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Marcus clearly doesn’t need much sleep or recovery time because after that kinky sexathon in the shower, he woke me up at six o’clock this morning to—what else—have even more sex. And then, because he didn’t have an early-morning meeting, he went for a six-mile run.
Billionaires must not be human. Or at least this one doesn’t seem to be. Maybe he’s secretly a cyborg from the future—Terminator, the sex robot edition.
At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised.
The good news is that by waking up at that ungodly hour, I got to work early and therefore can leave early, so I’ll be able to pack up my things, grab my cats, and have Wilson drive us home for the night.
Or at least it should be good news. Right now, I’m so tired I can barely think, much less picture myself doing all that packing and cat chasing and car riding. Between the energy expended at the investor dinner and the sexathon that followed, it’s taking all my strength just to remain upright behind the cash register and ring up people’s purchases—partially because it’s a lot of purchases, way more than usual.
Christmas is coming up, and paper books make great gifts.
In any case, maybe this was Marcus’s evil plan: exhaust me with socializing and sex so I would stay at his place another night. Just because he promised to stop pressuring me to move in doesn’t mean he’s forgotten the idea. By now, I know him. I know how his devious mind works, and it’s entirely possible that at least a couple of the orgasms last night—and this morning—were given to me for the sole purpose of getting me not to go home.
Well, he won’t succeed. Tired or not, I’m going home anyway. Otherwise, I might as well make Mrs. Metz happy by ending my lease early—which I fully intend to do, as soon as I find myself a reasonably priced apartment.
I’m not moving in with Marcus.
No matter how good things currently are between us, it’s way too soon for that.
Unfortunately, my grandparents don’t think so. At lunchtime, Grandma calls me, asking if the move has gone as planned, and since I don’t want to disappoint her and Gramps, I end up telling her that we’re doing a trial run this week, to see how my cats adjust. Thank you, Marcus, for that idea. This way, I’ll be able to blame the cats when I tell my grandparents that we decided separate residences are the way to go for now.
Which they totally are. Granted, all three of my cats love his place, and I’m beyond pampered there, with Geoffrey making scrumptious dinners and plying me with green juices every morning, but I have to maintain my independence. This particular dinner with Marcus’s investors went better than expected, but I’m still not the beautiful, polished socialite he was looking for. If he keeps bringing me to these events, there’s a very high chance that I’ll screw up and embarrass him somehow, and then he might decide that living together was a mistake and I’ll end up scrambling for a place to rent. Not that he’d throw me out on the street, but still. The flame between us burns hot right now, but there’s no guarantee that this will last.
It’s not like he’s in love with me.
My chest tightens at the thought, but there’s no time to dwell on it. The stream of customers keeps coming, and I keep ringing up their purchases. Finally, around three, there’s a lull, and I head to one of the armchairs in the back, hoping to close my eyes for a five-minute micronap. But just as I’m settling into a comfy chair, my phone rings.
Yawning, I pull it out of my pocket and glance at the screen, expecting it to be Kendall calling to get an update on last night’s dinner. But it’s Janie, all bright and bubbly as I pick up.
“Hey, Emma! It was sooo good seeing you last night. I can’t believe we haven’t hung out in so long!”
“Um, yeah.” Having seen Landon in action last night, I can believe it, but I don’t say it. Kendall, Janie, and I had been inseparable in college and for a couple of years after graduation, and I don’t want to lose a friend just because I don’t like her boyfriend. Not that she’s been much of a friend in the past few months, but maybe that’ll change now that we’ve reconnected. Forcing myself to inject some enthusiasm into my voice, I say, “We should definitely grab lunch or dinner soon.”
“Yes! How about today? Landon and I can come to Brooklyn after work. Unless… Are you living in Manhattan now, by any chance?”
“No, but I will be in Tribeca for a bit— Wait, actually, tonight’s not good.” Not only am I too sleep-deprived for another late dinner, but an outing will interfere with my packing-and-cat-catching plans.
