Page 81 of Tender Offer
Preston
“Can I take this off? I promise to keep my eyes shut.”
“That smirk says otherwise.” I kiss Madison’s lips and pat her leg, which is draped in some silky fabric I want to peel back like curtains. (I already did in the bathroom on the plane, but that’s beside the point.) “Five more minutes.”
“Preston.” All the blood in my body rushes to my other head at her soft groan.
“Do that again.”
Her laugh gets caught in a snort. “You are so nasty!”
I pull her to me and run my nose up her neck. “Patience, baby.”
Jewel would kick my ass if she found out I used the private jet. To her surprise, William and I fly commercially with light security for most business trips. My ass still hasn’t healed since she handed it to me last week. Madison’s niece has a future as a lawyer or professor the way she schooled me without missing a talking point or taking a breath.
On the subway, I sat through question after question about my character, my carbon emissions, and how the ultrawealthy arean existential threat to the planet. There was no arguing with her. Not that I got the chance.
Dayo had a time catching up but managed to follow us to Jewel’s university in Brooklyn. The time I spent with Madison and her niece was priceless, aside from my accountant calling to ask if I got robbed.
Our tour of Jewel’s dorm ended with her using my money to buy groceries for every student she found. Under no circumstances did she give me a pass. It doesn’t matter who I am to her aunt or the sustainability initiatives I enforce in my company. Billionaires create an imbalance of power by hoarding resources—even those born into wealth who have the best intentions.
“Ethical billionaire” is an oxymoron. A title we use to pat ourselves on the back while benefitting from exploitation, whether it’s caused by our hands or not.
I sweat more through Jewel’s cross-examination than I do when facing my own board. I’m not naïve enough to think I completely won her over, but I did get her “blessing” for this trip.
Tonight is a surprise. There was no way to get Madison through airport security without her seeing or hearing our destination.
I want our first time back in Paris together to be special.
She’s patiently awaited the big reveal since our flight from New York and the forty minutes we’ve spent in the car since. Joe’s “If I Was Your Man” drifts through the back seat of our town car. A smile lifts Madison’s lips at the carefully curated playlist. I love R&B, but I’m masking any signs we’re in France.
“Is all of this necessary? I promise being with you is gift enough.”
I lift her hand from my thigh to my mouth. “It’s not enough and never will be. I want a redo of our firsts, and I want all of your lasts.”
“Thank you in advance, for everything.” She smiles.
My time in New York was for Puff. I refused to spend another week apart and flew back for her birthday. I took a small detour to fire Simon in person, but Madison had my attention.
I peck her forehead. “You’re welcome, baby. Hope you like your surprise.”
“As long as my mother isn’t on a device.” She chuckles at my groan.
Nothing about meeting her family while balls deep inside of her is funny. I was mortified and held her tighter like we weren’t naked and covered in cake. If only my arms were long enough to shield all that ass covered in icing handprints.
Sticky situations have occurred before, but none that involved meeting someone’s mother.
Babet Monroe was not pleased to see her daughter in her birthday suit. Nonna sniped me with her stare countless times when I messed up. Black women aren’t monoliths, but their ability to put you in your place with a single look is universal.
The moonlight cascades over stone facades. It travels down the satin fabric teasing Madison’s eyes, to her nose and the space between her neck and the top of her cleavage. The trees lining the avenue wave shadows across her face as the car stops.
I nod at the driver, who hands me noise-canceling headphones.
“I’m covering your ears so you don’t hear anything,” I say, carefully navigating around the bun on her head. “Let me know if the music is too loud.”
I load the playlist on my phone, press play, and call Madison’s name. When she doesn’t answer, I get out of the car and tip the driver, who’s removing our luggage from the boot. Madison shivers when I open her door. With my hand in hers and her trust that I got us, she steps onto the cobblestone street and follows me inside.
The ride in the lift gives me time to take in the bottom lip she’s worrying between her teeth. Coming back to the penthouse with her feels like home. I haven’t crossed the threshold in fifteen years, avoiding the hole in my heart after losing her.
