I’m not usually punctual. Five minutes late is my version of being on time. But tonight, for the first time I can remember, I was ready two minutes early.
The car that picked me up had tinted windows. It was luxury-grade, just like the one that drove us from the club that night, and the driver offered me complete silence.
We were never rich, but we lived well. And after my parents died, I guess that “well” turned into very well, since the apartment my brother gave me cost a fortune.
Even after buying my current place in full, what was left from selling the old one could keep me financially secure for life—if I lived modestly.
When I used to think of Lucifer, back before our encounter at Vanity about two months ago, I saw him as the poor boy my family had taken in.
Now, though, riding in this luxury car and remembering how he was dressed the night we… what?Hooked up? Made out?
I don’t really have a word for what happened, because the ending—me literally passing out from a mix of alcohol and orgasm—was so pathetic I’m embarrassed to even name it.
The man of my dreams gives me an orgasm and I faint at his feet.
Okay, setting the humiliation aside, that night I realized Lucifer isn’t just well off.
He is filthy rich.
I can’t decide if I want to know what he does for a living, or if I’d rather stay blissfully ignorant. At this point, what does it matter? I gave up on the fantasy.
The entire ride, wherever we’re going, I keep reminding myself of that.
The only reason I’m going to this dinner is curiosity.
And if that’s all it is, why is my heart racing now that the car’s stopped?
Because you missed him,I tell myself quickly.
There’s nothing wrong with that. He’s my last real link to childhood. It’s only natural that I’d miss him.
The car door opens, and as I step out, I’m stunned to see two other cars filled with bodyguards surrounding mine. At least half a dozen men get out.
And that’s when it hits me: I no longer have any idea who the man I fell in love with as a teenager really is.
While I was busy not living—clinging to the crumbs he tossed my way, feeling his presence shadowing me—he was out building his life.
A wave of nausea hits me so hard I almost lose my balance.
Building his life?
God… could he have a wife? A family?
Chapter 16
I walk into the building, which looks more like a warehouse from the outside, with a knot in my throat.
I know I have no right. Lucifer was never anything more than a protector to me, except in my stupid, delusional mind.
The men who got out of the cars escort me all the way to the elevator, which looks more like a freight lift. If I wasn’t absolutely sure who was waiting for me—the man I’ve placed my blind faith in—I might even think I was being kidnapped.
The elevator jerks to a stop, and the doors, which open horizontally, split in opposite directions—one rising, the other lowering.
Seconds later, they shut again. When the men don’t reappear beside me, I understand they’re gone.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t to lose my breath when I see him standing in front of me.
I’m a specialist in this man. I loved him in secret for ten years—nearly half my life—so it takes me only a few seconds to scan him from head to toe.
