Page 55 of Billionaire Romantic
Noah Steel,
Thank you for the best weekend of my life. I have to go into work early today and I didn’t want to wake you. My number is 212-555-4004. Maybe we can do it again sometime.
xx Lucky Irish
Maybewe can do it again sometime?
What the fuck?
I find my phone. There are dozens of missed calls and messages but I ignore all of them. I key in Lucky’s number, then punch the call button.
Please answer it, baby girl.
It rings eight times then goes straight to voicemail.
Hi, it’s Lucky. Please leave a message.Her angel’s voice makes my heart hurt.
“Lucky, I’m going to forgive you for walking out on me because it’s Monday and you said you have a busy day. However, I need to see you again tonight, so don’t even think about not answering my calls. Answer me, Irish. Or, even better, call me back. That’s an order. It was the best weekend of my life too, baby girl. That means something. You’re so fucking beautiful. Please. Call me back. I need to see you.”
Fuck.
I get dressed in a rush, take the elevator down to the front desk and check out. I can’t get a cab right away so I walk the few blocks back to my apartment, practically running, like a fucking lunatic, holding my phone in case she calls.
A text comes through and I feel almost dizzy with relief.
But the text is from Cash.
Don’t forget about the meeting with Ashton Holdings at 10. Where are you?
I’m usually at the office by seven thirty. The time now is 8:49.
My phone dies.
Fuck.
I get back to my apartment. For the first time since I bought it, my first reaction to arriving home isn’t calmness. This apartment has always made me feel like I’ve achievedeverything I wanted to achieve. The multi-million dollar floor plan, the natural light, the hum of luxury, the no-expense-spared minimalist decorating, the treetops of Central Park and the city skyline have always reminded me that all our hard work has been worth it. We’ve achieved a level of success few people ever reach and this apartment provides me with a constant display of that.
But not today.
Today it just feels empty.
Without the sparked light Lucky Irish’s presence infuses into everything, the place looks dull and stark.
I want her here.
I want to take care of her and give her everything she’s ever wanted and love her so hard she can’t live without me.
I want to make her laugh, lavish her with comfort and safety and make love to her until she’s crying my name because I feel so fucking good. Like I did all weekend.
It wasn’t enough.
It’ll never be enough.
I plug in my phone and try to bring up her number but it’s just the battery icon and won’t let me in.
So I storm into the shower and turn it to the coldest it’ll go, stripping off and stepping under the jets.
It’s painful but it’s what I need. I need pain. All I can feel is pain.
