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I snatched the box from her. “None of your fucking business. Now get out!”
Her perfectly plucked brows furrowed. “Hey, I could have let Sasha steal it last night while you were passed out.”
“Then Sasha would have been charged with grand larceny.”
While she studied the facets of the diamond, memories of last night came flooding back to me. Yes, there were Sasha and Taylor, and shots, and then more shots, then a hot tub.
“It’s worth that much?”
“Yes.”
My resolve for her to leave weakened. I was sure as hell not getting anything other than a kiss from Rebecca before our wedding night. She made that quite clear.
“Do you want company in the shower?” She stepped towards me and brushed her surgically enhanced breasts against my bare chest. My cock stirred. She started to grin.
“Leave.” I stepped back.
“How am I supposed to get home?” She placed a hand on her slender hip.
“The same way you got here.”
“You drove me.”
I picked up my phone and dialed my driver, Albert. At this point in my life, Albert was my best friend and closest confidante.
After ten years together, he knew everything about me: from when I got food poisoning at Soho House to when I ended up on a Mardi Gras float for Jack Daniels. In fact, he probably knew too much.
“There’s a young woman who needs a ride home. Make arrangements for her.”
“Yes, sir.”
I tossed the phone on the bed. “There, you’ve got a ride home.” I gestured towards the double doors of my bedroom. “Get dressed and get out.”
Taylor glared daggers in my direction as she scrounged for her sundress on my bedroom floor. “I thought older guys were supposed to be gentlemen.”
“You picked the wrong guy.”
“Jerk.” She slipped on her dress and heels. “I’m hungry. Can’t you at least make me breakfast?”
“This isn’t a fucking hotel.” I walked to the front of the room and opened the double doors. I could see Albert waiting patiently down the hall. “Albert will make sure that you have a ride home.”
“Fine. Lose my number, asshole.” She left the room without a second glance in my direction.
I brushed it off and made my way to the shower.
Once I showered, I changed into a fresh suit. I made my way down the hall to the dining room, praying that Taylor had already left and that she didn’t break anything on her way out.
Already, I could smell sizzling bacon. A plate waited for me on the solid oak dining table.
The vintage table was decorated with intricate carvings on the sides and legs. The dining room walls were painted robins-egg blue. Overall, the dining room was much calmer than the rest of my austere apartment. A watercolor painting of cherry blossom trees hung above the fireplace in the corner.
“Good morning, Mr. Steele,” Ms. Booth said as I took my seat at the table. Ms. Booth was in her mid-sixties, her long, silver hair tied in a neat ponytail at the nape of her neck. She wore a simple black polo and slacks. While I didn’t require my staff to wear uniforms, Ms. Booth liked to keep her wardrobe consistent.
I grunted in response.
The best thing about Ms. Booth was that, after spending five years working as my personal chef, she no longer attempted to make small talk other than saying hello. She poured me a cup of coffee with a silent smile and nodded.
I glanced out the window at downtown Boston, noting the gleaming skyscrapers that dotted the city’s skyline. The morning light cast a warm glow over the buildings. It was breathtaking.
