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“And you walked away fromthat? All that hotness and money, too?” She shakes her head. “You’re nuts.”
I shrug as I sip my water. “I was afraid if I stayed with him, his grandfather would follow through on his threat to disinherit him. I could never live with myself if I let that happen.”
“You loved him.” Lauren nods. “I get it. I think you were stupid, but I get it. Do you still love him?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. I pause, letting that sink in. It looks like my head has finally caught up with my heart.
“So, how long is your boyfriend planning to stay?”
I smile hearing Connor referred to as my boyfriend again. That’s going to take some getting used to.
After lunch, we head back to the office. I force myself to stop thinking about Connor and focus on my work. Half an hour later, I break down and call him.
“Hey, Ken,” he says as he picks up the phone. “How’s your day going?”
“Fine. How’s yours?” I can hear noises in the background—hushed conversations, a phone ringing.
“Good. I’ve been sightseeing. I visited Time Square, the Empire State Building, and the Statue of Liberty. All the touristy must-see spots. I feel enlightened already.”
Smiling, I bite back a laugh. “I’m glad you’re having fun.”
“I’d have a lot more fun if you were with me, but I’m making do. Honestly, I’m just killing time until I see you again. I’m looking forward to dinner. I made reservations at a place I think you’ll love.”
“Wonderful. I can’t wait to see you.” I lower my voice. “I’m finding it hard to concentrate on my work, and it’s all your fault. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
He chuckles. “Good. I want you to keep thinking about me. Think about all the things I want to do to you tonight.” He clears this voice. “I’ll stop by at five to collect you. Until then.”
“Bye, Connor.” I hate hanging up. It’s really starting to sink in. Connor’shere. He’s here in my city, and already I’m missing him and counting the minutes until I see him again.
Chapter 23
Connor Murphy
After Kennedy ends our call, I slip my phone back into my pocket. “So, where were we?” I ask George Sanderson, of Sanderson Property Development, Inc. “Ah, yes, the block of flats you recently purchased in Brooklyn, 210 Normandy Lane.”
I’m sitting in Mr. Sanderson’s fancy high rise office. As soon as Joyce e-mailed me his name and contact information, I made an appointment to see the man.
“Thewhat?” he asks, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“Oh, sorry. You Americans call it anapartment building.”
“What about it?” Sanderson asks.
“George—may I call you George?”
The man nods.
“Excellent. I know you bought the building from a Mr. Leroy Brown for six million. I’d like to offer to take the property off your hands.”
George shakes his head. “I’m not interested in selling. It’s a prime location.”
“I’ll give you twice what you paid for it.”
Sanderson laughs. “You can’t be serious. It’s not worth that much.”
I shrug. “That’s beside the point. What do you say to my offer?”
Sanderson’s eyes narrow as he looks me over. “If you’re willing to pay twelve, I’m guessing you’ll pay fifteen just as easily.”
