Page 93 of The Heiress's First Date

“Just wait until my frenemy leaves. Then you’ll be really lucky.”

I groan, and my cock stirs. “Don’t tease me.”

“So sorry.”

I give her a squeeze. “I don’t think you are. I think you like having me wrapped around your finger.”

“I don’t hate it.”

I huff a laugh and close my eyes, contentment filling every corner of my soul. She’s right. This is bliss. We should make Lazy Sundays a standing date. I might even let the others join in.

Her phone chimes from the nightstand, ruining the relaxed moment. But I recognize Kingston’s text tone, and while I don’t relish the idea of letting her go, I know that the two of them are still sorting out this new facet of their relationship. I loosen my grip on her.

“See what he has to say,” I murmur, not moving.

She leans away and is back in a flash, nestling close as she reads her phone. “Well, that’s ominous.”

“What is?”

She flashes the screen my way.

Kingston: can we talk?

35

GABE

Traffic is terrible this evening, and I’m glad I insisted we utilize my driver. The dark tint on the windows blocks out the fading light and the chaos of the city.

Earlier, I’d gotten the courage to ask Kingston to go shopping with me. Given his family connections, he set balls in motion, and now the back of the SUV is filled with fresh new styles that I’m actually excited to wear. Things that feel like me, not just the outfits my normal stylist pulls.

Geek chic, King calls it.

Which is better than Impersonator CEO.

The car rocks over a manhole cover, jostling us. Beside me, King checks his phone for what must be the dozenth time since we left my apartment.

“Everything okay?”

With the divider up and privacy ensured, he nods as he places his phone on the seat between us. “Yeah. Just playing phone tag with Katherine.”

“Ahh.”

“I thought we were past this.” He props his elbow against the door and rests his chin against his fist.

“This?”

“Being on different continents.” Frustration laces his words, and I get it.

He came back to New York for her, thinking that without the distance, some of his problems would be solved. And as annoying as phone tag is, it’s so much worse with someone on a completely different schedule. Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt.

“I’ll just be glad when she’s back.” He runs his hands down his thighs.

What’s so urgent? And why does it make him nervous? I don’t know if we’re at a place where I can ask those things. Or rather, could I ask without sabotaging the easygoing camaraderie of the day? The trust we’ve built so far?

We make it home before I starve.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asks as we crowd onto the elevator, our bags at our feet.

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