girl?”
“She is a good girl.” Carly plops down on the edge of the bed. Sips her tea. “I love her to death. I keep begging my father to let her live with me, but he can’t bear to part with her.”
“Ah. That’s why you want your own cat.”
“Yes, exactly,” she says, tickling the cat’s belly and making her squirm. “And it’s a good thing you get along with cats. Or else you’d be out on your arse.”
“Thank God for small favors,” I say, watching her closely. “So why were your thoughts going at this ungodly hour?”
Her expression falls. “Because my father keeps issuing dire warnings about cutting me off and me needing to figure out how to make my way in the world,” she says glumly. “And it’s belatedly dawned on me that loving art and making a living in art as a painter are two different things. I have my degrees now, but what good are they? It was all fine and good when the plan was for me to marry Percy and retire to the country to pop out a few children. But in terms of being able to afford New York City? Stay in my current apartment? I should have just majored in underwater chalk drawing and been done with it.”
My brain automatically spins into problem-solving mode, which is normal.
But it’s tinged with a powerful new protective instinct that, let me assure you, is not normal.
What follows? A string of increasingly insane ideas.
I know people in the art world. I should make a few calls for her. See if someone could help her get started in her career.
Better yet, I could buy a gallery for her so she could exhibit her own work.
That could work, right?
As for her expenses in the meantime, why not give her my credit card?
As for her apartment, I’ll just cover her rent for her.
Better yet, I’ll just buy the apartment and give it to her.
No, wait.
We’ll be spending a lot of time together once we get back to the city, right? Why does she need an apartment at all? I live in a massive penthouse. She should just move in with me. All problems solved. I’ll cover her housing and expenses and she’ll never have to work if she doesn’t want to.
Done.
My mouth is opening to triumphantly announce that I have the solution and say all of this to her when some modicum of common sense finally grinds and cranks its way into gear.
She. Should. Just. Move. In. With. Me.
Did I just think that? Did I just mean that?
Yeah, I realize with a jolt. You bet your ass I did.
Still mean it, as a matter of fact. Worse? The only thing keeping me from saying it is my fear that I’ll scare her away if I come on too strong.
But Carly living with me?
Yeah, man. I want one of those.
For now, I borrow against my stores of self-control for decades to come, rub my hands over the top of my head and force myself to impersonate a normal human man who’s just begun to date a woman he likes.
“So, what, ah,” I say, then pause to clear my throat. “What are your thoughts?”
“Not sure yet,” she says thoughtfully, blithely unaware of the existential crisis brewing inside me. “Obviously, I’ve got some contacts I need to reach out to. And I did get a couple of offers to work in galleries before I graduated, but I turned them down because I thought I’d be moving back home. Maybe I should check in with them again. I’d love a steady salary while I work on my painting on the side until it takes off. Assuming it takes off. Anyway, you don’t want to hear all this right now.”
Yeah. Yeah, I do.
“I mean…” I shrug, trying to look nonchalant. “I’m here if you want to talk. Kick around some ideas.”
She brightens, her delighted smile lighting me up in a way the sun never could.
“Really? That means a lot. I know you’ve got your career together. And have done for a long time. I hope you have patience with me while I flounder about.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say wryly.
“Good. I’m going to think things through. I’ve got an idea, but I want to make a proper plan before I discuss it with you. So you won’t think I’m a complete idiot.”
“Never, princess.”
She pecks me on the cheek, then pops up like she’s late for a meeting. My semi-hard morning dick is having none