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I’ll stop by Bond Street on the way home.
No!! Don’t. I don’t even wear jewelery. Besides, I’d rather have you here looking at me than some old diamonds.
I’d much rather be looking at you, too.
I blush.
Plans for this evening?
You tell me.
I can cook you dinner?
I’d much rather make use of your hands elsewhere.
I can do both.
At the same time? Kinky.
LOL
I never took you for the kinky type.
I draw in a breath and bite my lip.
You know nothing, Jon Snow.
I want to know everything.
That’ll take longer than a week.
What the fuck was I doing? Asking to stay longer?
That can be arranged with pleasure. Just say the word. However, I must tell you that I am a quick study.
I don’t doubt that.
Heading into a meeting now.
Try to not think about me.
Impossible. I’ll pick you up at 7.
I fall back into the couch with my arms wide and my palms up, thanking whichever deity it is that has blessed me with this man. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s filthy rich, he’d be absolutely perfect. I find myself wishing that he had a regular office job, a regular salary. We might have a future then. My own angst about the situation is starting to irritate me. I must try to put it out of my mind. I’m going to live in the moment, and make the most of my crazy stay. There will be plenty of time for self-flagellation and tears later.
The afternoon yawns in front of me. I have endless cups of tea, read, and luxuriate. I text Jamie to show him the cover of the art book I found for him and say I’ll visit him soon. At five, I start to prepare for my date. I blast The National while I wash my hair, shave, and use the expensive-smelling lotion I find in the bathroom. By six-thirty I’m ready to go. I search the kitchen for something to drink. It’s such a beautiful design! If I lived here full-time, I’d be cooking every night. Maybe I could prepare something for Alistair tomorrow.
I find gin in a fancy minimalist one-touch cupboard, and a range of exotic-sounding tonics in the second refrigerator. I choose the one with elderflower and thyme, and pour myself a huge gin and tonic with loads of ice. It’s not the most sophisticated way to drink gin, but it is my favorite. I find a range of snacks, too, and decide on a—recyclable—packet of wasabi pretzels.
I feel like I’m pretending to be someone else. No, that’s not right. Not pretending. There is no pretense. I just feel different. More grown up, more assured. Even though I’m twenty-eight, I live like a student. I have that shoebox of a flat, I eat ramen and beans, and my interior design consists of hand-me-down furniture and thrift-store deals. I only buy clothes when I have to, and even then they’re usually from charity shops. Being climate-conscious suits my budget and it’s the right thing to do, but this rich, sophisticated life feels good, too. Better than good. It hurts to admit it, but it feels wonderful. I stare at my reflection in the giant curlicued mirror. For the very first time in my life, I feel like a woman.
When Alistair walks through the door at seven sharp, he takes my breath away.
He is so fucking hot in his impeccably tailored dark suit, especially knowing what’s underneath the elegant cut. He just looks so damn … powerful. I think the blood has left my brain to flood my pelvis, because I get a little light-headed just looking at him. The mad chemistry I’m trying to keep inside is reflected in his eyes as he takes me in.
“Jesus, Ivy,” he murmurs, hand travelling to his heart. “You’ll give a man a heart attack.”
“What did I do?”
