Page 72 of Eastern Lights

“You’re good at that, you know.”

“At what?”

“Giving out flashes of love that help people forget they’re sad for a moment.”

* * *

“This can’t be real life,”Aaliyah muttered, walking around the penthouse. Her jaw had gone slack the moment she stepped inside, and she hadn’t closed said mouth since. I’d invited her to come early to see the small details that went into setting everything up before potential clients began arriving to see the property.

That early morning, we stood inside a thirty-million-dollar property, and that wasn’t even the most expensive unit I’d be showing in the coming weeks. It was a double-height duplex penthouse, and to put it mildly, it was fucking insane. The penthouse was almost nine hundred feet in the sky, giving the owners views of New York City that felt surreal. There was a 270-degree panorama of the city that featured the Hudson River, the Statue of Liberty, and the Manhattan skyline. Five thousand two hundred square feet of wealth. Four bedrooms, six bathrooms, a theater room, and a custom Bulthaup kitchen. All the appliances were smart devices, and the hidden pantry that led to a reading nook with a setup for coffee and tea was the icing on the cake.

Not to mention the private elevator, fitness room, private yoga room, and private spa suites, along with the swimming pool.

Needless to say, the modern space was unmatched, and I was ready for the offers to start rolling in.

“It’s unreal, right?” I agreed. “We have our staging crew come in and make it shine with all the furniture and accent pieces. We also have caterers and bartenders come in to serve the guests.”

“Connor.” She breathed out. “What the heck?”

I smiled. She was in a state of shock, and I couldn’t blame her. I remembered the first time I walked into a property like the one we stood in. I had dreams about the damn place for weeks.

“People really live like this?” she asked.

“A very small, small percentage of people.”

“With very big, big amounts of money,” she muttered under her breath as she swept her fingers against the sofa cushions. She quickly pulled her hand away and turned toward me and whispered as if caught doing a bad deed. “Am I allowed to touch this stuff?”

“Touch away.” I laughed. “You can even sit on it if you want to be wild.”

“Oh, no. I don’t have a wild bone in my body.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe? You did, after all, once run around New York City with a superhero.”

She looked my way and gave me a smile. Why did my chest always tighten when she gave that smile to me?

“Connor, everything’s a go. We’ll have about fifty potentials filtering in and out. A lot of talk about offers being made today. We’ll see what happens,” Damian said, walking up to me and breaking my stare away from Aaliyah.

“Good, good. Only a bit more time before things get busy. Damian, let me reintroduce you to Aaliyah. She’ll be around over the coming weeks because she’s doing a piece on me.”

He cocked a brow. “A piece of what?”

“You know…a piece. Like an article. ForPassion Magazine.”

He blinked repeatedly. “You’re doing an interview?”

“Yes.”

“You? The man who thinks interviews are the devil?”

“Yes. Me.”

“The one who’s turned down hundreds of thousands of dollars to avoid doing interviews?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You do know your last offer was for half a million, right? Is this the half-a-million interview?”

I shook my head. “No. It’s not.”

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