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I open my mouth to explain that I’m talking about all of life and not just the bedroom, just in case she thinks I’m contradicting myself about my one hard limit regarding sex, but—
“For me, too,” she says.
“Then we’re on the same page.”
“So what’s your hard limit in the bedroom?” she asks.
“Nice try,” I say. “I’m still not going there.”
“Then…what kinds of things do you do in Manhattan that you don’t do in Boston? In the bedroom, I mean.”
The limousine pulls up to a large building. In the darkness, it looks like any other skyscraper.
“I don’t have to tell you,” I say. “We’re here. I can show you.”
Damn. Shouldn’t have said that. Perhaps she’ll forget. Right. Skye doesn’t forget anything. Perhaps I’ll change my mind and take her to the club.
But I can’t dwell on any of that at this moment.
The chauffeur opens Skye’s door and helps her out of the car. I take her hand, and together we walk toward the door of the building.
“Good morning, Mr. Black.” A uniformed doorman tips his hat in the darkness.
I nod as we enter, and I lead Skye through the ornate lobby of marble and crystal. When we reach an elevator, I slide a card through the reader.
We ride in the elevator, seemingly at the speed of light.
The elevator finally stops, and the doors open.
Then Skye gasps.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A bustling office greets us.
Men and women run back and forth from computers to printers to phones.
Yes, this is my home away from home…but the front part of it functions as an office if need be.
“Mr. Black, welcome.” Anthony Fogg, my executive assistant in New York, strides toward us. “We have the meeting set for an hour from now. Everything’s ready in the conference room.”
Skye’s eyes are wide, as if she just walked into an alternate reality—which, in a way, I suppose she did.
I’m probably the only businessman in Manhattan who uses the front of his penthouse as an actual office. I made the decision when Black, Inc. went international. With the time differences, I often need to be available at odd hours, and it’s easier for me to take a few steps than it is to head into the actual office in the middle of the night. The office in my home—complete with employees, but only when the office is being used—lends an air of sophistication when I’m doing virtual business. So much of negotiation is an illusion—how the other party sees you across the internet. I make sure parties see me in professional surroundings, not sitting in my pajamas in a makeshift home office.
“I’ll be with you in a few minutes,” I say to Anthony, and then I turn to Skye. “Follow me, Skye.”
I lead her through the front area to a door in the back. I slide a card through another reader, and we enter as I shut the door behind us.
The office sounds disappear instantly.
This part of the penthouse is soundproof. This is where I live when I’m in Manhattan.
My living room is decorated scantily with only two wingback chairs, a sofa, and a coffee table. I will eventually add more, but it hasn’t been a priority. To the left is a kitchen, much smaller than my kitchen in Boston.
“I know you must be tired,” I say to Skye. “I’ll help you get settled in the bedroom, and then I have work to do.”
She nods, her eyes heavy-lidded. She’s exhausted.
So am I, but sleep isn’t on my schedule tonight.
I lead her down a hallway and open the door. She drops her mouth open. New York at night greets us, and it is splendid. I do love floor-to-ceiling windows. I allow myself a second—but only a second—to gape at the beauty.
“Everything you need will be in the bathroom. Help yourself. If you’re hungry or thirsty, the kitchen is stocked.”
“But what about you?” she asks. “It’s the middle of the night. You must be tired, too.”
“Adrenaline,” I say. “This is an important deal. I’ll be fine.”
She nods.
I kiss her forehead. “Get some sleep.” Then I turn and walk out of the bedroom.
I hastily call Anthony.
“Yes?” he says.
“Is my suit ready?”
“Yes. In your office. Will you need my assistance?”
“No thank you. I’ll take care of it.” I slide my card through, and a second later, I’m back in the office portion of the penthouse. I head to my personal office space. Not only does it have a desk, computer, bookshelves, and everything else I need, but it’s also equipped with a large bathroom, including a shower and changing area. I don’t have time for a shower.
My suit, shirt, and tie are hanging on the door, and a pair of freshly shined shoes and black socks sit underneath.
I sigh as I look in the mirror.
I look…
Well, I look like it’s the middle of the night. Inside the cupboard are vasodilating eyedrops. I grab them and drop two into each eye. A few seconds later, I’m visibly refreshed—to someone looking at my eyes, at least. I splash cold water on my face and then spray my cheeks with toner to close the pores. A couple strokes of a brush through my hair.
