by Snow, Nicole
I wake up, far too comfortable for my lumpy bed.
After I blink several times, I realize I’m under luxurious white overstuffed linens with a full view of the Chicago skyline.
I’m so sore it makes me smile.
No earthly clue what time it is, but it’s daylight. If I’m playing stand-in CEO, I should get to work.
I glance beside me, where Mag still sleeps like a bear, his huge chest heaving softly with these growly sounds that aren’t quite snores. Good.
He needs the rest.
I wrap myself in the sheet and pull it off the bed with me so I can collect my clothes. I find my panties first on the floor near the bed.
My dress and bra? Who knows. They’re totally MIA.
We were on the window seat the last time we did it, the blinds open to the night, Mag driving into me from behind. My butt still burns pleasantly from the crisp strike of his hand as he made me come, adding this biting heat to our last release.
“Where are you going?” he asks, cracking one vivid blue eye open.
I turn to answer and realize he’s sitting up. My eyes are glued to a chiseled beast who can’t be mortal.
Sweet memories flood my mind and heat pours into my cheeks. We went hard at least seven times over the past forty-four hours, if my memory is accurate.
I’m torn between wanting him inside me again and just wanting to cuddle him.
Magnus Heron doesn’t strike me as either a morning sex fiend or cuddle bug. Though he did hold me for hours last night, after we screwed each other senseless.
That’s how we spent our New Year’s Eve, barely stopping for visiting hours with Jordan at the hospital and fixing him some food. He’s been sleeping a lot, too, whenever he’s not holed up in the sunroom with his phone, video games, and all the frozen snacks a teenager can eat.
Whatever else I expected on January second, it wasn’t waking up in the Twilight Zone.
Lucky me, this isn’t the kind where the Earth is falling into the sun or everybody has pig faces.
“Brina? Are you okay?” he asks. “You look frazzled.”
Oops. I was so busy gawking I forgot to answer.
“Holiday’s over. I should get to the office,” I say, shaking my head.
He looks from the skyline to me with a sad expression that breaks my heart, and nods.
“Right. No one out there can see you, FYI. We’re too high up—”
“We’re only on the forty-seventh floor,” I say. “The buildings out there are way taller.”
He grins.
“Whatever you say, Miss Modesty. You certainly weren’t worried last night when I held you against the glass and made you watch yourself coming on my cock.”
Instant butterflies.
Until him, I didn’t even know they could be dirty butterflies, either.
He walks to the nightstand beside the bed—completely comfortable nude—picks up a remote, and the curtains close across that glass wall. “You don’t need the sheet, sweetheart. I’ve already seen you, and you don’t need to go to the office today.”
Oh—so maybe the ruler of the world is into lingering mornings?
“But it’s the first day back. All the staff should be piling in, ready to go after a long holiday.”
He moves to the window seat, picks up my dress and bra, and brings them over to where I’m still crouched on the floor. He holds the garments out, and I take them. Then he picks me up.
“Where are we—what are we—”
He lays me on the bed and slides in beside me.
“If you think people are raring to go, you don’t know anything about how miserably slow the first week of January can be. The notes for the airline presentation are done. I approved Hugo’s creatives while you were napping after we fucked the first two times yesterday. There’s nothing pressing there. Spend the first real day of the year with me. January first doesn’t count when everybody’s still hung over from champagne and ham dinners. Stay?”
Whoa. That’s one request from my boss I never saw coming.
“I don’t know. My boss can be a cyclops-sized asshole,” I say, scratching my chin in mock-thought.
“If you try to abuse the classics like that again, I’m chaining you up and reading you Homer.” He puts his arms around me and holds me tight. “And if your horrible boss tries to be a jackass again, let me know. I’ll kick his ass.”
I can’t help but giggle, and blush because he might be serious about that Homer thing. You never know.
He runs his capable fingers through my hair, soft strokes reminding me what they can do.
“What are you thinking? You look mischievous. I didn’t think a day playing hooky would make you so thrilled,” he whispers.
Yeah, now I’m smiling so hard my cheeks burn.
“I’m just amused. You admitted you need me at home,” I tell him.
He glares at me, bosshole mode activated.
“You’re an evil woman.”
I’ve got my arms around him now and hold on tighter. “But do you really need me?”
He sighs. “Yes, Miss Bristol, I can’t manage to get through a single day without you.”
I kiss his jaw and then up his chin, ending with his lips.
“Glad you can admit it. That’s progress.” I slap his chest. “Let’s get up. I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Hold on. I have to check the time. If it’s too late, we may need to grab something to eat at the hospital. Jordan has to be there at nine when visiting hours start, just like yesterday. I can’t let that kid down. He already despises me enough.”
So much for the playfulness.
I lay my hand on his face. “He doesn’t hate you, Mag. I promise. He just needs to warm up to you.”
He kisses my shoulder and picks up his phone. “It’s after eight. We have to shower and get out of here.” He stands, walks toward the bathroom, looks back at me, and shakes his head.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I almost suggested we shower together to save time, but of course it wouldn’t save time,” he says with a scowl.
I smile. “Go. Before I jump in with you.”
Mag showers first, then heads out of the room. I shower and get dressed in yesterday’s clothes, which are still pretty clean because I spent so much time naked.
I bite my lip as I exit the bedroom. When I get to the living room, Jordan sits on the couch fully dressed, sneakers on, ready to go.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I hope I didn’t make us late.”
Before Jordan can answer, Mag steps up beside me and hands me a warm, disposable cup. “You’re fine. Here’s a pick-me-up. Sorry, I don’t have cinnamon.”
“No problem,” I say, slurping the coffee. I swallow the acrid brew and my face puckers. “No sugar either, huh?”
He fails to suppress a laugh.
Jordan jumps up. “Okay, Mag makes bad coffee, breaking news. Can we go now?”
“Sure,” I say, sizing him up.
His moods can be volatile and I wonder what today will bring. He seemed a bit lighter yesterday, but I wonder if it was looking forward to a shiny new year.
Jordan walks out of the door ahead of us.
“I told you. He’s going to kill me,” Mag whispers in my ear.
“You’re very patient with him,” I say encouragingly. “You guys will be fine. It’s just going to take time. Big changes.”
I’m not wrong about the last part. All three people in this penthouse have had their worlds flipped upside down over the past week.
How long can this go on?
How long until some new disaster sends us plummeting into the abyss?
* * *
At the hospital, a doctor comes out of Marissa’s room just as we get to the entrance.
He stops and looks at Mag.
“You must be Mr. Heron.” He holds his hand out.
Mag shakes it with a fierce glow in his eyes. “Yes, and you’re Doctor Bahkta? From Johns Hopkins?”
> “Yes.” His gaze drops from Mag to Jordan before returning to Mag. “Do you want to talk for a minute, alone?”
Magnus nods. “Of course.”
“No,” Jordan says, tensing.
We all look at him for a beat.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m her son. Not him.” He looks at the doctor. “You’re not telling him anything you can’t tell me. He shouldn’t be making decisions for my mom.”
“Jordan—” Mag starts.
“Mag?” I say quietly, laying a hand on his shoulder.
He looks at me, his harsh eyes softening.
“He’s fourteen,” I say, remembering other conversations.
“Exactly. Too young,” he growls.
“He deserves to know,” I hiss back.
Magnus goes quiet, thoughts leaping back and forth in his eyes.
“I’m sure you’re a wonderful son,” Dr. Bhakta says. “However, as a minor, I’m not allowed to provide you with information unless I have—”
“It’s okay,” Mag cuts in. “He’s old enough to hear the truth. Tell us all.”
“You’re sure?” The doctor raises his bushy eyebrows.
Mag nods.
“Well, the good news is she has a lot of healthy brain activity. Odds of survival are overwhelmingly in her favor...” His voice trails off.
“But?” Magnus snaps.
“Sir, with a coma like this, there’s no way to pinpoint when she’ll wake up. Fortunately, I don’t think it’s a question of if. I just don’t believe it’s going to be soon. We’re giving her anti-inflammatories to bring down the swelling. We could be looking at a week or two—” Dr. Bhakta stops.
Jordan lets out an audible sigh.
“You okay, big guy?” I tussle his hair with my hand.
He smiles. “Yeah, weeks aren’t so bad.”
“I wasn’t done,” Dr. Bhakta says reluctantly. “It could be weeks, or months.” His eyes move away from Jordan and he looks at Mag. “Or years, I’m afraid.”
God. I think I can hear poor Jordan’s heart smashing in his chest like fallen glass.
We sit at the hospital for hours. Jordan never says anything to his unresponsive mom, but he never wants to leave the room either.
He won’t go to the cafeteria to eat, and when I offer to bring food up for him, he refuses.
If his bleeding weren’t totally invisible, I’m sure it would look like a crime scene.
“Jordan, we’re going to have to go soon,” I say, lowering my voice.
He nods like his head weighs a ton.
“If we went out for dinner, what’s a place you’d like?” Magnus asks, stepping up next to us.
“Hell if I know.” Jordan shrugs and sighs.
“I know you like pizza.” I smile at Mag. “I could go for a nice warm pizza tonight.”
“Where at?” Mag asks. “I know a place downtown.”
“Oh, no.” I shake my head. “I’m picking the place. We’re not doing fancy pizza.”
He snorts. “How can pizza be fancy?”
“Even his pizza’s fancy?” Jordan asks. “Jesus.”
Mag lifts an eyebrow. “Thanks, Brina.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I just meant you probably do something crazy like put imported pineapples on it.”
“Gross!” Jordan mutters.
Mag’s eyes dart around helplessly as he says, “Please, I’m a civilized man. I do not put fruit on my pizza.”
I fight back a smile.
“How ’bout Pizza Shack? The reviews are great and it’s tasty without being weird and experimental, but it’s a little bit of a drive.”
“Armstrong doesn’t mind,” Mag tells us.
The Pizza Shack is closer to my parents’ house than downtown, and the drive takes over half an hour. Mag makes a few awkward attempts to talk to Jordan on the way, but he doesn’t get more than one-word grunts back.
When he gives up at last, he places his hand over mine in the dark car.
I enjoy his touch, and my heart aches for him as hard as my body does.
He’s trying so hard. Jordan just isn’t giving in.
Stubbornness is definitely a Heron family trademark.
At Pizza Shack, we plop down in a teal-green booth with a big lamp hanging over our heads. The server comes for our drink orders and scurries off to grab them.
“Just like home! My parents used to bring me here once a week sometimes,” I say, inhaling the delicious scent of fresh baked pizza, garlic, and everything good in life. “They’ve still got the arcade, I see. Mom and I would team up on Dad and fight over tickets. I always got to choose what the tickets bought.” I laugh.
“I had play dates at the golf club so my dad could close deals with my friends’ parents,” Mag says, taking a long, irritated sip off his water.
I smile. It’s easy to see how he comes across as arrogant, ever the stuck-up suit, but that’s not who he is.
He’s kind and generous with Jordan and takes care of his employees.
When push comes to shove, he lets his inner asshole guard down, and a good man steps out.
“Howdy, folks, all set to order?” The server brings drinks to our booth and sets them down on the table.
Jordan looks at Mag, blinking like he’s unsure.
“Can we get a buffalo chicken pizza?” he asks.
Mag nods. “A large pepperoni and a large buffalo chicken pizza. Please.”
I’m beaming. He remembered the p-word.
“Chicago style?” she asks.
“Is there any other way to eat a pizza in this town?” I fire back.
“Not a sane one.” She scribbles our order down and disappears with a laugh.
“I’m glad you got pepperoni,” I say.
“Classic choice.” Mag smiles. “I had a feeling.”
“What, how?” I ask, tripping over my words.
“You strike me as a pepperoni kind of girl. Simple, plenty of heat, and...” He leans into my ear. “Utterly delicious.”
I tremble, pressing back into the booth, trying to hide how my face heats. From anyone else, it would almost sound lame, but from Magnus Heron?
I’m grinning like a fool.
“Pepperoni should be a nice contrast since Jordan likes fancy pizza,” he says, looking at his little brother.
“Dude. It’s just buffalo chicken on pizza. Two of my favorite things,” Jordan says.
“I like buffalo wings as much as the next guy,” Mag says. “But not on my pizza.”
“Yeah, well, you’re old,” Jordan grunts.
Mag’s eyebrows go up. His smirk could cut something.
“I’d like to think one foot in the grave is a long ways off, but I guess to a fourteen-year-old, I probably am old.” Mag picks up his cup and takes a drink like he has to rinse his mouth after saying that word.
Jordan stares at the arcade across the room.
“What’s your favorite game, Jordan?” I ask.
“Eh, I like racing, the street fighter games...” He surveys the selection. “Oh, and Whack-A-Mole. Haven’t seen that in ages.”
“Too funny! Did you know Mag loves to hit things too?” I say, nudging my lover-boy boss in the side.
“Huh?” Mag perks up at the mention of his name. I don’t think he was following the conversation before. “I do?”
I nudge him harder with my elbow and flash him a strained look that says, I’m trying to help. Don’t mess this up.
“Oh, right, Whack-A-Mole. Sure, nothing like clubbing mechanical rodents.”
I smile. “If the two of you want to go play a quick round or two, I’ll wait here and grab you when the food comes.”
Jordan grins. I think it may be the first time I’ve seen the kid smile wider than my thumb.
“How ’bout it? You want to prove you’re not ancient?”
“You’re on, kid,” Mag says, unbuttoning the top of his shirt and shuffling out of the booth.
Jordan pops up and starts for the
arcade room.
“Thank you,” Magnus whispers in my ear over his shoulder before following his brother.
I spend the rest of the time sipping soda and trying to spot Mag flailing around after moles from the booth. I can’t quite get a good look, but it’s something I’d pay good money to see—uptight beast-man CEO whacking robo-moles for fun.
When the pizzas come, they’re still gone.
Unable to resist, I head over to the mole game, expecting to find them.
Nope, they’re missing.
I find Mag on the other side of the arcade, throwing baseballs through numbered loops, and doing a pretty good job of hitting his targets. The machine keeps going wild, spitting out tickets.
Wow. So he does have a fun side?
Not only that, he’s amazing. He doesn’t miss one. Jordan holds a bucket full of tickets, and he smiles when he sees me.
“Hey. We’re trying to win you a Pizza Shack Beaver,” Jordan says.
“You are?” I’m confused.
“Yeah, but Mag’s more coordinated, and taller than me. He can get tickets faster.”
“Don’t worry, bud. We’re a team.” Magnus stops throwing balls to give Jordan a high five.
“Okay, team,” I say, feeling a big case of smiles coming on. “The food’s come, so you might want to eat before you worry about the beaver.”
Back at the table, Mag and I reach for the pepperoni at the same time.
Our fingers brush against each other on the pizza stand, and I giggle like a schoolgirl.
He smiles at me with the same magnetic look that leaves my panties in flames every single time. My breath catches in my chest, and yes, God help me, I blush for the millionth time.
What a strange year so far. It feels like I’m destined to live out one of Mom’s goofy novels.
“Can I try a slice of your pizza?” he asks Jordan as soon as he’s cleaned his plate.
“Thought you didn’t like wings on your pizza?” Jordan looks up and snorts, his eyes disbelieving, but not angry.
Mag smiles at him. “I thought I’d see why you’re so obsessed.”
“Whatever, man. Go for it,” Jordan says.
20
Happy New Year (Magnus)
“Here we go, guys!” Armstrong says, pulling up in front of my building.
