AllFreeNovel
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It’s wild working on the Upper East Side. Not every famous person in the world lives here, but they’ve all at least tried, or they keep a small apartment in the neighborhood to use when they’re in town. Between me, Christian, and Silas, we’ve basically seen them all, from Real Housewives to heads of State. In this building, Ellis won’t even be the most famous.
That honor goes to 1110, one of the most recognizable pop stars in the country. He’s hardly ever here, though, splitting his time between Manhattan, LA, and touring. He and his husband were here at Christmas, though, and he’d gotten me a gift—he’d gotten all the doormen gifts—but mine was an engraved money clip with my initials. Ironic, but thoughtful.
I contemplate The Heir’s most recent unreasonable request and how to handle it. Despite the fact that he hasn’t reported my violent behavior yet, that doesn’t mean he won’t. And despite the fact that I shouldn’t want to beat the shit out of him again, I do.
He’ll have earned it this morning for making me carry a box that fits inside my hand up twelve floors in the musty service elevator when there’s a bed in the village calling my name.
Deciding to play it by ear, I grab the Tiffany’s delivery and head upstairs.
I knock on 1204, entertaining myself while I wait by wondering how he’s going to turn this little box into a scene. Or if he’ll just straight up ask me to choke him.
Or maybe he’ll just want to be slapped around.
I can’t say why I’m assuming any of this is going to happen, much less why I want it to, but I do know I’ll be disappointed if he merely takes the box from me and shuts the door in my face.
The apartment is silent when he appears. He’s wearing Gucci lounge pants, the Cartier necklace, and nothing else but the fading bruises I left.
“Who is Elodie Lafayette to you?” I ask, probably in an effort to be invited inside. My fingers are twitching with the need to rough him up. Grab the upper hand. Control anything.
“My future wife. What’s it to you?”
“I’m your doorman. I like to be kept in the loop. Congratulations.” I hold out the box.
He eyes the box like he can’t bring himself to touch it. “Put it on the table.”
Without argument, I quietly enter the penthouse, crossing the floor to the table and setting down the box next to the unopened packages and mail I left there Sunday morning. “Still can’t find the scissors?”
“Guess not,” he says from the foyer, closing the door.
“Will that be all?” I ask when he appears several feet from me, the blank big screen and leather sectional behind him.
“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Will it?”
Figures he’d take all the fun out of this. He doesn’t even need to be slapped around. He’s acting like he already has been.
I sigh, defeated. “Well, if there’s nothing else…” I take a step away from the table.
“Wait,” he says, approaching me.
We’ve closed half the distance that was separating us. My chest warms unexpectedly. My gaze is drawn to the bruises. “Out of curiosity—how do you explain those?”
“To Elodie? I told her I tried to hang myself.”
An involuntary chuckle comes out. I can appreciate a dark sense of humor. His dimples appear briefly with the tightening of his mouth, but they’re gone just as quick. He doesn’t have deep cheek denting dimples like some people have. His are more like snags. Like the muscles of his cheeks get caught on something as they attempt to move.
“And she’s not concerned?”
“We’re not married yet,” is his oblique answer.
“Well…” I say, circling back. “What am I waiting for? Did you need something else?”
“I guess I’m wondering if you do?”
“What do you care what I need?”
“You seem angry,” he says. “Like…constantly.”
Has the whole building noticed? First Babs, now this. “What can I say, we’re always angry in Cleveland.”
