by S. E. Law
I laugh a bit at this.
“Sweetheart, you do make your own decisions. You’re at the steering wheel all the time. I just nudge you to make them faster. Otherwise, I’ll miss you, you’ll miss out, and we’ll both be worse off. Were you seriously considering not spending the week with me?”
She sighs.
“No, but maybe we’re just hard wired differently. You work in a fast paced environment; Shake Place provides full meals in minutes. I work in a business where it may take me two weeks to finish a wedding cake. You take super-fast elevators to penthouses and I walk up five flights of stairs. Your world is faster than mine; it takes me a little while to catch up.”
I clasp her hands in my own.
“Ok, I’ll try to be more patient if you’ll try to remember that you are worthy of all the good fortune that comes your way.”
“Then it’s a deal,” she says, sealing our agreement with a kiss. “And my dad will love this so much. Thank you, Peter.”
I grin. Everything is in its place again, and the world is at right.
“I’m glad the book will be someone’s treasured possession rather than having it lost in a sea of other volumes.”
She giggles.
“I see what you did there with the sea reference; corny but cute, Mr. Coleman.”
I grin because we’ve returned to normal footing with the same comfortable rapport and ease between us. I like that we can work through a disagreement without any lingering resentment.
Demeter meows, reminding me to check the time. We have an hour before George comes to pick up Whitney.
“Come on,” I tell her, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet. “Let’s pick a room for you to put your stuff in when you get back.”
“Will we be sleeping separately this week?” she asks innocently.
“Very funny, and definitely not, sweetheart. But I want you to feel at home here. I don’t want you to have to keep your clothes in a suitcase, and there are plenty of closets in all the rooms.”
Whitney smiles, and I show her some options. She picks the room across from the library. She tells me she likes the white theme, but it needs more color. I think of her gypsy style bed and agree with her, making a mental note to call my decorator.
“Are all the beds in this house so comfortable?” she asks, flopping down onto the mattress.
“I honestly don’t know. I’ve haven’t slept in any bed but my own in this penthouse.”
“Well, maybe we should try them all out this week,” she says with a devious smile. “You wouldn’t want to have guests come over and get an uncomfortable night’s sleep in one of your guest rooms, would you?”
“That’s a great idea,” I growl. “In fact, let’s start with this one right now,” I say, falling on the bed beside her.
“Peter!” she squeals. “We don’t have that much time before George gets here.”
I grab her and kiss her fiercely to ignite the simmer that’s already lurking under the surface.
“George doesn’t mind waiting, trust me. I promise we’ll be quick this time,” I rasp into her ear.
Whitney doesn’t really need to be convinced. Her pants are off in seconds and we check this bed off the list as extremely comfortable and suitable for naked play time.
George texts to let me know he has arrived at 11:55. At 12:20, Whitney’s ready to head down to the lobby, a spare cat carrier in hand. She turns to me one last time, eyes guilty.
“Peter, I feel terrible for making George wait while we had sex. It’s bad enough that he’s out driving me around during this pandemic, but we were … I mean, we were …”
“Having sex?” I add helpfully.
She blushes.
“Yes! It’s such a naughty reason. I should take him some of the Danishes I made this morning.”
I laugh. Whitney is always so considerate of others. It’s another one of her amazing characteristics that I find so appealing.
“Hey, I thought those pastries were for me,” I joke with her.
“You’ll be fine, you big baby, because it appears I’ll be making you breakfast all week. You can share with George,” she insists and rushes back to the kitchen to grab a few of the baked goods.
After she leaves, I marvel at her generous ways and her thoughtfulness. Whitney’s kindness should be rewarded. After she boards the elevator, I pick up my phone to make a call. I’m going to pull some strings to surprise her when she comes back.
16
Whitney
I clutch the copy of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea close to my chest on the ride back to my apartment. My dad is going to love this gift. Thinking about him reminds me that I’ve been lying to my parents about the money I’ve been sending. I wish I could tell them about Peter. There are so many wonderful things about the billionaire, and I wish I could share them, but I don’t know how I would explain how I met him.
Thinking about Maeve and Donald must have conjured them because my phone rings with a video call from my mom. I can’t answer sitting in the back of this luxury car, so I hit ignore and shoot her a quick text.
Mom, camera broken on my phone. Can’t get it fixed because repair shop is closed. Busy with take out. Love you and Dad. Talk soon.
Another lie. How does that quote go again? What a wicked web we weave when we practice to deceive? Ugh, that’s going to be stuck in my head now.
“Miss Whitney, we have arrived at your apartment,” George tells me, startling me from the small screen in my hands. “Mr. Coleman instructed me to help you with your bags. Shall up come up with you now?”
“No, George, although thank you. I have to pack first. If you could come back in three hours, that would be great. Would that work for you?”
He nods and tips the brim of his hat.
“Yes Miss. I’ll see you at 3:30 then.”
I trudge up the five flights of stairs, a mix of emotions roiling inside me. I am both excited and nervous to spend the week at Peter’s penthouse. What if we spend too much time together? What if we get sick of one another, and whatever this is just fizzles out? We did have our first argument today, and it felt momentous. But it did end in makeup sex, so there’s that.
I’m also hopeful about SugarTime. Peter’s investment opens up a whole host of possibilities. I need to figure out the best ways to put it to use so I can pay him back quickly. This leads me to ponder what he said about success being ruled in a large part by who you know. I know no one except him. But I don’t want to become overly dependent on him because it puts too much pressure on our relationship.
There it is: the word “relationship.” Is that what we have together? I’m not even sure.
I hear Apollo caterwauling as I march down the hall to my apartment. I’m sure he’s been lonely but I wonder how he’s going to handle a week with Demeter, Peter’s cat. The penthouse is big at least; I guess we could keep them apart if we had to.
I pack a bag for the week and gather up Apollo’s things. I check my cupboards for spices and ingredients not found in the average kitchen so I can play around with recipes in Peter’s amazing kitchen. I could go to SugarTime to experiment, but I put a temporary freeze on all my utilities so I wouldn’t be racking up more bills. I’ve just thrown everything together when George rings my buzzer. The three hours flew by and I look at the duffel, the two suitcases, and the backpack ruefully. I have way too much stuff for one week. Peter is going to think I’m trying to move in.
I decide to leave my laptop behind. It would be nice to have, but I can write down any recipes I create on some notebook paper and add them to my computer later. The elderly George raps on my door and stands smartly when I open it. Then his eyes bug out at my pile of stuff.
“George, I am so sorry for making you carry all this stuff down five flights of stairs. I promise to repay you in baked goods.”
He smiles and inclines his head.
“I don’t mind at all Miss Whitney, and if it gets me some more of those fabulous pastries I’m th
rilled to do it. I nearly had to fight my daughter for them when I took them home.”
“Oh, how old is your daughter?”
He smiles and there’s a sparkle of pride in his eyes.
“She will be fourteen next week. She is terribly upset about having a quarantine birthday. She had a party planned and it had to be cancelled.”
Immediately, I jump to the rescue.
“How about if I make her a birthday cake? What’s her favorite flavor?”
George looks surprised.
“That would be lovely, Miss Whitney. I’m happy to pay you for it. I am not a very good baker and I lost my wife when Sarah was just five.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. But it’s completely on me, and no, I won’t take your money for it. I’d love to make a young lady’s quarantine birthday a little brighter.”
George grabs a bag and my backpack, and I grab a suitcase. Together we walk down the stairs. He tells me how he lost his wife to breast cancer when she was just thirty years old. It breaks my heart to think of a little girl growing up without a mom. I couldn’t imagine not having my mom during that time. The guilt about lying to her always finds a way to wiggle back into my thoughts.
We keep hauling my stuff, and then start the drive. By the time we reach the penthouse, George and I are laughing about his adventures raising a teenage daughter and I have a pretty good vision of the cake I’m going to make her.
“Well, what are you two so happy about? Are you trying to steal my girl, George?” Peter teases as we step off the elevator, chuckling over misinterpreted emojis in text messages.
“Whitney has offered to make Sarah a birthday cake,” George informs Peter, beaming. I insisted he start calling me by my first name. No one refers to me as Miss Porter, and besides, we’re friends now.
“That’s great George. I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask her. I know Sarah will be thrilled with whatever Whitney makes.”
The chauffeur beams and we arrange for George to pick the cake up on Tuesday evening before he heads home for the day. My belongings for the week are piled in the foyer and Peter sweeps me into his arms like he hasn’t seen me in weeks.
“Hey, handsome, I’m glad to see you too, but it’s only been four hours,” I giggle.
“That is just for being you. Kindness comes so naturally to you. Sarah is a very sweet girl and George does his best to be both mom and dad to her. Being a single parent is never easy.”
Peter is such an empathetic person. It would be so easy for him to be out of touch with the struggles of everyday people because of his wealth, but he’s not like that.
“You’re the one who’s kind,” I whisper against his mouth. He merely kisses me again.
“I have a surprise for you. Come and see, baby,” the handsome man says before taking my hand to lead me up the stairs. But then a curious meow reminds us of our furry friends.
“We almost forgot we need to get these two acclimated to each other,” I say as Demeter sniffs curiously around Apollo’s carrier.
“I haven’t heard any hissing yet, so that’s a good sign,” Peter states optimistically.
We both watch as Demeter stops in front of the gate to the carrier where she and Apollo can see each other. Apollo puts his little black paw through the bars and Demeter rubs her face against it. We both breathe a sigh of relief.
“Wow, I thought this was going to go so much worse. Should I let him out?”
“Let’s go for it.”
I tentatively unlatch the door to the cat carrier. Demeter lowers her head and peeks at Apollo. He takes a hesitant step out into the unfamiliar surroundings and the two cats meet nose to nose. Amazingly, they both start purring and rubbing up against each other like they’ve known each other all their lives.
“I can’t believe how well that went,” I tell Peter in a minor state of shock. “Our two cats have become instant best friends and are now staring out the giant French doors at the Hudson River.”
“It must be fate. I think they are going to be just fine. Now come upstairs and see my surprise, sweetheart.”
Peter grabs my suitcase and leads me upstairs to the room I chose earlier. He opens the door and the stark white decor has been replaced with vibrant colors like I have in my own apartment. The fluffy bed is covered in a royal purple duvet with gold trim. There are a dozen throw pillows heaped on top in rich jewel tones: ruby, emerald, sapphire, and amethyst. An intricately woven mandala tapestry, probably from India, is hung on the wall behind the bed, combining a multitude of colors into a gorgeous pattern.
I gasp. “This is gorgeous, Peter. How did you do it all in the time I was gone?” I ask, my voice breaking with emotion.
He smirks.
“I called my decorator. Delia did the entire penthouse for me when I moved in. She kept bugging me to add color, but I resisted. I called her as soon as you were in the elevator and asked her how quick she could pull this off and she was here within an hour and she was over the moon about it.”
I gasp again while wandering around. There’s a rich mahogany desk paired with a cobalt blue desk chair against one wall. The chest of drawers is the same deep mahogany and is accented with gleaming red knobs that look like rubies. I hope they aren’t actually rubies.
I gasp again, my eyes wide.
“But how did she get all these things with stores being closed?”
Peter smirks again.
“She has her own shop and warehouse. Her clientele is pretty high end and many of them like unique pieces, so she travels and picks up one of a kind items to keep on hand for jobs as needed.”
I smile with tears forming in my eyes.
“This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Just when I think you can’t top the last gesture, you find a way to do so. The money for the business, the book for my dad, and now this. I just don’t know how to thank you enough.”
“You don’t need to thank me. I like taking care of you. Now don’t get carried away and think I’m going to let you sleep in here, but I do have to work some during the day so I might let you take a nap in here. The desk is all ready to go for your laptop. Let me know if you need a printer.”
I shake my head.
“I didn’t bring my laptop. I kind of felt like I was bringing too much stuff with my suitcase, the stuff from my kitchen, and Apollo and his accessories. I didn’t want to overdo it.”
He merely chuckles.
“The cam girl didn’t bring her computer? No, I’m kidding, sweetheart. You worry too much. We’ll take care of the laptop situation later. For now, how about dinner?”
“That sounds perfect. What did you have in mind?”
“I thought we could do some take-out from somewhere that’s trying to stay afloat and support our fellow food and drink industry peers. This room makeover has me craving Indian food. Let’s find one that delivers?”
I nod happily, and Peter leaves me to unpack my clothes while he orders dinner. I hang up my clothes in the huge walk-in closet. There are built-ins for shoes and I tuck the two pairs I brought into the cubbies. Honestly, I could fit everything I own in about a quarter of the space here. I have my own bathroom too. I like sharing Peter’s space but there are some things a girl likes to have privacy for. Some mystery remains if he isn’t watching me do a charcoal facial mask. I’d rather he just think my skin glows naturally with no effort. I set everything in its place and then think how hard it is going to be to go back to my matchbook sized bathroom in my shoebox sized apartment.
“Dinner, babe!” I hear Peter call from downstairs. Hearing him call me babe gives me a warm feeling radiating through my chest. It’s easy to forget we’ve only known each other for a few weeks when he uses such endearments.
We decide to take our dinner to the screening room. Peter shows me the control system with all its functions for the sound system and access to the different services for movies. We discover a mutual love for science fiction and fantasy before picking The Lord of the Rings for
our first movie date together. Wow. Spending time with a man who can talk J.R.R. Tolkien and food with me is priceless. Most of the guys I’ve dated haven’t read much more than the backs of video game boxes and subsist on nothing more than Hot Pockets and beer.
I cuddle into my dream guy’s arms and settle in next to his massive form as those strong arms surround me. It’s pure bliss, and all I want is more.
17
Peter
Whitney and I have settled into a comfortable routine during the quarantine. She wakes up at the crack of dawn to make scrumptious pastries from scratch. I’ve told her that she doesn’t have to do this, but she always waves me away with a laugh.
“It’s what I’m used to,” she says. “Besides, my skills will leave me if I don’t keep them up.”
I laugh and let her have her way. Then, we have coffee on the terrace and I retreat to my home office to deal with running my business while Whitney plays mad scientist in the kitchen. Everything she bakes tastes like heaven sprinkled with fairy dust, and she’s been very generous. The lobby staff cheers every time they see her exit the elevator with a tray of cookies or cupcakes. Their favorite so far has been the signature SugarTime sugar cookies iced with a hibiscus mint frosting.
Then later in the day, we alternate between making dinner together and ordering out to support fellow restaurateurs. After eating a meal, we retire to either the library or the screening room for a couple of hours, which usually leads to fun times. The sex has been phenomenal. I sample her curves every evening and she never disappoints. We’ve decided the mattress in the far south corner guest room is the least comfortable, and I’ll be replacing that one any day now.
Today, I’m technically quitting early so we can discuss shake flavors for Shake Place. The shake machine is set up on the counter along with tubs of ice cream and various syrups that Whitney has created.
“What do we have here, beautiful?” I ask, eyeing the paper cups she has lined up. She turns to me with a bright smile, so bubbly and vivacious with her curvy form decked in an apron.