Page 7 of Billionaire Romantic
I sigh as I unlock my door. Anyway. Shoulda woulda coulda.
I set my keys in their little silver bowl on the front table, drop my bag and slip off my shoes.
“Hey, Luck!” my roommate Grace calls from her room.
“Hey, Gracie.”
I can’t help but notice—as always, but especially tonight—that the light in my apartment really is to die for. It’s something New Yorkersalwaysappreciate.
I’mreallygoing to miss it.
4
Goingover to the window seat, I sit against the soft, plush cushions, taking it all in. It’s been a day.
The quaint view of my private little outdoor balcony garden that looks out to the night-lit skyscrapers is such a rarity in New York City. I love the old-style water tower that sits on top of the building next door, like it belongs in a chic European movie. A small slice of Parisian charm right here in the middle of the Manhattan skyline. I know exactly how lucky I am to have it.
And how devastated I’m going to be to lose it.
When the clouds are moody and the sun is low, there’s nowhere more beautiful. Golden rays flood my living room, catching the darkly colorful hues of the Persian rug and casting a soft glow onto my carefully curated bookshelves. Even my indoor plants—stubborn survivors of my recent neglect, because I’ve been so busy—look like they belong in an upscale home decorating magazine.
In fact, my apartment has been featured in a few home decorating magazines. I’m into decorating. It’s the thing I do to de-stress, when I can manage to take a break from working or studying. My own little form of escapism. Honestly, few thingsbring me as much joy as scouting through antique stores and cute homeware boutiques and finding some little gem. My father couldn’t have cared less so I took it upon myself to create the magic. And itismagical.
This apartment is my own personal slice of heaven. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.
It’s where she was happiest.
It’s where I’m happiest.
Unfortunately, Ihaveto imagine it. Because if today was any indication of what the future holds, I’ll be packing my bags by the end of the month.
My roommate bounces into the room. Grace and I met the first day of grad school at NYU. We were both just starting our MBAs. We sat next to each other at one of the orientation lectures and started talking. We’ve been practically inseparable ever since. She moved in with me the day after my father died, just over six months ago.
“Long day?” Grace sits at the other end of the window seat.
“Yes.” I could reply,awful, terrible, scary, horrible doomsday. But I’m trying to find some silver lining in all this. Speaking the words only makes them more likely to come true. “But it’s better now.”
“I’m very happy to announce that I’ve got the solution to all your problems—okay, maybe not all, but definitely a few—right here in my hot little hands.”
Grace is holding her phone, grinning like she just…wait a minute. “Why are youglowing?” I demand. “And why are you dressed like that?”
I’d just finished the first semester of my MBA when my father dropped dead. I had to put my studies on hold to work full-time as the newly-appointed CEO of my father’s company—much to the shock and horror of the grouchy Board, but there was nothing they could do about it. There was nothingIcould doabout it either, even though I was far from ready. It was all very black and white in the will.
Grace is still studying and spends most of her time in sweats with her messy bun pinned into haphazard place with a pen. But not today. She’s dressed in skinny jeans and a tight-fitting pink sweater. Her cheeks match her sweater and her dark hair is very…clean, hanging over her shoulders in glossy but slightly chaotic waves.
She’s still grinning at me. In fact I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Grace look soelated. But she also looks…like she just spent the afternoon rolling around in bed and then quickly smoothed her hair not-quite into place. “Grace? What’s going on?”
She laughs, and there it is again. A kind of pure, uncut happiness I’m not sure I’ve ever seen concentrated in this way in my best friend before. “I just got laid, that’s what’s going on.”
I blink at her. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“When? How? Withwho?”
She sighs deeply, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the carved wooden frame of the window seat. “By the dreamiest dream man in the entire freaking world, that’s who.”
“Seriously?Grace.Who is he? How did you meet? Why don’t I know about any of this?”
