Page 8 of Any Means Necessary

“Cheers to that.”

Spending three hours with Ronnie is the perfect little vacation from reality. Talking pop culture, discussing drama from the hospital staff, and sharing dating stories, fueled by carbs and mimosas—it’s exactly what I needed. And I’m bummed, even if I’m a little buzzed, when it’s time to say goodbye and head back to the penthouse. But it’s time to get back to real life. Unfortunately.

I didn’t mean to take the long way back to the apartment, but then the sunlight hit a gold handbag in just the right way, making it sparkle and call to me from a store window. I had to stop, I’m only human—one who can’t resist beautiful, shiny things.

The private elevator opens to the elegant corridor with black marble floors and cream porcelain tiled walls that reach up to the vaulted ceiling adorned with a magnificent crystal chandelier. Inside the oversized front door is an opulent entryway dressed in modern art that leads to the expansive grand room that makes up most of the first floor. A large waterfall island separates the impressive kitchen along the right wall from the rest of the open-concept space.

To the left is a dining room, with the living room taking up the corner along a wall of windows reaching up two stories that look out onto the terrace. A grand curved staircase by the living room leads to the second floor.

Dramatic light fixtures, chic art, and expensive finishes in neutral color schemes scream wealth and comfort. The entire space is dressed in a mix of modern luxury and traditional elegance. One of the best features of the penthouse is the breathtaking unobstructed view of the city and Central Park.

Callum is in the kitchen when I walk into the penthouse, and it seems like it’s just us. My plan to ignore him and stay out of his way is proving to be impossible under the constant weight of his stare. I don’t know why I thought I could pretend the man isn’t staying here with me, he’s built like a bull with an even more dominant demeanor.

“I thought you said you were going to brunch,” his tone is calling me a liar, arms crossing as his hip leans against the counter beside me.

Is he always so serious? Must be exhausting.

“I did. I met up with a friend at Flora’s on West 118th Street.”

“That’s basically in Harlem.”

“I know, Ronnie lives in Harlem. It was perfect.”

“So what’s that?” Callum points to my shopping bag. The one holding my newest gold obsession. “I know restaurants have brunch promotions, but I didn’t realize they started giving out gift bags with your meal.”

“They don’t… although they really should.” Now that I’m thinking about it, getting a free purse with lunch would be too amazing for words. “I did some shopping on my way back. I’m a sucker for a pretty window display.”

“What is it?” he nods towards the bag.

“You ask an awful lot of questions.” I tilt my head up and to one side. “Why so curious?” He doesn’t acknowledge my question. Instead, he simply stands and waits for me to answer his. Clearly, trying to get out of telling him what he wants to know is pointless.

“It’s a handbag. A pretty, mini, gold one. There was a purple one I almost got too, but I couldn’t justify the price. Especially since I have nothing to wear it with.”

Stepping around Callum, I open the fridge to reach for the can that’s been calling to me since I finished my matcha.

I’m the first person to admit that I’m attached, but calling it an addiction would mean there’s something wrong with it. I prefer the term simple pleasure.

The can pops with a hiss when I press down the tab. The first sip feels so comforting, the carbonation greeting me like an old friend. I know one sip isn’t enough to start feeling the effects of the caffeine, but I swear some of the exhaustion weighing me down eases from my shoulders. Twelve ounces can’t make up for the fact that I haven’t slept more than a few hours a night for the last two weeks, but it definitely helps.

“Do you drink anything else?” Callum’s eyes move pointedly to the can of soda in my hand. I shrug as I take a sip of my Mountain Dew.

“Energy drinks. Oh, and Margaritas.” I smile prettily when he scowls in disapproval. “But it’s too early for that.”

“It eats you from the inside out,” he grates. I look down at my soft, curvy body.

“You’re right, I’m practically wasting away here.” There’s a healthy dose of sarcasm in my voice accompanying the nonchalant smile. Hazel eyes narrow at me, unamused.

“That stuff will kill you.” Callum is glaring at the can I’m holding like it personally insulted his family. I bite back a smile, doing my best not to laugh in his face. He’s so serious.

“So I’ve heard.” I lift the can to my lips and take an exaggerated sip. “But until then, it’ll keep me happy and caffeinated.”

The sound of the front door opening and closing cuts off whatever Callum has to say, a male voice ringing through the entryway. “I hope you have coffee in here, I’ve got the biggest fucking hangover of my life,” A new man announces as he appears in the doorway.

He’s tall, maybe a few inches shorter than Callum’s towering height. The term pretty boy comes to mind with his tousled black hair and playful whiskey brown eyes. He’s extremely good looking, he almost doesn’t look like a real person.

“You’re letting yourself into my apartment now?” Callum asks flatly.

“You get pissy whether or not I ring the bell, this way I get to see that look of excitement on your face even faster.”

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