But something about her keeps pulling me back. Maybe it’s the way she loves those abandoned dogs. Or the fact that she’s always loyal and sweet to Georgia. Or maybe it’s that she doesn’t seem dazzled by my bank account or connection to the all-important Ted Lasker. When she looks at me, I’m just a guy named Nicholas who happens to be her best friend’s older brother and volunteers at the animal shelter. It’s incredibly liberating and flattering to be judged for the way I am, rather than what I have or who I know.
She bites her lip. “I don’t know…”
“I wasn’t kidding when I said you could have a wing to yourself. The place is huge—lots of bedrooms, all fully furnished. And you don’t want to be on the streets because of a shitty ex. Consider it a birthday present. My home is your home.”
She mulls it over.Come on, Molly. Haven’t I proven myself to be a decent guy? Surely she doesn’t suspect I’m going to do something like jump her. I want her, but I’d never do anythingshedidn’t want.
Finally, she nods. “Okay. Thanks, Nicholas.”
I smile in triumph and relief. I open the passenger door to my car and let her slide in, then get behind the wheel. It’s a brand-new Spectre, and I’m happy I brought it out of the garage as she runs her hand along the leather interior.
“Wow. This is so nice,” she says.
Her reaction reminds me of the adorable drunken admiration she expressed for my Aston Martin on the night she turned twenty-one. It’s too bad she doesn’t remember anything from that time.
“It’s a fun car to drive.” I wish we had the kind of relationship where I could buy her one and she’d just accept it. But she freaked out over an anklet. And not even a diamond anklet—one with garnets. She’d flip if I gave her a car worth over $400k.
Even though she deserves it.
She has no idea the kind of things I want to lay at her feet.
As I maneuver through the traffic, tension starts to gather in the base of my neck. My place is a huge mansion with all the amenities, but it isn’t really done to my tastes or wishes. I bought it three years ago for Mom, who desperately wanted a house in Los Angeles, then spent a year having it renovated to her specifications—only to have her tell me she didn’t really want to live there anymore. She’d already bought a penthouse in Denver to reside in with Paul, and she’d found a place to rent in L.A. when she wanted to spend some time in the city.
“You told me you didn’t like your home. So sell it and move into the new place,” she said, like that was enough to acknowledge all the work I’d put in for her.
I didn’t respond, but went ahead and moved in, since my old place had never felt like home. The mansion doesn’t feel much like home, either, but at least it’s newer. And the pool is bigger.
I slide the car past the double gates, then speed along the driveway that winds through the huge garden and a garish plastic-gem-studded marble statue of Poseidon holding a trident. Lights at the base of the monstrosity make the thing even more hideous in the dark. It looks like something a bunch of drunk frat boys stole from Las Vegas.
Molly gapes at the mythic figure. “It’s so…um…”
“Ridiculous, I know.” I laugh. “It was a gag gift from my brothers for my ‘housewarming’ party.” They knew why I ended up with this mansion, and they were sympathetic. But that didn’t mean they were going to miss an opportunity to rag me. And I wouldn’t expect anything less.
She turns to me. “You like it?”
“I told them I’d keep it in the garden before I realized what it was. At first, I hated it, but it’s grown on me.” They also wanted to ensure Mom wouldn’t change her mind—again—about not wanting the mansion after I moved in. “You should see his eyes in the morning. They burn red.”
She giggles. “Why would a god of the sea have burning red eyes?”
“To shoot waterproof lasers with? I don’t know. But you can’t really see it once you’re past the driveway, so it’s not too much of an eyesore if you’re looking out from the house.” It is, however, enough of one that Mom will never ask me to give the mansion back. “You can see the rest of the garden in the morning if you want. I have acacia and lilac.”
“Ooh, they smell so good.”
“Lisianthus and sweet pea, too.”
“They’re my favorites!” A tinge of excitement sizzles underneath her voice, making me smile. “Your garden must be amazing.”
“There’s a gazebo where you can see it and read or relax. There are a couple of rocking chairs and a swing.”
“That sounds heavenly.”
I smile at her enthusiasm. The acacia and lilac were planted at Mom’s request, but the lisianthus and sweet peas—and the gazebo—were additions I made to the place after moving in. Molly mentioned how much she loved those flowers during our time at the shelter, and so I planted some. “We can rig up a hammock out there if that’s more your thing.”
“No,” she says. “They look so relaxing in pictures, but I can never get out of one without landing on my face.”
It’s comical how aggravated she sounds. But good that she isn’t crying over her breakup with Owen. As much as he didn’t deserve her, she probably feels some pain over it. When Georgia broke up with her boyfriend—and she dumped him—she was so depressed that I had to lend her my black AmEx so she could give herself some retail therapy. “There’s a trick to it,” I say. “I’ll show you later.”
I pull into the garage and kill the engine. Before I can get around to the other side of the car, she hops out. Like it never entered her mind I might want to open the door for her.
