanimously accept her apology for having been so difficult on Thursday.
May you like
He tipped the valet fifty dollars, revved the engine, and merged onto Highway 82, heading east toward Denver.
***
