Everything About You

I considered this another step forward. I needed to keep him talking. As an experienced journalist and newscaster, asking questions was my forte. But I decided to throw softball questions at him so he wouldn’t shut me out. “Is this your largest?”

“No.”

“Then why do you live here?”

Whether he realized it or not, I was also engaging him in small talk to put off the sex—the whole reason he brought me down to his penthouse in the first place—even if for only a short while. I desperately wanted to reestablish the connection between us and this could be the start of that.

If I could tie that snapped thread together again, the sex could possibly strengthen it.

“Location. Plus, the top floor in this building was perfect for a penthouse. It had good bones, plus opening up the existing smaller apartments gave it a lot of windows and light. I designed it myself and I love it. The view can’t be beat for this area and it’s conveniently in the heart of the city.”

Yes, the city we both loved so much. Once I left, I missed it. But I knew if I stayed it would only remind me of Ronan and what I couldn’t have.

While he’d been talking, he’d poured a finger’s worth of The Macallan into two glasses that had been sitting waiting on the black granite counter in the kitchen. That meant he had planned on us not staying on the roof tonight, but bringing me down to his place. I hadn’t even needed to ask.

With the two glasses in hand, he came over and offered me one.

I could really use it to take off the edge. When I took a tentative sip of the rich amber liquor, it went down smoothly and warmed my insides.

“Except for the Range Rover, of course… To look at you, I never would’ve guessed you ended up so successful.”

“I never expected you to hit rock bottom, either.”

Touché. I scraped the back of my thumb across my forehead as I contemplated the man standing before me. “I deserved that.”

“Life happens to the best of us. Some things we can control, some we cannot.” He shrugged and tipped his glass to his lips. When he was done, he continued, “The way someone looks or dresses isn’t a measurement of success. I actually prefer to be seen as the average Joe.”

“The average Roe,” I teased, even though there was nothing average about the man standing less than four feet away from me.

He tipped his head in agreement.

“So… You never wear a suit?” I didn’t know many successful businessmen who didn’t. If I had the money, I would pay to see Ronan in a perfectly tailored suit.

“For weddings and funerals mostly.”

“But not for business?”

He barked out a dry laugh. “I’m at the point in my life where I no longer need to fall into the trap of ‘dressing to impress.’ I now rely on my own successes to create more and to build financial bridges. I don’t answer to anyone and no longer hide who I am for anyone, either.”

That last part was said with intention. It was duly noted.

“While I don’t flaunt it, I can proudly say I’m a gay businessman who might dress casually but can easily afford to buy a city block. With cash. If someone can’t accept me as I am, then I prefer not to do business with them.”

With cash. My knees wobbled a little.

Holy shit. I was lucky if I had a wrinkled ten in my wallet right now.

It was like our lives had done a complete swap.

With anyone else what Ronan said would sound like bragging. But his words were filled with passion, not dripping with arrogance and one-upmanship, like some of the people I had grown up around. My parents had plenty of friends and acquaintances who looked down their noses at others less fortunate than them. They dismissed anyone they didn’t consider on their level.

Just like they now dismissed me. A broken man who broke up his family and was now financially broke to boot. I was no longer worthy of their time or attention.

I didn’t care.

My children were who made me wealthy, not money. I valued them above all else.

I didn’t care how poor Ronan was back in college. It also made no difference to me how rich he was now.

Again, my interest in him was only about the man under the tattooed skin, not the money. Back then, I had loved him for who he’d been, not what material things or comforts he could provide.

Ronan had come from very humble beginnings. And that humility remained today even though he had to be a multi-millionaire. One who wore ripped jeans, old T-shirts and decorated his body with lots of ink.

He was living his life the way he wanted to, not the way he was expected to.