Page 8 of A Vow for the Vamp
“Yes?” I run my hand through my shaggy blond hair. Millie’s eyes follow the movement, and I swear there’s desire behind her stare. “It’s old-fashioned. I was named after my great-grandfather. Is that a deal breaker?”
And then it happens. She smiles. It’s brief but Lord it was beautiful.
“No. Not at all. My name is old-fashioned too. Mildred.”
She rolls her eyes noticingmysmile and turns to keep walking.
“Mildred. I like it.” I say, jogging to catch up since she’s a superhuman who walks like her ass is on fire.
“No one likes the name Mildred. It’s why I go by Millie.”
“That’s a solid name too. You don’t meet a lot of Millies nowadays. Or Mildreds. You’re my first. You’ve popped my Millie-Mildred cherry.”
She looks away, and I’m convinced it’s to hide a smile from me.
“You know what?” she says, daring a glance at me. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a Theodore, either.”
“I’m honored to be your first.”
We continue down a street in midtown where luxury high-rises reside. We’ve walked at least ten blocks at this point.
“I thought you said your place was close.”
“It is. Just one more block.”
I’ve realized since moving to the Big Apple that when New Yorkers say something is close or within ‘walking distance,’ they either mean a couple of blocks or fifteen.
We finally arrive at a modern building that’s got to be at least forty stories tall. Maybe fifty. Hell, I don’t know, but it’s fucking tall.
“You… you live here?” I ask, speechless. “What do you do for a living?”
“It’s old money.”
A man in a tailored, long-sleeved jacket, matching black pants, and a midway cap waits, holding the door open for us. He nods as we pass. Another doorman with stark white hair and a few wrinkles stands behind a long, sleek desk just inside the lobby—which has to be double the size of my entire apartment.
“Miss Maycot,” he says with a nervous smile.
I don’t know if he’s nervous because she’s a goddess or because I look like I’ve just murdered someone.
I’m going to say it’s her, because I’m nervous too. I’m never this anxious. About anything. I’m outgoing and make friends with everyone. I have no issues talking to people. So, why does Millie make me feel as if my nerves are about to explode?
Two big guys, decked out in suits, wait by the elevators. They nod to us, barely making eye contact.
“There are a lot of important people in this building,” Millie says, obviously noticing me staring at them, confused.
Okay, so security is tight. Does that mean Millie is important too? The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew she was special, so I have no doubt she’s someone with power.
Inside the elevator, she inserts a key card and pushes the button to the penthouse.
The penthouse?
Okay, so maybe Millie’s a trust fund baby. I can’t even imagine how much an apartment in this building would cost.
Millie Maycot. Mildred Maycot.
Who are you?I’m dying to find out more about this woman who has enthralled me since pummeling me with a door.
The elevator takes less than a minute and it opens to a foyer with white, gray, and black swirled marble floors. Artwork lines the walls—no doubt expensive—and a chaise lounge sits in a corner.
