Rockstar Romeo - Abbie Zanders Page 0,63
dreams. And when things hadn’t quite worked out the way I’d planned, she never once condemned me for my life choices.
Now, she was with Graham Morgan! I didn’t know him personally, but I did know his company, Morgan Financial Holdings. Not only did they handle Ross’s and my personal investments, but we recommended them to many of our clients as well.
The only thing that mattered to me was that he made Soraya happy.
The longer I drove, the more keenly I felt the tug of mental and physical exhaustion. When driving with the windows open and singing at the top of my lungs were no longer effective, I pulled off into a rest area and allowed myself a few hours of sleep. I was sad, yes, but I was neither suicidal nor homicidal.
It was nearly dawn by the time I got into the city, still too early for an unexpected visit. I walked around to kill time, taking in the sights and fighting the urge to bury my sorrows beneath piles of carb- and sugar-laden goodness.
Some people lost their appetites when they were stressed out. Not me. The scent of fresh-baked pastries in the cool morning air was like a siren’s call, probably a direct result of my childhood. I stayed strong, opting for a skinny latte and one of the protein bars I carried with me everywhere.
Once it got to be a reasonable hour, I texted Soraya, telling her I was in town and asking her if she wanted to meet up. Her response came immediately—a screaming emoji followed by an address on the Upper West Side and an offer to have a driver come and get me.
I passed on the private driver, opting to walk it when I saw that it wasn’t too far.
Soraya had always been striking, but the woman who answered the door was breathtaking. Beautiful and vibrant, she radiated happiness.
Her long, straight black hair was hot pink at the tips today, which I knew meant she was in love. Years earlier, she’d taken to dyeing her hair different colors to match her outlook at any given time. Blue was good, red was bad, and purple was for those times when she couldn’t quite decipher what she was feeling. I thought it was brilliant and applauded her for being so in touch and transparent with her emotions.
A tiny white dog came running at us, yipping excitedly.
“Don’t mind Blackie,” Soraya said, scooping him up into her arms. “He’s very friendly.”
I let him sniff my hand and then petted his soft little head.
“Sorry about that,” said a deep, masculine voice. Immediately, the little terrier started wriggling in Soraya’s arms, and she let him down, so he could run to his master. “He’s pretty quick when he wants to be.”
Graham Morgan looked even better in person than he did in the pictures Soraya had sent me, fitting the profile of the sexy, ruthless, billionaire businessman to a T. With dark hair long enough to curl at the collar and a face fit for the cover of GQ, he was gorgeous in an arrogant, investment mogul kind of way. Too stuck-up suit for my taste, but I could see the appeal.
The most appealing thing about him? The way he looked at Soraya. As if she were the very air he needed to breathe.
“No problem.”
“You must be Eva. I’m Graham. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
Graham left shortly after I arrived, saying he had some things to take care of at the office. While there might have been some truth to that, I was pretty sure he was giving Soraya and me a chance to talk privately. I appreciated that.
And talk we did. Soraya made coffee and told me all about her upcoming wedding, her face glowing with radiance as she did. She told me about Graham’s daughter, Chloe, who I hadn’t known about. She regaled me with stories about the “Ask Ida” column and some of the things that had come across her computer. I’d admit, my heart melted a little when she told me how Graham had used the column to connect with her.
Eventually, she’d had it with my stalling and called me out. “Enough about me. Tell me why you’re roaming the streets of Manhattan, alone, at ass o’clock.”
“Maybe I just decided to finally take you up on your invitation to visit.”
She snorted. “Bullshit. I’ve been begging you to come to New York for years, and as far as I know, you’ve never once been tempted to