Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
IVY
The drive back home is nothing like the drive out.
Eight weeks ago, the interior of Brooks’s SUV felt like a high-end prison cell.
I was vibrating with a mixture of resentment and pure, unadulterated terror, wondering if I could jump out at sixty miles per hour and survive the fall.
Back then, Brooks was a strategist, a cold, calculating force who had used the law like a scalpel to dissect my life.
Now, as the skyline of New York rises out of the hazy September horizon like a jagged crown of glass and steel, I am sitting in the same leather seat, but the atmosphere has changed entirely.
The predatory silence has been replaced by a heavy, magnetic tension that makes my skin hum.
Brooks’s hand is resting casually on my thigh, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles that keep my heart rate at a steady, frantic gallop.
I look down at the ring on my finger. In the harsh afternoon light of the city, it is blinding.
It isn’t the “prop” diamond, the one that carried the Taylor name and the ghost of a grandmother I’ll never meet.
This is a five-carat middle finger to everyone who thought I was a stand-in.
It is bright, it is bold, and it feels remarkably heavy.
Ten thousand dollars, my internal monologue whispers for the hundredth time.
I spent a large amount of money on a twenty-minute helicopter ride to stop a man from destroying himself.
It is the most financially reckless thing I’ve ever done, a move that should have had my “Fixer” instincts screaming in agony.
And yet, looking at the sharp line of Brooks’s jaw and the way his eyes soften every time they catch mine, I don’t feel a single ounce of buyer’s remorse. It is the best deal I’ve ever closed.
“You’re doing it again,” Brooks says, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the sound of the wind.
“Doing what?”
“The math. I can practically hear the gears turning from here, Sullivan. Are you wondering if the fuel surcharge on the Blade flight was deductible?”
I laugh, leaning my head back against the headrest and watching the graffiti-covered walls of Queens blur past. “Actually, I was wondering how many cherubs I could buy for four hundred and ninety thousand. Just to place them strategically around your penthouse as a reminder of where we started. I think a dozen gold-plated ones in the foyer would set the tone.”
“If a single plaster angel enters my building, Ivy, the wedding is off. I’ll go back to being a cold, lonely billionaire and you can go back to being a professional bridesmaid from River Bend. It’ll be cleaner for everyone.”
“Liar,” I tease, reaching over to lace my fingers through his. “You’d hire a consultant to ‘manage’ the angel situation and end up falling in love with her too.”
Brooks’s expression softens, his mouth pulling into something rare and unguarded.
It is a look reserved only for me, the one that makes the “Shark of Wall Street” look like a man who has finally found his way out of the deep water.
“I’m done hiring consultants, Ivy. I have the only one I’ll ever need. ”
As we cross the Queensboro Bridge, my phone begins to vibrate in the cup holder like a live wire.
It has been doing that since the moment we stepped off the veranda at Eastmoor.
The “Taylor Triumph” isn’t a business headline; it is a social media wildfire.
The image of me, leather-clad, wind-blown, and defiant, stepping off that helicopter has become the “Relatable Billionaire Romance” moment of the century.
I pick up the phone and swipe through a barrage of notifications. A text from Savvy is pinned at the top.
Savvy
Bitch, do NOT go to your apartment. The office is literally a florist shop. We have twelve new inquiries for weddings next summer. Three of them are from people with actual titles. Maddy is crying. I’m drinking champagne at 11:00 AM. GET HERE NOW.
I show the screen to Brooks. "It looks like business is booming. Apparently, being associated with a very successful weekend is good for referrals."
"Good," Brooks says, his voice dropping into that familiar register that still makes my breath hitch.
"Because Ever After was already good. This reminded people why they hire you.
" He pauses, then adds carefully, "If you need to scale up, hire staff, expand your vendor network, I could help with the capital. "
I study his face. "You're not trying to fix this with money."
"No," he says immediately. "You didn't touch the settlement except for the helicopter. The rest is yours. I'm not rewriting that."
My chest tightens.
"But I am done watching you absorb risk alone," he continues. "If you want introductions, space, protection from predators who smell momentum, I can help. You stay in charge. Always."
"I didn't do any of this for recognition," I say quietly. “I did it for you.”
“I know,” he says.
He pulls the SUV to a stop outside the refurbished barn that houses Ever After. Usually, River Bend's main street is quiet this time of morning, but today there are two delivery vans parked outside and a handful of photographers lingering across the street, cameras already trained on Brooks's car.
"The shark arrives in town," I murmur, seeing the flashes go off the second Brooks steps out of the car.
"Let them look," he says. He walks around to my side, opens the door, and offers me his hand.
He doesn't walk me to the door; he pulls me flush against his side, his arm heavy and protective around my waist. He leans over and captures my mouth in a kiss that is anything but "stable.
" It is hot, public, and a clear declaration of ownership.
"I'll pick you up at seven. We have a dinner with the Hawthornes.
They want to discuss investing in a hospitality venture, and I told them they should hear your take on it first."
Walking into the office feels like stepping into a dream.
Savvy isn't exaggerating. The place is an explosion of flowers. Lilies, peonies, orchids, and yes, even a few "aggressive florals" like birds of paradise that look like they are ready to bite. The scent is overwhelming, a heady, sweet perfume of success and chaos.
"These are all from him, by the way," Savvy adds. "Every single arrangement."
Maddy screams the second she sees me, abandoning a pile of silk ribbons to tackle me into a hug. "You absolute legend! The helicopter! The leather! THE RING!"
She pulls back, her eyes wide as she grabs my hand to inspect the diamond. “Ivy, this isn’t the same ring. This isn’t the family heirloom. This is… this is ‘I’ll burn the world down for you’ jewelry.”
“He is a bit intense,” I say, though my smile feels wide enough to split my face.
“He’s obsessed,” Savvy says, popping a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and handing me a glass.
“We saw the footage from the gala. Every business outlet in the city is running some version of ‘the Modern Merger.’ The way he looked at you when you were on that stage. That wasn’t management, honey.
That was a man who had finally found his heartbeat. ”
I sit down on the sofa, the last forty-eight hours finally settling on me. “It’s real, guys. All of it.”
“We know,” Maddy says. “He loves you, Ivy.” Maddy squeezes my hand.
“And the best part? The world knows it. We’ve already had calls from Vogue,” Maddy says.
“They want a glossy fairytale about the billionaire and his mysterious fiancée. You won’t say yes, but the interest alone is sending clients into a frenzy.
You’re not the stand-in anymore. You’re the main event. ”
We spend the afternoon triaging the explosion of business. Ever After is no longer a struggling boutique; we are the agency of record for the New York elite. But as I work through the spreadsheets and the floral orders, my mind keeps drifting to the dinner tonight.
Brooks shows up at my apartment door at seven sharp, looking devastating in a charcoal suit that probably has its own insurance policy.
His eyes track over me, taking in the deep sapphire-blue silk that hugs every curve, my hair left down in those wild waves that were once too untamed for his carefully controlled world.
"You look incredible," he says, his voice dropping low.
"I clean up okay," I say, then hold up my overnight bag. "You said to pack for the night."
Something heats in his expression as he takes the bag from me. "I did."
He carries it down to the SUV himself, where his driver waits by the idling car. Brooks tosses the bag into the back seat, then opens my door, his hand finding the small of my back as I slide in.
The restaurant is one of those hushed Manhattan places where deals are made over impossibly expensive wine. The Hawthornes are already seated when we arrive: Matthew, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, and his wife Elena, elegant, suggesting old money and even older confidence.
Brooks's hand remains at the small of my back as we approach the table.
"Matthew, Elena," Brooks says smoothly. "This is Ivy Sullivan, my fiancée."
"The woman in the helicopter," Matthew says with a grin, rising to shake my hand. "Elena's been dying to meet you since she heard about your entrance this weekend."
Elena laughs, the sound genuine and warm. "I told Matthew that any woman who can pull off a leather jacket arrival and coordinate a flawless event deserves my respect. Please, sit."
The dinner flows easily. Matthew and Elena aren't testing me; they are genuinely curious.
They ask about Ever After, about how I built the business, about my vision for expansion.
Brooks doesn't interject or manage the conversation.
He listens, his hand occasionally finding mine under the table, his eyes tracking every word I say with something that looks like pride.
"We're considering investing in a boutique hotel venture," Matthew says over dessert. "Something experiential, high-touch. Elena thought you might have insights on what makes a luxury hospitality experience actually work."
I lean forward, ideas already forming. "The trick isn't the thread count or the champagne selection. It's about anticipating needs before guests know they have them. Making them feel like the entire experience was designed for them."
Elena's eyes light up. "Exactly. That's what we want to create."
By the time we leave the restaurant, Matthew has my card and Elena kisses my cheek, whispering, "You're good for him. I can tell."
The drive to Brooks's penthouse feels charged with anticipation. I've never been to his place before; all our time together had been at the estate, at restaurants, in neutral territory. This is his space, his world, and I am about to step into it.
The elevator ride up feels endless, the numbers climbing higher and higher until we reach the top floor.
The doors slide open directly into his penthouse, and I catch a glimpse of floor-to-ceiling windows, the city sprawling out in glittering lights below, marble and steel and space that seems to go on forever.
But I don't get to see more than that.
Brooks pulls me against him the second we step inside, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that erases every thought except him. He backs me up against the nearest wall, his hands framing my face, his body pressing into mine.
"Tour later," he says against my lips.
"I wasn't asking for one," I breathe.
He lifts me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me through the penthouse.
I catch flashes of rooms, of artwork and furniture and that impossible view, but I don't care.
I'll have the rest of my life to explore.
Right now, all that matters is the way his hands feel on my skin, the heat building between us with every step.
The bedroom is all darkness and city lights filtering through the windows, casting everything in shadow and light. He sets me down only long enough to strip the dress from my body, his eyes tracking over every inch of me as if he is memorizing me. I am perfect. I am fierce. I am his.
"You're the only thing that makes me feel like I'm actually alive," he whispers, his voice thick with want as he enters me.
I arch against him, my eyes locking on his, filled with a raw, beautiful honesty. "I’m yours, only yours.”
We move together in the dark, a rhythmic, soul-deep connection more powerful than anything I've ever experienced.
As we lie tangled in the sheets hours later, the first hints of dawn streaking the New York sky, I turn to him, my head resting on his shoulder.
"We still have to plan the wedding, you know," I say, my voice sleepy and content. "And I'm a very expensive wedding planner, Brooks.”
He kisses the top of my head. "Whatever the price is, Ivy... I'll pay it, as long as you stay for the long haul."
"I'm not going anywhere, Taylor," I say, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "The job isn't done until we're old and gray and still arguing about cherubs."
I smile into the dark, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. I am no longer filling space meant for someone else. I am the woman who finally knows what it feels like to be someone’s first choice.