New York Billionaires Series

“You can’t,” she says. “You won’t be gone for long, and you’ll get all those tasty mini quiches.”

“You’re tastier.”

She blushes, but doesn’t look away. My girl doesn’t faze easily anymore. “You can taste me when you get back,” she says. “How does that sound?”

I reach down to adjust myself through the fabric of my suit pants. “Fuck, kid.”

She laughs. “Go. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Oh, I remembered something. I can’t come for lunch tomorrow.”

“Not a problem. What came up?” I shrug into my suit jacket and tuck my shirt more firmly into my pants. I’m going to have to be charming. It used to be so easy. Fun, even. A game for a bachelor to play. Now the only person I want to charm is in this apartment, and I’m leaving it.

“Freddie asked me to have lunch with her and I very much want to say yes.”

“Second choice to my colleague’s wife,” I say morosely. “It’s a sad day.”

Audrey grins and pushes off the couch. She reaches up to fix my hair, smoothing out the mussing she’d done earlier. “You’re always my first choice,” she says. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I say. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be here,” she says, and I think those might be the sweetest words I’ve ever heard. She’s not going anywhere.

And neither am I.

Two years later

“Kid, you look beautiful!” Carter calls from the living room. “You always do!”

I turn around in front of the full-length mirror and inspect the dress for the fourteenth time. It fits great, but it’s tighter than I’m used to. Floor length and sweeping. My hair’s up, curls hanging down along my back. That part I like. The dress?This content © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

I still haven’t quite gotten used to wearing clothes like this. The fabric falls like liquid silk around my legs. I’ll have to be careful when I walk.

“Sure I don’t look too fancy?” I call back. The dress is art on the hanger. But on me? I don’t want to look like I’m playing dress-up.

Carter comes into our bedroom. He’s in a tux, wearing it like he wears everything. Naturally and comfortably. “You look beautiful,” he says, “and delicious, and expensive, and intelligent, and mine, and-”

“Yours?” But I grin as I reach up to wrap my arms around his neck. “That was a mighty list of compliments.”

He bends to kiss me, remembering last second that I have lipstick on, diverting to my cheek. “All true. Now, please, light of my life, can we leave?”

“You’re eager?”

“The sooner we get there the sooner we can leave,” Carter says.

I laugh. “Don’t let the Winters hear you say that.”

Carter looks over his shoulder. “Are they here?”

I roll my eyes. “No.”

“Then come on. There’s something waiting for you in the kitchen, too.” His hand slides down to capture mine, and he leads me out into the living room. Our living room, now. He’d been right about me renting my apartment for a short period. I’d been in that beautiful little space for a year and a half until the conversation about extending the lease came up.

We’d both decided it would be better if I moved in.

His apartment is ours now, with new art on the walls and plants I’d insisted on brightening the space. It’s home.

“Something waiting?” I ask. “Should I be worried?”

“No. You’ll like this.”

“Oh, I’m intrigued now.”

There’s a bouquet of flowers on the kitchen counter. It’s a simple thing, two slender white lilies in the center surrounded by leaves of deep green. Attached is a card.

“Read it,” Carter says. His eyes are trained on me.

“Did this just arrive?”

I frown, reaching for the envelope. “Do you know who it’s from?”

“The porter said who it was, yes.”

I open the envelope. My eyes scan the simple sentence and the name beneath.

“Oh my God,” I say.

Carter grins. “It’s from your lover?”

“Yes. I mean, my instinct is to say no, but you won’t stop calling him that.”

“What did he write?”

I turn the card over to show Carter the scrawled words. Good writing, kid.

– Dean Allen.

“Kid,” Carter repeats. “He knows about my nickname for you?”

I laugh. “Might also be because he’s in his seventies. Everyone under the age of forty is a kid to him.”

“And sending my girlfriend flowers? I need to be on the lookout.”

I laugh, feeling giddy with happiness. “He read the article.”

“He sure must have,” Carter says. “How couldn’t he? Everyone who’s anyone has read Audrey Ford’s latest piece. Besides, he would be a poor mentor if he didn’t.” Carter comes closer, hugging me against him. “I’m happy for you.”