Her perfume is subtle, but I catch it the longer I stand there. Clean and floral, with a touch of sweetness beneath. My mind has memorized that scent over the last few months, and every time I smell it, even when she’s gone home for the day and I’m passing her door on my way out, I have to fight myself not to have a physical reaction.
She is infuriating.
She isintoxicating.
But most of all, she is off-limits.
She’s far too young, far too smart, and completely wrong for a man like me.
I’ve spent years perfecting restraint and mastering silence. I have mastered the ability to pursue only women who understand I’m incapable of anything beyond a night or two. I’ve fucked models and women who came packaged in stilettos and the wherewithal to walk away from me easily. I never had to worry about them wanting more.
But April, she is already too much, and I have to see her every goddamn workday.
I turn and step back into my office where I sit and stare at the goddamn email glowing on my screen. I can’t stop my thoughts from going places they shouldn’t.
If I need someone to trust with a future, with legacy, with loyalty…
It wouldn’t be a stranger. It wouldn’t be a model.
It would beher.
I shake the thought loose and close the email before I can get more than two steps down that thought path.
I need to find a proper solution.
One that doesn’t involve bending April Swan over my desk and giving my father his damned heir the old-fashioned way.
Chapter 3
April
My apartment isn’t exactly as glamorous as one would expect from someone working in the fashion world. It’s small, creaky, and smells vaguely like garlic and fish; a favorite dish of my neighbor downstairs. The radiators hiss like angry cats and the bathroom door doesn’t close completely unless you kick it, but it’s mine. My very own quaint one-bedroom in Inwood. It’s still in Manhattan, but far enough away from the chaos.
I’m curled up on the battered vintage sofa I found on the sidewalk three months ago. I couldn’t walk away from it. The too-soft, too-ugly brown upholstery screamed my name from a block away when I’d spotted it. It doesn’t match the painted pink, secondhand bookshelves on either side of my television, or the multi-colored Christmas lights I have hanging up. Everything in my little apartment matches perfectly with my mismatched pajama shorts and oversized t-shirt withI’M ALWAYS RIGHTwritten across it in swooping letters above a right-facing arrow, a ridiculous Christmas gift from Nicky last year.
Me:
Ugh, I swear to GOD I almost told him to shove his cufflinks up his ass today
I send the text and shove a spoonful of peanut butter into my mouth at the same time. Her response comes seconds later, my phone chirping in my hand.
Nicky:
what did the ice king do now??
wait, wait, wait, don’t answer that yet; let me get a glass of wine
give me thirty seconds
I snort and let the spoon linger on my tongue, biting down with my teeth as I type out my reply.
Me:
He told me my press release was “fine”
Which is basically just his version of spitting in my face
Nicky:
