Page 40 of Ms. Fortune

When he turns back to head to the seating area, I watch as he walks away, admiring the rear view, as it were. I still feel woefully inadequate around him for some reason that I can’t explain, but that kiss proved he’s sincere about me, at least. He might just honestly like me, for me. Crazy.

I wake up Chelsie, who is almost as horrible as I am first thing upon waking, and we land safely in New York. Before we deplane, a drop-dead gorgeous redheaded woman comes on board with winter coats for me and Chelsie. She has a bit of an attitude toward us but is nothing but smiles for Brandon. Her name is Diane, and she’s his assistant. Lovely. Not jealous of her at all. Nope. But it looks like the feeling is mutual.

She glares daggers at me as Brandon helps me into the coat and puts a hand on my lower back as he escorts me off the plane. I give Diane a tight smile as we pass, but I don’t see her reaction as the wind whips my hair into my face, temporarily blocking my view of her. If I were to bet, I’d put my money on her not liking me. It’s okay. I’m not here to be liked. I’m just here to survive for a few more days. That seems to be a little more important at the moment.

Chapter 27

PLEASE FORGIVE ME

BRANDON

The trip to my penthouse on 57th Street takes longer than usual due to the incessant snow that keeps falling. Chelsie looked out the car's window once and fell back asleep. At least we could get back to the city without issue despite the weather. Flying to Vegas and back in 24 hours, plus the emotional roller coaster of everything surrounding Normandy, I’m left beyond physically exhausted. This kind of tiredness hits you in your soul.

If I’m being honest with myself, a lot of my soul-crushing tiredness comes from my relationship with Normandy, if I can even call it a relationship. Whenever I think we’re getting somewhere on the communication front, she suddenly pulls the rug out from under me. I can’t keep doing this and expect to maintain my sanity. Volatility isn’t something I tolerate well. Things seem to be on the upswing, but I feel it can change in the blink of an eye. I like to count on patterns and be able to predict outcomes. This has been impossible to do with her, and it feels like I’m trying to balance on shifting sands whenever we’re together.

Everything between us has progressed so quickly that it’s hard to believe I’ve only known her for a few weeks. At times it feels like we’ve known each other forever, and other times it’s like I don’t know her at all. I suppose we’re really in the middle, but having to guess where I stand with someone isn’t how I like to do things. I need to know where I fit in someone else’s life, if I fit at all. I want to believe I fit somewhere in her life, but where that is still is up in the air, along with everything else surrounding her. Maybe we’ll figure things out while she’s staying with me.

She glances around with a confused frown when we pull into the garage beneath my building.

“I thought we were staying at a hotel?”

“No. You’re going to stay with me.” I never agreed to her demand to pay for their stay somewhere. And I wouldn’t. Not when I have too many bedrooms as it is. I can only sleep in one at a time last time I checked.

“But I said….”

“And I never agreed or disagreed.” I can’t help but smile at the incredulous expression on her face. “Taylor had to leave some personnel in Vegas, so we’re spread a little thin here for a while with protection. It’s better if you stay close and with me. I’ve got plenty of room for the both of you, don’t worry.”

“But… Brandon, no.” She sees the finality of the decision in my eyes and deflates; her shoulders sag as she accepts her immediate fate. “Fine. Remind me to have a conversation with you later about respecting boundaries.”

“Sure thing.” I force myself to maintain the smile to keep things light since I can see I’ve crossed yet another line with her. So, there is no doing for her. Everything needs to be done with approval or not at all. I don’t know if I can operate that way. It’s not like I have bad intentions and made these arrangements to purposely go against her wishes. On the contrary, given the information regarding the shortage of security, I did the only prudent thing: to do what I needed to keep her and Chelsie safe. Nothing nefarious about that.

After finally coaxing Chelsie awake, we make our way up to my penthouse. I brace myself for what I know is coming.

“Oh my God. This is your apartment?” Chelsie’s eyes are as wide as saucers as she takes off her coat.

And there it is. The response I was expecting from Chelsie. She seems as though she’d be easily impressed with the view. Normandy, at least, is keeping herself reserved as usual. I can see a bit of intimidation in her tense expression, though. I’ll admit, it can be a bit much on first viewing. Seeing the entire New York City skyline across Central Park from the floor-to-ceiling windows as soon as you enter the apartment was a central selling point for me when I bought the place. Even in the middle of a snowstorm, it’s still a breathtaking view.

“Well, this is part of it. There’s this entire floor and the floor above where the living quarters are.” I beckon them both to follow me further into the apartment instead of standing in the foyer, gawking out the windows. Though, to be honest, I still do that sometimes when I’m alone.

“Pfft. Living quarters. Good Lord.” Chelsie scoffs, rolling her eyes at Normandy, who shrugs back at her. “Are there servant’s quarters too?”

I sarcastically deadpan a look at her indicating, of course, there are.

“Seriously?” I think her jaw may actually hit the floor.

Now I can’t help but laugh. She’s too easy to mess with.

“Of course not. The servants have their own apartments…I assume.” I continue the sarcasm and pretend I don’t care, turning to head into the kitchen, signaling them to keep following me. I don’t get to play the ‘asshole billionaire’ very often, and it can be fun. Normandy snickers, but when I hear Chelsie gasp behind me, I glance over my shoulder at her. “I was kidding, Chelsie. I don’t have servants. I’m not royalty.”

“Tell that to your decorator,” she mumbles behind me. And that’s fair. My décor isn’t that of a typical bachelor. Apart from the windows, it’s not all glass, metal, or leather. I don’t like modern. I prefer layers. Rugs, tapestries, and plush couches and chairs. Real art on the wall, not crazy abstract pieces. Art is so subjective, though. What I call “real” someone else could just as quickly call crazy.

“Next time I see him, I will.” And I’m serious. I’m sure Dennis, the designer who decorated the apartment, will get a real kick out of that comment.

I lead them into the kitchen, glancing at the clock on the wall and seeing it’s still super early, say, “Do you want anything to eat? or a drink? Coffee? Or do you want to get some more sleep?”

They both say, “Sleep,” and give each other a look and a nod of agreement that the other is correct. It’s amusing to watch these two interact like real sisters. You’d never know they didn’t grow up together.

“Right. Sleep it is then. Follow me one more time.” I lead them to the internal elevator that leads to the floor above and the bedrooms. I show Chelsie to the first bedroom and then lead Normandy to the next one down the hall closest to mine. I could have given her the room across from Chelsie’s but selfishly want her close to me, even if it’s not in the same bed.

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