Page 40 of Deadly Obsession
“Very.”
“That’s a non-answer.”
“You want a number?”
“Yeah. Tell me, you snob.”
I chuckle this time, and Sage perks up at the sound of my laugh.
“My net worth is somewhere around $900 million.”
“900 fucking million?” Her eyes bug out, mouth open in awe.
“Yes. But half of that is assets—businesses or homes I own. And a portion of that money was obtained… not so legally.”
The elevator dings and the doors open to the foyer. The space is small, housing a thin table with a blue and gold vase full of daisies on top and an abstract painting on the wall. My entire apartment is full of items I know nothing about, including their value because I hired an interior designer to make the place feel homey.
To the right is a set of metal double doors. I enter a passcode into the pad and the locks unlatch.
“You sure have a lot of security measures,” Sage whispers.
“Because I have a lot of enemies,” I say, opening the door and waving her inside.
She doesn’t move, and I realize my mistake.
I take her face in my hands.
“We’re safe here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She winces, and I’m prepared to question her hesitation. Something’s telling me that her distress goes beyond what just happened at Lenetti’s. But before I can offer her assurances, tell her that whatever it is, I can protect her, Sage’s stomach growls. Her face flushes red, and she hides her embarrassment with her hands.
“Sorry, I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast and dinner was ruined by... well, you know.”
I pull her hands down and grab her chin. “Don’t be sorry, Reine. Don’teverbe sorry.”
She lets out another shaky breath, and my heart pinches with anguish again. I can’t stand seeing her like this. Someone has shaken this beautiful woman’s confidence, and I vow to burn this city to the ground to findout who.
After asking Sage what she wanted for dinner five times and getting the answer ‘I don’t care,’ her stubborn ass finally decided on Thai food.
Well, she technically didn’t decide. I was naming some of my favorite restaurants and cuisines in the area and when I mentioned Thai Villa, her eyes lit up and she let out a quiet ‘ooo.’
Thai Villa is one of the few restaurants in Brooklyn that are completely nut free.
I sent one of my men to pick up our order, and while we wait, Sage wanders around the penthouse. I follow silently as she takes it all in.
Everything excites her, like the baby grand piano sitting in the corner that I never play because it reminds me of my mother. She taught me and my brother but after she was murdered, my heart couldn’t handle playing anymore.
Sage’s fingertips skim over the closed lid, and I expect her to ask me if I can play, but she doesn’t. Maybe she sees the pain in my eyes—the fear of talking about my past.
The rest of the living room is cozy—Sage’s words—with an oversized dark blue cotton couch and loveseat. A modern fireplace sits within one wall, and another wall has a row of bookcases full of either books I don’t read or random crap the interior designer added.
Sage doesn’t ask why I have no photographs or personal items. Again, I’m relieved, but at the same time, Iwantto tell her about my life. Iwantto share my pain with her. ButI can’t scare her away. Not when she let me bring her to my home instead of trying to run away.
We head down the hallway, and she pokes her head in the guest bedroom. After finding nothing of interest, she moves on to my office that I rarely work out of because I’m hardly ever home. Finding nothing interesting in the office either, we move on to the main bedroom.
Sage’s eyes light up. She immediately goes to the king-sized bed and falls back, testing its firmness. She spreads out her legs and arms and does a ‘snow angel’ on top of the red comforter.
She looks perfectly at home in this room.
