by Lila Monroe
“Hmmm . . .” I pretend to think about it. “You want a full review?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and there’s a note of sincerity in his gaze with the laughter, so I pause.
“Pretty much perfect,” I tell him softly.
“Pretty much?” Dylan raises an eyebrow.
I laugh. “Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”
“Maybe . . . But I’m new to this!” he points out, smiling. “I want to make sure I’m doing everything right.”
“You are,” I reassure him.
His hand moves against me, between my thighs. My breath hitches. “So I should just keep doing it?” he whispers, teasing.
I nod, biting back a moan. “Don’t stop.”
He claims my mouth, working his fingers against me, inside of me, and I sink into the rush of pleasure. The truth is, there’s no “pretty much” about it. Everything with Dylan has been thrilling, and wonderful, and hot, and perfect these past couple of months. I mean, sure, the man can be irritatingly stubborn—but then again, so can I. And while we may have had a few petty squabbles about who shouldn’t work 24/7 (ahem, him), and who needs to start showing up on time (ahem, me), it’s nothing we haven’t been able to solve with a simple conversation.
And some very hot sex.
In fact, I feel like I’m walking on air, and I don’t think I’m coming back down to earth any time soon.
Or getting out of bed.
Our phones start buzzing on the nightstand. “I think we’ve kept them waiting long enough,” I say reluctantly.
“I guess . . .” Dylan makes a show of tearing himself away from me. “Whose big idea was this whole shindig again?”
“Yours!” I laugh.
“Oh, right.” Dylan grins. “Next time, let’s make the dress code clothing-optional.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m not sure how friendly I want to get with all of our friends. Betsy and Hank aren’t exactly the nudist type.”
Dylan tosses a pillow at me. “Clothing-optional and private.”
“Like a regular Friday night, then?” I grin. I manage to locate my bra and pull my dress back over my head. As much as I hate to leave the privacy of this room—make that, suite—behind, I’m excited to see everybody. Usually, my birthdays involve drunken karaoke and Krispy Kreme, but it’s a fun change to be hosting everyone at a swanky hotel bar. Especially when I have an in with the owner.
I straighten up my dress and try to look a little less like I was just thoroughly ravished. “Ready to go?” I ask Dylan.
He smiles. “Anywhere with you.”
* * *
Upstairs, we sneak out and blend into the crowd. I make a beeline for the dessert table. “I can’t believe you got me a whole dessert table,” I sigh happily, surveying the spread of donuts, cake, and other sweet treats.
“I know what you really want.” Dylan nuzzles my ear.
“Yes. Cronuts!” I duck out from his embrace to fill my plate. “Lara, hey,” I greet her. “Having fun?”
“Yes, boss.” Lara grins.
“I still can’t believe you stole her from me,” Dylan mock-grumbles.
I laugh. “And I still can’t believe that behind that scowl beats the heart of a true romantic.”
“Shh,” Lara tells me, looking around to make sure nobody can hear. “I thought there was a confidentiality clause in my contract!”
“You’re right.” I try not to smile. “My lips are sealed.”
She moves off, and Dylan gives me a grin. “Are you planning on scooping up any more of my staff for your romance empire?”
“Well, actually Kyle is helping me out with a project,” I tell him, slipping my arms around his waist. “I have a client who wants to propose in a magical garden, so Kyle’s going to help build a gazebo for the job.”
“Another client?” he teases. “You have so many new ones these days, I can’t keep track.”I laugh, feeling a surge of pride. It was a risk to sign the lease on my new office, but it’s paid off: I’ve been run off my feet. Half the guests at Betsy and Hank’s wedding wanted to hire me after hearing how I helped bring them together, plus Dylan sings my praises to all his rich-guy friends every chance he gets. I’ve taken on two freelance writers to help me keep up with demand, and now Lara has come on full time as my assistant-slash-Cyrano-in-training.
“Soon you’ll have an empire,” Dylan continues.
“Says the man already planning his third hotel,” I smile back.
He laughs. “Well, I figure a trip to California would be fun . . . for research, of course.”
“Of course,” I agree, kissing him again.
“There you are!”
We break apart. Natalie and April are standing there with indulgent smiles on their faces. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” April exclaims. “Where have you been?”
Dylan and I exchange a look.
“We were . . . just checking on something inside,” I reply, flushing.
“Sure you were.” Natalie grins. “Anyway, this party is amazing. I’ve already gotten five numbers.”
“From guys?” I ask, excited.
“No, from potential employers,” Natalie says. “I’m still waiting for the axe to fall at the Daily News, remember?”
I wince. “Who is this Rockford guy, anyway?” I turn to Dylan. “Have you met him?”
“Sorry, nope.”
“But I thought all you business tycoons ran in the same circle. Hung out in the same manly steam rooms,” Natalie teases.
Dylan chuckles. “Sorry to disappoint. I can ask around if you want?”
“Please.” Natalie sighs. “I was just graduating from blog posts to real articles, and now I might be right back at square one again.”
“Don’t worry, you’re an amazing journalist.” April squeezes her shoulders. “And didn’t your horoscope say you have exciting new challenges ahead?”
“You know I don’t believe that stuff!” Natalie snorts.
“Whatever happens, you’ll be fine,” I reassure her. “And either way, there’ll be cake. Seriously. We’re going to have leftovers for days!”
“No complaints from me.” Natalie finally smiles and steals a donut from my plate. She munches it and surveys Dylan thoughtfully. “You know, I might have been wrong about you.”
“Thank you. I think,” he says, looking puzzled.
“You bring good bagels, you give her donuts . . . You might be a keeper,” Natalie says.
Dylan opens his mouth, but I nudge him. “Quit while you’re ahead,” I advise. “That’s the highest praise I’ve heard her give a boyfriend.”
“In that case . . . Can I get you ladies a drink?” he asks.
“Yes please!”
Dylan moves off . . . and I enjoy the view as he walks away. I sigh with happiness. “Damn, that never gets old.”
“I’m happy for you,” April says, giving me a hug. “Faintly envious, but happy.”
“Aww, thanks you guys.” I hug them both back. “I would say you’ll both find someone soon, but that makes it seem like you’re not already awesome the way you are.”
Natalie laughs. “Damn straight.”
“Still, I wouldn’t mind someone else appreciating how awesome I am,” April muses, a smile on her face.
“And if that person just happened to be a hunky, sensitive man . . . ?” I tease.
“I guess I could live with that!” April sees something behind me, and her eyes widen. “Speaking of people finding their one true loves…”
I turn, and see Jasmine waving enthusiastically. She makes a beeline for us through the crowd, dragging someone with her. “Poppy!” she greets me with a hug. “Happy day of your birth. I know this year is going to be full of joy.”
“Thank you…” I reply, still feeling a tiny bit awkward. It’s not like I stole Dylan out from under her or anything, but considering how hard I was pushing #TeamJaslan, I wouldn’t blame her for being weirded out by my sudden change in loyaltie
s. And bed-mates. “How have you been?” I ask.
“Amazing.” Jasmine beams. “In fact, I’d like you to meet someone. This is Archibald.” She presents her date: a short, bespectacled guy, wearing a sweater vest. “He’s my fiancé!”
Her what now?
I blink in surprise as April and Natalie chorus their congratulations to the happy couple. “We met at a holistic retreat in New Mexico, and it was kismet! The very first moment we met, I knew he was the one.” Jasmine explains.
“I wasn’t on the retreat,” Archibald explains with a chortle. “But the wifi went down, and they called me in to fix it.”
“He was the IT guy.” Jasmine continues, stroking his arm. “Isn’t that the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard?” She beams at him, and he beams back, blissfully in love – and not a yoga mat to be seen.
Love works in mysterious ways, that’s for sure.
“I’m so happy for you,” I tell her, smiling.
“And you! Everything worked out the way it was supposed to.” Jasmine hugs me again. “You and Dylan, and me and my Archie. Love always finds its way.”
I can’t argue with that.
* * *
Later, after the candles have been blown out and a truly impressive quantity of cake has been eaten, I find Dylan in a quiet corner of the rooftop, looking out across the starlit city.
“Planning your next empire?” I ask, slipping my arms around his waist.
Dylan turns, pulling me against him. “Just thinking . . .” he says, brushing hair back from my eyes.
“About?”
“How different this all would be if I hadn’t had the genius idea to hire someone to write my love letters.” Dylan gives me an affectionate smile.
“Well, you would have had far more drinks thrown in your face,” I point out.
He shakes his head. “I’m serious.” Dylan softly traces my cheek, gazing into my eyes. “You make everything better.”
My heart glows. “You make everything better, too,” I whisper.
I kiss him, savoring every moment. Because he’s right. Everything is different now. And I’ve spent enough time reading love stories and composing epic poems to know when something this special comes along, you hold on tight.
The best love story of all is ours, and it’s only just beginning.
Plus, we’re going to have a lot of leftover cake.
* * *
THE END
(Almost!)
Thank you for reading! If you’ve enjoyed Poppy’s exploits, then I have great news: the next book in the series is available now - featuring some familiar faces ;)
* * *
Keep scrolling to read a sneak peek of Natalie’s hot and hilarious story.
WHAT’S YOUR SIGN? is available now. CLICK HERE to order, and scroll to read Chapter One!
>>>
Discover the next book in the hilarious Cupids series - out now!
Chapter One
NATALIE
I’ve never been the superstitious type. Black cats crossing my path? Just another cute fluffball to pet. See a penny on the sidewalk? No way am I scrambling in the dirt and germs for that sucker. And as for breaking mirrors, well, I’m probably due another dozen years bad luck for the ones I smashed for that freshman art project.
But as the elevator comes to a grinding stop halfway between the tenth and eleventh floor, I wonder if I got it all wrong. After all, my horoscope tried to warn me this morning. But did I pay attention?
Nope.
“I should have listened to Pearl,” I say, sinking back against the wall. The only other person in the elevator gives me a strange look as he uselessly hits every button on the panel. I catch his gaze. “Pearl LeFarge, the astrologer,” I explain, waving my copy of the New York Gazette as evidence. “She says right here, Going the extra mile will keep you out of tight situations.” I sigh. “I should have taken the stairs.”
The guy smiles. It’s a pretty great smile—all blue eyes and rumpled brown hair—and for a moment, I don’t mind being trapped in close quarters with him. If we don’t make it out of this elevator before the world is washed away by rising sea levels, I’d happily repopulate the earth with this one.
“You believe that stuff?” he asks, and I smile.
“Right now I do. What’s your sign?”
“Aries,” he replies.
I scan the page. “Here you are: Be sure to prepare before embarking on new ventures. Sound familiar to you?”
The guy gives a rueful wince. “I could have used that advice last week.”
“Maybe Pearl’s playing catch-up with the planets.” I tuck the newspaper in my bag. “I’m Natalie, by the way. Since we’re going to be stuck here a while.”
“Justin.” He reaches out to shake my hand, and I give him about as a subtle a once-over as I can manage, from three feet away. Dark wash jeans. Classic white button-down. Red sneakers. That preppy-with-a-twist smile.
Hello, Justin.
Maybe his abs are the tight situation my horoscope was talking about. Either way, I should be thrilled to be stuck in close quarters with him—if I wasn’t running late for a very important meeting.
I check the panel again. “Any luck with the emergency line?”
He shakes his head. “I texted the number for building maintenance. It looks like it’ll be a while.”
“Typical,” I groan. “This is only the fourth most important day of my life.”
“Fourth?” He looks amused. “OK, I have to bite. What are the other three?”
“Well, the day I brushed past Oprah in the lobby,” I admit.
“Obviously.” He grins.
“Second was the day I interviewed Luke Rafferty,” I continue, naming the big TV star. “I was stuck working at a trashy celebrity gossip website, and only supposed to get a quick five minutes for the standard ‘briefs or boxers’ questions,” I explain. “But for some reason, Luke was in a contemplative mood. He wound up taking me for ice cream, and we had a really interesting conversation about the nature of celebrity and art. It went viral, and was a really big deal for my career.”
Justin looks thoughtful. “I think I read that one,” he says. “It was a great piece.”
“Thanks.” I beam. My old bosses at the trashy gossip website were not happy, to say the least, but it led to me landing my dream job as a staff writer here at the New York Gazette.
At least it was my dream—until we all found out that the newspaper is getting sold off to some corporate assholes. Today’s the big day where we’ll meet our evil overlords from the Rockford Group, and learn just how screwed and/or laid off we’re all going to be. I pause, narrowing my eyes suspiciously at Justin. “What floor were you heading to?”
“Sixteen,” he replies, and I exhale, relaxing again. The tech start-up upstairs. He doesn’t look like a soulless suit, but you can never be too careful these days. “So, come on,” he adds. “Don’t leave me hanging. What’s the top spot?”
“The most important day of my life?” I pause, reluctant. “It’s kind of corny.”
“Corny isn’t bad,” Justin replies. “I love corn. Slather on the butter.”
I laugh. What the hell. “March 16, 1989.”
Justin pauses. “Unless you’ve got a serious miracle skincare situation going on, that would make you . . . ?”
“Not yet born,” I agree. “It was the day the bathroom pipes busted in Elliot Hall, at Barnard College. So, my mom just happened to meet the charming guy who came to fix the plumbing, fall madly in love, and, a couple years later, voila!” I strike a pose. “If not for that day, then I wouldn’t be here, telling you the whole corny story.”
As my mom reminds me. Frequently. She’d been on track to become a high-powered lawyer, and if it hadn’t been for those busted pipes, her life would have followed a very different path. Now, she runs the office for Dad’s plumbing business, and sure, two kids and thirty-odd years of happy marriage aren’t anything to sniff at, but I can tell a part of
her always wonders what might have been. Which is probably why I’ve focused more on chasing my career in my 20s than panting after any guy.
And why it’s been so long since I’ve had a good hot and sweaty makeout that this tall, lean stranger is looking temptingly good right about now.
Get a grip, girl, I chide myself silently. Just because your most reliable late-night companion these days is your vibrator is no reason to throw yourself at—
All at once the elevator lurches, dropping us a couple of floors with no warning. I let out a panicked cry, grabbing for something to hold onto—and coming up with a fistful of Justin’s button-down as the free fall stops just as quickly as it started.
I let out a shaky breath, adrenaline coursing wildly through my body. “Sorry,” I say, unclenching my fingers and giving him as much personal space back as I can manage, holding my hands up to show I come in peace. “Panicked there for a sec.”
“No, I get it,” Justin says, looking rattled himself. “Smashed to smithereens in a midtown elevator is definitely not the way I want to go out, either.”
I let out a feeble laugh. “I was literally just joking with some friends the other night about how awful it would be if my last hookup was my actual last hookup,” I admit with a grimace. “But I didn’t mean it literally.”
“Oh no?” Justin asks with a grin, his shoulders relaxing a little bit as he leans back against the elevator wall. “Not a love connection, huh?”
“Hardly,” I say—then snap my jaws shut, stopping short of painting him the same gory picture I spilled to April and Poppy over one too many vodka and sodas. I don’t want my final act on this planet to be oversharing with a hot stranger about the sad state of my love life, thanks, even if we are both doomed.
“I think my worst kiss ever was back in junior high,” Justin says thoughtfully, shaking his head at the memory. “She and I both had a mouthful of braces.”
“Uh-oh,” I say, sure I’ve seen enough teenage romcoms to know where this is going. “Did they lock together?”
“I wish,” Justin says ruefully. “No, one of my rubber bands popped off and she choked on it, right there in the middle of the back row of the Shady Hills Multiplex.”