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These were all questions that I hated thinking about, but I knew I had to figure out soon.
Jackson sent me an email while I was still on the train. It was very curt – it was just an address and a time to be there. I figured it was some kind of hotel.
Instead, it was a grand apartment building, overlooking Central Park. As soon as I walked into the grandiose lobby, I knew I’d made a mistake.
“Hi,” I said to the concierge. “I think I’m staying here? Maybe?”
She stared at me. “And you are?”
“Belle Harrington,” I said quickly. My cheeks flushed. “Sorry – I should’ve said so earlier.”
She nodded, but didn’t reply. I stood there awkwardly listening to the clacking of her fingers on the keys.
“Ah, Belle!”
When I looked up again, she was wearing a warm smile.
“You’re a guest of Mr. Rhodes! Why didn’t you say so?”
I smiled tightly. Because he’s got me over a fucking barrel, I thought. And what? Am I supposed to tell you that technically, we’re related?
The concierge pressed a large brass key into my hand. “You’ll be staying in the penthouse,” she said kindly. “Mr. Rhodes requested nothing but the best.” She raised her eyebrows. “Are you his girlfriend?”
My jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
She blushed. “Never mind,” she said quickly. “I shouldn’t have asked. This way, please!”
It was hard to keep from gawking at the luxurious splendor all around me as the concierge led me from the lobby to the elevator to my room. Everything was splendid – there was more gold and marble together than I’d ever seen in my life. I couldn’t believe that it was real – that I was really there, in such a nice place.
“And here we are,” the concierge said lightly. She pushed open the door. “Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”
I nodded. Stepping into the apartment made me mute. It was the grandest place I’d ever seen. My shoes sank into the plush white carpeting and there were floor-to-ceiling windows with a beautiful view of the park. It made me feel small, almost agoraphobic. I stepped hastily back from the windows and looked around the rest of the apartment in similar awe.
It was all beautiful. The couches were upholstered in Italian silk and there was real art on the walls – all too gorgeous for me to even look at for more than a few seconds. The kitchen was stocked with artisanal food and wine, and I gasped when I realized the fridge was stocked with bottles of Dom Perignon.
“Wow,” I whispered softly. “This can’t all be for me. This is too much!”
The bedroom was the best yet. The large, king-sized bed was covered in a duvet of purple silk and the walls were draped with tapestries, also silk. The windows overlooked a beautiful meadow in Central Park, and even the closet was stocked with designer clothing, shoes, and handbags.
I figured that maybe this was Jackson’s apartment that he owned just for the sole purpose of having someplace to bring women.
The phone rang and I jumped at the sound.
“Hello, Miss Harrington?”
“Yes?”
“I have a message for you, from Mr. Rhodes,” the concierge said. “He’ll be there in half an hour. He requested that you be ready for him.”
I frowned and blushed. “What…what exactly does that mean?”
“I’m not sure, miss,” the concierge replied. “Would you like me to call him?”
My blush deepened to one of crimson red. “No! I mean, no, thank you.” I gritted my teeth. “And thanks for passing along the message.”
When I hung up the phone, my heart was slamming against the walls of my ribs. I couldn’t make it stop – I didn’t know what to do. What the hell did he mean, “ready”?
With a sigh, I walked into the bathroom. There was a silk gown with ostrich trip hanging on the back of the door, and I blushed when I saw it. The tub was huge – big enough for four people, at least – and even though I knew I didn’t have much time, I felt like taking a bath would relax me.
