Playboy Prince

"How about brunch Sunday?" he asks. "The three of us."

"Absolutely," Liam says. "I'll find someplace that works for all of us. Right, baby?"

"Right."

He takes my hand.

Preston steps into the hallway. Motions after you.

He watches us leave. Stays there, upstairs.

I guess it's his house. And he's older. I'm twenty-four and I'm already partied out.

But then, a lot of that is Liam.

The most difficult man in the world escorts me through the party. He nods goodbye to friends and family, gathers our coats, leads me straight to the ride share he summoned for the two of us.

"You're not coming up," I say.

Liam chuckles. "I didn't think I was."

"You're going home after this?"

"Yeah." Liam nods to the driver. "Two stops. It's a thing now."

"And you're trying to save?"

"I'm a gentleman."

"You are not," I say.

"When have I ever not been a gentleman?"

"When you told Mr. Charles you were going to show me the meaning of generosity. Five minutes ago."

Liam chuckles true, but it's still missing something. He's not his usual impossible to ruffle self.

The car pulls onto Broadway. We drive past the lights of Times Square, the quiet skyscrapers of midtown, the NYU flags lining the village, the closing storefronts of Chinatown.

All the way to the Financial District. To the very expensive building where I live in a very small apartment.

"You should stay at my place," Liam says. "There's plenty of room. And if Preston drops by…"

"I haven't said yes."

"You shook."

"That was before I saw Preston." And all the hope in his eyes. "I don't know if I can lie to him."

Liam's face deflates. There's something there. Something more than him wanting his mentor to move in peace. "Sleep on it. That's all I ask."

"Really? That's all you ask?"

"Scout's honor."

This time, I laugh. "I know how that one goes."

"Simon is the kinky one."

"But you still know your way around a knot."

"Whatever you want, baby. You know that." He winks. It's charming, but it's missing his usual spark. "I aim to please. Ask anyone."

"Any random person?"

"Yeah. They know."

"I probably have a one in three. If I ask a random woman in the city."

"One in two." He opens the door. Helps me out. Motions one minute to the driver and walks me to the door. "Whatever you want… name it. I'll make it happen."

Chapter Four

Briar

Ah, home sweet home.

All four hundred square feet.

I leave my boots by the door. Walk past the bathroom—attached to the hallway—and the kitchen—actually in the hallway—to the tiny main room.

Bed on the left. Desk on the right. Just enough floor space for a yoga mat between them.

And the balcony, a little bigger than a yoga mat, with a view of the other side of Wall Street. If I step outside, and really strain, I can see the water.

The sky is dark. Well, dark by New York City standards. It isn't like home. Even with all the light pollution of Los Angeles—I grew up in the scorching hot suburbs—the sky was dark at night. Blue-black. Deep enough to see stars.

I had to go out to the desert to see a sky full of them, but on an average night, I could sit on my bed, stare out the window, find Orion's Belt, imagine the other constellations.

There was something comforting about the stars. A grandness to the universe. This knowledge there was life out there, somewhere. Different people, different thoughts, different values.

A world where parents didn't fight. And moms didn't lock themselves in their bedrooms to cry. And dads didn't make weak excuses about business trips and working weekends.

What would my father say if he heard I was getting married?

Would he congratulate me? Or warn me to run the other way, because all men are cheating bastards like him?

I sit on my twin bed. Fall onto the cool cotton comforter. It's spring now. The weather is unpredictable. Some days, the sky is heavy with dark clouds. Others, it's light and clear.

Thankfully, my apartment is well insulated. We didn't have air-conditioning when I was a kid. All summer, the house was sweltering. All summer, I waited for the sun to fall and the sky to darken. The temperature swings wildly in Southern California.

Here, the humidity holds in the heat. Summer nights offer relief from the rays of the sun, sure, but there's no drop in temperature.

Only my sweet air conditioner.

And sometimes a little too much gin at a rooftop bar.

My eyes close. My thumb goes to the ring on my left hand. My thoughts go to Liam. The night last August. The work party. Everyone else left—I'm his assistant, so I stay as long as he does—and we were tired and hot.

He dared me to jump into the rooftop pool.

I dared him back.

Of course he did. He took off his watch, left his cell on a high table, and he jumped into the water in his suit.