My weaknesses have always been food and men—in that order.
–Dolly Parton
Guy
I have to willfully pry Scarlett’s hand from my leg and hold it tightly in mine because if she keeps touching me, I won’t make it to her apartment and I want to get her in a bed, finally.
The ride is silent but buzzing with unspoken anticipation.
Her apartment is a small place in Washington Heights. It’s not the best neighborhood, but it’s not the worst. At least her building has a front door that locks.
The elevator is broken and we have to take the stairs to the third floor. Walking up the steps behind her is a true exercise in restraint because her jeans hug her form, revealing the shape of her thighs and calves. Calves. I’m turned on by calves. Heaven forbid she reveal an ankle, I might lose my mind.
My already-stretched patience snaps somewhere in the second-floor stairwell and I grab her and push her against the wall, covering her mouth with mine.
Immediately, she moans and lifts a leg around my waist.
Her tongue is in my mouth and my hand is rubbing up the back of her leg and I’m inches from the heat of her when a door slams somewhere and laughter echoes through the space.
She giggles against my mouth and pushes my hand away. “They’ll see us. C’mon, hurry.”
She grabs my hand and it’s a race up the stairs, pounding through the metal handled door, and running along the hallway to her apartment. She fumbles with the key while I nibble on the back of her neck, and then the door opens and we fall inside.
She immediately locks up behind us, then jumps at me. We almost crash to the floor but somehow, I manage to remain standing even while we attack each other with lips and tongues and roaming hands.
Clothes litter the floor around us. I step back, an attempt to slow our frantic movements so I can examine her in the low lights streaming in through the windows.
“Don’t move,” I whisper the words into her ear, like we’re in a church instead of an apartment in Manhattan.
Surprisingly, she listens, and I walk around her slowly, taking my time. With a careful touch, I trace over her shoulder, down her arm, over her stomach, memorizing every part of her with my fingers and leaving a trail of goosebumps in my wake.
Stepping behind her, I press a kiss to where her shoulder meets her neck and trail a line with my lips down her back, pressing a final kiss to her lower back.
Her breathing is erratic. Her hands clench at her sides.
When I slide a hand between her legs from behind, needing to feel how much she wants me, she moans and spreads her legs. I rub her lightly, stroking her slickness while need takes root and grows in my body like an expanding balloon of want. I remove my hand from her before I completely lose it and she spins around, her hands grabbing at me. “Guy, I can’t take it anymore. Please.”
“Wait.” I take both of her hands in mine. “I want to do this in a bed.”
“Ugh. Fine, let’s go.” She yanks me toward the bedroom, all angry kitten and frustrated impatience.
I can’t stop laughing. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much in one night.
We trip over our clothes in our haste to get to the bedroom. In the darkness, it’s mostly a jangle of big lumps. Her bed is unmade and she shoves stuff, clothes I imagine, off the comforter before tugging me down next to her.
“Don’t judge me. I’m not as neat as you are. How are you so neat with two teen girls?”
I kiss her shoulder. “I have a maid. She comes twice a month.”
“Ah.” Her hand runs down my chest, over my stomach, making me suck in a breath, and then she wraps her fingers around the swelling hardness of my erection.
I groan. “Don’t worry. It’s perfect.” I kiss her hard on the mouth and pull back when she slides her hand up and down me. “You’re perfect.”
“That is a lie.” She squeezes me gently and I groan out a laugh.
“Not to me.” I lean into her, kissing her ear. “This is a perfect ear.” I kiss her collar bone. “This is a perfect collar bone.” I shift over her, sliding my tongue down her belly and spreading her knees open.
She sucks in a breath when I blow a heated breath over her exposed flesh.
“This is…definitely perfect.”
I start slow, small caresses with my lips, keeping everything light and gentle. I’m in no rush, taking my time, learning what she likes, what makes her squirm and pant and beg for mercy. Until she groans and her hips shift toward me, aching for more. Then I let go. Feasting on her, delighting in the way she moans and clutches at my hair when I hit a sensitive spot. I don’t let up until she’s finished all over my tongue and then I kiss my way back up her body.
“I want to return the favor,” she breathes, grabbing for my pounding erection.
“Later. I need you now. Do you have condoms hiding around here somewhere?” I lift up her pillow in search and she laughs.
“Not here. In the drawer.” She rolls over to reach into the nightstand and I run a hand down her backside, enjoying the smoothness of her. She hands me the condom and I slide it on, watching her watch me, biting her lip in anticipation. The move fills me with a sort of caveman satisfaction. But nothing is as satisfying as staring into her eyes as I slide into her. Or when I move slowly in and out, letting the heat build again. Then she’s moaning and panting and lifting her hips against me. And when I brush a hand over the space between us and she breaks apart in my arms, forcing me over the edge of the cliff I’ve been teetering on, I’m convinced. Heaven is here.
Completely sated and spent, she collapses on my chest. I wait until her breathing evens out and slows as sleep claims her, which doesn’t take long. I extract myself carefully and make my way to her bathroom to clean up. When I get back to the bed, she’s still out. I roll onto the mattress and gently curve around her, following into the warm cocoon of sleep.
I awaken to traffic noises, honking, breaks screeching, and men yelling. Blinking against brightness, I take in my surroundings. Her room is a mess. Clothing, books, magazines, and makeup strewn haphazardly around the small space, but her bed is comfortable, and her blankets are a tangle of bright colors. It’s just like her.
The last thing I want to do is leave the haven of Scarlett’s bed, especially when I disentangle myself from her soft, sweet limbs and she makes a cute snuffling sound and rolls over, the sheet lowering to expose her back. Just above her butt, two little dimples wink at me in invitation.
I want nothing more than to spend hours watching her sleep—the soft curve of her cheek, the delicate part of her lips, her dark red hair spread out like a wave over the pillow—but duty calls.
I get dressed as silently as possible and leave her a note on the kitchen counter before locking up and tapping my phone for an Uber as I head down the stairs.
Then I make a call. “Carson. Have someone deliver a three pack of the chocolate croissants and an Americano with cream and sugar to this address.” I rattle off. “Apartment 309. Make sure they deliver it by eight.”
A beat of silence and then, “Is that Scarlett’s apartment?”
“None of your business.”
“You know I’ll find out.”
“Then why bother asking? I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”
I hang up on him, a smile tugging at my lips. I think I have the inklings of a solution to Scarlett keeping her spot. I kind of like having her across the street and in close proximity. Maybe I could get some blinds for my office so we could…. I shake the thought away before I devolve into a Neanderthal.
One thing at a time. The first item on my agenda is taking my ideas and formulating an actual plan on paper. Something I can show Oliver to get him on board.
He doesn’t like change. I know it will be a hard sell, but hope fills me with purpose.
This has to work.
I get home in time to see the girls before they head off to school. Ava makes us scrambled eggs and toast which is about the limit of her culinary abilities. We eat at the table together and I get a text from Scarlett to thank me for the croissants and coffee accompanied by lots of heart eye emojis that make me grin like a loon.
Then Emma reaches out to try and flip my lip with a finger and I laugh and dodge her attempts at physical comedy.
I walk the girls out to their ride to school. Most of the time I drive them, but I don’t have time this morning, so I called up one of my drivers.
As we’re hugging goodbye, Emma pats me on the cheek and holds up her phone.
It’s a video of me, earlier, smiling at Scarlett’s text, my eyes are bright, and I have…is that a dimple? I’m so happy. Surprised, I meet Emma’s eyes, but she’s already turned away, getting into the car with her sister’s help.
I watch the car drive away and shake my head. That kid.
It’s time to get to work.
“Carson. My office, now. Bring your laptop,” I tell him as I’m walking past his desk and into the office.
We spend over an hour, hashing out the idea, bouncing ideas around. Finally, we have something in place that might work.
“We need to contact Roger right away. I bet Crawford and Company will take this deal. You’ll just need to talk to Bethany Connell and explain things.”
I nod. “Should we tell Oliver first? My inclination is to wait until it’s more or less a done deal.”
Carson considers the question for a second and then dips his head. “I agree. It is probably better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission he probably won’t give, anyway.”
“Make the call.”
He walks out to his desk and excitement thrums through me. I can’t wait to tell Scarlett, but I need to hold off until I make sure it can actually work. There are a few pieces that still need to be tied together, and Oliver is one of them.
A few minutes later, Carson is at the door. “Boss? We got a little problem.”
“What is it?”
“I talked to Roger and, well, the deal was already done.”
My face goes slack. “How is that possible?”
“I guess Oliver—”
“Get him on the phone,” I bark. “Now.”
I take a deep breath. Dammit. I should have known Oliver would go behind my back. There’s no way it could be finalized yet, though. I haven’t signed any papers and we’re in this together and he wouldn’t go that far. Would he?
“I got Oliver.”
I put it on speaker and he immediately starts talking. “Before you say anything, you’re welcome.”
“For what?”
“Marie signed your divorce papers. I had them couriered over to your attorney this morning.”
“That’s…thank you, but—”
“And I got Crawford and Company to sell that little piece of real estate we’ve been waiting on, so we can sign in two weeks and we can move forward with our plans.”
I have to tread carefully, here. “That’s great, Oliver, and I have some ideas for what we could do with the lot. You know how we had talked about guest chef nights? We could expand the concept outdoors with various food trucks. Give them a time slot to rent, it will generate additional income streams and we’ll give our customers a food experience with real variety.”
He’s quiet for a second and then, “That’s a great idea.”
I let out a breath.
“I love it. Now you just have to get rid of the cupcake lady.”
So close.
“About that—"
“Guy.” His voice is as sharp as my best blade. “If you open your mouth and tell me you’re letting her stay there, you’ve lost it. This idea could work, but if she moves, we could fit more variety in there and make twice as much. If you tell me you’re changing all of our plans simply because you’re fucking the cupcake woman, I don’t care how cute she is, you’ve been compromised and this whole thing will be a disaster.” His voice escalates as he speaks.
I think quickly. This is classic Oliver. He’ll huff and puff and then later he’ll think about it; I’ll give him more reasons to think about it, and I’ll eventually talk him down to my side. It just might not be as easy as I’d like. But when has anything in my life been easy?
“Fine. It’s not important. Just do what you need to, get the deal done, and we’ll talk after.”
I hang up right as there is a tap at the door.
It’s Scarlett. “How could you?”