by Tia Sirrah
After going over a few home specs, we headed over to a historic Greystone property close to Michigan Avenue, near the lakefront.
"Mr. Brathwaite informed that you’ll be making an offer today."
"That’s the plan," I said nervously. "No pressure, right?" I joked. She smiled thoughtfully as she unlocked the door to the luxurious and imposing Greystone.
"Wow," I mouthed as we entered the grand living space. Our heels echoed on the gleaming hardwood floors.
Lisa gave me a moment to take in its splendor. "Beautiful, isn’t it?" I nodded wordlessly. "This residence is 8600 square feet. It’s been renovated throughout, with top of the line fixtures and appliances. The current owners have done a beautiful job blending superior quality craftsmanship with modern convenience."
I looked around in awe. "How much is this one going for?"
"It’s on the market for 5.1 million. Conner has informed me that he will make an aggressive cash offer on whichever property you choose. I don’t anticipate there being any problems in closing quickly." Five million dollars? There was no way I was going to allow him to put the deed in my name.
Lisa and I walked through all three levels of the expansive floor plan. I was a bit overwhelmed, as she spouted off facts about each part of the home. The first floor housed a great room, dining room, family room, and gourmet kitchen. On the basement level, there was a home theater, a gym, and a bedroom. On the second level, there was a luxurious master suite, five additional bedrooms, an office, and a library with built-in floor to ceiling shelves. The home also included an attached three-car garage and a landscaped garden.
I walked room to room, snapping pictures with my phone. Although the home was beautiful and elegant, it didn’t seem to reflect Conner’s personal style. Its old-world charm was classic and inviting, but I knew that Conner would prefer something a bit more contemporary. It would be a shame to gut such a beautiful place to renovate it. After expressing this to Lisa, we headed out to the next property.
We visited a condominium next. Mature trees lined the streets. The elegant and historical exterior took my breath away. We checked in with the doorman and headed to a private elevator, which led us up to the top floor. As soon as we stepped foot into the private foyer, I was giddy with excitement. "This property isn’t on the market yet. The owners do anticipate a quick sale but have already agreed to sell it to Mr. Brathwaite, if you like it. It’s a bit smaller than the other property, at 4000 square feet, but what it lacks in space, it makes up for with its timeless beauty, modern amenities, and twelve-foot ceilings. It has hardwood floors throughout and magnificent views from every room. There are five bedrooms, two offices, and six baths." We walked through a formal living room, a family room that opened to a chef’s kitchen, a formal dining room, and a spacious laundry room, all with modern upgrades. Three out of five bedrooms each had a fireplace. The master suite opened to a terrace. There was also a private rooftop deck. "You get six parking spaces and have access to the gym and spa downstairs."
Walking through the penthouse, I immediately pictured Conner and I vacationing here and spending time by the fire, during a winter white Christmas. And the views were to die for. There were so many large windows showcasing spectacular views of city parks and the lakefront. The decor was even perfect. A perfect blend of modern and contemporary. The hardwood floors were dark chocolate, and the kitchen was all white with a huge center island. I walked through the house, taking pictures of every room. Each room looked like a snapshot from Pinterest that I would have pinned and tried to duplicate myself. This was the one. I knew that Conner would love it.
I expressed as much to Lisa on our way up to the private and furnished rooftop deck. "How much is this going for?"
"4.8 million."
I inwardly cringed at the price. But at least it was cheaper than the last one.
Lisa gave a polite smile. "I know this can be overwhelming. If it makes you feel any better, I sold Mr. Brathwaite his SoHo penthouse in Manhattan and his beach house in Malibu. Those were far more exorbitant in price." We both sat down on the cushioned chairs around the unlit fire pit. "May I be candid?"
"Sure," I said.
"Daryl and I have known Mr. Brathwaite for a long time. Over the last few months, there has been a noticeable change in him. He’s a lot more amiable." She chuckled as she continued, "Some might say that he isn’t always the most agreeable person to work for."
I laughed along with her. "Oh, I can just imagine."
"But in all seriousness, there is a peace about him that we haven’t seen since…well…ever. It’s obvious. He’s completely smitten with you. Your presence in his life has done wonders for our work and family balance. So, from us to you, thank you," she said, as she pressed her palms together in a praying position and playfully bowed.
We giggled like schoolgirls. We sat back and took in the sun rays and the magnificent views around us.
"Let’s do it. Let’s make an offer," I grinned.
"Yay! Excellent choice."
I sighed with contentment. "How about you play hooky for the rest of the day and we go get a drink."
"Drinks are on me. Let’s go!" Lisa said enthusiastically.
We spent the next couple of hours at a nearby bar, drinking mojitos and eating hors d'oeuvres. We exchanged contact information and made plans for the four of us to get together on our last night in town at a downtown blues joint. It wasn’t quite Conner’s usual scene, but I had the feeling that he was going to love it.
∞∞∞
"YOU LOOK AMAZING," CONNER said, his lips against my ear, as we walked into the downtown restaurant. A few paparazzi stalked around outside the trendy upscale restaurant, clicking their cameras at us. Conner escorted me inside the restaurant, his hand on the small of my back. We were immediately greeted by the maître d and led to a table on the rooftop terrace.
Conner was tie-less in a dark gray dress shirt with its top button unfastened. He wore tailored black Boss suit pants and dress shoes. I wore a cherry red bandage dress that Conner had gifted me for this evening. It fit my curves like a second skin. I paired it with red and multicolored four-inch Versace heels.
I planned to show Conner pictures of the Chicago penthouse after he returned from work. It was evident, however, that he had other plans when he bent me over the dining room table. His plans continued in the shower, and then in the king-size bed.
Our shower dampened bodies were tangled in the sheets of the bed, as Conner skillfully sexed me, his hips moving in ways that made every single nerve ending in my body come alive. My nails clawed at his back, and the heels of my feet dug into his muscular ass, as he pumped me closer into an orgasmic bliss. I felt completely raw and exposed; my heart bursting wide open beneath him. As his kisses trailed from my mouth to the delicate spot behind my ear, I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to come back down from the place my heart was dangerously leading me to.
"I love you, Conner." The words tumbled out of my mouth, against his shoulder, before I could stop them. I was met with silence.
A single tear spilled from my eye when he stilled inside of me at my proclamation, his lips pausing on my neck. He didn’t say those three words back to me, wouldn’t even look me in the eye. Instead, he responded by tipping me over the edge with his expert moves, causing me to cry out from my orgasm, that he soon followed with his own.
As we sipped on our drinks, his bourbon, and my whiskey-ginger, he swiped through the pictures of the penthouse on my phone. "I think you’re going to love it!" I said as I raved about the rooftop deck, the views of the city, and the master suite. "Are you really going to purchase it, even without taking a look at it yourself?"
"I already put an offer in. Congratulations. You’re a homeowner now."
"It belongs to you, not me."
"Christ, Novalee. Not this again." Irritation was etched on his face as he signaled the waiter over with his hand.
Our waiter quickly scurried over. "Yes, sir." He elegantly st
ood rod-straight with his hands behind his back.
"This bourbon tastes like shit. Get me a glass of your Jefferson’s Ocean." I gave Conner a subtle reprimanding look. "Please," he said tight-lipped.
"Yes, sir. Right away." The waiter hurried off.
"Conner, I can’t accept it. It’s too much."
My phone started to vibrate while Conner swiped through the pictures on my screen. He stilled, his eyes skimming over my phone.
"Conner, do you hear me? I’m not letting you buy me a house."
"Why the fuck is Marcus texting you?" he asked, his voice low and measured.
"How would I know. I’ve never even mentioned Marcus to you. That’s how insignificant he is. He’s just someone—"
"I know who he is. Why is he texting you?" A storm was brewing in his cold eyes. His voice was calm and icy.
"How do you know who he is if I’ve never told you about him?" I looked inquisitively at him; my head cocked to the side.
"I know about all your past lovers," he said dispassionately, as if there was nothing seriously wrong with that tidbit of information.
I reached for my phone, but my extended hand remained empty as Conner began typing something into my phone. I leaned forward and snatched my phone from his fingers. I momentarily looked away from a seriously pissed Conner and viewed the text message.
Marcus, 7:58pm
I miss you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I miss holding you. Kissing you. Touching you. Making love with you. Call me. Please. I just wanna talk. I can’t seem to get you out of my head.
Conner had started to type back a response but hadn’t had a chance to complete the text.
Novalee, 7:59pm
Hey dickface. This isn’t Novalee. It’s her boyf
I deleted Conner’s text and placed my phone down on the table before looking up at his steely face.
"Care to explain, angel?" The steadiness in his voice was betrayed by the fury in his eyes.
"I have no idea why he’s texting me. I haven’t spoken to him in ages. As you know, from your creepy stalker tendencies, Marcus is an old classmate of mine. Someone from my past," I said, repeating the same words he told me about Sasha, and the countless others we had run into since then. He cocked his head to the side while scrutinizing me with his glacier eyes. "What, Conner?" Irritation gnawed at me. "You knew I wasn’t a virgin. I have a past too, just like you."
"But my past isn’t sending me goddamn text messages."
"Oh, that’s right. Your past is just a bunch of faceless tits who never had the pleasure of getting your phone number. My bad. That’s so much better." Marcus was one of three guys I had slept with in my entire life. Conner was rumored to have slept with hundreds of women. "You don’t trust me? You think I fucked him after I met you?" I downed the rest of my second whiskey-ginger. "Don’t worry, I’m only fucking you." Couldn’t really call it making love, could I? Conner would have to love me, for me to call it that. Marcus, on the other hand, called it making love. Marcus told me that he loved me. He’d confessed that he had been pining for me all along while I was with Andre. And what did I do when Marcus confessed his love for me? I bailed. I didn’t feel the same way. I knew I never would. And here I was, now getting a visit from karma.
"You think this is just fucking for me?" He leaned forward, his voice low and incredulous.
I signaled the waiter for a whiskey straight, this time. I stared at Conner blankly. I hoped he couldn’t see the vulnerability and hurt in my eyes. "I don’t want the fucking penthouse, okay." My voice was shaky as I fought impending tears.
"Fuck the penthouse," he growled. He knew that what we had between us meant more to me than fucking. He knew he owned me. Mind, body, and soul. I was foolish enough to tell him so.
"I’m not cheating on you, okay. I haven’t seen or spoken to Marcus in months."
"I know that, Novalee," he said, somewhat exasperated. The bartender came over with my whiskey. I immediately took a large gulp and winced. Conner’s hand stilled over mine, holding the glass in place a few inches from my mouth. "I think you’ve had enough," he gritted out.
I chuckled but let him take the glass. "That’s rich, coming from you."
Conner was a binge drinker, usually consuming half of a bottle of bourbon in one sitting. He didn’t drink every day, but when he did, he made up for lost times. His favorite pastime was drinking alone. He’d disappear to his home office for hours at a time. Many nights, I’d find him passed out at his desk or on the floor with an empty or near-empty bottle of bourbon nearby. I often chided him about his drinking, but Conner wasn’t the type of man who admitted to weaknesses or flaws. He was a grown-ass man, who on occasion liked his Bourbon, he’d say. He had everything under control, he'd say. What he did in the privacy of his own home was his business.
"Text him back. Handle your shit. You really don’t want me to. Things could become very…complicated for Marcus." His firm resolve made me shiver.
"You can’t control those around me just because they like what they see," I said as I fluffed my curls. "You can’t pull strings in my life like it’s some goddamn puppet show. Just because I call you daddy when you fuck me, doesn’t mean you’re my goddamn father." Defiance seemed to flow freely through me as the booze coursed through my veins. Conner’s jaw ticked, but he remained silent. "You know what? Fine." I sent off a rapid-fire text message. "Here. Happy now?" I held the phone up to him.
Novalee, 8:15pm
Hi Marcus. I hope you’re doing well, but I think you should know. I’m still in a relationship, and I don’t think it’s appropriate to continue this conversation. It’s not fair to you. I care for my boyfriend deeply, and that’s not going to change. It’s not a good idea for you to text me anymore, as I don’t want you to have to deal with his shit. He can be a vicious prick sometimes and thinks he rules the fucking world.
Conner’s scowl deepened as he read my text. I pocketed my phone in my bag and said, "I think I’m done here. I suddenly don’t have an appetite." I rose from my chair, its legs scraping against the floor, causing a few patrons to glance over at us before resuming their meals and conversations. I steadied myself as the floor tilted a bit.
Conner threw some money on the table before quickly rising. I grabbed my glass and downed the rest of my whiskey, silently daring him to say something snarky. His nostrils flared, and his jaw ticked, but he remained silent. Smart man. He grabbed me firmly by the elbow and ushered me out of the restaurant.
Colin was waiting at the curb. A few cameras flashed towards us and were met with my middle finger as I yelled, "Fuck off," before I was ushered none too gently into the car. We rode back to the hotel, both on the far opposite ends of the back seat. An uncomfortable silence engulfed us, as we both stared out of our passenger windows.
Upon entering our suite, I kicked off my heels and stomped off to the bathroom. I left Conner standing near the closet as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, looking unbothered. After using the bathroom, I washed my hands and looked at my reflection in the mirror. The lights in the bathroom were too bright, and my reflection was a bit out of focus. I sat down on the closed toilet seat and rested my face in my palms.
After a few minutes, I found Conner in the spacious living room, standing in front of a large-scale window. He now wore a wife-beater tank and a pair of lounging sweatpants. There was a bottled water and a couple of Advil on the side table near the couch.
"You need to drink water and take the Advil. You’re going to have a hell of a headache in the morning," he said, still not turning to look at me.
I balled my hands into fists until my nails bit into my palms. I rushed up to Conner, not stumbled, thank you very much, and faced him. "Are we not going to talk about this?"
"Talk about what, Novalee? What do you want to talk about?" He looked down at me like I was a petulant child. That only made my blood boil.
"About tonight! About anything! Just talk to me!" I shoved my hands against his unmovable chest. "Let me in g
oddammit!" I jammed my finger against his heart. He didn’t falter, just stood there looking down at me with a pained expression before his typical aloof mask returned in its usual place. I craved. What did I crave? I craved for him to open up to me in a way that didn’t involve sex or money. I wanted to know his secrets, his fears, his sadness. But most of all, I wanted his love.
He was shutting down on me. I could see it in his eyes. Feel it all around us. So, in my drunken state, I decided to do what I could to melt the ice around his heart. I seductively pulled down the straps of my dress and proceeded to disrobe in front of him.
"Novalee," he softly warned.
I now stood in front of him in nothing but a black lace demi bra. I’d gone commando at dinner. "Conner," I whined. I reached out and groped him on top of his sweatpants and found his cock flaccid. Hurt and confusion marred my face.
He removed my hand from him. "You’re drunk. We’re not doing this tonight." He leaned down and whispered in my ear, "You’re not just a fuck." With that, he turned and headed to the bedroom and closed the door behind him.
I was left standing there. All alone. Completely humiliated. Completely fragile. Completely drunk. Tears, along with the effects of the alcohol, blurred my vision as I made my way over the sofa and curled up in a ball.
∞∞∞
I WOKE THE NEXT morning tucked in our bed with my satin scarf tied haphazardly around my head. The curtains were drawn, but a few specks of light shone through a corner of the drapery. I sat up in bed and looked around for any sign of Conner. The bedroom door was open, but the hall and front living quarters seemed quiet and empty. His side of the bed was unmade, his pillow dinted. My satin scarf slopped down in front of my eyes before falling off. He must have tied it around my hair last night and had carried me to bed. My heart swelled at his thoughtfulness. My head lightly throbbed and felt heavy on my neck. I reached for my phone, which Conner had charged and placed on the bedside table. There was a new text message from Marcus from last night, tagged as read. Conner must have read it while I was asleep. I sat back against the headboard and drank the fresh orange juice and took the Advil that he left out for me.