She laughs, then goes back to frowning. “Yes. Super. I just got a green-light to present another line of cards—but I don’t have an idea. And they want to hear a pitch in the morning.”
“Can I help?”
She shakes her head. “I just need to do some thinking. What are you working on?”
I tilt the tablet so she can see the screen. “Reviewing mission letters for the new executive team at SwiftEx. We just poached a kid from Silicon Valley to be the new COO—that was the first successful hire. We’ll have more, though, and I want all the positions to have clear instructions from me for when they hit the ground running. So I drafted letters earlier today and they went through legal and HR. Now they’re back to me.”
“That sounds…complicated. And here I’m stressed because I can’t think of phrases that rhyme with booze.”
I set the tablet down on my chest. “You have my full attention.”
She rolls her eyes. “Go back to what you were doing.”
“No, seriously, this fascinates me.”
“Umm. Okay. So…everyone likes a margarita, right? Or a martini? That’s my hypothesis, anyway. The key to a good line of cards is that when someone is standing there buying one card, they like another, too, and then they buy both. Getting someone to buy just one card isn’t enough—they won’t remember you that way. But if you can sell them on a couple of cards, enough that they start to see the similarities in illustration or writing style, then you’ve got a fan.”
I lean forward and brace my arms on my knees. “So…how can you connect this new idea to what people have liked in the past? Like the everyday superhero pictures?”
Her eyes go wide and she snaps her fingers. “Yes. Everyday…everyday… Gah. That’s it, but it’s still hazy.” She purses her lips together and nods. “I’ll get it. Anyway, go back to your work.”
“Do you want me to give you some quiet thinking space? Because I like talking about this.”
“Space first. Then I’ll tell you where the thoughts land. Deal?”
My heart swells in my chest and I lean back. “Steal of a deal.”
When she returns to Baltimore, we start talking more on the phone. I find myself calling her when I might have reached out to Ben or Toby in the past, when I need an understanding sounding board who doesn’t have a vested interest in whatever I decide.
And I want to hear about her work, too. She finally figures out what rhymes with martini, and an everyday “congratulations, you’ve survived!” line of cards is borne.
January folds into February. We go skiing with her family, although Jana manages to avoid using my last name and other than a “rich guy from New York,” they don’t exactly know who I am.
I’m fine with that.
She meets Ben, and I meet Nina.
March brings a big storm to the East coast, and we end up snowed in together for two days. I make her hot chocolate and peppermint lattes and she draws pictures of me at work.
My invitation to the Met Gala arrives, and I make a sizeable donation to the charity.
“What are you doing the first week of May?” I ask her.
“Drawing pictures and trying to convince my cats not to go crazy at the windows just because spring is blooming, probably. I lead a very glamorous life,” she teases.
“Can you get a cat sitter? I’d like to take you to a thing in the city.”
24
Jana
It’s not until a week later, when I text Jake for the actual days he wants me to be in New York, that I realize “the thing” he wants to take me to is a formal gala on the first Monday of May.
I devour celebrity news like Girl Scout cookies. The first Monday of May in New York City means the Met Gala.
“It always matters. There will be some super awkward meeting at the Met Gala. I’ve seen how it goes on TMZ.”
“I’ve never been to the Met Gala. Do you want to go? Ben goes every year. As far as I can tell it’s a pretentious bore.”
I was teasing him. I was…oh God. I’m going to have an awkward run in with one of the models he’s had sex with. The prophecy is coming true.
I call Nina in a panic and fill her in.
“You are a lucky bitch,” she says.
That’s not helpful. “I’m aware,” I say through gritted teeth. “But that doesn’t change the fact I’m a country bumpkin in comparison to…well, everyone.”
“Don’t compare yourself to Beyoncé.”
“I’ve heard that Anna Wintour personally approves each guest. She clearly hasn’t gotten to my name on the list yet, and when she does, Jake’s going to get a call regretfully declining because who is that person?”
“Maybe he put you down as the future Mrs. Jake Aston, and Anna Wintour knows better than to piss off a hot billionaire?”
I squeak. I’m not cool enough for any of this.
Nina laughs. “Seriously, this is a sign he’s serious about you. Or things have gotten slack in the bedroom and he knows the Met is a sure-fire way for you to give up slot C.”
“Things haven’t gotten slack,” I mutter.
“But still, put a Brazilian on the to-do list the week before.”
I’ve been keeping up with that maintenance, not that I’m going to tell her that. Jake doesn’t complain when the hair is growing back in, but when we see each other and I’m freshly waxed, he goes down on me for like an hour.
Only a fool wouldn’t keep that monthly appointment with that kind of reward.
“I need a dress,” I whisper.
“Nope.” Her voice goes crisp and business-like. “Okay, so here’s your first big lesson in dating a billionaire, in public. Things like this? You need a stylist. The stylist will—”
“I know what a stylist does.” People subscription. TMZ addict. I know what celebrities do. I’m not a celebrity. “I can’t really afford…”
“Ask Jake who dresses him.”
“Jake dresses himself.” I frown. “I think.”
“His tuxes come from somewhere, and I don’t think he spends a lot of time on Fifth Avenue. Just ask.”
So I do, and when he stops laughing at the question about who dresses him—he agrees, the answer is almost always himself—he apologizes for not mentioning the dress thing yet.
“I was going to bring it up when you come here next weekend. I should have known you’d have figured out it was the Met Gala on your own.”
“Sorry for being too clever.”
“I love how clever you are. I’ll have to work harder at making the next surprise more of an actual surprise. So yes, the weekend before the Gala, there will be a few dresses for you to pick from, and people to help you get ready on the Monday.”
“And that’s not weird at all for you?”
“Are you kidding me? It’s weird, kind of vain, and pretentious…but also a lot of fun. You deserve to be spoiled like a princess, Jana. Don’t think twice about it.”
Of course I still think about it, but I let my thoughts drift in an excited direction instead of worrying about being spoiled. I’m not going to pretend he can’t afford to treat me to a crazy night out.
And I’m already thinking about how I can give him a special surprise of his own right.
April drags on forever. Jake comes to Baltimore twice, but by the time I arrive in New York at the end of the month, I’ve made a mental decision that this just can’t continue like this.
Something has to change, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to be my address.
When I arrive at Jake’s building late Friday afternoon, the doorman greets me by name. “Hello, Miss Jana. Mr. Aston just called, he’s ten minutes away, but I can take you up to the penthouse.”
“I can wait—” But Pierre is already moving toward the elevator. “Okay. Thank you.”
He hands me a keycard once we’re inside. I’ve seen Jake do this a dozen times now, at least. More, with coming and going. Pierre presses the P button and the elevator swiftly ascends. When we stop on the top f
loor, he gestures for me to swipe the card to open the doors.
With a near-silent whoosh, the foyer reveals itself. “Thank you,” I say again, holding out the card.
He just smiles and waves his hand. “Mr. Aston said to leave it with you.”
While I’m waiting for Jake, I unpack my bag. I didn’t bring too many extras for this weekend. A few nice bra and panty sets, although I’m not sure what I’ll need under the dresses. I’ll discover that tomorrow, when the stylist brings the short list of outfits over, and there’s time to shop on Sunday, too.
I have the shoes picked out, though. I carefully lift the black heels out of my suitcase. The upper part of the show is an elaborate filigree pattern cut out of black velvet. Whatever dress I choose to wear must match these, because I fell in love with them.
The heart wants what the heart wants.
“Jana?”
Speaking of what—or who—my heart wants… “In your bedroom!”
He’s tugging his tie loose as he walks through the door, and my knees go wobbly and weak.
“Hello, handsome.”
“My apologies for being delayed.” He pulls me close, and I start to work on his shirt buttons as he kisses me. Hot, hungry kisses that too quickly come to an end. He drags in a rough breath. “An old college buddy is in town. How would you feel about going out for dinner?”
I sway against him. “Sure.”
He groans and squeezes the back of my neck. “I’ve missed you. We can make it a later dinner so I can properly show you just how much.”
“Even better.”
We end up at a hipster bistro just off the north end of Central Park, not far from Columbia University. Jake dressed casually, so I follow his lead, and I’m glad I did, because the place is nothing but denim and plaid and ironic t-shirts.
I recognize Jake’s friend Ben—the only other clean-cut guy in the place—sitting with a taller, broader, bearded man at a table for four. They both stand, and Jake throws his arms around the bearded giant first.
“Marcus. God, it’s good to see you.” He steps back and wraps his arm around my waist. “This is my girlfriend, Jana.”
I hold out my hand Marcus takes it in his, his eyes crinkling as he gives me a slow smile. His handshake is firm, but nice. Can a handshake be nice? His is, and I immediately like him.
We order drinks, and it doesn’t take long for the conversation to turn to how Jake and I met. Marcus howls when I tell him I thought Jake was a delivery driver.
“He pulled off playing a man of the people? Shit. Good one, Jake.”
“I wasn’t trying to trick anyone,” my boyfriend says gruffly, and I squeeze his thigh.
“I saw what I wanted to see,” I admitted. “I was crushing pretty hard. He could have worn a ‘Hello, My Name is Jake Aston’ sticker and I probably wouldn’t have noticed.”
Jake covers my hand with his. “It was a mutual crush.”
The sound of a click drags us back to the other two men. Ben’s holding his phone. “I’m sending this picture to Toby, so he can be a part of the moment when Jake Aston officially—”
Jake cuts him off with a growl.
I blush and scramble for something else to talk about. “So, Marcus. What do you do?”
“I work for the National Park Service in Colorado.”
My eyebrows shoot up. That wasn’t what I was expecting, although his entire look says rugged, outdoorsy guy. “Cool.”
Jake claps Marcus on the shoulder. “He was a computer engineer for a few years. We met at MIT. But he was always cutting out of work to climb and hike and do search and rescue.”
Marcus shrugs. “Pretty much. So I finally realized…that was what I should do on a full-time basis. Turns out there’s a fair bit of paperwork and office time as a park ranger, too. But the ratio of fresh air to behind the desk time is still better.”
We pause our conversation to order food, then keep going. Marcus is easy to talk to, although I get the sense he’s careful in what he says—and what he doesn’t.
I have all sorts of questions for Jake about him, but as the night goes on, they slip away. I don’t remember the last time I laughed so hard or enjoyed a meal so much, and that’s saying a lot, because Jake makes me laugh all the time, and my friends are hilarious.
“Tonight was so much fun,” I murmur against Jake’s cheek as we settle in the back of his car just before midnight.
“It was.” He grins and gives me a quick kiss. “And you’re pretty toasted.”
“Just toasted enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“Dirty things. Secrets. Whatever you want.”
“Yes, please.” He shifts his thighs, spreading them wider. I drop my hand to the top of his leg and relish how tight and flexed the muscles are there. Then I stroke my hand higher, happy to find him hard and tight there, too. He groans under his breath. “Ah…”
I squeeze his erection through his jeans. “I wish we could do this more often.”
“Mmmm.” He licks his lower lip, and I get distracted by how good his mouth looks when he slicks it wet like that.
“Because the long-distance thing…”
He rolls his head toward me and gives me a lazy smile. “Yeah?”
“I just feel like it’s a little dysfunctional. In a long-term sense.” Whoa. Get a little whiskey in me—and some wine, and those shots, too… And suddenly I’m sharing everything.
But before I can walk that back, he nods. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
“Of course.”
“Oh. Good.”
He traces his fingertips over my cheek. “We should talk about this tomorrow.”
Under my hand, his cock flexes, lengthening. Inside my belly, a corresponding heat swirls. Yes. Tomorrow. Because tonight, or whatever remains of it, we’re definitely busy with something else. Something more physical than a conversation about making our long-distance thing something more…local.
25
Jana
The world is too bright.
I jam my eyelids shut again and roll over, burying my face in Jake’s pillow.
He’s out of bed already. I hear him moving around, then there’s a faint whir and the room darkens. “Is that better?”
I lift my head an inch and blink my eyes in his general direction. They feel like I rubbed sand in them. “I think I’m hungover,” I mumble as I take in the fine view of him in a towel, freshly showered.
He doesn’t look hungover.
He sets a cup of coffee on the nightstand. “We had a big night.”
“Let me guess, you’ve already run your miles and made a half-dozen business deals.”
“Today was arm day, not running.” He chuckles as I flop back against his pillow. “You can sleep for another hour. The stylist is arriving at eleven.”
“I’m up.” But I don’t move. Moving sounds over-rated in a big way.
A soft thunk tells him his towel has hit the floor, and that’s motivating. I roll onto my side so I can watch him get dressed. I know he said it was arm day, but his ass is high and tight, with those yummy hollows on either side that make me wonder if he jogs up and down the stairs to the penthouse when I’m not here. Maybe he only uses the elevator for Jana-seduction-purposes.
I should work out more.
Drinking last night was a mistake if I want to fit into fancy dresses today.
On the other hand, his pillows are so—
When I wake up the second time, the coffee Jake had set beside the bed has been replaced with a new cup, and now there’s a croissant, too.
I shove myself up, sitting back against the headboard. Coffee, good. Food, good.
My phone dings at me.
Nina: Can I come for the dress show-and-tell?
Jana: Sure.
Nina: I’m downstairs.
Jana: That was optimistic.
Nina: I’m showing this conversation to the doorman. He’s going to bring me up.
There�
�s no point in arguing with her, so I throw on some clothes and get to the elevator just as she’s stepping off.
“Wow,” she whispers, her eyes wide.
Then she gets a beaming smile on her face, and I don’t need to turn around to know Jake has come into the room.
Nina loves Jake. They’ve met twice, both times out in public, and she thinks he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
She’s not wrong, but I don’t like to give her too much praise for being right in this regard. She likes to take all the credit for us ending up together.
She’s not wrong on that point, either.
At least she hasn’t brought up the crotchless underwear yet, but the morning is still young.
“Jake,” she says, and I swear she skips as she crosses to give him a quick hug before she turns to greet me properly.
Me, her best friend. At least my hug is longer and tighter than the one she gave Jake.
“I’m so excited about this whole thing. The dresses, the stylist, the jewels.” She spins around. “There will be jewels, right, Jake?”
He grins and shrugs. “Maybe.”
“That’s a yes.” She presses her hand to her chest and sighs happily. “This is like Cinderella come to life.”
I catch Jake’s eye and mouth, Escape while you still can.
He winks and heads into the kitchen to make Nina coffee instead.
There are big moments in a relationship when you realize just how important someone is to you. Then there are the little moments, like your billionaire boyfriend being amused by your crazy over-the-top bestie, and the oh my God, I love this man feelings take you completely by surprise.
“Nina, would you like a croissant?” he calls from the kitchen.
“Please!”
“I should shower,” I tell her. “You go have some brunch and I’ll be right back.”
When I return, Jake is sliding his laptop into a messenger bag.
I glance past him, but Nina’s safely in the kitchen. “Are you escaping?” I whisper.
He kisses me quickly. “You said I could.”
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