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“You vixen. I love it.”
The elevator stopped at the lobby, and we walked out.
“See ya tomorrow at lunch,” Andrew said with a wave. “I want all the juicy details.”
Steven and I held our champagne flutes in the air, unable to take our eyes off each other in the private dining room at Logaro’s, which we had officially named our favorite restaurant, and not because the food was divine, even though it totally was.
“Mon étoile,you have been my true north, my guiding star, leading me out of the darkness, brightening my life, filling my soul with love and purpose. I love you, Laura. Happy anniversary.”
“And to you, my Steven, your love, loyalty, and devotion have taught me that I can let myself trust again, and that I don’t have to sacrifice who I am or spend my life alone. I love you, Steven.”
We clinked our glasses and sipped our drinks. The bubbles tickled my throat.
“Before I forget,” Steven said, “we’re not having our usual Sunday dinner at Aunt Mable’s this weekend. She and Uncle Harold are going on a cruise for their fiftieth wedding anniversary.”
“Good for her. I was worried you were working her too hard at your new company.”
“Don’t be absurd. I never work anyone too hard.” A smirk curling his lips.
“I guess workaholism is a family trait then.”
The server brought us dessert and asked if we needed anything else.
“No, thank you,” said Steven. “And we don’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the evening.”
“Of course, sir.” The man closed the doors to the private dining room and locked it.
Steven fed me a chocolate-covered strawberry, his smirk widening. “Do these strawberries remind you of something? Should we recreate our acts of love from New Year’s Eve?”
“Why do you think I didn’t wear any underwear tonight?”
His mouth hung open, and hunger flared in his eyes. “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.” He lunged across the table, and his lips claimed mine. Scooping me up in his arms, he carried me to the couch on the private balcony where, just a few months ago, we expressed our love and passion for each other through the language of touch.
1 year later.
Ifidgeted from one foot to the other in the lobby of Steven’s condo. Earlier that day, professional movers had moved four boxes containing all my belongings into Steven’s penthouse. No matter how many times I had insisted that we could do it ourselves, Steven didn’t want me to lift a finger and had insisted on hiring the best movers in Manhattan. The look of disbelief on their faces would have been hilarious, had I not been so mortified for them to see how little I had.
Steven slid his arm around my shoulders. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
I squeezed his hand. “No, of course not.”
I wasn’t. Because I had proven to myself that I didn’t need him or his money.
Despite what my apartment—correction, former apartment—looked like, I wasn’t poor anymore, and it wasn’t because of Steven’s money. I had made it. Pursued my career and started raking in the big bucks.
As soon as I had finished my internship, every investment firm in the city had lined up to recruit me. I had made a name for myself on Wall Street as the most sought after, up-and-coming analyst. At first, I was worried it was because of my relationship with Steven, but I kicked my insecurities in the ass and reminded myself that as an intern, I had outperformed most of the top analysts and traders at Wealth Asset Group. My year-end bonus had been huge, and I quickly invested it, multiplying my portfolio.
People saw my value. The value of my mind, my abilities, and my skills. The perfect “fuck you” to my university professors and anyone else in my past who hadn’t believed in me.
I squeezed my Chanel purse. The one I had bought for myself. With my money.
Sure, Steven had showered me with countless gifts over the last year. More than I could fit in my apartment, so I had kept them at his place. Even before the move, I had more clothes, jewels, shoes, and books at his place than at mine.
But now I could afford to treat myself to designer stuff here and there. But I was still thrifty. You never knew what the future would bring. Better to save and invest. I wouldn’t rely on Steven’s billions. Or on him. My plans hadn’t changed. I would still become a legend on Wall Street and make my fortune, except now I had the most amazing, wonderful, and hunky man at my side.
So, why was I nervous to move in with him?
The elevator doors opened, and we stepped in. Steven pressed the button for the penthouse, and the doors slid closed. “Laura, are you sure everything is ok?”
