Xavier: A Men of Gotham Novel

by Daisy Allen

  “Um, yes, can I help you?”

  “Are you Malynda?”

  I roll my eyes. Sent by Xavier.

  “I guess. What’s up?”

  “I have a delivery for you.” He holds out a box and ties the balloons to one of the desk legs. “Have a good night.”

  I’m too engrossed in the big white box to notice him leave.

  What is this, Xavier? I wonder, but not for long. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I tear off the ribbon on the box and fling the cardboard lid across the room. I rifle through the layers and tissue paper until I get to the main part of the gift. Then I can’t help but guffaw.

  Inside is a pair of flannel pajamas. With goldfish on them. Where did he even find them?

  I lift up the flannel top and a small card falls out.

  "Put these on and I'll meet you downstairs in 15 minutes. Don't argue. And don't be late!"

  I hug the card to my chest, something tickling inside my stomach. A deep breath doesn't make it go away.

  "Fuck it." I push myself up away from my desk. "I told you I'm not a loser," I say to the stack of catalogues and pull the blinds closed as I slip out of my skirt and into the pajamas.

  I've been downstairs for about 5 minutes, when I hear the faint tune of Happy Birthday. I step out onto the road peering down Madison Avenue and see a limo coming toward me with a bunch of balloons floating out from its roof. It's only about twenty yards away when I realize there’s a head bobbing around amongst the balloons, one that belongs to my high school sweetheart.

  "Hey! You're not appropriately dressed," is the first thing he says to me when the limo comes to a stop outside the building.

  I can barely breathe from laughing to respond so I just open my jacket, flasher style, to show him what I'm wearing underneath.

  "Yay! Now we match," he exclaims.

  He ducks down and disappears for a second before jumping out of the limo. He’s dressed exactly like I am, except he has something I don't. A pair of Nemo slippers on his feet.

  "Oh my god, Xave!" I squeal pointing at them with one hand, the other holding onto his arm as I hug my cramping stomach.

  "Don't worry, I brought you a pair as well!"

  He kneels down and lifts my foot, throwing my stiletto off, flinging it onto the street before sliding a Nemo slipper onto my foot.

  "Xavier! Those are Jimmy Choos!"

  "Choos Shmoos! These are TARGET! Way more comfy, right?" He wriggles his eyebrows at me as he slips my other foot into the second slipper. My toes instantly curl into the plush insides of the slippers. It feels heavenly after a day of being in those pointed torture devices.

  "Don't worry, I'll get you another pair,” he says as he gets to his feet, taking my hand and leading me into the limo.

  "I want Dory next time!" I shout.

  "I meant the Jimmy Choos."

  I giggle and shrug. "I know, but I'd rather have the slippers."

  He looks at me, his pupils open, warm and friendly. He holds my gaze for a moment, before asking, "Would you really?"

  I shrug again, "Well, yeah. Choos don't go with flannel pajamas, Xave." I give him a wink and climb into the limo. He follows, closing the door behind him. The limo pulls away from the curb and into traffic.

  I take a moment to look around me and burst out laughing again. How is this happening right now? I push the thought away. Fuck it. Jump now. Deal Later.

  "I can honestly say I've never done this."

  "Ridden a limo? I doubt that."

  "Not in pajamas and slippers!"

  "Only way to do it!" He stretches his body out, his long legs spreading out in front of us, his hands locked behind his head. "You hungry?"

  My stomach growls in response.

  "I guess so," he laughs and reaches across me over to the drinks bar and hands me a glass of champagne. "Drink this, it'll tide you over until we eat."

  "This is going to go straight to my head," I say pointedly, then take a long sip anyway. "Where are we going?"

  "Out."

  I give him a look, and then finish the champagne.

  "Where out?"

  "Out out,” he winks, knowing how much I hate not knowing.

  "Xavier."

  "Malynda."

  I know better than to argue. I haven't forgotten how stubborn he used to be, how impossible it was to get him to talk about anything he didn't want to. Hell, he didn't say a word that first week I was trying to get to know him. Something tells me, while some things are different, how much more confident he seems now, flirty, in command, um, muscly, other things have stayed just the same.

  I lean back into the leather seat, enjoying how comfortable I feel. Usually when I'm in a limo I'm zipped up tight into a dress, my hair pinned within an inch of its life, my feet pinched and blistered.

  My eyes flutter closed and there’s the unmistakable sound of New York City traffic whizzing past my window while I’m cocooned in here. With Xavier.

  A sigh escapes my lips before I can stop it, and I open my eyes to see him staring at me.

  He doesn't bother to look away so I'm the one to who breaks our gaze.

  Careful, Malynda, I tell myself, and am a little surprised at my use of my old name. From the moment I changed it, I'd been careful to never think of it again, even just in my own head. Until now.

  The rest of the drive is in silence. Quiet but not awkward. The stress of the day slowly seeps from my bones, and I feel my muscles loosen and relax. When the limo finally stops I peer out the window and am surprised where we’ve arrived.

  "Um, Xavier?"

  "Yup?"

  "This is The Barn."

  "Yup again."

  "Like, one Michelin star, top 100 best restaurant in the world, Gourmet’s best new chef, Jaxon Sinclair's place, The Barn."

  "You've heard of it, then. Good." He shuffles forward in his seat.

  I blink at his response. "Heard of it?! I've been DYING to go here."

  "Well, we're here, let's go. I'm starving too." The limo door opens and he starts to climb out.

  "Er, no. Nope." I sink as far back into the leather seat as I can.

  "What? Why?"

  "I'm... wait, no, we are in pajamas, Xavier."

  "So?"

  "No." I shake my head and sink deeper into the shadows.

  He laughs and takes my hand. "It's fine, come on!"

  "There are dress codes in these places, Xavier."

  "And you are in keeping with the code. Trust me. Come on, we'll be late." He ignores my protests and drags me out of the limo. I stumble out onto the footpath and Xavier pulls me close against him, so close I can feel his heart beat against my cheek. "Come on, I got you," he whispers and pushes me through the restaurant entrance, ignoring the groups of people glaring at us as we skip the queue.

  It's dark inside, and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. There’s a little waiting area, a hostess's podium just to the right. We're the only ones standing here, even though I can see the restaurant is full and buzzing over Xavier’s shoulder. He gives me a quick wink and lets go of me as a guy I recognize from his profile in the Times comes over to us.

  "Xavier. Buddy!" The men hug and Xavier turns to me.

  "This is the guest of honor, Malynda. Malynda, this is Jaxon,"

  I take the hand offered to me, voice completely lost.

  "She's a little bit starstruck. Apparently, you’re a big deal," Xavier says and Jaxon just grins.

  "You guys ready? I have your table all set."

  I pull my jacket tighter around me, hoping no one will notice the slippers in the dark as Jaxon leads us through his restaurant. I try not to drool as I watch the plates being carried past us, and colorful cocktails being concocted at the long bar, stretching the length of the dining room. He takes us through a door that leads us through a bustling kitchen and then another door and it's instantly quieter.

  "Where are we going?" I whisper to Xavier as Jaxon presses on a button by what looks like a freight elevator.
>
  "Up."

  "Where up?"

  "Up up."

  I bite back a growl and just glare at him instead. Before I can ask another question, the elevator doors open and Xavier ushers me inside.

  "Have a great night! My guys will take care of you," Jaxon says, not following us into the elevator.

  "Wait... where..." I start but don't get to finish as the doors close.

  "He's not coming with us. He has a restaurant to run. Apparently, it has one Michelin star and is on the World's 100 best restaurants list," Xavier mimics me, and I punch him on the arm like I've been wanting to do since he made me get out of the limo in pajamas. “Ow! Meanie!”

  “Don’t you forget it!”

  He just shakes his head and holds out his hand to me.

  “Come on, time to eat.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re here,” he whispers and tilts his chin.

  I spin around and see, we’re on top of the world.

  "Happy Birthday, sweetheart,” he whispers, his lips grazing my ear as he gently pushes against my hips and guides me forward onto the roof of the building. My mouth is open and silent as I take in the view in front of me. There, with the backdrop of the Empire State Building, is a single table set up in the middle of the roof, with a vase of sunflowers and an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne.

  "Wow."

  "Yeah, this place is reserved only for private parties. And by private, I mean people who know Jaxon on a first name basis."

  "And how is that you?"

  "Well, it gets boring calling each other Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Kent when you're doing business together."

  "You and Jaxon?"

  "Yup."

  "Business? How?"

  "Kaine and I own the building."

  I shake my head. Who is this Xavier? This business mogul. He's all grown up now, I guess. It makes me sad that there's so much I don't know about him. But then who's fault is that?

  "Come, I can hear your stomach rumbling from here."

  He pulls out a chair and sits down. I can’t stop touching the plate and the silverware. It's all so beautiful. And then I remembered what he said.

  "You remembered." I don't even have to tell him what I'm talking about.

  He smiles, pulling the napkin out of the wine glass. "Of course. You didn't think I'd forget your birthday, did you?"

  "I don't remember yours," I admit, my cheeks flushing. Or maybe it's the effects of the champagne.

  "Well, we never spent my birthday together."

  He grins and I fall into a wormhole that takes me back twelve years ago. He'd spent some of his hard-earned money from working at the lawyer’s office and taken us to an Italian restaurant in Portland.

  "Remember the bus trip up to Portland?" he says, his eyes twinkling.

  "Most romantic bus trip in the history of bus trips," I laugh. “I love being ogled by a guy wearing a Futurama T-shirt and sucking on the same YooHoo for two hours.”

  "Hey, I was eighteen and poor."

  "No, really,” I reach out and squeeze his hand. “It really was so romantic. The whole night was," I say, not laughing so he knows I mean it.

  He nods, "Well, I thought so. Even when you made us Lady and the Tramp it with the spaghetti."

  "You made a great Tramp."

  He nods as if to accept the praise. "You weren't so great a Lady though."

  "Hey!"

  "You hogged the spaghetti; you know you did! You're supposed to meet in the middle, not hoover up almost the whole thing!"

  "I was hungry!"

  "Speaking of which," he points behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to see a parade of waiters carrying dishes come out from the elevator and lay them out in front of us.

  I bite my tongue waiting for them to leave before I give into the laughs.

  "Oh my god. What. Is. That?" I point to the piled plate in front of me.

  "It's penne e quattro formaggio e truffle a la Jaxon Sinclair."

  "It's MAC AND CHEESE!" I cackle, so loud I’m sure they can hear me on the streets.

  "I told him he had to use some sort of orange cheese or else you wouldn't eat it. 'It has to look like it came out of a box' is exactly what I said, if you must know."

  "Oh my god, what must he think, us showing up in PJs and now you requesting mac and cheese.'

  "He's thinking 'Gee, Xavier, thanks for cutting this month’s rent bill in half' is what he's thinking!"

  "Xavier. You didn’t!"

  "Shut up and eat. Your mac and cheese is getting congealed. Or whatever orange cheese does."

  I fill up my fork with the delicious smelling food and cram it into my face.

  “Ohmyeffingod,” I moan through a mouthful of creamy pasta.

  “Yeah,” Xavier nods, his mouth just as full, “this almost beats Kraft.”

  “Yeah, almost, if Kraft could get their hands on cheap truffles. Ughhh, this is so good,” I mumble through another mouthful.

  There are a few quiet minutes as we both enjoy our dinner. The pasta is creamy and unctuous and cheesy and decadent. My plate is almost empty when I see Xavier reach across the table with his fork and try to stab one of my penne tubes.

  “Wow, hey, stay on your side!” I pull my plate closer to me.

  “Rude! My plate was the same size as yours!”

  “So?”

  “I’m bigger, I should get more. You owe me anyway!”

  “Nuh-uh!”

  “Yuh-huh, Lady!”

  I growl and roll my eyes. I spear one of the penne tubes and lift it towards Xavier’s mouth. He grins and opens wide.

  Just as he clamps down, I pull the fork away and pop the pasta into my mouth.

  “Mmmmmm, yummy. Isn’t it funny how the last piece is always the best?”

  “Bitch,” he hisses and stares down at his plate, forlorn.

  I giggle and reach for the half-filled wine glass. The swirl leaves ribbons of liquid claret on the bowl of the glass and I watch them slide down toward the stem. I take a small sip and I close my eyes, savoring it. When I open my eyes, Xavier has moved my empty plate away and replaced it with a small cupcake, speared by a single candle.

  "Where did that come from?"

  “It was under that cloche,” he says and points to the metal dome on the side table. “You didn't notice it because you were too busy ogling the melted cheese."

  "Mmmm, it was very sexy,” I nod. “But this looks delicious too.”

  "I don't have a lighter, I'm sorry. You can just pretend to blow the candle out."

  "Do I still get a wish?"

  "Er, hang on." He pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts tapping at it.

  "Um, now who's being rude?"

  "Shush, I'm finding out if your birthday wish will still come true!"

  "Oh, and?"

  "Um, there's nothing about unlit candles, but someone suggests to make a wish that you want to die. And then you should tell someone that was your wish."

  I laugh at the ridiculous idea. "What the hell? Why?"

  "Because your wish doesn’t come true if you tell someone!" He says this with his eyes lit up like the rows of fairy lights around us. "Wow. The internet really is a treasure trove of useless information."

  I bat his phone away, impatient. "Can I eat my cupcake yet?"

  "Did you make a wish?"

  "Well, you didn't sing Happy Birthday to me yet."

  "Fine." I sit with my hands in my lap like I'm waiting to open a big present. He clears his throat and sings. Loudly. And badly. Very, very badly.

  "Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you,” he warbles. A car alarm goes off somewhere in the distance and I’m not convinced it’s not because of his singing. I try to keep a straight face right up to when he lingers on the last line and gets up and presses a soft kiss to my cheek and sits back down. “Happy Birthday to youuuuuuuuuuuuuu.”

  "'Wow. Um. Thank you, Xavier."

  "No problem. Now you can have your cupcake. Ar
e you going to share it with me?"

  "No. One does not share their cupcakes," I say and pop the entire thing in my mouth.

  I make a show of rubbing my stomach and licking my lips even though it's hardly pretending, it's delicious. He sits and watches, mouth open. Once I'm done, he gets up and carries another cloche covered plate over and sits it down in front of him.

  He smirks and lifts the dome with a dramatic flourish; revealing a much bigger cupcake under it.

  "My turn!" he exclaims, and lifts the cupcake to his mouth.

  "No! HEY! It's MY birthday, you have to share!"

  "Oh no, someone once told me, ‘one does not share their cupcakes!’" He lifts it up and waves it in front of me. I reach out and grab it, tearing half of it off and stuffing it quickly into my face. Xavier gasps and jumps up off his chair and runs over to me. Before I can move away, he pushes what's left of his cupcake against my face.

  "No! Help! Cupcake attack!" I yell and run from the table, brushing the crumbs and frosting off my face. He chases me down and grabs me by the hips, spinning me around to face him.

  Those eyes.

  Those deep green eyes.

  How could I forget what it was like to lose myself in them?

  Our laughter fades into the night, and my breath stops completely as he lowers his mouth onto mine, kissing me deep.

  He tastes like red wine and chocolate.

  Or is that me?

  I don't know. All I know is I can't stop kissing him.

  My fingers run through his hair and my chest is pressed against his, feeling every hard inch of him.

  "Oh, Malynda," he whispers against my mouth.

  And for a moment I forget that's not my name any more.

  His tongue grazes against my lower lip, and his cheek is deliciously rough against mine.

  Need for breath forces us apart, finally. My fingers instantly coming up to touch my lips.

  They feel different already.

  He leans forward again, but this time, I stop him.

  I shake my head, and hope that that's enough.

  He sighs and rests his forehead against mine, waiting for our breath to steady before he pulls away and stares out into the night, resting his hands on the wall’s edge, keeping us from falling off the roof.

  "There were more stars out last time. On your birthday. It's almost like it's a different sky."