Page 94 of A Temporary Forever

I pull Celeste inside and close the door.

The office contains a desk, a standard set of cabinets, and bookshelves, making it sparsely furnished. All from a quality dark wood that lends a stuffiness to the space, but the two connected walls of glass overlooking Manhattan soften the feel.

“I’ll make sure to frame one of our wedding photos for your desk.” Celeste crosses her arms across her chest, probably still annoyed I dragged her here for nothing.

“Come on, celebrate with me.” I pull her to me and capture her mouth.

“You got your twenty-five percent?” she murmurs against my lips.

“No.” I thrust my tongue, savoring her. I can’t believe I had her only this morning and it wasn’t enough.

This morning? Fuck, it’s like a lifetime has passed since.

She moans and we stumble, her ass hitting my new desk. She pulls away. “What do you mean, no?”

“I got thirty.”

Her eyes widen, and maybe I just want to see it, but I could swear a jolt of pride flickers in her eyes. “So you’ll be even richer,” she drawls.

I pinch her ass. “That’s where your mind goes?”

She gyrates her hips against me, smiling. “I’m with you for your money only, pretty boy.”

I’ve only known two kinds of women. The gold diggers who would never admit out loud that your bank account is what they love, and the proud, independent kind who make too much fuss about me spending on them.

I didn’t care either way, because I was in it for my fun and selfish satisfaction, but with Celeste, it’s different. She isn’t annoyingly fighting me about what I spend on her. But she also teases me about my wealth, and it’s so refreshing.

She doesn’t need my money, but she takes it when I offer a gift or help. Like she knows her value and doesn’t need to play on greed or overt modesty.

I quirk up my eyebrows. “I thought it was for your visa.”

We grin at each other, refusing to admit this is about more than her visa or my money, but feeling it, nevertheless.

A Hollywood smile, a politician’s promise, or Monopoly money in a real estate deal—those are all fake. What’s sprouting between me and this woman feels anything but.

“Congratulations.”

One word that hits me in my solar plexus and continues to creep into all the darkened crevices of my soul.

Her praise. Her approval. Her support.

I’m like a child starved for a hug or a kiss. She gives them freely and genuinely, and I can’t see myself letting go of this. The little boy in me is validated.

The man in this room wants to lock down the fluttering feelings and never revisit themagain. Getting Celeste’s approval is like having one taste of her. Devastating.

Because I can’t have just one.

And I don’t need it.

I want it. I desire it. I crave it.

I don’t need it, but going on without it will leave a permanent scar.

“I have you to thank for it. If you didn’t point out earlier—”

“You would have realized it yourself. You were just too distracted by your initial—justified—reaction to the betrayal.”

“Still, you fast-tracked that process.”

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