Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Samantha
I stared into his eyes from across the table as he threw my words right back at me.
I knew I was in trouble. The kind of trouble that, if I weren’t careful, I would end up in bed with him.
He was incredibly sexy. The kind of sexy that made it hard not to imagine what he’d be like.
His looks weren’t the only problem. His cologne was too.
For some damn reason, it held a power over me.
Clean, woodsy, warm, and very masculine.
It wasn’t overpowering or obnoxious, unlike some men's cologne.
I noticed it in the coffee shop, in my apartment, and more so in the back of his car.
But he was trouble. I already felt it. A heartbreaker who only looked out for himself.
“I’ll take your words under advisement, Mr. Castile,” I smirked.
“I hope you do. It really isn’t healthy to be grieving the loss of someone who cheated on you. What about your daughter’s father?” he asked, which I found very bold.
“Zoey never knew her father. She never met him, spoke to him, or even saw a picture of him. I was sixteen when I got pregnant. He was eighteen and had just graduated from high school. Instead of going to college, he enlisted in the military. He told me it was for our family’s future and it would provide stability for us.
The day he left for boot camp, I never heard from him again.
The only reason he enlisted is that he wanted out of taking any responsibility for his daughter. ”
“Do you know that for sure?” Wes asked.
“Well.” I picked up my drink. “He enlisted a week after I told him I was pregnant and keeping the baby.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be. It was for the best anyway.”
“How did you go to college to become a teacher, being a single parent? That had to be very difficult.”
“I lived with my parents, and my mom didn’t work. So, she would take care of Zoey while I went to school. Once I graduated and got a teaching job, my father retired, and they moved to Florida. Enough about me. Tell me about Weston Castile.”
“I’ll give you the short version. I’m thirty-two years old, and I’m the CEO of Castile Properties. End of story.” He picked up his glass and tipped it to his lips.
“That’s all you’re going to give me?” My brow arched. “I told you I held up a sign in the pouring rain for my cheating boyfriend.”
“There’s nothing else to tell. My parents passed away when I was eight in a plane crash, and my grandparents raised me. But, there is something you should know.”
“What?” I asked, finishing the last of my filet.
“When we leave here, there will be reporters outside photographing us. Just smile and act casual.”
“Why will there be reporters outside?” My brows furrowed.
“Well, I am the CEO and paid $200,000 for a date with you, for the school, of course. And they’re covering the story.”
“So, it’s basically an image thing for Castile Properties?” I asked.
“I guess you could say that.”
We finished our dinner, and Weston paid the bill. I flinched when we stood, and he placed his hand on the small of my back as we left the restaurant. The moment we stepped on the pavement, flashes of light went off, while Weston smiled and held his hand up for a wave.
“We enjoyed a nice dinner and would like to continue our date in private,” he told the reporters.
What did he mean by ‘continue our date?’ Wasn’t he taking me home?
Ben opened the car door, and I slid inside with Weston next to me.
“It’s a beautiful night. How about we go back to my place, and we can have a drink on the terrace. You’ll love the view.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I nervously said.
“Okay. I’ll take you home.”
As I sat there, his scent swirling around me and taking over my senses, I did something I knew I’d regret.
“I suppose a drink on your terrace would be nice.”
The corners of his mouth curved upward. “It would be very nice. Ben, take us home.”
The car pulled up to the curb at 17 East 93rd Street. I waited for this to be wrong. I had a vision in my head of a tall glass tower on Park Avenue with a penthouse at the top. Instead, his home was a brownstone with a fancy dark brown door and etched glass. It threw me, and I hated that it did.
We climbed out of the car and walked up the three steps to the porch. Weston keyed a code into the pad by the door, and I heard a soft click. He held the door for me while I stepped in first. Following behind, he reached to the left and silenced the security system.
His place was huge with ten-foot ceilings, limestone floors, and multiple levels.
I followed him into the kitchen and stood in awe at the size and the design.
Walnut cabinets, marble countertops, and multiple state-of-the-art appliances with a marble island that sat in the center.
Over by the large windows was a table that seated four, a gas fireplace, and double French glass doors that led to a terraced garden with a table and chairs for entertaining.
“Wow. This is one hell of a place,” I said.
“Thank you.” He smiled.
“How big is it?”
“The house is 7,370 square feet with 4 bedrooms and 8 bathrooms.”
“May I ask why a bachelor needs all this space to himself?”
He chuckled. “I bought the place in an auction for a price I’d be a fool not to pay.”
“So, I guess auctions are your thing then,” I smirked.
“I guess so.” He handed me a glass of wine.
“I don’t mean to sound rude, but if that’s the terrace you’re talking about, I’m not sure there’s really a view.”
“That isn’t the terrace I was talking about. Follow me.”
We stepped inside the elevator, and I shook my head.
“What?” he asked.
“You wealthy people and your elevators.”
“Would you rather have climbed up five flights of stairs?” His brow arched in a sexy way.
“In these heels? No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
The elevator opened into a small hallway on the fifth floor. Straight ahead were double doors that opened to the primary suite.
“Is this whole floor your bedroom?”
“It is. And this is the terrace I was talking about.” He opened the French doors, and we stepped outside.
“Wow.” I stared at the view as the city lit up the night.
“I knew you’d like it.”
We sat in the chairs that faced the city. I tipped the glass to my lips as my belly fluttered. Here I was, with a sexy man, on his terrace off his bedroom, in his 7,370 square foot home, and I didn’t know how to process it all. I’d never experienced anything like it before.
“Why English Literature?” He glanced at me.
“When I was twelve, my parents took me to Maine for vacation. It rained the entire time. At the bed-and-breakfast we stayed at, Romeo and Juliet sat on the nightstand beside my bed. One day, when we were stuck inside because of a storm, I picked it up and started reading. I couldn’t put it down.
Once we returned to New York, I headed to the library and checked out more English lit books.
I fell in love because I realized that literature wasn’t really about the books.
It was about people, their mistakes, their heartbreaks, and their hopes and dreams. I was one who could read the books and think outside the box about them.
I wanted to share my thoughts with others, and the best way to do that was to teach them.
So, I became an English Lit teacher. I have a gift. ” I smiled.
“And what gift would that be?”
“I make my students fall in love with every book I make them read.”
“I’m sure not all the students you teach fall in love,” he said.
“Oh, they do. Even that one kid sitting in the back of my classroom pretending they don’t care.”