Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“Oh, one of those things,” a voice says knowledgeably.
I don’t feel any need to explain what this means to Simon and me. I know that these necklaces signify our love, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks or knows about it.
It’s for us.
“All right, I’m feeling a bit third-wheelish now,” Molly says, drawing my attention. “You two go on and celebrate doggy style. Menage e trois with my bestie has never been my thing. I’m going to eat my weight in cheese, drink another sangria, and then go upstairs to collapse. Jet lag is a bigger bitch than Jaqueline. I’ll probably order a huge room service breakfast in the morning, too.” She looks at Simon as she says that, and I ping-pong between them again in confusion until she explains, “I’m here on Money Bags’s dime. I’m staying in style tonight—king-size bed, private balcony, view of Times Square. I’m not as easy as you are.” She says it with a grin, and I know there’s something else she’s about to add. “Probably because I didn’t get the whole three-plus orgasm treatment in Paris.”
Simon looks at me with wide eyes. “What all did you tell her?”
“Not everything,” I say pointedly.
But that only makes Molly more curious. “We’ll come back to that another time. For real, get out here, you lovebirds. Go smack each other’s asses or something.”
She waves her hand, dismissing us, but before I go, I lean down and give her a big hug. “Thanks. For everything.”
As Simon leads me out of the lounge, I hear Molly behind us shout, “One round of champagne for everyone in honor of love!” There’s a cheer around us as people raise their glasses at us as we make our escape.
Outside, I laugh. “You know she’s going to put that on your tab, right?”
Simon shrugs. “You own my heart, but I fear Molly has her hands on my wallet until she checks out of the hotel.”
He flags down a taxi and tells the driver an address I don’t know. When I look at him curiously, he explains, “There’s something I want to show you.”
I laugh. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line, now that we’re in my city? It’s my turn to show you around.” Simon puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes, and I realize what he means. “Oh, did you mean you want to show me your dick?”
I forget to ask more questions because Simon weaves his hand into my hair, gripping it tightly by my scalp, and kisses me passionately. Suddenly, New York City seems like the best place ever, as long as I can stay at Simon’s side.
CHAPTER 28
SIMON
We’re outside what looks like a normal New York City building, a few doors down from a parking garage, and in the other direction is a Taco Bell. But in front of us is a steel roll-down gate secured with a padlock.
“What’s this?” Autumn asks. “I thought we’d go to a hotel.”
“Patience,” I assure her, taking a key out of my pocket. I unlock the gate and roll it up, then unlock the door to lead her inside. At the end of the short entrance hallway is a cargo elevator, where I take Autumn up to the third floor. “We’re here.”
I flip on the lights, revealing the wide-open space. It’s bare, concrete, and large, at least a hundred and fifty square meters, with zero charisma or appeal beyond its location.
Autumn lifts an eyebrow. “Okay, we’re here. What is it?”
“The future home of Autumn Fisher Designs,” I announce without preamble. “What do you think?”
“What? I . . . but . . . but how?” She’s stuttering as she examines the studio, completely in shock. “What?”
“I left House Corbin.” Her eyes lock onto me, and she opens her mouth as though she’s about to argue, so I keep going before she can have a chance. “I couldn’t stay after Jacqueline pulled that stunt, but beyond that, it opened my eyes to the truth. I was never going to have an opportunity to fully grow there. I’m Jacqueline’s nephew and will always be seen as such, and nothing more, no matter what I do.”
“You quit House Corbin?” She’s several steps behind me, still processing my explanation, but she’ll catch up. I know she will.
“This space is the start of your dream . . . my dream . . . our dream.”
She stares at me vacantly, blinking slowly until she echoes, “Our dream?”
“From here, you can show the world your creative genius. You’re going to help women feel beautiful—no matter their size, shape, or abilities. We can be all-inclusive. And we’re going to do it right by being a hand up for small manufacturers who are paying a living wage, supporting their workers’ health, maybe even giving people a second chance at a job. With your design skills, my business skills, and the connections we already have, we can make it. We’re going to be the good in a difficult, dirty industry.”