The Man Who Has No Love (Soulless 3)

“She said she’d only move to New York if I got her a residence here.”

His eyes dropped as he sighed.

“Yeah…”

“Is there even a unit available?”

“There is one opening up, actually.”

“But there’s a waitlist.”

“Yeah, but I can get around it.”

He turned away and looked out the window, his energy different.

“I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen. Said she wants me to wait on her hand and foot the way I do with you and the other residents.”

He shook his head.

“But the nice thing about that is, Derek will be so close.”

He didn’t seem enthused by that idea. “If I moved to LA, would you come with me?” He turned back to me, looking into my gaze.

He put me on the spot, and I had no idea what to say. “My job is here…”

“You don’t need a job if you have me.”

“But I like working.” I’d be so unhappy lying around the house all day waiting for him to come home. I hated yoga, and I liked talking to people during the day. It gave me a sense of accomplishment, validation.

“Couldn’t you start your own business there?”

“Yeah, but there’re already so many companies like that in LA. People are scattered all over the city. Our services are unique here because all the clients live in a single building.”

His eyes filled with disappointment.

“But yes, I’d move with you.” I’d sacrifice everything for this man without thinking twice about it. Because I would never be happy again if he left and I stayed here. There would never be another man who made me feel the way he did.

He watched me for a few seconds, his expression stoic, but his fingers moving in my hair…like it meant a lot to him. “She can move in to the building.” Instead of asking me to make the sacrifice and become unhappy, he decided to make the sacrifice himself. “We’ll just set some ground rules.”

“Alright.”

“And I’ve got to move anyway, so it really doesn’t matter.”

I didn’t want him to leave the building. I loved stopping by his residence to see him throughout the day, staring at his nice ass as he stepped out of the elevator and left through the entrance. I would miss that every single day.

“You think you can find me a place?” he asked. “Because once she’s here, it might be a lot harder to keep this a secret.”

I wished there were another way. I didn’t want him to give up his home just for me. “She might think you moved because of her.”

“Let her think that. I don’t give a damn.”

My hand rose up his chest. “You would really do that for me?”

His fingers pushed my hair from my face, like he wanted to appreciate my features without anything being in the way. “I’d do anything for you.”

My eyes softened.

“Baby.” He smiled.

I smiled back. “We always have the cabin…”

“Yes. That’s our place.”

“Is that why you lied about the fumigation?”

He nodded. “I’m not letting her tarnish our happy place.”

Finding Deacon a new condo wasn’t the problem.

Finding the right assistant was.

Deacon had very specific needs, and not just with the errands, but with his relationship with the person helping him. He needed someone who didn’t like to chitchat, who could read his wants without asking a million questions, and pick up on his needs organically.

But no one was right for the job.

I was the only one who could handle him.

That made me feel guilty, that he was losing his greatest asset and getting a poor substitute. I couldn’t even give them any pointers because that violated my contract. Manhattan was a big city, but the circle of the rich and powerful was small, and people loved to talk.

I couldn’t risk it.

After my last interview of the day, I threw in the towel and decided to watch TV instead.

Now that Deacon came over unexpectedly, I tried to stock the fridge with a few items from one of the elite, organic grocery stores he preferred—even though it made a dent in my paycheck. He never said anything, but he didn’t appreciate my diet, didn’t like the burrito wrappers he would find in my apartment, and he didn’t want to join me in my horrid taste. So, I tried to keep a few things, that way, he wouldn’t grow hungry.

He cooked for me all the time—it was the least I could do.

He texted me. Have you eaten dinner?

I was too tired to eat. The second I came home, I plopped down on the couch, in my panties and blouse. No. Are you on the menu?

He picked up on my joke, even through text. Not the dinner menu. Just the dessert one.

I smiled. Are you coming by?

I’m taking my mom to dinner. I want you to come.

I’d already met the woman, but I immediately grew nervous. We shouldn’t go out together.