by HELEN HARDT
“Why? Why only here?”
“I’ve told you. I’m too close to Boston. My father lives there. My mother…”
His mother. The mother he never talks about.
“What about your mother?”
“Nothing.”
I don’t push it. He’s exhausted and needs to sleep. Not the time to get into a heavy discussion that he’ll fight me on.
“Your private life is your private life, Braden. You should be able to enjoy it wherever you are.”
“I do enjoy my private life in Boston. You of all people should know that.”
“What do you do here, then? What does Manhattan have that Boston doesn’t?”
“You’ll see. Soon.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
While Braden got some much-deserved sleep—or so he said; I can’t imagine him sleeping in the middle of the day—he sent me out in a limo with a personal shopper. A few hours later, without looking at a single price tag and posting on Instagram twice, I’m the proud owner of a beautiful wardrobe for my meeting with Susanne Cosmetics.
The price tag thing bugs me. Apparently, Manhattan’s finest retailers don’t believe in them, and when I attempted to ask, the personal shopper—a lovely older woman named Mandy—shushed me.
I eye the bags and boxes as the driver deposits them in the trunk of the limo. Exactly how much of Braden’s money did I spend? At least a grand, and probably much more. The Chanel bag was probably a thousand dollars by itself.
I’ve never spent a hundred dollars on a bag, let alone a thousand.
I scramble into the back of the limo next to Mandy.
“Your new clothes are lovely,” she says. “Mr. Black will be pleased.”
“Isn’t it more important that I’m pleased?” I can’t help asking.
“Of course. That goes without saying. But you’ve already said you like the items.”
I nod. I love the items, in fact. Everything we purchased is both professional and extremely flattering.
And ridiculously expensive.
I’ll look better for this meeting with Eugenie than I ever imagined. Which reminds me. I forgot to call Tessa and tell her our shopping spree is off. It’s nearly five p.m., and I haven’t even checked my phone.
As I suspected, two texts and two phone calls from Tessa await me. I hastily call her back.
“Skye! Where are you? I’ve been worried sick.”
“I’m so sorry. Braden had to fly to New York in the middle of the night last night, and I came with him so I’d be here for my meeting tomorrow. I’ve been exhausted, and I forgot we were supposed to go shopping today.”
“You couldn’t be bothered to send a text?”
“Seriously, it was the middle of the night, Tess. I just wasn’t thinking, and I’m really sorry.”
“Okay. I guess I understand,” she says, her tone weakening.
But she doesn’t. I hear it in her voice. It’s not like me to blow her off, and she knows it. Consequently, I feel like complete shit, especially since I did two posts during the shopping spree that Tessa clearly hasn’t seen yet.
“I’ll make this up to you. The next time you ask me to go shopping, I won’t whine.” I force out a laugh.
“What are you going to wear tomorrow, then? In the middle of the night, you probably didn’t even think about packing.”
“Braden sent me out today with a personal shopper. I’m set.”
“A personal shopper? I’ve been replaced?” She laughs, but like mine, I can tell it’s forced.
She’s feeling distant, and I can’t blame her. I’m not sure what to say. My life has taken a drastic turn, but she’s still my best friend and she always will be.
“Look, Tess—”
“It’s okay. I get it.”
“I had to go with Braden. He had already canceled my other flight, and I didn’t want to take a train.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself, Skye. I said I get it. If my billionaire boyfriend wanted to whisk me away on a jet in the middle of the night, I’d go, too.”
I believe she understands. I also believe she would have gone. Still, I feel like a shithead. A good friend would have called her and let her know.
“I know you understand, Tess. That’s not the point. I’m not sorry I went. I’m sorry I didn’t call you and let you know. That was shitty of me. Please accept my apology.”
A few seconds pass before she says, “Of course I accept your apology. Did your personal shopper get you something nice to wear tomorrow?”
“Yes, but she’s not as good as you are.”
Tessa scoffs. “A professional personal shopper? I’m sure she’s much better than I am.”
“Are you kidding? You’d have had me looking like a million bucks for about a hundredth of the money she spent.”
Finally, Tessa laughs. A real laugh. I think. “You got that right.”
I sigh in relief. We seem to be friends again.
“Take a selfie,” she says. “I want to see your new duds.”
“I will. Tomorrow before my meeting.”
“Is Braden going with you to Susanne headquarters?”
“Originally he planned to, but now, with this contract emergency—that’s the reason we had to fly here in the middle of the night—I’m not sure he’ll be available.”
I’ll be on my own. The thought both exhilarates and petrifies me. I want to handle my career on my own, but to be honest, the thought of Braden being there gave me some strength. Now I’ll have to find that strength on my own.
I’m a professional. I can handle a business meeting. Yes, I can handle a business meeting with a top cosmetics company in Manhattan. Why not?
“You got this, Skye,” Tessa says, as if sensing my apprehension.
I clear my throat. “Yeah. I suppose so. Of course, whether I’ve got this or not really doesn’t matter. I have a meeting tomorrow.”
“You’ll kill it. No doubt in my mind.”
I smile into the phone. “Thanks, Tess. For always being in my corner.”
“Besties forever,” she says. “Call me after the meeting, okay?”
“I will. Thanks again for understanding.”
“Always. Talk to you tomorrow.”
I end the call.
And I still feel like a heel. My relationship with Braden cannot interfere with my relationship with Tessa. I’ll never leave her behind, and I already sense that’s what she fears. Tessa is beautiful and outgoing and has a large circle of friends. Still, she and I have something special, something unique. A closeness that thrives despite our differences.
I can’t—I won’t—give that up.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
We arrive at Gabriel LeGrand, one of Manhattan’s finest restaurants, and the maître d’ leads us to an exclusive table. A votive candle flutters in the center.
Braden gestures to it. “Take that away.”
“Of course, sir.” The maître d’ picks up the candle holder. “Seth will be with you shortly.”
The chef himself has created a menu for us. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s costing Braden, but it’s delicious so far, and I’m only on my salad. Our amuse-bouche—a pre-appetizer, who knew there was such a thing?—was a rye toast point with avocado and caviar. First time I’ve ever tried caviar, and it won’t be the last. It was briny and delicious, better than the best oyster from the northeastern shores.
My first amuse-bouche! Rye toast point with avocado and caviar. Delish! #veryamusingtomybouche #caviarrocks #gabriellegrandmanhattan
Our appetizer was oysters Rockefeller with the chef’s own twist. Instead of the usual parsley, the chef used lemongrass and cilantro, which gave the dish a delicious tanginess.
Now we’re enjoying our salad of heirloom tomatoes, baby greens, slivered roasted alm
onds, and a house-made champagne vinaigrette.
“I have a surprise for you,” Braden says.
I swallow my bite. “Oh?”
“Yes, but not tonight. I want you to get a good night’s sleep for tomorrow’s meeting.”
“And this surprise necessitates that I not get a good night’s sleep?”
“Oh, you’ll sleep. But you may be a little…sore afterward. That’s why it will wait until tomorrow evening.”
I clear my throat, both fearing and anticipating what he might mean. “Sore?”
He raises an eyebrow. Just one. “Not anal sex, Skye. Not until you’re ready.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Okay. Good. Why will I be sore, then?”
“You’ll see.”
“Braden…”
He lays his salad fork on his empty plate. “Nothing will happen without your express permission, Skye.”
I push my salad plate forward, having only finished half. “I know, but about that… Maybe this isn’t the best time to be introducing me to this other lifestyle of yours. I’m here on business, Braden.”
“As am I.”
True. That’s why we left in the middle of the night. I’m interested in his business, so I need to make that clear. “Right. That reminds me. How’s your contract going?”
“I don’t have to fly to China, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good. I mean, that’s good, right?” I lift my eyebrows.
“Definitely good. I don’t like being the visiting team.”
I nod.
“You’re changing the subject,” he says.
I laugh nervously. “Guilty. But I am interested in what you do. I’d like to learn more about it eventually.”
“You will.”
“Are you planning to go to my meeting tomorrow?”
“Ah. And you were hoping my business would keep me busy.”
I clear my throat. “I can’t deny having you there would make me less nervous, but it’s my meeting, Braden.” True words. This is my budding career, and I need to find my own strength.
“I understand that. I’ve always understood that. I’m simply offering my business expertise. I’ve been in business a lot longer than you have.”
“But they’re expecting me. Not me and you. You’ll intimidate them.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Yeah, it is. I want to do this myself. I want them to want me, not Braden Black’s girlfriend.”
I nearly choke on the irony of the words. The only reason I’m a budding influencer is because of my connection to the man sitting across from me. I know that, and so does he.
“As you wish,” he says. “I still have a lot of business I can attend to. A limo will pick you up outside the building at nine a.m. sharp. You’ll have plenty of time to get to your ten thirty meeting.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Not at all. I want your success, Skye. As much as you do.”
Does he? I meet his gaze, and although Braden is usually unreadable, I read sincerity now. He does want my success. He’s not intimidated by anyone’s success, certainly not mine, which I haven’t even achieved yet. No one intimidates Braden.
No one. Not even the richest person on earth.
I have a lot to learn from him. A lot.
I’ll go into that meeting tomorrow armed with my own strength. Not Braden’s or anyone else’s.
I bite my lip.
I just hope I can do it.
Our server clears our salad plates and refills our wineglasses. “Your entrees will be out in a few minutes, Mr. Black.”
“Thank you, Seth.”
“Is there anything I can get you in the meantime?”
Braden glances at me. “Skye?”
“Nothing,” I say. “Everything has been wonderful so far.”
“I’ll tell the chef you’re pleased. Mr. Black?”
“Excellent, as always,” Braden says. “We’re looking forward to tonight’s creation.”
Seth smiles and leaves our table.
Braden takes a sip of red wine. “So…about tomorrow evening. I’m sure we’ll be celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?” I ask.
“Your new deal with Susanne, of course.”
“Oh. Yeah.” My cheeks warm.
“Dinner in, I think, and then…my surprise.”
“O…kay.”
“You’ll enjoy it, Skye. I’m certain.”
“How can you be certain if I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about?”
“Let’s just say I know you.”
“We haven’t been together very long.”
“True. But you’ve given me your control in the bedroom, so you must trust that I know how to please you.”
He’s been stingy with orgasms lately, but I can’t deny he pleases me with or without release. I take a drink of wine, letting its tannins coat my throat. Smooth, dry, and delicious. A premier cru Bordeaux that Braden ordered. Supple and elegant. Already I’ve learned so much from this man. How to enjoy a fine wine, for instance.
How to let go in the bedroom.
Skye Manning, aged twenty-four. So young and innocent and naive.
No longer.
The innocent and naive part, anyway. I’m still pretty young.
“You said earlier that I wasn’t ready for this part of your…lifestyle.”
“I did. Then this morning happened.”
I cock my head. “What happened this morning?”
His blue eyes smolder. “I saw you engrossed in a book in my library, touching yourself as you stared at the photographs.”
My cheeks warm further. And not from the wine.
“You’re a photographer, Skye, but let me ask you this. Do you like being the subject of photographs?”
“I don’t mind if I look good. After all, this new career as an influencer means I need to take selfies.”
“What about being photographed by someone else?”
“I’m okay with it. Like I said, if I look good.”
“You have a beautiful body, Skye. May I take pictures of you?”
I raise my eyebrows and smile. “I had no idea you might like to take pictures.”
“Photography is a hobby. I’m not remotely as good as you are.”
A hobby? I should have guessed, given he knew exactly what camera to buy for me. “I’m just beginning my career.”
“But you studied the art. I haven’t done that, other than read a few books.”
“What exactly are you asking, Braden?”
He lowers his eyelids slightly. “I’m asking if I can take a photograph of you. A photograph of you nude. After I tie you up.”
Chapter Thirty
I keep my expression as deliberate as I can, resisting the urge to drop my mouth open. I take another sip of wine, only to draw the time out a little bit.
Then, “I don’t know.”
“The photographs would only be for your eyes and mine.”
I can’t stop a nervous giggle. “I certainly won’t be posting them on my account.”
“It would be a sure guarantee to increase your following a hundred-fold.”
Braden’s voice is even-toned, as usual. I almost think he’s serious.
“Is that the surprise? You’re going to tie me up and take a picture?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What, then? What’s the surprise?” I smile, knowing full well he won’t divulge the secret.
He chuckles. “If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise. Nice try, though.”
Seth returns with our entrees. “Filet mignon au poivre with a hickory béarnaise sauce on the side. Zucchini blossoms a l’orange and gratiné of Yukon Gold po
tatoes and asiago cheese.”
I inhale the savory aroma, but my hunger has dissipated. For food, at least.
All I can think of is Braden tying me up in one of those intricate ways and then taking my photo.
And after that?
Fucking me senseless.
Braden cuts a bite of his filet, brings it to his mouth, chews, and swallows. “Delicious. Aren’t you going to try your dinner?”
I say nothing. Simply cut into my steak and bring a bite to my mouth. It’s tender and flavorful, but I can’t taste it. Not when I’m thinking about being bound in such an artistic and seductive way.
We don’t talk much, and soon Braden has cleaned his plate. I’ve taken all of about five bites.
“You aren’t enjoying your dinner?” he says.
“It’s wonderful. I’m just…”
His lips edge upward. “Contemplating?”
I nod.
“Does the idea turn you on?”
I nod again.
“Eat, then. You’ll need a lot of energy.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said. I won’t be introducing you to anything new tonight, not when you have an important meeting first thing tomorrow. You’ll still need energy for this evening, however.”
I warm all over as tingles shoot through me.
Tonight.
I clean my plate.
Dessert turns out to be chocolate-orange mousse. By now I’m no longer hungry, and Braden asks Seth to wrap up our desserts for us.
“Please give Gabriel my compliments,” Braden says as he signs the credit card statement and hands it to Seth. “Everything was spectacular.”
“I’m delighted you enjoyed it, sir.” Seth bows, taking the receipt, and leaves the table.
“Ready, Skye?” Braden asks.
I’m ready, all right.
Good and wet and ready.
…
Braden’s bedroom in this Manhattan penthouse is different from his bedroom in Boston. It’s more minimal. No wardrobe holding exquisite toys. No weird little notches on the headboard where he can hook ropes and cuffs. No spackle on the ceiling from a suspension device.
Indeed, it seems almost normal, which confuses me.
What kind of lifestyle does he practice here? In this vanilla bedroom?