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“Oh, you’re into older women.”
He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “Sophia.”
“Too bad I’m not much of a cougar.”
“Maybe not,” he says, “but you have the attitude of one.”
“I do?”
“Definitely. It’s what attracted me from the get-go.”
I chuckle. “Right, when I was running and crying. My fiercest moment, for sure.”
“You were beautiful,” he says, “even if it didn’t feel right to think that at the time, given your emotions.”
I roll my eyes. “Now you’re just flattering me.”
“I did think it.” He reaches over and takes my hand, resting against my dress. It’s patterned chiffon in burgundy hues, perfect for fall. “It’s not every day stunning women run into me headfirst.”
“With tears streaming down their face,” I say.
“No, that happens even less.” His hand tightens around mine. “Once is enough.”
The car finally pulls to a stop outside a townhouse on the Upper East Side, on a tree-lined street. The house in question is larger than most on the street. It must have been two originally, now converted and integrated, and from the half-open door I can hear music.
The Winters’ annual fall party, apparently, is not so much an intimate gathering as an exclusive catered event.
“They do this every fall?”
“Every last week of September, like clockwork,” he murmurs. “It’s the end of summer and back to the city party. The fireplaces will probably be lit.”
“That sounds cozy.”
“It is,” he agrees, and rests a hand on my lower back. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Thank you for coming with me.”
“Anytime,” I murmur, and find that I mean it.
An attendant, equipped with an earpiece and a clipboard, opens the door to us with a smile. No names needed.
The inside is a study in old money luxury. The foyer is beautifully decorated and minimalist, from the wooden double staircases to the antique brass chandelier, and infused with understated elegance. It wouldn’t surprise me if the stone tiles were sourced from France, the chandelier from Italy, the staircase railings from a crumbling castle in Spain.
“This house,” I say, “is stunning.”
“It’s my mother’s pride and joy,” Isaac says. “Come, let me introduce you to some people.”
“I thought your networking philosophy was to let people come to you?”
He chuckles. “Yes, but I won’t be networking so much here as socializing. There’s a difference.”
“You’re on home turf tonight?”
“Exactly. I have the advantage here.” He leads us through a large sitting room, past people who nod and watch us politely. Soft music plays throughout the beautiful rooms and there’s a delicious scent hanging in the air, of good food mingled with crackling wood and scented candles.
Isaac and I end up in the ivy-covered backyard. Greenery and high walls keep out any curious eyes. Two infrared heaters keep the beautifully landscaped area warm enough for guests, but they don’t have to work too hard, with the amount of people out here warming it up.
“This is incredible,” I say, awe in my voice. “I can’t believe places like this exist in the city.”
“Say that to my mom later, and she’ll love you forever.”
