by Lulu Pratt
Chapter 2
ASHER
I walk around the apartment, pausing to look up at the vaulted ceilings and exposed rustic beams. Under normal circumstances it doesn’t get better than a penthouse apartment, but nothing about this situation is normal, and this place is a dump. To be fair, I’m sure this is considered upscale to someone with average taste and a few millions in the bank, but it’s nothing compared to my mansion.
This place pales in comparison to my house with its eight bedrooms, six bathrooms, tennis court and pool. I love open space with lots of fresh air and manicured lawns. This condo is none of those things, but I know for a fact it will be well worth the investment in the long run, even though I’m positive my master bedroom is larger than this entire apartment.
Thankfully I’m only here for a month. I don’t think I can slum it any longer than that. My partners all think I’m crazy, but there’s a method to my madness. I like to dig in and get a first-hand feel for every business and piece of real estate I purchase. I didn’t land on the Forbes list by making stupid investments, and I won’t start now. Despite my short stay in a place below my typical standards, I wanted to make the place as homey as possible by bringing a few of my favorite items over. I only wish that included my fully equipped gym. There’s no way I’m using a shared facility like the one offered here. Besides, there is barely enough equipment and space for two people to work out in that tiny room they have the nerve to label a ‘Fitness Center.’
I make a mental note to look into the added costs associated with improving the modest gym so future residents can have a more inclusive living experience. I imagine everyone must pay for a gym membership, but if we could add that amenity, it may be reason to increase the asking price. Loosening my tie, I pull out my phone to check my jam-packed calendar for the hundredth time today. Amelia, my secretary, has my schedule laid out to perfection with several alarms set to go off at various times throughout the day, but with ever-changing markets comes a schedule that changes by the hour.
I wonder if I have time to run to a real gym for a quick cardio session. I’ve never been overweight or unfit, and I want to keep it that way by maintaining my muscular build. No matter how many meetings I have on my schedule, I always make time for fitness. I glance back down at my phone and consider shifting around a few meetings, scrolling to my contacts to call Amelia.
“Hello, Mr. Jordan. I was just about to call to let you know the movers will be bringing a few more of your items over later today.”
Amelia’s voice is raspy from years of smoking and it used to get on my nerves when I first hired her. I’m used to her now, and look forward to hearing it when she picks up the phone.
Typically, when I’m in the office, Amelia is at her desk, her ashy blonde hair slicked back into a bun at the nape of her neck with a pencil stuck between her teeth as she balances the ringing phones on her desk. She does all that and keeps up with the hundreds of emails I receive daily. I don’t know how she does it all, but she’s damn good at doing it.
“Perfect,” I say. “I was hoping everything else would be delivered today. You know I hate being without certain things, especially in this place.”
“Yes, sir. You know I’m on top of it,” she says. “Speaking of being on top of things, I have a few items to go over with you since you’re already on the phone.”
I listen as she rattles off a few changes to my schedule not yet entered onto my calendar, which reminds me of the reason I called in the first place.
“Listen, cancel my meeting with the Nova Corporation executives and reschedule them for tomorrow,” I say.
“That’s going to make tomorrow a long day, but I’m sure we’ll manage. Heading to the gym?”
She knows me so well.
“Am I that predictable?” I ask.
She laughs a bit before answering. “You sure are. The only time you start shifting things around on your schedule is so you can go work out.”
I smile and start walking around the apartment taking inventory of the growing to-do list as Amelia continues to go over the recent documents that came in during my absence. As I wander down the hall, I notice the floors need a good waxing and the crown molding needs replacing. I walk into a spare room in the back that I’ve dubbed my telescope room. The walls are covered with posters of different constellations and I have several high-powered telescopes positioned around the room.
Even as a child I loved anything dealing with space, and my constant cash flow has allowed me to invest in my little hobby quite handsomely. I had dreams of becoming an astronaut, but once I discovered my knack for mergers and acquisitions, I had enough work to keep me grounded right here on Earth.
I gently run my finger over my latest toy, a replica of a telescope used by NASA. I stoop down to adjust the focus of the lens on the scope. I like getting familiar with my equipment before I put them into use. I enjoy pushing all the buttons and turning the knobs, learning which thing does what. I chalk it up to my need to be hands on and in control.
Standing up, I glance at my Franck Muller to check the time. If I didn’t rein her in, Amelia would keep me on the phone for hours, updating me on every detail of my life. I rush out of the room and close the door behind me as I start to search for my gym bag.
“I’ve got to go, I don’t want too much time to get away from me,” I say.
“I’ve updated your schedule, and the confirmations should come through on your end soon,” says Amelia.
“Thanks. If I don’t talk to you later, I will see you bright and early tomorrow,” I say before hanging up.
I walk to the front door and look back at the half empty apartment again. I added several more tasks to my never-ending list. At some point, I need to have maintenance come in and change out the air filters and fix the leak in the guest bathroom.
So damn much to do.
Chapter 3
JADE
I inhale deeply and savor the delicious scent of the herb-encrusted salmon I cooked for Magdalene. She said she would miss dinner, but I always liked being prepared just in case. On a few occasions, Heath has sent her home without dinner after their quick roll in the sheets, and ever since the first time, I make it my business to have something tasty on hand.
“Would you like some more spinach, Jacob?” I ask.
He wrinkles his nose and spits out the green goo I just spooned into his mouth.
“Will you be a big boy and at least eat a few more carrots?”
I spoon some of the puree into his mouth and he eats a little before blowing bubbles. I thoroughly regret the day I taught him how to do that, because blowing bubbles and spitting are his favorite things to do now.
He laughs as I shield my face from the veggie assault he’s launching against me. Grabbing a towel, I clean him before attempting to wipe away the blended vegetables splattered across my apron. So much for him not being a picky eater.
Vegetables don’t seem to be his favorite things so far, although he ate more of the carrots than the spinach. It must be the sweetness.
I leave him in his highchair as I wrap up the leftovers and place them in the fridge. After giving Jacob his bottle, I also give him a few toys to play with so I can wipe down the kitchen and sweep the floor.
I always clean as I go whenever I’m cooking, but I like to make sure everything is back in its proper place once I’m done. If I didn’t love cooking and cleaning so much there’s no way I would be able to continue being a nanny. Mixing ingredients together and watching others enjoy my creations makes me infinitely happy. Plus, I feel I would be doing a disservice to myself and Magdalene if I didn’t keep everything sparkling clean.
Magdalene expects things a certain way, but I think my standards are ten times higher than hers. There’s nothing worse than cooking a meal and having to stop and search for something you need because you failed to return it to the right spot the last time you used it. Everything has a place and I like it that way. Just as I’m wiping down the stove,
the front door opens.
In walks Magdalene, her eyes a little red and puffy, a sure sign she’s been crying. She kicks off her heels at the door and runs her fingers through her now slightly unkempt hair. Unfortunately, this is one of those occasions when Heath has sent her on her way after he’s finished with her.
He is such a jerk.
“Ma-ma-ma-ma,” says Jacob excitedly, banging his little fists on the tray in front of him.
She pulls her lips into some semblance of a smile before walking over to hug her son and kiss him on the top of his head.
“Hello honey, did you just finish eating?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say. “I blended some carrots and spinach up for him. He actually ate quite a bit of it.”
She looks over at me and gives me that sad half smile.
“I also made a batch of cookies.”
Magdalene raises an eyebrow. She’s not a major fan of sweets being in the house, but the occasional cookie every won’t hurt anyone.
“Have a cookie,” I say. “I made them with all organic ingredients, and I used dark chocolate chips.”
She nods and leans against the kitchen counter as I continue to clean.
“I think I will have a cookie or two, but I should probably eat something first. Did you cook anything else?” she asks.
“Sure thing,” I say, dropping the dish towel on the counter. “Have a seat and I’ll fix a plate for you.”
Magdalene plops down at the table and drops her head into the palms of her hands. I fight to keep my expression neutral as I put the hot plate in front of her. Sitting down in the chair across from her, I anxiously wait for Magdalene to take her first bite. While my instinct is to ask what’s wrong, I decide against it. It doesn’t really matter anyway, nothing I say will cheer her up, but hopefully a plate of good food will make her feel a lot better.
I like watching people react to tasting my food, especially Magdalene, because her face always reveals her thoughts. In my opinion, it’s the highlight of the whole experience. I firmly believe the expression on their face as they take the first bite sets the tone for the rest of the meal. The mark of a good chef depends on the reaction of whoever is eating the food.
Magdalene takes a bite of salmon, closes her eyes and sighs. My lips spread into a wide grin. Even though her face says it all, I still ask the most important question.
“How is it?”
She devours another forkful and motions for me to give her a moment. “It’s delicious,” she says. “It always is, you know that. You have to teach me a few things one day.”
I want to laugh out loud. Magdalene has never stepped foot in the kitchen other than to give me orders and to look for the corkscrew, and I doubt she ever will. Domestic labor isn’t really her thing from what I gather. Although, maybe a few cooking lessons here and there may help take her attention off Heath and the constant heartache he brings.
I get up from the table and make myself busy sweeping the floor as I wait for her to finish her food so I can wash the last dishes.
“You know what, Jade? You can go ahead and relax for the rest of the day. Since things didn’t go quite as planned, I’m going to spend a little quality time with Jacob,” says Magdalene, handing the dirty dishes to me.
She takes three cookies from the cooling rack, grabs Jacob, and walk over to the couch. She picks up the remote control and takes a bite of one of the cookies clutched in her hand as she leaves the room.
After finishing up in the kitchen, I head upstairs to my room on the top floor, another perk of being the nanny to a billionaire’s son. Like the rest of the apartment, my room is neat and organized, but I still like to dust and vacuum at least three times a week. I don’t have much in the room, just my clothes, a few pairs of shoes and a few trinkets from home.
The expensive paintings on the walls and the Greek sculpture on top of a pedestal in the corner don’t belong to me, but they make me feel fancy having them in my space. I take great care to only touch those things on an as-needed basis. It’s not often Magdalene gives me time to myself, after all, being a live-in nanny is practically a twenty-four-hour-a-day job. I’m not exactly sure what to do with my time when I’m not caring for Jacob, cooking or cleaning. I smooth the wrinkles from my sheets and get down on my knees to peek under the bed for dust bunnies.
Rising to my feet, I sigh while looking out of the large floor-to-ceiling windows lining my wall. The windows are my favorite part of the room even though they’re a bitch to clean. I never need to use my alarm clock, because the sun wakes me every morning with its soft bright rays beaming down on my face.
I could text Rachel and let her know I’m free for the rest of the evening. Or maybe I should finish reading that book I started over a month ago.
The book, a chilling thriller, is on my nightstand, with a tiny sliver of the bookmark poking from the top. I start to the bed only to remember my shirt is stained with chocolate from the cookies I made and the veggies Jacob spit that didn’t land on the apron.
Oh well, no better time to hop in the shower before curling up with my book.
I stop directly in front of the windows again, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my skin. It looks like sunset is only minutes away. Closing my eyes, I roll my neck from one side to the other as I unbutton my blouse. A massage would be great right about now. In fact, a deep tissue massage by a hunk with rippling muscles would hit the spot.
I want to unhook my bra, freeing my breasts, but even from this top floor, I find myself self-conscious that someone could possibly see. My nipples harden as soon as the cold air hits them through the thin lace as I shimmy out of my shirt, dropping it on my growing pile of dirty clothes. Reaching up, I gently massage my breasts before unzipping my pants and sliding them down to my ankles and stepping out of them. Maybe a long hot soak in the tub is what I really need instead of a shower.
I open my eyes and glance out the window again as my hands travel down to the band of my white lace panties. But before I turn to head to the bathroom, something or someone is moving in the building directly across from me. I get closer, with my nose practically touching the glass as I attempt to focus on the figure across the way.
I could have sworn that apartment was empty not too long ago… and is that a fucking telescope?
My mind races to comprehend what I’m seeing. I watch as a man paces back and forth while on the phone while he appears to look into a telescope that is pointed directly at me.
I stumble backwards from the window and scramble to cover myself as I race to hit the button on the wall that closes the blinds.
“What the hell?” I say out loud.
That place was empty and now there’s a Peeping Tom living over there? A Peeping Tom with several freaking telescopes all pointed at my window.
My heart pounds in my chest as I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to recall if the man looked familiar. I’ve never seen him around here before. I’m pretty sure I would remember a guy that handsome. I wonder how long he was watching me.
Yes, the thought of a stranger watching me undress is creepy, but I can’t help but feel a little turned on. Would I be this aroused if the roles were reversed?
To be honest, I would probably watch him under similar circumstances, but I wouldn’t be so brazen to use a telescope. Luckily, I hadn’t stripped completely nude before noticing I had an audience. Would he still watch me if he knew I was aware of his dirty little secret?
I pull my hair into a high ponytail and walk into the bathroom to start my bath, forcing myself to ignore the dull throb between my thighs as I replay the feeling of being watched by the handsome stranger across the way.
Chapter 4
ASHER
“The projections for the next five years look outstanding,” says Joe, pointing to the chart on the screen. “I’ve done the work, and we’re looking at a possible one hundred and two percent return on our investment.”
I suffer through dozens of these meetings throughout the d
ay and this one is no different. Joe, or Juggernaut Joe as we like to call him, dabs at the sheen of sweat on his forehead. I’m not sure why he gets so nervous when trying to sell us on an idea of his. We’re all friends and I trust their judgement, otherwise I wouldn’t have them working with me.
I absentmindedly flip my pen over and over and try to recall the investment figure Joe mentioned earlier. The notepad in front of me is mostly blank, except for a few doodles I drew to help pass the time.
“Repeat the investment amounts for me again. How much will we be out of pocket initially, and how long until we start seeing some cash flow?” I ask.
Despite the monotony of the meetings, there’s only one thing capable of keeping my attention… money. I need the cold hard facts. How much do you need? When do I get it back? And how much interest will be included? The bottom line is the most important thing to me, luckily my other board members help handle the rest.
Joe flips back through his notes and repeats the information he knows I’m looking for. One bad investment, a single wrong move has the power to render me penniless. Thankfully, I make all the right moves.
The other investors swivel their chairs to face me, waiting on the final decision. We work together as a team, but there can only be one boss.
“Sounds good to me,” I say. “I’ll have Amelia draw up the necessary documents and we’ll get this show on the road.”
Everyone gathers their various notebooks and folders, preparing to leave the conference room. I grab my things and prepare to bolt, but Joe blocks the door.
“Slow down, Asher,” he says playfully. “We just closed on a major deal, let’s go celebrate.”
Celebrate. I’m not sure I know what that word means anymore.
It’s been ages since I’ve celebrated anything. I go on a few bland dates a month and to the occasional company party. I’m usually juggling several things at a time, and partying doesn’t rate highly on my agenda. There are twenty-four hours in the day and I prefer to spend mine making money.
