by Imani King
“You need Simon’s help? With what?”
“I need him to use whatever technological magic he has to find the address and phone number of a woman named Maya Hamilton. She’s in her mid to late twenties, and she’s a preschool teacher, somewhere local. That’s all I know.”
Heather let out another long sigh. “He’s asleep right now, Mr. Corbett. He had a really long day. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”
“No, it can’t wait until tomorrow, Heather.” My penthouse was completely dark, and the light from my laptop screen cast long shadows over the walls. I looked down at it, at the profile photo of Maya staring up at me. “I’ll double your Christmas bonus if you wake him up right now.”
“Double?” Heather’s voice raised an octave. If there was one thing I knew, it was that money always got things done. “Ok, I’ll go get him up.”
I gave Heather’s boyfriend Simon all the information I knew about Maya, and then I waited. I poured myself a glass of scotch and stood in front of the window, looking out at the lights of Manhattan below. Maya was out there, somewhere. Sleeping, probably. And hopefully dreaming of me.
Less than an hour later I got a call back from Heather. She gave me Maya’s cell phone number and the address of an apartment in Bushwick.
“Tell Simon I appreciate his hard work,” I told Heather. I looked down at the paper on which I’d written down Maya’s address, and a plan immediately formed in my head. “And please come over to the penthouse first thing in the morning. I need you to pick something up, and then I need you to go to this woman’s apartment.”
Chapter Five
Maya
I couldn’t help myself. When I got home from the Metropolitan gala, I googled Dylan Corbett. And what I found nearly knocked me over.
He was rich. And I mean filthy rich. His father, Carter Corbett, was some kind of Texas oil billionaire, and Dylan, in addition to his family’s vast fortune, had also made a killing as a venture capitalist. The Corbett family were some of the wealthiest people in the country, and Dylan, along with his equally rich and equally cute brothers, were in nearly every damn list of America’s most eligible bachelors. I found profiles of Dylan and his brothers in the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, and even a feature on his swanky penthouse in Vogue Magazine.
Good grief, I thought to myself, we’re not just different, we’re a different species. This man isn’t even from the same planet as me.
I also found the Society Pages website that the photographer at the gala had mentioned, but the pictures from that night weren’t up yet. There were no photos of Dylan Corbett and the Baroness Mildred Weatherby, but there were plenty of pictures of Dylan with other women. Dylan with a stunning blonde woman at a gallery opening. Dylan and a busty redhead posing with the mayor of New York. Dylan and another blonde even prettier than the first, at a party for Donatella freaking Versace. Fancy event after fancy event, always with a beautiful woman on his arm. And it seemed like he was never with the same woman more than once.
So apparently he was a playboy. And not just a playboy – a billionaire playboy.
I knew I’d made the right choice, leaving when I did. The last thing I needed was to get mixed up with someone like Dylan Corbett. Yes, he was incredibly, mind-bogglingly attractive, and I couldn’t deny that I felt a strange sort of pull towards him. I’d liked talking to him, and I wanted more, whether I liked it or not. But no good could possibly come out of that. I knew that someone like Dylan would just dazzle me with his good looks, his money and privilege, and then once he was tired of me, he’d leave me a broken-hearted mess. I’d already been burned hard by the last man I’d opened my heart to, and I’d be damned if I was going to let myself fall prey to the charms of Dylan Corbett.
No. No way. I closed my laptop with a resounding thud and tried to banish all thoughts of Dylan from my mind. I wrapped my hair up in a scarf, put on my comfiest pajamas, and dabbed a couple of spots of pimple cream on my face. Then I climbed into bed and went to sleep. But of course, Dylan Corbett was waiting for me in my damn dreams.
I woke the next morning at 8 AM to the sound of my apartment’s door buzzer. I pulled my blanket over my head, thinking that maybe whoever it was would go away, but it just buzzed and buzzed. Finally I crawled out of bed and made my way over to the intercom system. I held down the button and cleared my throat.
“Hello? Yes?”
The intercom crackled, then I heard a woman’s voice. “I have a delivery for Miss Maya Hamilton,” she said.
I didn’t remember ordering anything, but I was too groggy to think about it. “Thanks, you can just leave it in the hallway,” I said. I heard her open the outside entry door and drop something on the floor in the hallway. I waited until I heard the entry door close again to make sure she was gone – I didn’t want anyone to see me in my pajamas with pimple cream all over my face. Then I padded out into the hallway and retrieved the mysterious package.
It was big and flat, like an oversized book, and it was wrapped in plain brown paper. There was no postage information on the package – no stamps, no addresses – which was odd. Taped to the front of the package was an envelope with my name on it. I ripped it open, and audibly gasped as I read what was written on the card inside:
Maya,
Thank you for a memorable evening.
Yours, Dylan Corbett
How the hell did he know my address? And what the hell was in the package? My hands trembled as I peeled back the brown paper, and when I saw what was inside, I didn’t just gasp – I squealed.
It was the Elena Reid painting. Silent Night. The one that someone had bought for a million dollars in the silent auction. And it was sitting in my lap, next to a note from Dylan Corbett. Holy. Freaking. Crap.
As I sat, dumbfounded, staring at the painting, Tracy came out of her bedroom, rubbing her eyes and pouting like a little kid.
“What’s with all the racket, Maya? Did I just hear you scream? What are you – oh, shit!” Tracy saw the painting and stopped in her tracks. “Is that the painting from last night? The one you lost the bid for?”
“It is.” I turned to Tracy, my eyes wide. “It’s the painting someone bid a millions dollars for. Someone, apparently, named Dylan Corbett.” I handed the note that came with the painting to Tracy, and as she read it, her mouth dropped open.
“Dude... that’s some smooth shit,” Tracy said. “I haven’t even gotten a text from the guy I met last night, and you just got a million dollar painting dropped in your lap.”
“This is ridiculous. I can’t...” I set the painting on the couch and stared down at it, my arms crossed. There was no way I could accept a gift like that. And what the hell was he trying to do anyway? I mean, who did this guy think he was, sending me a million dollar painting after I told him I wasn’t interested? Was he trying to buy my affection or something?
As I stood in my living room, trying to figure out what the heck I was going to do about this incredibly expensive gift, my cell phone started ringing. I was so on edge that the noise made me jump. I ran back to my bedroom and answered it, and heard a familiar deep and sexy voice on the other end of the phone.
“Maya,” Dylan said. The way he said my name made goosebumps pop up on my skin. “I take it you received the painting?”
“Yes, I got the painting. But I can’t keep it. Obviously. And how did you find me anyway?”
“I have my methods,” he said. “I know how to get what I want.”
“Yeah, I bet you do.” As I walked back into the living room with the phone cradled against my ear, I heard my door buzzer ring again. I turned to Tracy and she shrugged.
“You should answer the door,” Dylan said, his voice strong and commanding.
“What, did you send me another present? Listen, Dylan, it was nice to meet you, but I told you that I—”
I flung open the front door, expecting to intercept another package delivery, but instead I saw Dylan, standing in the hallway, holding a cell phone up
to his ear. I gasped and jumped back, dropping my phone on the floor.
“Hi,” he said, then put his phone into his coat pocket.
He wore an impeccably tailored suit, and looked just as gorgeous at eight in the morning as he did the night before at the gala. A wave of red hot embarrassment washed over me as I realized that I was still wearing my head-wrap and flannel pajamas. And I had zit cream all over my face.
“Oh, crap!” I squealed. I jumped back another foot away from him and almost knocked over the standing lamp next to the couch. Then I slapped my palm over my mouth. I hadn’t even brushed my teeth yet. “I... oh... just... hold on,” I murmured through my hand.
I ran into the bathroom and quickly brushed my teeth, then scrubbed the zit cream off my face. I ripped the scarf off my head and my curls tumbled into a wild mess. I studied my reflection in the mirror, and just for a second I thought about throwing on some make-up, but I thought better of it. I didn’t need to look good: I just needed to politely decline Dylan’s gift and get him the hell out of my apartment. I threw a robe on over my pajamas and walked back out into the living room.
Dylan was sitting on the couch next to the painting, and he stood as I entered the room. “Maya, I—”
I cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “Listen, Dylan. I can’t keep this painting. It’s... it’s just way too expensive. It’s not right.”
“I was going to give them a check for the children’s charity anyway.” He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “But when I saw how much you loved that painting, I just figured...”
“Well, that was very generous of you, giving that much to charity. But I can’t—”
Tracy, who was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, interrupted me. “Just keep the painting, Maya. You love it. The charity gets the money either way, so what’s the problem?”
I turned back to Tracy and gave her an icy look. “Tracy, can you give us a moment alone please?” She nodded and walked back into her bedroom without saying a word.
Dylan moved a step closer to me, and I moved a step back. “I want you to have the painting, Maya. It would mean a lot to me if you’d accept it. And I want you to go out with me, too. But either way, please keep the painting.”
“Do you always come on this strong?” I asked him.
He smiled and cocked an eyebrow. “No, I don’t. But you’re different.”
“Yeah, you’re right, I am different.” I nervously tugged at the sash on my robe. I wished I’d taken a moment to put on jeans and a sweater or something. Being in pajamas and a robe in front of Dylan made me feel weirdly vulnerable. “I’m not from your world, Dylan. Isn’t there some heiress out there you want to date? Can’t you find a real Baroness? I mean, I know you can. I googled you, and you don’t seem to be hurting for dates.”
“Ah, you googled me, did you?” He stepped closer to me again, and my heart started fluttering inside my chest. “That means you’re interested.”
“Dylan, I...” Damn, those green eyes were hard to say no to.
“Just give it a try, Maya. Go out with me one time. Just one time.”
From her bedroom, I heard Tracy shout out, “Say yes, Maya!”
“See, Tracy thinks it’s a good idea.” He reached out and took my hand and gently ran his thumb over the palm of my hand. I took in a sharp breath. “Please, Maya. Say yes.”
This man was persuasive. And way, way too good looking to resist. I couldn’t fight it any more. “Ok, yes,” I said. “I’ll go out with you. One time.”
Dylan exhaled, and a happy smile spread over his face. “Tonight?”
“Ok, tonight.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight,” he said. He still held my hand in his, and as he brought it up to his face, his happy smile turned red-hot sexy. He kissed the back of my hand, his lips warm and soft against my skin, then turned his green eyes to look up at me. “You won’t regret this, Maya. I promise.”
Chapter Six
Dylan
Maya looked good enough to eat. And damn, if she would’ve given me half the chance, I would’ve done just that. Most of the women I’d dated in the past seemed overly preoccupied with some ideal thinness, and I had no idea what it was that made women feel like they needed to starve their bodies until they became a fucking bag of bones. They thought it looked good, but to me it was just all sharp angles, when what I really wanted was luscious curves.
And Maya had curves. She had curves for fucking days. I watched her as she descended the steps from her apartment, and noticed the way her hips swayed, the way her tight black dress hugged against her body, and it made me feel hungry. I don’t think I’d ever seen a woman so breathtakingly, heartbreakingly beautiful, from head to toe. And I knew in that moment, as she slipped into the car with me on that first date, that I’d do whatever I had to – I’d do anything – to make her mine.
I took her to my favorite Italian restaurant, a small, cozy little place in Brooklyn owned by a husband and wife from Naples. Maya seemed nervous and fidgety as we ate our appetizers, and when she picked up her wine glass to take a sip, I saw that her hand was shaking.
“You’re quiet,” I said, studying her face as the candlelight bounced off it. “Is everything ok?”
“I’m fine. Just overwhelmed, I think. You know, the painting, you showing up at my apartment...” She took a sip of wine and let out a long sigh. “I’m not used to being pursued like this. I’m not sure how to take it.”
“I know I come on strong, but I like to go after what I want. And I can’t imagine this is new for you. Men must ask you out all the time.”
“I haven’t been on a date in a long time, actually.” She lowered her eyes and looked at her lap. I knew there was so much she wasn’t telling me.
“Why not?”
“I’ve been burned.” She rolled her eyes dramatically and took another sip of wine. “I have trust issues. I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“That’s fine. You don’t have to talk about it.” I hated that someone had hurt her – hurt her enough to make her lose trust in men. But at the same time, I was glad that whatever happened had happened, because it had brought her to me. If the man who hurt her had loved her the way she deserved to be loved, then she would’ve probably been happily married – and not sitting in front of me in the candlelight.
“You seem to date plenty,” she countered. Her voice sounded sharp, and I knew it bothered her. If she’d googled me, then she knew I had long line of exes.
The waiter brought our entrees, which gave me a minute to think of how to explain my past to her. And I knew that with a woman like Maya, I couldn’t dazzle her with my usual sweet talk. I had to be honest and forthright, which I wasn’t completely used to doing on dates.
“Listen,” I said, leaning in and making sure she met my gaze. “You probably think I’m some sort of playboy jackass – and you’re right, I am. At least, I used to be. I dated a lot of women. Women I didn’t really care about. When you’re young and wealthy, you can get pretty much any girl you want without having to try very hard. It sounds crass, but it’s true. But I’m not like that anymore.”
“Well what changed? Did you have a near-death experience or something?” I could tell by Maya’s tone of voice that she was skeptical. She thought I was just feeding her a line. I needed to put it all out on the table.
“If you want to know the truth... I got a girl pregnant. Or I thought I did. It turned out it was a false alarm, but for about a week I thought I was going to be a dad. And I was really fucking excited about it. But the woman was nothing special to me. She was a model, very pretty, but not that interesting to talk to. And I thought: Could I marry her and be happy?” I tried to gauge Maya’s reaction to this story, but her face was blank, taking everything in. I decided to keep going. “I wouldn’t have been happy with her. I wanted the kid, but not her. So when I found out that she wasn’t actually pregnant, I knew that was a wake-up call. No more empty dates with vapid women that
I didn’t care about. I want something more than that. I want what my parents have. They made a family. They raised a house full of crazy boys and they’re still madly in love with each other. So you’re actually the first woman I’ve asked out since then.”
Maya twirled some pasta around on her fork. “So you have a big family, huh?”
“Yeah, huge.”
“I’m changing the subject because what you just said was... intense. I appreciate your honesty, though. I just don’t know what to say about that.”
“I know I’m coming on strong. I just want you to know that you can trust me, Maya. I’m not who you think I am.”
“I barely know anything about you. We just met, and you can’t expect me to immediately trust you. But I promise, I’ll let you know when I do.”
“Does that mean you’re going to go out with me again?”
