Chapter 20 Token for Token
TOKEN FOR TOKEN
Brendan
Home.
Once again, the word rang like a songbird’s call when Simone opened the door to her apartment.
The apartment that could fit in the foyer of my house.
She couldn’t be happy in a place like this, cramped and cluttered as it was. No one could.
Nevertheless, her face was a sunbeam. The girl exuded pure happiness, and like a budding addict, I was craving my next hit. To the point where I hadn’t waited in my car for her to come down, but instead took the stairs two at a time just for the pleasure of seeing her that much sooner.
Dangerous thing, happiness.
An illusion I couldn’t afford.
Just like the concept of home.
“Simone.” The word came out more gruffly than I intended, but better that than reveal the way my insides seemed to have turned to melted butter.
Or the intense urge I had to kiss her again without an audience.
Maybe this time I’d lift her onto the table that took up most of her kitchen and wedge myself between her legs. Tuck my head under that skirt and see if she would moan again when I kissed her somewhere else besides that perfect mouth.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Brendan.”
I shook out of my fantasies and forced myself to observe her without imagining her mid-orgasm.
Her hair. It was loosely pinned up, a few wisps teasing her cheeks just enough to demand my hands to bury themselves—stop it.
Shoes. Yes, she was wearing some. Basic brown ballet flats that could be easily kicked off when I grabbed—goddamn it.
Clothes. A blue dress. Modest, just like most things about her.
Blue silk capped her shoulders and flowed over her body like water to just below her knees, and a V-shaped neckline dropped to just above her décolletage instead of revealing anything more.
All wrapped up, like a package begging to be torn open and really split apart—you depraved monster.
I was no better than a fucking dog.
Simone toyed with the simple gold chain around her neck, and the ring I’d given her flashed under the light.
The one that told the world she was mine.
“You look stunning,” I said honestly. I couldn’t help myself.
A blush tinted her skin rose under my stare. “I—thank you. You, um, look nice too.”
I glanced down at my black suit and the white shirt, sans tie, that I’d been wearing since this morning. The ones that looked the same as a dozen others hanging in my closet.
I looked like a waiter. An expensive waiter in a custom suit, but a waiter just the same.
“I should have worn something blue. Then we’d match.”
Both of us grinned like idiots.
“Come in.” She stepped aside. “You’re in luck. My sister just ducked out with her kid for dinner, so you won’t have to meet her quite yet. I just need to turn off the lights, and we can go.”
I followed her into the apartment, which was a far sight cleaner than the last time I’d been here. “No bread today?”
She grabbed a set of keys off the battered table. “No, today I was too busy arguing with my fake fiancé.”
“What an asshole,” I said, earning another grin.
“Am I dressed all right?” Simone tugged at her skirt. “I wasn’t sure where we were going.”
“You look fantastic, but maybe there’s something missing.”
She froze. “Oh, no, what?”
I reached into my breast pocket and pulled out the blue velvet box. When I opened it, Simone’s expression was worth ten times what I’d spent on the trinket.
Her gaze bounced between the contents and me. “Are those…?”
“Diamonds,” I confirmed. “A small token of my appreciation.”
Again, her hand drifted to the gold chain at her neck. The chain that, if I was being completely honest, fit her perfectly. Better than any shiny rocks.
I considered tucking the box away, suddenly aware of how gaudy the gift was. But I kept it out as she leaned down. I could at least enjoy the awe on that beautiful face.
“Wow.” She hovered a fingertip over the stones. “They’re beautiful.”
“They’re nothing,” I mumbled, unable to stop staring at her.
Her eyes darted up to mine, a silent question lingering within them. I flashed what I hoped was a gentle smile instead of the alien mix of terror and desire coursing through me, then pulled out the necklace and handed the box to her.
“Turn around.”
She complied, giving me access to the nape of her neck. A few more errant strands of blond drifted there, and I ghosted my fingers over her skin, struggling to keep my lips from following.
What would she taste like there?
The scent of lilacs was stronger now.
She shivered under my fingers.
Jesus. These reactions, these feelings were all over the goddamn place. This was a business deal. I needed to get a fucking grip before I did something stupid like kiss her again and never let her go.
“There you go.” By some miracle, I fastened the necklace and stepped back.
Simone’s gaze met mine as she pressed the simple pear-shaped pendant against her skin, where it layered over her other chain. Then she put in the matching earrings and went to the small mirror by her front door.
“Wow. Talk about a sparkle.”
They were nothing compared to her. Honestly, she outshone them. Honestly, I preferred her before. Simple. Classic. Simone.
But that wasn’t what a billionaire’s fiancée was supposed to look like, and this wasn’t a real relationship anyway. Simple and classic weren’t what the papers were looking for.
They needed a bit of flash, and there was no time like the present to help her see that.
Even if it meant knowing that today was probably the last time I’d ever see her in this outdated, if very pretty, dress.
“This is very generous of you, Brendan. It’s really not necessary.”
“No, it’s what’s expected.”
Disappointment colored her features, just for a moment.
“Of course,” she replied, then stepped away. “I packed a suitcase.” She gestured toward a small rolling bag near the front door.
I frowned. “Only one?”
It was the size of a carry-on. Maybe a week’s worth of clothing could fit in there. A day’s for some of the women I knew.
“Yeah, I just…” Simone shrugged. “I wasn’t sure how much to bring, honestly.”
“You’ll be with me for four months. I thought you’d have some boxes.”
The softness in her eyes turned to panic. “I, um—”
I glanced toward the bedroom. “Come on, I’ll help you pack.”
“No, Brendan, it’s not—”
“What?” I turned back toward her. “What’s wrong?”
She chewed on her lip. “Nothing I have is worth taking. Your, ah, assistant made that perfectly clear this morning.”
I jerked like I’d been slapped, even though it was clearly her discomfort hitting me so hard. “What? Why would you think that?”
She gestured feebly around her. “I—well, look at this place. It’s not exactly the Ritz.”
I did look, but not for long. I didn’t want to see the things she was obviously pointing at.
The battered kitchen paraphernalia. The cracks in the walls or the water damage in the ceiling.
The faded furniture, the old television, or any of the other things that would eventually make me angry at how unworthy they were of her.
“Everything in here is yours,” I said. “If you want it, it’s coming. If not, I’ll buy you something better.”
“Brendan, it’s not that—”
“The kitchen stuff can stay—I have everything you could possibly need, including the commercial bread oven—”
“Okay, but—”
“Your furniture probably can just go into storage unless you’re attached to anything. Otherwise, I’ll toss my things to the curb—”
“Oh, that’s not necessary, since my sister is staying—”
“But what about your clothes?” I pointed to an ugly wardrobe on the other side of the room that was missing strips of its veneer. “Your stylist will help you prep for events, but everyone has their favorites. What else do you want to bring?”
“I-I—” Her face fell a bit more with every stutter.
Every bit of her distress pulled me back to her like a leash.
“Hey.” I found myself back in front of her, taking her shoulders with my hands and urging her to look at me. “Angel. What’s wrong?”
Her blue eyes glimmered with something suspiciously akin to unshed tears. “I just…this morning, when she was going through my things, it occurred to me just how wrong I am for this. Everything I own is secondhand or hand-mended or a decade out of style. And you look like…”
“A penguin,” I completed.
For that, I got one half of that gorgeous smile. “You don’t look like a penguin.”
“An emperor, do you think? Or just one of those puny Chilean ones?”
She rolled her eyes. But a dimple appeared. I wanted to bite it. “Emperor, definitely. They look like they are dressed in…would Armani fit?”
“Let’s say Brioni. Bespoke.”
“I don’t even know what that means.” She looked down at her dress, and the dimple disappeared.
“This was my mom’s dress. It’s the nicest thing I have, and it’s probably forty years old.
I think she got it on sale at Filene’s Basement, back when it was still around.
” The doubt in her eyes about broke my heart.
“Brendan, look at you, and then look at me. How are we going to pull this off? Really?”
I pulled her close enough that her chest brushed against mine. One of my hands slipped up her neck so I could cup her cheek. “Baby, all you have to do is smile. You’ll melt every person’s heart like you’re starting to melt mine.”
She stared up at me. “I’m melting w-what?”
I pretended that comment hadn’t slipped out. “They say money doesn’t buy taste. I’ll let you in on a secret: it doesn’t buy class either, and, angel, you’ve got that in spades. We’ll get you the right armor, but the rest? It’s why I knew you’d be perfect for this.”
Once again, her gaze drifted to my mouth—this time, I definitely saw it. But she didn’t move any closer, and for the first time in my life, I was too concerned with making another person feel better to care about what I wanted.
I released her, and she pressed a hand to her chest for a moment before picking up a purse on the counter, then taking the handle of her suitcase. “Then that’s that. The rest of my things stay with my sister and her kid.”
I frowned. “You’re sure?”
She smiled, and this one reminded me of the sun in midafternoon. Warm and comfortable. “You say I’m enough? I trust you.”
I wanted to tell her she was more than enough. I wanted to say she was more than any man could hope for.
Instead, I followed her out of the apartment and waited while she locked up, then carried her bag down the stairs for her.
“We’re going to the place I chose first, right?” she asked as we walked out to the Aston waiting at the curb.
“Of course. Where are you taking me?”
That bashful, stupidly endearing expression crossed her face again just before she slid inside the car. “To my favorite bakery.”