Twenty-five thousand dollars. Holy shit.
I could pay it all off right now, but…
“Oh, Pappoús. No.” I shake my head. “I can’t. I can’t take that.”
“Take it, kouklaki. You work hard. You’re a good woman, and I’m damn proud of you. Use it for your business, or pay off those damn cards. I don’t care which. Just promise me you won’t let them rack up again.” He wiggles the check at me. “Take it. Before your yiayiá finds out.”
I grip the check between my fingers, meeting his gaze. “Thank you, Pappoús.”
Yeah, no way in hell I’m cashing it.
No matter how tempting it is.
I don’t need a man, or anyone for that matter, to fixmy problems.
“Go aheadand slip into your gown with the ties in the front. Dr. Sawai will be in shortly.”
The nurse leaves and I strip down, tucking my bra and underwear inside my folded clothes.
Why is that a thing? The doctor’s about to shove her hand up all in my business, and I’m worried about my underwear showing?
I laugh to myself, set my clothes on the chair, and grab my phone, pausing when I notice the stack of magazines on the side table. It’s an old edition ofTown & Countryfrom a few months back—and Matt’s on the front cover.
I set my phone aside and pick up the magazine instead. His face stares back at me from beneath the headline,Manhattan’s Most Eligible Bachelors.
Suit. Arms crossed. Grinning. Looking as good as ever.
I never actually read the article. I’d picked it up once at a coffee shop when it first ran, but I was engaged to Richard then and it didn’t feel appropriate.
But I’m not with Richard now.
I hop onto the exam chair and lean back, unfolding the paper blanket and draping it over my legs like it’s going to do anything against the cold. It’s freezing in here.
I flip to page twenty-six and grin. There he is, in all his glory.
Matthew Grayson, 35—Real Estate Magnate, Nightclub Owner, Investor.
And right below the headline—holy shit.
Matt’s still in his suit pants, belt, and jacket, but shirtless.Of course he is.His hands are casually tucked into his pockets, jacket pushed back just enough to frame those abs. Drool-worthy abs, I might add, the kind that make you want to trace every groove with your fingers… and your tongue. A deep V cuts along his hips, tattoos trailing up one side of his chest, just begging to be touched.God, he looks good.
I squeeze my thighs together, praying Dr. Sawai won’t notice or say anything about the sudden rush of heat pooling between them. It’snot like I don’t already know how good Matt looks. I’ve seen him naked more times than I can count. But this? This is another level.
Doesn’t help that I haven’t had sex in months.
I shove the images of him hovering over me, doing what Matt does best, out of my mind and focus on the article. The journalist gives a quick rundown of his life and career before getting to the interview section.
Jessica:What does an average day for you look like?
Matt:Early mornings. Gym. Coffee. Work. Repeat.
Jessica:And what does “work” usually entail?
Matt:Meetings. Travel. Contracts. Lawyers. It varies day to day, but there’s always a dozen more things that need doing.
Jessica:Sounds busy. Tell me you find time for fun in all the chaos.
Matt:(laughs) Of course. I live for the fun—parties, charity events, weekend getaways. But honestly? My favorite weekends are the low-key ones. Football games and brunch with family and friends. Sleeping in.
