Going Deep (Imperfect Love 2)

“Whatever you say. Have you guys found a home yet?” Nick groans, and I laugh some more. I shouldn’t get such a kick out of this man’s life, but I can’t help it. Nick and Olivia are the only two people I know who are engaged to be married, can afford to purchase a new home—hell, fifteen new homes if they want to—but instead live separately.

“I think Olivia is putting off moving because of Giselle. Since they’ve met, Olivia has always found ways to take care of Giselle without making it look like she is, and if she moves out, Giselle will be more or less homeless.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, turning onto our street. Olivia owns a beautiful brownstone in the heart of Brooklyn Heights, and there’s no way she would kick Giselle out. Those two women are closer to being sisters than best friends.

“If Olivia moves out, Giselle will never stay living there knowing her friend is only continuing to pay the mortgage for her, and there’s no way she can afford to take over those payments.” That’s for sure. You would never know it, but Olivia’s mother, who died when she was younger, left Olivia a huge inheritance. The woman could probably afford to purchase the entire building she lives in. Giselle, on the other hand, comes from the same background as me: middle-class working family who live paycheck to paycheck.

“I could be wrong, but I don’t think it’s normal to be married and live in separate homes,” I joke.

“Which is probably why we still haven’t gotten married. I love how selfless Olivia is, and that she wants to put her best friend first. And I get it. Giselle moved back to New York just for Olivia. But fuck, I just want to marry her and live under one damn roof. I feel like a kid in a divorced home, bouncing back and forth between our places.”

“Well, then Giselle is just going to have to do what everyone else does and stand on her own two capable feet.” I pull into our parking garage and turn the car off. When we get to the elevator, Nick presses the button for my floor then the one directly above for his. “I’m sure you guys will figure it out. It will suck once you do move, though. How will you come down to play Madden with me?”

Nick laughs. “Don’t worry, honey, I’ll always find time for you.” He winks.

The elevator door opens on my floor. “I have that endorsement party for Bugatti tomorrow night, so I won’t see you until Friday. Text me when and where to meet you guys and I’ll be there.”

Nick nods. “Thanks, man, and congrats on your deal.”

I thank him then step off the elevator, the door closing behind me.

* * *

“Tabitha, you look beautiful.” I step out of the limousine and give my date a kiss on her cheek. She’s dressed in a black floor-length gown, and her blond locks are up in a bun of some sort. Amber came through, as always.

“Thank you, Mr. Blake,” she gushes as I help her inside before walking around to the other side so she doesn’t have to slide over in her dress.

“Please, call me Killian. Tonight we’re going to a party to announce and sign my endorsement deal with Bugatti. They’re planning to run the ads during the playoffs and Super Bowl. There’ll be some pretty big investors there.”

“Understood,” she says with a smile. We make small talk on the way to the Four Seasons where the party is being held. Tabitha is polite and professional, and I can already tell tonight will be a good night.

Once we arrive, we’re escorted back. I’m met with several people who introduce themselves, including the head of the design team who is in charge of making the special edition.

“This beautiful car will only be available to fifteen people,” Travis boasts, clearly proud of what his team has created.

“I’m just honored I’ll be one of those fifteen people.” I shake his hand.

“That’s so exciting,” Tabitha whispers enthusiastically.

I begin to tell her it’s a dream come true when I spot someone I know out of the corner of my eye and wonder why in the world she’s here at my party. “Excuse me for a second. I see someone I know.”

I make my way over to the bar where she’s sitting on a cushioned stool. When I get close enough, I notice she’s sipping on what looks like some type of scotch. Of course she is. While most women would choose a fruity drink of some sort, Giselle chooses the hard stuff. Her brown hair is pin straight down her back, and her blood-red dress fits every curve of her damn body perfectly. When I approach the bar, the bartender asks what I would like.