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“Really? And just what would he expect in return for his rent money?”
“Not much. Just your body every second of every day.”
“Hmm, my landlord sounds like a greedy fellow.”
Nash smiled. “Very greedy. And if I’m going to want to see you every second of every day, maybe we should think about changing our living arrangements.”
There was a long pause. “Are you talking about moving in together, Nash?”
Was he? He hadn’t planned on talking about it, but now that he was, it felt right. “It only makes sense,” he said. “Your place is too small for one person, let alone two. And I’m getting pretty sick of everything in my house being covered in Grayson’s paint smudges.” There was another long pause that had him fidgeting in his chair. “Look, it’s not a big deal. If you don’t want to—”
She cut him off. “I want to be with you, Nash. It’s just that… well, my parents live together, but they’re not married. And while they love each other and gave me a wonderful life, I’m a little more old-fashioned.”
Nash sat up. “Are you proposing to me, Eden?”
“No! I’m just saying that I don’t want to live with a man unless we’re married—not that you and I are going to get married.” Nash could almost see her hands waggling as she talked. “I would never presume such a thing. I just wanted you to know that it’s not because I don’t want to be with you. It’s just because I don’t want our children feeling bad because we’re not—oh God, I’m really screwing this up.”
How the conversation had moved from living with each other to marriage and children, Nash didn’t know. Nor did he understand the feeling of overwhelming happiness that seemed to fill every cell in his body. “Okay then,” he said, “absolutely no children or living together until after we’re married.”
Her breath released through the receiver. “Until after?”
“Until after.” He couldn’t stop grinning. “Now where are you? I want to see you.”
“I thought you were working.”
He got up from the chair. “What’s the use in being the boss if you can’t take off when you want to? Besides, if you’re going to finish the half marathon, we need to run today. I have to swing by my house and change, and then I’ll be over. We can run and then go back to my house for dinner. What do you want me to make?”
“You are actually asking me, Mr. Bossy Pants? And what if I don’t want to run?”
“That’s even better.”
She laughed. “We’ll run. And I like anything but couscous.”
The little corner market that Nash stopped by on the way home was run by a German couple who were always friendly and helpful. Although today seemed to be the exception. As soon as Nash stepped in the door, the woman turned hostile. She didn’t return his greeting, and when he grabbed one of the hand baskets and started shopping, she watched his every move as if he intended to shoplift something from her store. After he had picked out some potatoes and a loaf of French bread, he headed to the butcher counter, where he found the woman speaking to her husband in a voice loud enough for Nash to hear.
“I don’t care how good of a customer he is,” she hissed. “I don’t want his kind in my store.” When her husband glanced up and saw Nash listening, there was nothing for him to do except address the situation.
“Is there a problem?” Nash asked.
“You know what the problem is,” the woman said before she stomped back to the front register. The man seemed to be less hostile and more embarrassed. He just stood there with a red face until Nash placed his order.
“Two rib eyes, please. Bone in.”
The man pulled the steaks from the case and quickly wrapped them in white butcher paper. Once they were wrapped, he glanced back at his wife, who was now busy with a customer, and quickly motioned for Nash to step behind the counter.
“I remember what it’s like to be a foolish young man,” he said as he took the basket from Nash. He placed the items in a plastic bag along with the steaks before handing them back. “But women, they don’t understand these things. So it might be better for both of us if you go out the back door.”
“I’m sorry,” Nash said, “but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The man looked as confused as Nash felt. “You haven’t seen the article in the newspaper?”
“What article?”
After glancing at his wife, the man waved at Nash to follow him. Behind the swinging door was the butcher shop, where a guy in a blood-splattered white apron was carving a side of beef. The storeowner led Nash to a trash can. He dug through the trash and pulled out a crumpled newspaper. He thumbed to the second page before handing it to Nash.
“At least you didn’t make the front page.”
A bad feeling settled in Nash’s stomach. It grew when he saw the picture of him with Melissa at prom. Above the picture was the headline:SECRETS OF A PANTY BILLIONAIRE. Nash should’ve felt shocked. He didn’t. With his high profile, the truth about the rape charges was bound to get out. In fact, he was surprised that it hadn’t gotten out sooner.
