Page 16 of Filthy Rich

My heart pounded mercilessly as I devoured her. Completely and utterly devoured every detail I could see of the girl who had infected me with desire from the first moment I laid eyes on her, and then sealed the deal when she spoke to me in her beautiful, sultry voice.

Her hair was down again, but this time she had on a soft black hat. She stood out in the crowd because of the baby-pink military jacket she wore, with the same high black boots over tight-fitting leather pants. Brooke possessed goddamn amazing legs. Legs I wanted to have wrapped around me with my hands free to touch the rest of her. I’d kiss every inch of those legs first before I moved on to the part where we fucked good and sl?—

No, notfuckedbecause it wouldn’t be like that with her. Would it? I didn’t want it to be…I was so confused about what I wanted at this point; I’d talked myself out of pursuing her several times already just to shelve that plan the second I saw her walking across the street.

Jesus Christ, I was in major powerful lust with this girl. Lust? It was a different feeling for me, though. It wasn’t like the lust for sex I’d known in the past. It was more of a need. A raw, unfiltered, almost frightening need—that quite honestly scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I couldn’t explain why, but I felt like I just needed her. Brooke was like a breath of fresh air into my very narrowly constrained life. Refined, yet not haughty. Strong, but wielding her strength with a careful sense of purpose. Fiery, but not with anger, just wickedly intelligent sass on the tip of her tongue ready to fly. Someone who knew who she was, but not through entitlement and prestige. In other words, a complete anomaly in my world.

She had a leather bag over her shoulder and a Starbucks in her hand. Her expression was what I remembered from the cocktail party—beautiful but with that same touch of sadness. I kept on taking in my front-row show until she was swallowed up by other bodies moving in front of her after she stepped onto the sidewalk.

She was going home after the end of her work day. Home to Blackstone Island where she lived in a cottage above Fairchild Light at south-end—a place I probably hadn’t been since my high school days when James and the rest of us drank beer under the lighthouse in the summer and indulged in general teenage mayhem.

I would be on the island in few hours. Maybe I could see her this weekend. I reached for my phone and pulled her number up on Messenger…and just stared at it with absolutely no idea of what to say. The light turned green and the car moved on. I closed the Messenger app and put my phone away.

She was so young. The weird thing was she didn’t seem as young as her years. Losing her parents at fifteen probably had something to do with it. That would certainly make a kid grow up fast. But there was also the evidence of a life lived and the maturity of experience in how she handled herself. The scar on her face possibly? The comment about “nobody puts their hands on meanymore”? I’d bet those two clues meant her life experience had been painful and she’d been hurt, so maybe that was the reason she appeared older than twenty-three.

No, I wouldn’t try to see her this weekend. That wouldn’t work for what I had planned over the next two days. I had to be patient so I could fix the mess with Blackwater first. I had to take care of family business and do what I knew my dad would if it were him.

“Harris & Goode, sir,” Isaac announced as he pulled up to the curb.

I’d had Victoria make a late appointment with the owner in the hopes that Brooke wouldn’t be there, and so far everything was working in my favor. I wanted this deal done before she was informed on Monday morning. In a few minutes I’d know her full name.

“I’m here to see Mr. Harris,” I told the guy at reception, not quite able to process his dark pink leopard scarf—or was it a shawl?—as office attire. The thing was fucking huge and draped down past his knees. I was in a design studio after all, so maybe he knew something I didn’t.

“Welcome. I’m Eduardo and you are Mr. Blackstone?”

“Yes.”

“Right this way, Mr. Blackstone. Mr. Harris is expecting you. His office is upstairs.”

Eduardo led me through to the back where I caught a peek at Brooke’s office as we passed by the doorway. I knew it was hers because I saw the red flowers I’d sent to her. I was glad she liked them enough to still have them in her office a week later.

It dawned on me she’d just been in there a few minutes ago, and I liked to think I could still smell her perfume lingering. It was hard to tell because all kinds of scents seemed to be swirling around in this place. Starting with Eduardo’s cologne. I had a suspicion he was her phone call out on the street the night of the clusterfuck cocktail party. Which was good news for me because he was one hundred percent certifiably not her boyfriend.

Yeah. Eduardo knew about alotof things I didn’t.

“Ah, Mr. Blackstone, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Jon Harris.” He shook my hand and asked if I’d like some coffee before we got started, the usual pleasantries exchanged. “How can we help you here at Harris & Goode?” he asked.

I decided to skip the bullshit and let him know exactly what I’d come for. “My 1920s penthouse just a few blocks from here needs a complete renovation. More specifically, a woman’stouch as far as the designing goes—that point is essential, Mr. Harris. I hope you understand that I know exactly who I want working on my project. I need some help transforming a bachelor apartment into something a family could be comfortable in, and it definitely needs to be a woman doing the designing.” I smiled pleasantly before casually glancing at my watch to check the time, just to help nudge him along a little bit.

“I see.” He eyed me curiously, probably wondering what planet I’d dropped in from. “What would be the budget for your renovation?”

There we go. The universal language that everyone can speak fluently. “Oh, I think five million ought to be sufficient for my needs, but open to upward adjustment, of course.”

He bowed his head slightly, as if to suppress his elation at realizing what a contract for that amount of money could do for his business, even without the future referrals he might gain through me. “I am absolutely certain we can help you, Mr. Blackstone.”

“Excellent. Just the words I wanted to hear, Mr. Harris.” And that was how it was done.

It had been so long since I’d needed casual clothes, it threw off my usual routine of packing for business trips. That should tell me something. Only thirty-one years old and couldn’t remember the last weekend I’d had away.

I really couldn’t remember when or where, and it annoyed me. Because it brought back what my dad had told me on his deathbed in full-on Technicolor. I could see him saying the words to me. “When you find whatever it is that makes youhappy, Caleb, hold on to it with everything you’ve got. Your heart will let you know.”

Did I even know what my “happy things” were?

No, I did not.

I did, however, know what didn’t make me happy. And that was being so fucking confused about my feelings for a girl I barely knew. My feelings? I scowled at that thought, and threw the last of my shit into the bag and zipped it closed.

Just enough time for a quick shower before heading back to the offices where the heliport sat at the very top of Blackstone Global Enterprises.

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