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She takes a moment to look me over. “I can work with it. I’ve heard good things.”
I want to fucking die.
“We don’t have to be faithful, you know?” I tell her. “As long as we’re discreet, my penthouse is huge. We can do whatever we want.”
“Do you trust either one of us to be discreet? I don’t know about you, but I’m not about to risk my inheritance for a one-night stand with someone who has a camera phone and a big mouth. Besides, if I end up liking you, I can be one jealous bitch.”
See? Scary.
If we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way. “Let’s take this one step at a time. I’ve agreed to the engagement and the marriage. The rest is still negotiable.”
She sighs. “Fine. I’m on my period anyway.”
Jesus.
5
DREW
The Heir is home early tonight, but he’s not empty-handed. Just before the stroke of midnight, he appears at the door with a gorgeous brunette I’ve never seen before. They’re holding hands outside, but as soon as they cross the threshold, he drops hers like she’s burning him.
“A few deliveries arrived for you, Mr. Arnaud,” I say.
“Excellent. You can bring them up like last time, if you don’t mind.”
I scowl. I actually do fucking mind. The entitlement—after getting arrested for assaulting a police officer, no less—is incredible.
“I’ll get them for you right now,” I say, my tone pointed.
“That’s fine. It’ll wait until morning. I’ll get the elevator.” He and his lady friend breeze through the lobby, and Olivier pushes the up button all by himself.
He looks not the least bit disheveled, drunk, nor cheerful. Little fucker. I want to shout at him—take your shit yourself—but I lock my jaw. If there’s one thing I need before I decide on my next steps, it’s this job. I can’t have one of the penthouse tenants complaining about my attitude to the superintendent. I’d be even more fucked than I already am.
So, I simmer.
My latest internet search getting me through the night is male escort services. If I had a sliver of a sex drive, the idea might appeal more, but I discover, through my research, that the demand for male sex workers is typically on the gay end of things.
Maybe I could find a sugar momma. There are plenty of rich divorcées in this neighborhood. I might have aged out of modeling, but I’ve got a decent body. Maybe if I were being bankrolled, my dick wouldn’t be such a depressing fucker and pay its way.
I scroll Tinder, looking for prey.
Jericho would fucking kill me.
I close my phone and pick up Atomic Habits again.
Soon enough, the joggers and the dogs begin trickling out, The Martinezes are leaving town and need help with their luggage. I get to hold the baby for a minute.
Dr. Jerrod is in a big hurry. “Aortic dissection!” he tells me, sounding disturbingly pumped about it. Bruiser balks at the snow and gives me a look like save me from this woman, and finally, William arrives. He’s the weekend guy. Older man, granddad type.
“How is everyone?” he asks—the way he starts every shift—like he’s inquiring about his family.
“Safe and sound,” I assure him and let him know about the comings and goings.
“I have a few packages to run up to 1204 before I go,” I say.
“Appreciate that. Is he being a little shit again?”
I’m going out on a limb here and assuming William doesn’t watch TMZ or YouTube. He strikes me as more the Dickens by the fire type. “He had his hands full when he came in,” I lie.
