I’m fooling myself of course. Remy Jones is everything I ever wanted. I thought that I could play this how Mom suggested, ask her what she needs, and give her everything while maintaining a safe distance. But that isn’t how this works.
I fill a crystal tumbler with brandy and down it in one. Repeat the process. I take the third glass and stand in front of the living room windows overlooking the city below. Lights are still blinking across the city. The subways are still open. Buildings are still aglow. My casino is still open for business. It’s the city that never sleeps after all.
But there’s a certain stillness in the air that belongs to the dead of night.
A time for slowing down. A time to rest. A time for reflection.
Only I feel as though my energy reserves have been drained and I’m running on empty. Ironic given that I’m the CEO of a prestigious casino and hotel resort in the heart of Manhattan. If my staff could see me now…
A sound from the kitchen causes me to turn around.
My breath hitches somewhere inside my chest when I find Remy standing in front of the refrigerator with the door open and her back to me. She’s wearing a thick white robe from the poolside cabana, her feet and legs are bare, and her hair is piled on top of her head and twisted into a knot. I didn’t know she was still here. When I left them in the living room, I stood under the steaming shower in my ensuite until my thoughts stopped hammering my skull, pulled on some sweatpants and listened to an old Neil Diamond album on my sound system.
When I came back through, they were gone.
She takes a carton of fresh orange juice from the fridge and fills a tall tumbler from the cupboard. She leans back against the counter and sips the juice. Eyes down, she hasn’t noticed me yet.
I should announce my presence; I don’t want her to think that I get my kicks from stalking her. But this moment feels precious. Something I should hold onto, a small treasure to tuck safely away inside my heart, never to be repeated.
Remy is still in the first trimester, but pregnancy suits her. Her cheeks are rosy, her skin is glowing, and I can see the swell of her breasts beneath the robe. My eyes track to the dip between her collarbones visible above the collar. What I wouldn’t give to kiss that spot right now. I can already see her with her head tipped backwards, gripping the counter, while the robe falls apart.
I must groan out loud at the mental image because she glances up at me with wide eyes. “Bash?” She blinks to make sure that she isn’t imagining me. Or maybe she’s confusing me with my brother. It’s a sobering thought. “I didn’t know you were there. Did I… Did I wake you?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
I join her in in the kitchen. I top up her glass and fill a second glass with orange juice. No point trying to sleep now.
“Bash, I… I want you to know that… I never meant for any of this to happen.”
She is apologizing when I was the one who accused her of working for her ex.
“You don’t have to explain. I was a fucking idiot, Remy.” I guzzle orange juice and track the chilled liquid as it goes down.
“When?”
I can’t help smiling. “When I let you walk out of my life. I should’ve followed you. I could’ve found you, but I talked myself out of it. Convinced myself that it was a one-off, that you’d takeone look at me pouring my heart out and laugh about it with your friends later.”
“Egos can have that effect.” She shrugs.
“What would you have done if I’d come to college and told you how I felt?”
“Depends on what you were going to say.”
Here’s my shot. My chance to say it once and then shut it down if she tells me that she fell for Cash first.
“I’ve never met anyone like you. I didn’t think that women like you existed.” I tug the knot in her hair free, and damp stringy strands tumble over her shoulders.
“You mean women who don’t mind standing barefoot in your kitchen with no makeup on and a sudden craving for asparagus spears.”
“You want asparagus spears?” I can’t tell if she’s joking or not.
“Sure, why not.” There’s a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Show me what you can do, Bastien Murray.”
She’s mocking me. She knows that all I have to do is make a phone call. It’s hardly a superpower, and Remy Jones isn’t the kind of woman to be impressed by personal waiter service, but I slide my cell out of my pocket anyway.Whatever she wants. You go out there, and you make her life as fucking comfortable as possible.My mom’s voice plays inside my head like an advertisement jingle.
I hold her gaze when I speak to the restaurant manager. “Can I get asparagus spears sent up to my apartment?”
I end the call and pocket my phone. I can’t be certain, but it feels as if the distance between us has shrunk. I can smell chlorine in her hair, I can see the freckles at the corner of her eye, I watch her chest rising and falling with each breath.
