Page 38 of Only for the Season
I nod my thanks as I pass her. A car is waiting at the bottom of the stairs to drive us to the helicopter. Another reprieve. Eli and I have learned you don’t discuss business with anyone else around. Not even a driver who’s pretending to listen to a baseball game.
Five minutes later, we’re in our seats in the helicopter and making our way to Manhattan.
“Are you ready for this meeting?” I ask Eli when we land, less than ten minutes later.
As the CFO, Eli is the board member who usually handles investor meetings. Unfortunately, investors inevitably request I’m in attendance as well since I’m the CEO and the person who dreams up and develops the apps that have madeApparoointo a multi-billion dollar enterprise.
“When am I not ready?” Eli answers as we settle into the limo waiting to drive us from the Downtown Manhattan Heliport to the Four Seasons Hotel in Tribeca.
“When you have baby spit-up on your suit jacket.”
“Shit.” He whips off his jacket. “Where is it? Grab me some club soda from the bar.”
I burst into laughter. “Got you.”
“Asshole,” he mutters as he puts his jacket back on but he’s smiling and not asking me how development on the app is going. Win.
We arrive at the Four Seasons in less than ten minutes.
I glance up at the building. It’s a slender limestone-and-concrete tower that screams 1920s elegance. The entrance with its arched, wrought-iron accents and subtle Art Deco vine-like scones used to awe me.
Would it awe Parker? She doesn’t seem impressed by my money. But is it a lie? Is her hatred of my billionaire status a trick to gain my attention? I refuse to believe it.
We enter the double-height lobby with its patterned marble floor and walnut wood panels. The real grandeur of the space is created by the rotunda ceiling, finished in silver leaf.
Would Parker find the space grand or pretentious? Probably pretentious. She has no time for decorations that don’t involve Christmas or baking.
Eli elbows me. “Investors ahead.”
I button my jacket as they approach. I want to fiddle with my tie but the move would signal nervousness. I’m not nervous. I’m annoyed at having to be here.
I’d rather be back in Smuggler’s Hideaway working in the corner ofPirate’s Pastriessurrounded by the scent of coffee and chocolate and cinnamon with a chance Parker would show her face. Probably with flour smudges on it.
And there I go fantasizing about the baker again. I need to get the woman out of my mind. What if the only way to stop obsessing about Parker is by sleeping with her? Then, I volunteer as tribute.
My cock twitches in my pants. I clear my throat and force thoughts of sexy, shapely bakers out of my mind. Soon. I promise my cock. Soon, we’ll have her beneath us, screaming our name.
Chapter 14
“Nothing says I’m sorry like chili cookies and a runaway otter.” ~ Parker
Parker
Istare down at the coffee tray I prepared. Is this overkill? Do I seriously need to apologize to Jeremy?
You ran away after he kissed you until your toes curled.
My toes did not curl. Okay, fine. Maybe a little bit. I blow out a breath. And I definitely ran away.
I guess I’m apologizing. And there’s no better apology than freshly brewed coffee and my Kringle Kraken Crunch – spiced cookies with a surprise swirl of chili.
I snatch the key for the loft upstairs from its spot before making my way outside to the entrance. I knock, but when no one answers, I let myself in.
Jeremy is probably working and didn’t hear me. Or maybe he ignored the knock. All the movies would have mebelieve software engineers are in their own little world when they’re coding.
“Hello,” I call as I knock on the door upstairs.
I nibble on my lip as I contemplate my next steps. Technically, I’m the landlady and can enter the loft, but I’m supposed to limit my entries to ‘emergencies’. Is an apology an ‘emergency’? Close enough.
