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He laughs. "This is all the flower store around the corner had left. I ordered more in. They'll be here tomorrow."
I don't have to think twice before I lessen the distance between us and gather his t-shirt in my hands. I kiss him on the mouth, fully, softly, my tongue fluttering against his. "Thank you for the two dying roses, David."
I feel his grin against my lips. "Every time you call me that, I like it more and more. I don't know why, but I do."
I pull back to look up and into his face. He still hasn't shaved. There are fine lines around his eyes. He looks tired but since I'm to blame for that, I don't mention it. I'd keep him awake every night if I could feel pleasure like that. "I like it when you show up here like this. It's a nice surprise."
"I had lunch with my manager." His gaze drops to the floor. "I needed to see a friendly face after that."
I take the roses from his hand, using the gesture as a way to escape the presumption of a reply. I don't know anything about his life other than what I've read online or the limited scope of what I've seen for myself.
I spoke to his manager briefly before his photo shoot. She seemed pleasant, almost cordial, but curt. She was all business which isn't how I operate. My parents taught me that kindness goes a long way when you're chasing your goals. I don't let anyone step on me or push me down, but I also don't cater to those who treat others with little respect.
I use a pair of scissors on my desk to cut the stem of each of the roses before I tuck them into one of the vases on the windowsill. They don't match the others that he sent me. These are a different shade, their shape not quite the same.
"Are you busy tonight?" He scratches his jaw. "I was hoping we could go on a date."
I bite the tip of my tongue. "What did you have in mind?"
"I was hoping for an immediate yes, but I like that you're playing hard to get." He pulls his phone from his pocket and once again looks at the darkened screen before his gaze travels back to my face. "It's a surprise. I'll come by your place at eight to get you."
"I'll be ready."
"I'm going to hit the studio for a few hours." He leans forward to brush his lips across mine in a soft, tender kiss. "The recording studio, that is. The air conditioned, recording studio."
I pat him on the chest, kiss him again and then watch as he walks quickly towards the door.
CHAPTER 24
Asher
Going to the recording studio was a fucking waste of my time. I couldn't focus. Part of that was the taste of Falon's lips. How can she always taste that sweet? I seriously could kiss that girl for hours, maybe even days. Her lips are so soft, the pressure always right. I haven't thought this much about kissing since I was twelve-years-old and trying to find the courage to kiss a girl in my class.
I shake my head to clear it. I'm home now. I've showered, changed my clothes and I ate some leftover stir fry beef I found in the fridge from a few days ago. Nothing was growing on it, so it was good.
As soon as I finished the last bite of the food, I was in my bedroom, opening the safe and pulling out the envelope that has been burning a hole in my mind since I first saw it. Sooner or later I have to deal with it. I have to face what's in it.
I hold it in my hand and dump everything that's inside of it on the dining room table. Papers fly out, the flash drive bounces twice before it settles and two pictures fall onto the dark wood.
When Caterina agreed to download the voicemail onto a flash drive and delete it, I wanted more. Daniel told her that there wouldn't be a deal unless she agreed to forward every saved email of my dad's she had, to Daniel, before she deleted those too. She took it a step further and printed them out.
His last demand was the one she balked at. I wanted everything my dad had forgotten at her place when he left her. It amounted to little more than a few pieces of clothing which Daniel donated, a watch, which I told him to keep for now, and two photos.
I rip the one of my father and Caterina at their engagement party in half. That moment is history now. Their relationship never made it out of the starting gate because of her greed.
I pick up the other picture. I study it. It doesn’t hold any deep or dark secrets. It's a picture of a house in the Hamptons that my parents would take us to in the summer when school finally let out. We'd spend weeks there with our mom while dad traveled back and forth to Manhattan to take care of business.
Those summers were some of the best of my life. My older brothers showed me how to swim. Caleb was right beside me when I caught my first fish and Gabriel let me hold the steering wheel when we took out the boat. There was an old piano there that I taught myself how to play. It was an escape from the city, but more than that it was a reprieve from the thick tension that invaded our apartment.
My parents never fought in the Hamptons, or maybe we never heard them because there were so many bedrooms for them to go to so they could argue out of earshot.
One summer, the day after we came back to New York, they told us their marriage was over. Neither of them cried. My dad's bags were already packed. He didn't care that we asked him not to go. He didn’t stop when Caleb got on his knees and apologized, even though it wasn't his fault. My dad just left.
The house in the Hamptons became a sticking point in their divorce. They couldn't agree on who got to have it, so neither did. It belongs to the company now. Caleb and his wife make the most use of it.
I drop the picture and pick up a pile of papers. Most of them are uninteresting emails where my dad professes his undying love to Caterina. He writes about how his marriage to my mom was a mistake and how the divorce almost destroyed him.
If my parents would have ended their marriage when they should have, a decade before they actually did, the process would have been cut and dry. Everything started to fall apart when the women's clothing line took off. My parents worked like mules, each in charge of something that was vital to the success of the business. We were left in the care of nannies.
