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He worked for my grandmother for years as her right hand man, and when I ran into him on the elevator, I invited him into my office for a quick catch up session.
Marc Vineto may have been at the offices of Carden to visit some old friends, but he left with a job.
He’s my new assistant, and even though he’s got thirty-five years on me, he agreed to take the job. I admit that I’m paying him more than he made before he left the company three years ago, but he’s worth every penny.
He’ll hit the ground running in the morning, and I’ll have an ally with all the insider information that my grandmother kept close to the vest.
I open the door to the penthouse and find a dream in progress.
Sinclair is standing in the middle of the living room dressed in those killer jeans I’ll never get enough of and a tight pink T-shirt with the name of a video game strewn across her chest.
I love that she’s held onto some of the clothing she wore in high school and college.
I’ve done the same, although most of it is back in Santa Fe.
I make a mental note to sneak in a day or two soon to go back there to pack up my life. Manhattan is home now.
“You’re here!” Sinclair shoots me a smile that could melt a ten foot snowman in under twenty seconds flat. It’s that bright, that warm, and that fucking spectacular.
“I am.” I grin. “What’s got you in such a good mood?”
She points toward the dining room table. “Berk called me to his office about an hour ago to give me that.”
I head in that direction and, I’m instantly hit with a swell of pride.
“Jesus, Sin. This is incredible.”
She’s at my side before I realize it. Her fingers skim over the cover of a beautiful book. When her index finger reaches her name, she sighs. “That’s me, Jameson.”
I glance at her face to see a tear streaming down her cheek. “It is.”
Her eyes meet mine. “I wrote this book with Brighton Beck. You know who he is, right?”
“You better believe it.” I laugh. “I bought one of his paintings at auction right before I left New York. It’s in storage in Queens as we speak.”
Her hand reaches to grip my forearm. “Are you serious?”
“Very,” I tell her.
I stop short of explaining that I bought it for her birthday that year. I intended to hang it in my apartment – the apartment I thought I’d share with her after we got married.
“You need to bring it out of storage.” She chuckles. “You should go get it now.”
I take her hand in mine. “You want me to go to Queens and bring it back here?”
She bounces up to her tiptoes to plant a kiss on my chin. “How cool would that be? You can hang it over the fireplace until we…”
Sell.
That’s the missing word that she can’t bring herself to say.
I scratch my eyebrow. “I’ll get it out of storage soon. In the meantime, we can trek down there to visit it.”
A smile slides over her full lips. “Tell me you have it wrapped up in a climate controlled storage facility, Jameson. It’s got to be worth a few hundred thousand dollars.”
That’s a great guess, but she’s undervalued her co-author’s work. The auction was heated because the painting was in demand. I was a man on a mission, though, so I paid what I needed to.
“It’s well taken care of.” I turn to face her. “I want you well taken care of too.”
Her gaze drops to my lips. “Well taken care of in terms of dinner or sex?”
“Both.”
She nods. “I ordered groceries earlier. They were here when I got home, but I don’t think I’m in the mood to eat here.”
“I’m in the mood to eat you.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “No one can accuse you of being subtle.”
I inch closer to her, trailing a fingertip over her bottom lip. “Why be subtle when I want you more than anything? I want to eat your pussy. I need to fuck you hard from behind.”
The tip of her tongue lashes against my finger. “I can’t wait, but…”
“But you want a burger first.”
Her hands leap to cover her face. “Am I that transparent?”
I tug them down and kiss her lips softly. “You’re that hungry. I know how much you like the burgers at Crispy Biscuit unless you prefer we dress up and head over to Axel Tribeca?”
Her gaze drops to my dark blue suit. She tugs on the front of the light blue sweater under my jacket. “I like this look a lot.”
“That’s good to know.”
She looks into my eyes. “How was your day today?”
“Not as good as yours.” I glance at the book again. “The best part of my day is this right here, but I did accomplish something worthwhile. I hired an assistant. It’s a guy who worked for my grandmother. Marc is his name.”
