New York Billionaires Series

“You know exactly the kind of way I mean it in.”

He chuckles. “Yes. I do. I’m pleased with it.”

“You look it, too,” I say.

“Says the woman wearing my shirt and a newly-fucked smile.”

I laugh, covering my face with the wide sleeve. “Guilty.”

“Come on. Eat. There’s good stuff here.”

“Did you buy the entire menu?”

“Pretty much,” he says. “Oh, and there’s ketchup in the fridge if you need sauce.”

I laugh and grab one of the grapes from the fruit plate, tossing it at him. He deflects with a butter knife and shakes his head.

“An animal,” he says. “The younger generations are so uncivilized.”

“I’m still only six years younger than you, kiddo.”

He nods sadly. “And boy does it show.”

I roll my eyes and dig into my food. Happiness is bubbly inside my chest. I’ve become a bottle of champagne. “But you are getting older soon. I did some research on you, after the interview for the company newsletter. Isn’t your birthday next week?”

“You,” he says, “have too good of a memory.”

“So it’s true?”

“What are the big birthday plans? Private plane for your hedge fund friends? Hookers and cocaine? Strippers?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Good morning, Miss Stereotype.”

That makes me laugh. “Sorry.”

“I’ll be working, mostly. Might have dinner with my mother in the evening.” He pauses, like he’s considering something. His voice is measured when he speaks again. “Actually, I’m having some friends over this weekend. There won’t be any hookers or cocaine, I’m afraid, but you’re welcome to come if you’d like.”

My butter knife pauses over the bagel. “To meet your friends?”

His smile turns crooked. “If you want to, yes.”

I nod slowly. “I do. Actually, it would be… I don’t know. But I would, yeah. Except I’m going back to Alrich this weekend.”

“Oh,” he says. “No worries.”

“It’s for my dad’s retirement party. It was booked a long time ago. But I can-”

“Absolutely not,” Carter says. “You’re going.”

“But I’ll miss the strippers emerging from cakes.”

“I’ll pop one in the fridge for you.”

I pretend to wipe sweat from my forehead. “Whew.”

He snorts and reaches across the table for a croissant, like he hasn’t just asked me to meet his friends. Maybe it’s a huge party and I’d barely get two seconds alone with him… but it means a lot, regardless. I wish I wasn’t double-booked.

“We’ll celebrate before,” I say. “On the day.”

He smiles. “We don’t have to do anything special.”Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“Of course we do. I’ll think of something,” I say brightly. “What do you usually do on Sundays?”

“Catch up on work,” he says. “It’s a good day to clear the decks before the week.”

I shake my head at him. “That’s a terrible view of the best day of the week.”

“Using it productively?”

“Yes. You should lounge on the couch or go to a museum. Eat a breakfast like this for a few hours.”

“That’s what you usually do?”

“Well, you’ve seen my kitchen. I rarely have this kind of spread.”

“Kitchen,” he says with a snort.

“Hey,” I warn him. “Be kind.”

Carter rolls his eyes, but he’s amused. “Fine, fine. Your apartment is a palace.”

“That’s right.” I wrap my arms around my raised knee, watching him. My hair is wet down my back and I can feel it leaving damp circles on his fine shirt. “What are we going to do at work?”

His lips twist into a half-smile. “Work, I imagine.”

“It’ll be weird to see you,” I say, “walking down a corridor with Wesley and your other retainers, and not be able to say hi. To know you’re just a few floors above me.”

“My retainers? I’m not a king.”

“You wield about as much power at the Globe , you know. You can make oceans rise and fall with your buyouts, layoffs and re-organizations.”

Carter meets my gaze, and he doesn’t look troubled by my words. But faint color rises on his cheeks. “I suppose, yeah.”

“Does it bother you? Having to make decisions that affect so many people?” I’m genuinely curious about this one. I sometimes spend thirty minutes agonizing over the opening sentence of an article I’m writing. I can’t imagine having to consider firing someone.

He takes a moment to answer. “Yes,” he says finally. “It shouldn’t, perhaps. I know it doesn’t bother my business partners. Two of them, anyway. But it’s still an awful day when you have to look someone in the eye and tell them they’re out of a job.”

I dig my nails into my palm, thinking of the line of people who had been let go during the first few weeks. I’d been so angry, then. Everyone had been angry.