Chapter 4
Cora
I’m marginally aware of the staff tidying up the banquet hall where the luncheon was held, but I don’t care about the audience.
I knew I shouldn’t have accepted his offer. It was ridiculous to begin with, but I’m so bone-deep tired that the illusion of an escape won me over. Who would pay that much money just to take me to an event?
This cocky playboy, who made me feel beautiful and normal for a few moments.
I’ve been busting my ass in my father’s bistro for years, which feels more like an eternity at this point. I have nothing to show for it—just debts, a deep feeling of failure, and exhaustion that painfully claims my joints and muscles.
So, yeah, the carefree, fun, entitled man in front of me offered me a ticket to forget my reality for a moment, and I jumped at it.
I recognize that the concept of our transaction does little service to feminism, but can’t I be selfish for once in my life?
Apparently, I can’t.
It’s one thing to silently berate myself for accepting his money, but it’s entirely different when he throws it back at me. How dare he?
He raises his arms in surrender, his boyish grin lighting up his face. “That came out wrong.”
I let out a laugh of disbelief. “Is that your apology?”
He gives me a lazy smile. A smile that has disarming qualities. And he knows it, because he’s been using it like a weapon. “Apologies are for the weak. I don’t do that.”
God, I wish I’d never taken his offer, or that I could pay him back. An entitled rich boy. Fuck him. “I don’t want your money. I’m going back to reopen the bistro.”
I spin and march through the carpeted room.
“Cora.” He catches up with me. “Come on. I promise you will not regret staying closed today.”
To my dismay, his boyish grin does exactly what it intended. It makes me want to relent. Not necessarily because I want to spend time with him. But because the idea of spending time away from work is too appealing.
I work six days a week. I’m only closed on Mondays. And even then I’m working, ordering supplies, bookkeeping, paying bills… So much admin work. Being closed today without losing revenue is a gift. A relief. A chance to breathe.
What I want is to go home, cuddle with my cats, and spend the day in bed, just chilling. But there is that nagging sense of duty. Xander is reimbursing me for being here instead of at work.
I glare at him. His pale blue, almost gray eyes, usually lined with small crinkles of mirth, are downcast as he pleads with me through his unfairly long lashes.
The man is handsome, and rich as sin. He’s also fun to be around. Partly because of his personality, and partly because he’s so disconnected from reality.
Do you want it in the other colors as well?
He wasn’t even kidding when he offered to buy me the dress in other colors. I’m pretty sure my entire wardrobe costs less than this one. I wish I didn’t love it so much.
“Why?” I ask.
“You need to elaborate. Why does the sun shine today? Why isn’t it Friday already? Why—?”
I roll my eyes. “Explain why you want to spend the day with me. It’s one thing to have me fill in as your plus-one—though your approach was extravagant—but the event is over.”
His pretty face grows serious, and he glances away for a moment, his jaw ticking, his hands in the pockets of his gray suit pants, all the dominance he bleeds effortlessly leaving him for a brief moment.
“I’m in the office twelve-plus hours a day, and when I need to decompress, I party. It might look glamorous from the outside, but it’s fucking exhausting, and even more lonely.”
I expected him to jest and bullshit his way to answering. Instead, he shocked me with his vulnerability. His honesty.
He rakes his fingers through his thick, light brown hair. It’s buzzed on the sides, but longer on top, and his impromptu combing makes it stick up in a mess that makes him seem even younger.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking at me with an expression of capitulation.
He gave me a peek at the layer underneath his veneer, and I wish he hadn’t. Because now my sense of duty kicks up a notch, and there is no way I’m going to deny him my company.
I still don’t understand why he isn’t with someone from his circle, with one of the long-legged bombshells he probably spends time with normally. Why me?
I shouldn’t spend a day with him. It makes no sense. I’m a decade-older woman with a failing business who lives in a small apartment in Brooklyn.
He is rich, powerful, successful, and a ridiculously attractive playboy. There is nothing we have in common besides a group of friends—his partners who seem to have snatched up all my girlfriends.
His chin dips as he stares at me, and there is a veil of honesty in his expression I haven’t seen before.
And as much as this friendship, or whatever this is, makes no sense, I realize we have something in common.
We’re both tired and lonely.
I clear my throat. “There must be someone—”
“I had more fun with you at that gala than I had in as long as I remember. You’re real, genuine… unlike anyone in my circle. Sue me for wanting more of that.”
I expect him to joke or bullshit me, selling me a version of himself he so skillfully dazzles the world with. While his words ring true, I don’t think he would freely confess his feelings to his peers. He trusted me. Perhaps because we’re not close.
It’s easier to confide in me. I don’t matter in his life. I won’t use his words against him. Perhaps that’s why he’d want me to fill the gap.
And if I allow myself a moment of selfishness, the idea of one day that is completely different, almost illicit—stolen away from the everyday grind—sounds very appealing.
“Where would we go?”
The smile my question brings to his face is blinding. It’s not his usual grin, which I’m starting to think is about as real as a wax figure’s smile.
“Let me surprise you.” He winks, and the playful playboy is back.
And while I find this side of his personality annoying, and quite frankly ridiculous now that I suspect there are other layers to him, I’m willing to put up with it.
“No shenanigans, Stone,” I warn.
He offers me his arm. “It has never crossed my mind.”
Of course it hasn’t. I’m not his type. But for a moment, as I snake my arm through his, I allow myself to picture how it would feel to be chosen by Xander Stone.
Forget the age gap, the financial gap, and all the other gaps that separate us… I have a feeling we could have a lot of fun together.
I banish the thought as quickly as it blossoms, because it’s a ridiculous fantasy.
“Don’t make me regret this.” I sigh.
“You’re going to ask for more. And that’s a guarantee.” He gives me his cocky grin, and I roll my eyes.
Xander offers me his hand to help me out of the car. We’re in the underground garage of a swanky hotel on the Upper East Side.
“A hotel? Really?” I glare.
“You will like it here.” He locks the car, and we walk to the elevators.
“We agreed no shenanigans,” I scold, but my admittedly rusting lady parts weep.
I have been buried at work, and it’s been too long. Unfortunately. Because hooking up would be preferrable to my current celibacy.
But also because with an active sex life I would be immune to my current company’s charms. I think.
I wish I could allow myself more freedom. Xander Stone certainly has the body and experience to deliver orgasms. My body would be on board, but my mind and my heart would fuck it up for me.
“Have some faith, woman.” He puts his hand in the open door, so I can enter safely. The small gesture should not cause butterflies to fly amok in my belly.
“What are we doing here?” I hike my bag up onto my shoulder.
“What are you carrying in there? It looks like it weighs at least ten pounds.” He hits the button for the reception.
“Leave my purse alone. I carry things I might need.”
Perhaps three different notebooks are overkill, but I don’t know which one I might need, so I carry all of them. Just in case.
“Like what? Bricks?” He smirks.
“Exactly. I use them to hit people with annoying questions.” I look away, trying not to grin. This verbal sparring with him is more fun than it should be.
“It’s a good thing I’m charming. I wouldn’t want to walk around with a gash in my head.”
The elevator stops, and he steps forward to keep the door open for me again. His hand lands on the small of my back for a brief moment as he ushers me out gently.
The contact sends electricity through my body, culminating at my core. Oh my, I’m really starved for human touch.
I’m so shocked by my reaction that I recoil, making a weird, inelegant step forward to avoid his touch.
The cool air of the foyer reaches my lungs, but my skin prickles with heat. What’s going on? Premature hot flashes?
“Good afternoon, Mr. Stone.” A suited man greets Xander with a smile. “They are ready for you.”
“Thank you, John. I appreciate your help.” Xander shakes hands with the man and pats his shoulder.
“Anytime, Mr. Stone; enjoy your afternoon.” John, who is wearing a name tag and must work here, nods a polite silent greeting to me.
“You come here often?” I ask as we walk down a hallway, my heels sinking into a light beige, spotless carpet.
How do they keep it this clean? My friends are rich, so I’m not completely new to the lavish world, but I can’t help but look around in awe.
The dark wood paneling and gold decorations are minimalistic, but still feel opulent. The silence around us is another weird thing. Like we’re no longer in Manhattan. This must be the only hotel undiscovered by tourists.
“I live here,” Xander says as we reach a double door. A sudden scent of wood and floral surprises me, but not as much as his answer.
I stop, searching his face for signs of teasing. “You live in a hotel?”
He shrugs and taps a card against a small reader beside a double door. It clicks open, and Xander steers me in.
Before I can satiate my weird fascination with his living situation with more questions, I’m rendered speechless.