Security already knows to escort her to my private elevator.
Then she’s standing there in a loose gold shirt that shows her shoulder and purple strap of a bra, skinny jeans showing off incredible legs. She’s perfectly casual. It doesn’t matter that I’m wearing a five-thousand-dollar bespoke suit; I’m ready to drop to my knees. Instead, I stand with my hands behind my back while she strolls the long hallway, stopping at each canvas.
Gold and red. Gold and black. Gold and green.
Large swaths of paint, angry slashes of a man trying to find some sense of worth.
She looks at me, and she knows. “You painted these.”
I don’t bother to deny the accusation. It’s something I do between signing contracts and initiating takeovers. Something I do when I’m not making money.
And here’s the irony, the fucking irony.
The paintings sell for hundreds of thousands of dollars at a small gallery. Even anonymous, I can’t stop making money. It’s the only thing I can do. I can’t make a home.
I can’t love a woman.
Anita stops in front of me, so young and so wise at the same time. Those molten brown eyes threaten to drown me. They threaten to know me. She holds out sheets of paper.
I take the stack and rifle through them.
A ledger. I’ve written enough of them in my life to recognize one.
Three king size pillow-top mattresses.
One brand new Acura MDX.
Three years of tuition in a college fund for NYU.
The list goes on and on. There are amounts written next to every item.
Her fists land on her hips. “There’s a reason why I worked for Madam Durand.”
The thought of her with another man makes my insides tighten. I want to smash anyone who looks at her into the goddamn wall, but I know I have no rights over her. “And what’s that?”
“So that I wouldn’t be in debt. But with this list, I’m going to be in debt for years. Maybe even decades, if you add interest.”
“There’s no interest, because there’s been no loan.”
“These can’t be gifts.”
“Why not?”
A flare of sweet, angry emotion on her pretty face. “Because you don’t even know me. You’re basically a stranger.”
“I know you have a mole on your left ass cheek. I know you moan when you come. I know how your mouth feels when it’s wrapped around my—”
“That’s just sex.”
I give her an empty smile. “Sex is the only thing I know, sweetheart.”
A notch forms between her eyes. “That’s sad.”
“No. Having the best sex of my life isn’t sad. Selling yourself so you and your sisters have a future? That’s sad. So I’m making sure that never has to happen again.”
“We haven’t had sex yet.”
“A technicality. And even with that much, you were the best I’ve ever had.”
Her eyes soften. “Why couldn’t you approach me with all this?”
“Would you have assumed I wanted to fuck you again?”
“Don’t you?”
Direct hit. “That’s not why I sent those gifts.”
She gives a shy laugh. “I did want you to call me again. I even told Madam Durand I would accept another job from you. Only you.”
My chest squeezes. “I see.”
“But you didn’t call her. You just sent James to flirt with my sister.”
Hell. “I’ll tell him to back the hell off.”
“Why? Is he dangerous? Cruel?” She challenges me with her chin high. “Or just a player?”
“No. He’s a good guy.”
“Then he can flirt with my sister all he wants. She’s a grown woman. No matter what I want her to do, it’s her right to choose a man.” She glances down. “It’s my right, too.”
“Anita—”
Then she’s back to facing me. “So you can stop giving me gifts, or…”
I want to tell her that I’ll buy the apartment building. That I’ll buy a new engineering building for NYU and name it after her. I’ll make her accept my help, but somehow, I know that’s not the right thing. She doesn’t want my money, but that’s all I have. “Or what?”
“Or you can ask me out on a date.”
“A date?”
“A proper date. At…” She thinks for a second. “At the MET.”
“No.”
That makes her smile. “We can each look at the Renaissance paintings of naked women. You’ll whisper dirty things in my ear until I blush. And then we’ll go to the small cafe for coffee. Oh, and I’m paying for the meal from the money you paid me.”
Everything about this makes me itch. The restraint with spending money. Letting her pay for my meal. And most of all; a real date. A real date with feelings. “I gave you the