Page 40 of Baby I'm Yours

She sends over three laughing emojis and then—Oh, I’m not going to the gym, you silly man. I don’t “gym.” I am not that girl. I walk and frolic in the ocean and dance until midnight. I don’t gym. Besides, I think I got my cardio in last night, don’t you?

My cock stirs at the thought of everything we did last night, reminding me why I need to find an excuse to stay away from the apartment.

And why I need to stop flirting with Elaina over text…

I reply—I do. And I’m sure you’ll find something to occupy your time. You’re a creative woman. Have to run. Business calls. I’ll be at the office for the rest of the day. Too many fires to put out to work from home this afternoon.

She shoots back a thumbs up and a chipper—See you later! Good luck!—and I slide my cell back into my pocket.

I do, in fact, go to the office, and do my best to remain occupied, but I’ve done too good a job clearing away the extraneous bullshit.

When I left my old firm, I promised myself I would delegate more, clearing my calendar so that I only dealt with the parts of the deal that I loved. As a result, I have a team of highly skilled individuals taking up the slack, leaving me little to do by four o’clock except pace my office, staring out over the buildings of lower Manhattan toward my penthouse, where Elaina is waiting.

Finally, I decide to hit the gym myself, just to burn off the energy that floods through me every time a memory of last night or that evening in the lifeguard stand flashes through my head. I go to the gym in my office building, the better to avoid close proximity to the woman currently testing the limits of my control, and then shower and change back into my suit for the ride uptown in five o’clock traffic.

It takes nearly an hour to reach my building. The subway would have no doubt been faster, but I’m grateful to be spared the sticky summer heat below ground and any extra time with Elaina before it’s time to leave.

Still, when I walk into the apartment a few minutes after six, to find Elaina lounging on the leather couch where I fucked her, wearing a vintage cocktail dress in deep blue that makes her look like she stepped out of an old movie, I’m instantly hard. Her dark hair is swept up, exposing the elegant curve of her neck,and memories of dragging my teeth over her sweet skin make me ache for a taste of her.

“There you are,” she says, rising to her feet, letting the magazine in her hands drop to the cushion. “How was your day, dear?”

My lips hook up on one side. “Productive. Yours?”

“Oh, fine, but I’m glad to have someone to talk to again.” She turns, the skirt swishing around her knees. “What do you think? Appropriate for dinner and meeting the parent?”

Perfect, I think. Almost too perfect.

Mom is going to love that dress. She’s a big fan of Old Hollywood, and the kind of vintage glamour that was en vogue when she was a girl.

“Solid choice,” I say aloud. “But you’re missing one important accessory. I realized on the way home that we have yet to acquire a ring.”

Her brow furrows lightly before smoothing as she catches my meaning. “Oh, yeah. No ring… But, you know, that could be a good thing. If I were a mom, and my son brought home a woman I’d never met, and they were already engaged…” She wrinkles her nose. “I might feel a little blindsided. Like, I’d been left out or something. I think an engagement is something a mom wants to see coming, at least a little bit. My mother certainly would have. She wouldn’t have cared how rich and sexy you are. She would have wanted to know you before you put a ring on it.”

I nod. “I came to the same conclusion. We’ll see how tonight goes and evaluate from there. We can’t afford to take things too slow, but timing is important.”

She smiles. “Look at us, working well as a team and agreeing and stuff. I think we’re going to rock this dinner.”

I offer her my arm. “Agreed.”

Twenty-five minutes later, we’re across the park and pulling up to my mother’s building on the Upper East Side.

She lives in a pre-war building on Fifth Avenue, the same apartment we rented when we fled my father nearly thirty years ago, back when a paralegal could afford a two-bedroom in this neighborhood. Thankfully, the unit was rent-controlled, ensuring we were able to stay put as prices sky-rocketed around us. By the time her rent rose to the point where it was becoming an issue, I was making more than enough to cover her expenses.

As usual, Abe, the doorman greets me by name, his eyes lighting up when he sees Elaina.

“Mr. Mendelssohn so good to see you,” he says with a big grin. “And who’s this vision in blue?”

Elaina smiles and extends her hand. “Elaina Murphy. Glad to meet you.”

“Able Singleton, but everyone calls me Abe,” he says, cradling her hand gently in both of his big ones. “A pleasure, a real pleasure, Elaina.” He nods my way. “I’ve known this one since he was a bean pole in baggy skate pants getting in trouble for riding his board in the office park across the street. Any questions about his character, I’m your man.”

She laughs, glancing at me out the corners of her eyes before saying, “Good to know. So, you can confirm that he’s a big softy under that heartless, captain of industry exterior?”

Abe chuckles, his dark eyes dancing with pleasure. “Yep. Total softy and a real family man. His mama never wants for anything, and that includes his time and attention.”

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to drag Elaina away from Abe and his too-generous view of me. Yes, I take care of mymother, but there is nothing “soft” about me, and Elaina would be foolish to believe otherwise.

“Speaking of time,” I say, settling my hand on the small of Elaina’s back. “We’re due upstairs.”

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