Chapter 5
After Ava left, Roman showered and dressed. While he waited for his driver, he sat by the pool while the water rippled gently
in the warm breeze. He was tempted to pull out his phone and reading glasses to catch up on emails, but he wasn’t ready to
jump back into hustle mode quite yet. Instead, he replayed the unexpected events of the evening.
With Ava, it was like time had stopped and he’d been able to take a break from his constant thoughts about work. Tonight,
he hadn’t been Roman Vázquez the CEO, he’d just been... himself.
And it had been fun . Every time he’d gotten her to clearly state what she wanted and then to let him give that to her, he felt a rush of satisfaction.
Seeing her strip down, both literally and figuratively, from the buttoned-up middle-school teacher she’d been downstairs to
the sweet, responsive siren writhing in his arms, had blown his mind.
Ava’s obvious reluctance to accept anything had only made him want to give her even more. Especially since it seemed like the thing she wanted most was for someone to
simply listen .
After all the years he’d spent as a bartender, he was good at listening. Converting what people said into what they needed, and then figuring out how to meet that need, was why the Dulce Hotel chain was one of the fastest growing in the country and had won multiple hospitality awards.
It was why it was driving him crazy that his mother wouldn’t let him help her find a new apartment.
All in all, meeting Ava had been a fantastic diversion, one he wouldn’t mind revisiting.
But he didn’t have her number. Hell, he didn’t even know her full name. If they did meet again, it would be up to her.
A text buzzed, saying that his car had arrived. After one last look at the pool, he headed downstairs.
Back to the grind.
An hour and a half later Roman strolled out of the elevator directly into his apartment on Central Park West. On his way to
his side of the apartment, he passed his seventeen-year-old sister, Mikayla Jenkins, at the kitchen counter with her laptop.
Despite having a custom-built workstation in her bedroom, Mikayla preferred to set up shop on any horizontal surface. When
she was fourteen, Roman had once awakened to find her sitting cross-legged on his bed studying for a math quiz. After that,
they’d had a conversation about respecting personal space, but he still found her doing homework all over the apartment.
He stopped across the counter from her and set down his bag. “What are you still doing up, Mickey?”
She rubbed her eyes behind her glasses—brown eyes, the same as his, the same as their mother’s. On Roman, those eyes looked weary whenever he stared at his reflection in the mirror, with more and more lines fanning out from the corners. But on Mikayla, those big brown eyes gave her the appearance of a fawn, all curiosity and innocence, especially with her slim build, light brown skin, and long curly ponytail. Or maybe it was just that when he looked at her, he still saw the baby she’d been, back when he’d made her a silent promise to do everything he could to make her life easier than his own had been.
“College essays,” she replied, and followed it up with an exaggerated groan.
“Where’s Mami?”
“Asleep.”
Roman came around to her side of the counter and kissed her on the cheek. And even though he had an early morning and should
probably go to bed too, he slid onto the high chair next to her.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Not great.” She toyed with the spiral binding on her notebook. “Trying not to write about Dad.”
“Ah.” A pang went through Roman’s chest. Keith Jenkins, Mikayla’s father, had been a good stepfather and friend. Roman had
been in college when Keith came into his life, and the older man had been supportive without trying to parent him. Roman had
learned a lot about what it meant to be an adult from Keith.
After Keith passed away, Roman’s mother, Dulce, sold her row house in Queens. That had been five years ago, and Dulce and
Mikayla had been living with Roman ever since.
It had been an adjustment, sure, but Roman wouldn’t have had it any other way. While he wasn’t able to spend as much time
with them as he wanted, he liked knowing where they were, and that all their needs were being met.
Which was why his mother had knocked him for such a loop that very morning when she’d announced that once Mikayla went off
to college, she would be moving out too.
Roman, a forty-year-old bachelor, would soon be an empty-nester.
The thought gave him a sick, panicky feeling in his gut. But that was almost a year away. Plenty of time to convince his mother
that there was no need for her to leave, and to encourage Mikayla to apply to colleges in the tri-state area.
He gestured at her notebook. “What are the essay prompts?”
Mikayla pointed to her screen. “This one wants to know about intersections of identity.”
“You could easily write about that.”
Mikayla’s eye-roll told him he was one hundred percent wrong. “If I submit an essay about being Puerto Rican and Black and
bisexual, it’s going to sound like I’m playing diversity bingo.”
Roman stifled a laugh. “Okay, what else is there?”
“Some ask about growth, overcoming an obstacle, or being grateful for something, and all I can think about for those is Dad.
It feels too personal to write about him, but maybe I should.”
“Only if you want to.” He waited a beat, watching her. “Do you?”
She tapped her fingernails, painted in chipped rainbow stripes, on the edge of the laptop. “I think I do. But I can’t talk
about Dad without talking about you, too.”
“Why me?”
“Lots of kids lose a parent, right? Through some way or another.”
Roman nodded. He’d grown up without a father, so he knew firsthand.
“But not every kid has a big brother like you,” Mikayla went on.
“Rich?” he joked.
“Not just that.” She gave him a don’t be stupid look that was the spitting image of the one their mother used to give him when he was younger. “You could’ve just paid for
everything and left Mami and me to our lives. But you let us move in—”
“Because I wanted you here. It wasn’t out of obligation, Mickey.”
“That’s exactly my point. Yeah, I was sad, and you know, grieving, but you made sure we weren’t alone. That we had a place
to live. That we were still a family.”
“We are a family. And this will always be your home.”
“Stop being cheesy.” But she looked like she was trying not to smile.
“Mickey.” He waited until she met his eyes. “When you were born, all I had to my name were student loans and a shitty old
Toyota. But I made a promise that I would always, always take care of you, the best that I could. I meant it then, and I mean it now.”
“Hard to imagine you like that,” she murmured, glancing at his silk suit. “Driving a shitty old Toyota.”
He inclined his head, then spread his arms to encompass the spacious apartment. “You know all this is new to me. Inside, I’m
still that kid hustling to make a buck.”
Her gaze turned shrewd. “Is that why you work so hard?”
He tried to shrug it off, since he didn’t ever want her to feel guilty. “Partly. I wanted you to have an easier life than
I did.”
“You’re a good big brother, Ro.” She hugged him, and when she pulled away, she said lightly, “Anyway, you won’t have to take
care of me much longer. I’ll be away at college soon. If I manage to finish these stupid essays.”
“You’ll finish them.” And how the hell was she already old enough to be applying to college? “And if you don’t, I’ll happily donate a gymnasium to your top choice.”
Mikayla snickered. “I knew name dropping my rich and famous big brother would be a good idea.”
“Hey, it works for the rich white kids. Why have all this money if I can’t game the system in your favor now and then?”
“Wish I’d known a gym donation was on the table before I spent the last few years getting a 4.0 GPA the old-fashioned way.”
She wrote three big dollar signs in her notebook, then shoved it aside. “So, how’s your book coming along?”
Roman blew out a breath, thinking about the business memoir he’d been approached to write. “Don’t ask. I have a meeting with
the editor tomorrow morning. I’m supposed to turn in some ideas, but I don’t have any.”
“All that time you spend working, and you don’t even know what you do all day?”
He bit back a sigh. “Meetings. So many meetings. No one wants to hear about that.”
She gestured at her laptop. “Do what I’m doing. Write about what’s important to you.”
“Then I’ll just be writing about you and Mami.”
“You really need to get out more.”
“I get out. Hell, I went to four galas last month. If I never see a tux again, it’ll be too soon.”
Another exasperated eye-roll. “Yeah, but when was the last time you went on a date that wasn’t arranged by your publicist?”
Tonight , he thought, but Roman slapped his hand to his chest. “Ouch, Mickey. Ouch. Also you’re not supposed to know that.”
She preened. “I know everything.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“I’m just saying, you should have a girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Whatever.”
“Girlfriend,” he clarified. “And no. I don’t have time for one of those right now.”
“Why not?”
“I’m busy.”
“ Busy .” She made air quotes with her fingers as she repeated the word, like it was an excuse.
“I am busy.”
“I know, you work all the time .”
The pang of guilt was another direct shot.
“You’re really interested in boyfriends and girlfriends,” he deflected. “Got anything you want to tell me?”
She let out a plaintive groan. “I wish. I kind of have a crush on someone, but I don’t think it’s real.”
“No?”
“Well, we’ve only met one time. I should probably see someone more than once before I know if I like them, right?”
Roman thought of Ava. Sometimes one time was all it took.
“Probably a good idea,” he said, then got to his feet. “How about you worry more about getting into college and less about
my love life?”
“Your nonexistent love life,” Mikayla muttered under her breath. “Going to bed?”
“Early morning tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late.”
“I’m a teenager. That’s what I do.”
He dropped a kiss to the top of her head, then went to retrieve his bags and bring them to his bedroom.
Mikayla would pry again—as she’d said, she was a teenager and that was what she did—but he was absolutely not telling his little sister he’d spent the evening with a woman he’d just met in a bar. Even if he owned said bar.
But he had told Mikayla the truth about one thing: he was too busy for a relationship. Relationships required time, energy, and effort, and right now, all of those resources went
toward expanding his business.
Besides, he liked working. Not everyone could say that, but he liked feeling useful, he liked helping people, and most of
all, he liked having money.
Huh. He should write that down for the book he was supposed to be writing, which was yet another reason why he was too busy
for love.
The evening he’d shared with Ava, while eminently satisfying, was the extent of what he could afford to fit in right now.
And luckily, it seemed like Ava was on the same page.
If she never called him again, it would be fine.
Still...
He really hoped she did.