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Not like I gave a fuck.
I grabbed my keys and turned to Asher, who stood with his arms crossed, a little lanky but looking way older than his seventeen years.
A smirk lifted the corners of my lips, my good mood bleeding all over my face.
“There’s blood on your Jordans,” I remarked.
Then, I left Asher and his disbelief at the door, descending the elevator into the parking garage and sliding into the back of my Bentley Mulsanne.
The driver took off, always briefed on my itinerary beforehand by Lewis. I skimmed a few business emails on my phone.
One of many Romano-owned businesses in the syndicate included Launder, Inc., the largest chain of laundromats on the East Coast. It started as a single cash business to launder dirty money through and grew into a corporation which grossed over one hundred million dollars last year.
I’d taken over as CEO a few months ago. Elsa didn’t like the hours, but she understood. We made time for dates twice a week, each time a different surprise to make up for all the time I spent working.
The car pulled up to the Empire State Building.
Lewis greeted me instantly, opening the door before the driver could.
His weasel-like face pinched between the eyes. “Mr. Romano—”
Frown lines covered his forehead, but I didn’t have time for his constant worrying. There was always something with him.
I slid out of the car. “Is Elsa here?”
“Yes, but—”
Taking long strides to the entrance, I cut him off. I was already late, thanks to Asher’s impromptu wardrobe change.
“The building has been closed off?”
Lewis heaved out a breath as he struggled to match my pace. “Yes. Mr. Romano, I have—”
We entered the elevator, and I jabbed the button for the top floor. “Are the chefs done preparing the food? Ryker is on time, yes?”
Ever since he’d won Top Chef, he’d been a perpetually late pain in the ass.
“Mr. Romano, I—”
“It’s a yes or no question, Lewis.”
I checked my watch. I’d been late for one of my dates with Elsa before, and she’d looked gutted.
“Yes. But I really have to tell you something.”
The doors to the elevator opened to the top floor, where a little outdoor patio had been set up for my proposal tonight.
I pocketed my phone and stepped out, an apology for being late on my lips when I came face to face with Dad and Elsa.
The New York City backdrop lit up the night, along with a string of lights I’d had Lewis set up. Our dinner sat on the table behind Elsa, untouched and growing colder by the second.
Dad looked unaffected as he saw me, but guilt dripped from Elsa’s widened orbs to the shocked parting of her lips.
She wore the silver Herve Leger bandage dress I’d gotten for her last week, paired with teardrop earrings quadruple the size of the real tear sliding down her cheek.
Her cherry-red hair whipped in the wind, but she did nothing to tame it as she stared at me with those fern-green eyes. Unable to speak.
Dad’s face gave nothing away. He took a step toward me, reached out to pat my shoulder, thought better of it, and straightened the lapels of his suit.
