Six
Ellory
M y stomach twists as I slide into the back seat of the car.
That kiss… I want to scream. Or cry. Or laugh.
Maybe all three. My lips still tingle. My fingers still remember the heat of his chest under my palms. And the look in his eyes, like I was the only person in the world, won’t stop echoing in my head.
I’m dying to call Patrice, but I want privacy when I inevitably spiral.
Every traffic light on the way home turns red. Traffic crawls like molasses.
“I swear,” Richard grumbles from the front, “this city gets worse every day.”
He’s not wrong. The road looks more like a parking lot than an actual street. A five-minute drive stretches into twenty.
When we finally pull up to my building, Richard walks me through tomorrow’s plan. I have my trainer at five, Duane ready by eight for work. Someone will be with me all day. And unless I come up with something during the day, it’s home for the evening. Then he disappears into his quarters.
No wonder I was a kidnapping target. I live a boring and predictable life. Maybe I should change that. My thoughts shift to that kiss and my heart races. That man does something to me.
I practically sprint to my room and shut the door behind me. As soon as I’m alone, I call Patrice.
“Hey there!” she sing-songs.
“How was your weekend?” I ask.
“Dumpster fires, both nights,” she replies instantly. “Friday’s date used a profile photo from twenty years ago. He’s gray now and definitely not thirty. Saturday night’s guy didn’t match his Flirt profile either. He bailed fifteen minutes in because I was ‘too high-energy.’”
“He said that to your face?”
“Yep. I get nervous, I talk too much. Whatever. I was even willing to overlook the fact that his hairline started behind his ears. He did me a favor.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “But I’m proud of you for putting yourself out there.”
“I wish you would,” she says pointedly.
I shift on the edge of my bed. “I actually ran into Matteo Marino today…”
There’s a squeal so loud I yank the phone from my ear.
“Slow your roll,” I say. “When I ran into him, he was pushing a stroller with his eight-month-old daughter.”
“What?” Patrice chokes. “How is that not all over the tabloids? Tell me everything. Wait—popcorn.”
I lie back on the bed, one arm flung over my eyes, grinning.
I hear her punching buttons on the microwave as I spill everything about running into Matteo, meeting his baby, the chaos of lunch, and the surprise twist about the doorman.
“He lives at the Celeste. You know, that twenty-story glass tower on top of Nob Hill? It wasn’t a woman named Celeste calling. It was the doorman. He was letting Matteo know that someone had dropped off his daughter.”
“Dropped off?” she screeches. “Like, handed her over? Did he leave her alone in the apartment?”
“No. Her mother left her with the doorman—and a note. Matteo doesn’t even remember the woman.”
Patrice gasps. “That’s not a red flag. That’s a five-alarm fire.”
“Red flag two,” I correct.
“What was red flag one?”
I blink. “The baby.”
“Oh, come on. So, he’s a dad. Big deal. That just means he’s single, right? Or is he getting back together with the mom?”
“Nope. She’s in Wisconsin. He’s here. Raising Amelia alone. And she’s… honestly? She’s adorable. Blue eyes, dimpled cheeks, tiny blonde curls. Sweet as sugar.”
“You spent time with them?”
I hesitate. “Yeah. I ended up spending the whole afternoon with them.”
I leave out the kiss.
“That sounds so romantic,” Patrice says dreamily.
“I’m not looking for a ready-made family, Patrice.”
The microwave dings. I hear the bag tear open.
“Why not just go out with him and enjoy yourself?” she says between crunches.
I stare out the window, eyes catching on Alcatraz in the distance.
“Because I’m at the age where if something can’t go anywhere, I don’t want to waste time.
And I can’t fall in love with someone who already has a kid.
It’s not just the child. It’s the life. The permanence.
The way everything changes, instantly, and nothing’s ever about you again. I don’t know if I’m built for that.”
Patrice’s voice softens. “Just because your mom wasn’t a great one doesn’t mean you’ll repeat her mistakes. She was selfish to leave you.”
I remember her crying as she packed. I remember her saying, “I’ll call you every night, okay?
Just until you’re ready to visit.” We talked for a while, but she was building a new life and it didn’t include me or my father.
“She left,” I say quietly. “I stayed. She fell in love with someone who didn’t live in the city, and I stayed with my dad. ”
“And now?”
“She’s in a nice high-rise in Westwood and shops in Beverly Hills.”
“Do you even talk anymore?”
“She calls on my birthday. Sometimes Christmas. But I made my choices too. I didn’t visit during breaks. I worked at the store. It wasn’t all on her. And during the divorce, she did look out for me.”
There’s a pause. I can practically hear Patrice holding back a lecture. But she doesn’t push.
Instead, she asks, “How did you get along with Amelia?”
“Great, actually. She’s not hard right now.”
“Are you sure?” Patrice challenges. “My brothers were human wrecking balls at that age. Couldn’t be left alone, feed themselves, or even wipe their own butts.”
“Right now, all Amelia does is eat, nap, and look cute doing it. She sat in my lap, smiled a lot, barely fussed.” I’m only fudging the truth a little bit.
“Okay, fine,” she says, skeptical. “So how’d you leave things?”
I hesitate. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on. You know what I mean. Were you with any other guys today?”
I roll my eyes. “Richard and Duane were with me.”
She groans. “Have you ever kissed Richard or Duane?”
“Ew. No.”
“Then why clarify? Why not just say ‘Matteo’?”
A beat.
“Did something happen?” she asks, her voice soft and suspiciously smug.
I sigh. “Yes.”
Patrice gasps. “Was there tongue?”
“Yes.”
She squeals and claps like it’s Christmas morning. “Oh. My. God. When are you seeing him again?”
“We said we’d talk, try to find time. But his life isn’t really his own right now.”
“Ellory,” she says, suddenly serious. “You need to go out with him. And if you get the chance, jump his bones.”
We talk a little longer, but her words keep looping in my head like a broken record . Just have fun.
After we hang up, I sit in the dark, my phone still in my hand, my thoughts still stuck on Matteo.
He’s not carrying a weekend bag anymore.
His baggage doesn’t even fit in the cargo hold. It’s strapped behind the plane like a trailer.
And I have no idea what to do with that.
Monday feels like any other Monday.
Morning kicks off with our usual staff meeting—management, marketing, store ops.
We review sales, upcoming campaigns, and two pregnancy announcements from store managers.
My father starts grumbling about maternity leave coverage, and I shoot him a look that could shatter glass.
One more comment, and we’d be in HR crisis mode.
After that, it’s vendor meetings. This morning, it’s the company that supplies our red silk velvet, used in everything from display cases to ring boxes.
Then I have lunch with our software provider and Miles, our CFO, followed by an afternoon with the design and marketing teams, pushing forward on the next phase of the rough diamond project.
Running what my father calls our “high-end jewelry empire” isn’t all diamonds and glamour. It’s invoices, delivery delays, supplier meetings, and profit margins. And far too many emails.
By mid-afternoon, a yawn slips out before I can stop it.
Geoff Bryant, a designer, raises an eyebrow. “Are we keeping you up?”
“I didn’t sleep well,” I say, too tired to lie.
Before he can press for details, my phone rings.
“No caller ID,” I mutter, already reaching for it.
“I’ll meet you in five at reception,” Miles says, stepping out.
I answer. “Ellory Matisse.”
“Hey beautiful,” comes Matteo’s voice. “It’s me.” My stomach flips. The sound of his voice wraps around me like heat. Familiar and dangerous.
I glance around to make sure no one’s hovering outside my office.
“Good afternoon,” I say lightly. “How’s Amelia?”
“She’s with the new nanny. Fingers crossed this one sticks. She was late, so we’re not off to the smoothest start.”
A brief silence settles between us, the kind that hums with something unspoken. My pulse stutters, waiting, hoping.
“I had a really great time yesterday,” he says.
Heat curls low in my stomach. I smile, despite myself. “I did too. And Amelia? She charms everyone in sight.”
He laughs, deep and warm, the sound vibrating through me. “I’m only interested in one woman these days.”
My cheeks flush, and I grip the phone tighter. I know he means me. God, the way he says it makes my skin tingle.
“You’re very kind,” I say, trying to keep my voice level, though it wavers with a betraying softness.
“I’m a lot of things,” he replies, voice dropping into something darker. “Kind usually isn’t one of them.”
A shiver runs through me, a delicious warning. “You make yourself sound dangerous.”
“Do you like dangerous?”
The question lingers, heavy and intimate, as if he’s daring me to confess. My throat feels tight. “That depends on your definition.”
There’s a beat of hesitation, thick with possibility, then he asks, “Would you want to meet for lunch later this week? Just me. No stroller. I know it’s not dinner, but maybe we could actually talk without Amelia stealing the spotlight.”
I pause. My lips still tingle at the memory of his mouth on mine, and Sophie’s voice echoes in my head. Why not just enjoy yourself?
“Would this be business or pleasure?” I tease, my tone light but my pulse thundering, stalling for air I can’t seem to catch.
“We can make up an excuse to call it business, if that helps,” he says, smooth and unhurried. “But I’m hoping for a little pleasure.”
A rush of heat spreads through me, curling under my skin. I take a breath, shaky and too loud in my own ears. “My schedule’s really tight this week…”
I hear him exhale, low and frustrated, and the sound drags over me like a caress.
“Yesterday meant a lot to me,” he says, voice rougher now. “I get it. Amelia changes things. But Ellory…that kiss? It was magic. And I want more.”
My chest tightens, my body remembering what it felt like to melt against him. God, I want more too.
“I’ll let you know if anything opens up,” I say quietly, my words barely holding back everything I can’t admit.
“Please do,” he murmurs, the husky plea wrapping around me like a hand I can’t shake off.
The line goes silent, but I can still feel him there, heavy in the air, thick in my veins.
I lower the phone, staring at the screen, my heart battering against my ribs.
What happens if I say yes?
What happens if I fall…and he doesn’t catch me?