by Lisa Lace
My stomach twists in excited little knots. Rory Everest is asking me to dinner.
“Okay.”
“Yes?”
“Let’s have dinner.”
Rory smiles. “Tonight. I’ll pick you up.”
“Ninety-four Drake Avenue, Irvington,” I say, giving him Dayna’s address.
“Seven o’clock?”
“Perfect. I’ll see you, then.”
He nods, smiles, and lifts a hand to wave goodbye as he returns to his Lamborghini. I watch him go, feeling giddy with excitement. In just a few days, I’ve managed to earn a rare second chance at a first impression, and now I’m being invited to dinner by a man who would hardly give me the time of day when we first met.
I hold my head high as I walk back toward Dayna’s. You show ’em, girl.
I wear my favorite evening dress; a designer above-the-knee crimson number with cap sleeves and a floaty chiffon skirt. It shows just enough cleavage to make me feel sexy without being too suggestive. I found it a couple of years ago in a thrift store, new with tags. I feel like a million dollars when I’m wearing it.
I’ve kept my hair loose, but Dayna has gone at it with her curling iron, so it bounces in soft curls. She was as excited as I was when I told her about my date with the billionaire.
“So, is it a romantic thing?” she’d asked me.
“No,” I’d replied. “It’s strictly professional.”
Even so, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about Rory in very non-professional ways, especially when I’d seen him in his swimming trunks at the waterpark. This whole issue with his daughter has humanized him, somehow, and the distaste I felt for him at first has turned into a genuine curiosity. I want to know more about this man, this addict-turned-entrepreneur, this single father with a ruthless business mind but a warm heart filled with love for his daughter.
Rory Everest is proving to be a complex man.
As promised, when seven rolls by, Rory pulls up outside; this time in a BMW. Dayna pulls back the drape and squeals.
“He’s here, he’s here! Oh my God, it’s really him.” She ushers me into a hug, “Have an amazing time, sweetie. You deserve it.”
“Thank you.”
I feel almost guilty, stepping out of Dayna’s row house and into a luxury car. My best friend has housed me for weeks while I’ve scrimped and saved. Now she’s watching me drive away with one of the wealthiest men in America.
Rory looks over at the downstairs window with an amused smile. Dayna is still peeping out. “Your friend?”
“I’m staying with her for a while. Her name’s Dayna.”
“This isn’t your place, then?”
“I’m between leases.”
“Uh-huh. Shall we go?”
“I’m ready.”
I look over at Rory as he puts the car in drive. He’s dressed in navy dress pants, a crisp, white shirt, and a blazer, no tie. He looks effortlessly suave, like a New York James Bond. Delicious waves of anticipation course through me. It’s been forever since a man took me anywhere. Date or not, I’m excited to be sitting in this car with Rory.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
“Thank you.” I hide my smile by bowing my head and looking out the window. “You’re looking sharp, yourself.”
“Suits are kind of my thing.”
I give him a sideways glance. “So, we’re not enemies anymore?”
“About now, Elise, you’re my best friend. The lawyers are handling that DNA incident.” His smile is satisfied. “I hope they charge her for deceit and pervasion of the law.”
“How did you ever end up with a woman like that?”
Rory keeps his eyes on the road, but his gaze grows distant. He runs his thumb along the inner rim of the steering wheel. “I was a different person back then. I had a lot on my shoulders as a kid, and all that anger came out as a teen in a series of self-destructive behaviors, including the drugs, and including ever going to bed with Margot.”
I don’t press it anymore. I remember how Rory bit my head off the last time I tried to ask about his addiction. I hope one day I’ll get to know the full story but now is not the time.
“Where are we going tonight?” I ask, smoothly switching gears.
“Do you know Per Se?”
“I’m not sure I do.”
He smiles. “An incredible restaurant, an exceptional chef. There’s a different menu every night, and no one ingredient is ever repeated. I thought we’d do the tasting menu. There’ll be about nine courses, thirteen dishes.”
I gasp, then laugh. “Are you kidding me?”
“Not at all. You’re going to love it.”
I wonder how much a thirteen-dish tasting menu costs in the heart of New York. I’m incredulous when we park, and then walk toward a restaurant overlooking Central Park.
“What a spot…” I say in wonder. “This place must cost a fortune.”
Rory holds up a hand. “You let me worry about that. This is my thank you to you. Tonight’s completely on me.”
The restaurant is beautiful, set on a tiered floor with immaculate white-linen roundtables on both levels. The carpet is sumptuous with a brown and gold geometric pattern. The wait staff are dressed impeccably in black tailored suits, and there are cut glass vases filled with white magnolia flowers at every table.
We have reservations. The host leads us to a table at the window, overlooking Central Park. I’ve never had such a view when dining before. The host pulls out my chair for me, and I feel like royalty.
Within moments of sitting, a waiter appears. “Good evening. Can I interest you in drinks this evening?”
Rory meets my eye. “Would you care for some wine?”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“Red or white?”
“Either.”
He looks back up to the waiter with the kind of confidence only a connoisseur can possess. “I’ve heard good things about one of your bottles; a pinot noir, 2010. I can’t remember its name. From the vintage selection.”
“That would be ‘Les Ursules’ from the Roses de Jeanne vineyard.” He nods. “An excellent choice, sir. Only four hundred and thirty magnums were ever produced. Cedric Bouchard, the winemaker, does not use wood barrels so as to avoid affecting the taste of the final product. In my opinion, it has an exceptional effect on the flavor.”
“We’ll take a bottle, please.”
“Very good, sir.”
“And we’ll be having the chef’s taster menu tonight if you would.”
“Certainly.”
The waiter leaves, and I try not to let the awe show on my face. I don’t know a lot about wine, but a bottle with that much of a history lesson must be something worth talking about.
“Why am I not surprised you know a lot about wine?”
Rory unfolds his napkin with a wry smile. “Actually, I don’t drink.”
“What?”
“I don’t drink.” He shrugs. “Six years sober.”
I panic. “Send it back. I won’t drink if you’re not drinking.”
He holds up a hand. “Please. You can’t enjoy a fine meal like this without a fine wine.”
“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it just fine.”
“I insist.”
I look around the restaurant, feeling terrible for accepting the wine. “I saw you with a bottle of whiskey just the other day,” I say. “I didn’t realize you didn’t drink.”
“I’m in recovery.” He says the words like he’s in contempt of them. “That’s what they say. Never ‘recovered,’ always ‘in recovery.’ I thought it was pointless semantics until this week. I’ve been fighting old habits hard in recent days.”
“Then send back the wine.”
He smiles. “I’m a stronger man than that. I’d like to see you enjoy it.”
The waiter arrives and uncorks the bottle. “Just a glass,” I say quickly.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, we only serve ‘Les Ursules’ by the bottle.”
“A soda, then.”
“The bottle is fine,” Rory says. He looks at me and smiles. “If you only drink one glass, I won’t be offended.”
“Rory…”
“Everyone should drink a glass of fine wine in their lifetime. Please, indulge me.”
I nod. The waiter pours a glass. I pause a moment, watching the bubbles rise, then take a mouthful.
“It’s delicious.” I close my eyes and savor the flavor of my first taste of truly fine wine. It tastes like pastry, but it’s aromatic, too. It’s the smoothest wine to ever pass my lips. “It’s flowery, but buttery, too…” I look up to the waiter for approval.
He nods. “You have a good palate, ma’am. It is known for its pastry, floral and spicy notes. Please, enjoy.”
I look back to Rory. “I feel like a jerk drinking this in front of you.”
“What kind of man takes a woman to a three-Michelin star restaurant and makes her drink cola from the tap? This evening is a celebration, Elise. I want you to have the best.”
“It’s the best wine I’ve ever tasted,” I admit.
He smiles. “I’m glad you enjoy it.” He leans back in his chair, examining me with interest. “Tell me, Elise—how did a woman like yourself, who is clearly intelligent and intuitive, end up writing for a gossip site?” He shakes his head. “You and I both know that kind of work is cheap.”
“I thought you were trying not to insult me tonight?” I chuckle. “We’re meant to be making friends.”
“I don’t mean to insult you. I’m genuinely curious. How did a woman like you end up doing work like that?”
I place my wine glass on the table and lift my shoulders in a morose shrug. “I had bigger dreams,” I confess. “In fact, a couple of years ago, I was doing an internship with the New York Times. It’s always been my dream to be an investigative journalist. I wanted to uncover real, hard-hitting, timeless stories.” I take a swig of wine. “Not writing trashy articles on the bachelors of New York.”
“So, what happened?” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the white tablecloth and fixing me with an intent stare.
“My father died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was living with my parents while I did the internship—unpaid. He died without an insurance policy. My mother lost the house. I couldn’t work for free anymore, so lost the placement.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
I run my finger along the stem of the wine glass. “No, it doesn’t.” I look up to meet his eyes. “I do what I can to make ends meet. But you’re right. It’s not my dream to be a gossip columnist or work at a damned waterpark.”
“I’m glad you work at the damned waterpark.” Rory offers me a kind smile. “If I remember correctly, you stopped my daughter from diving into the deep end. And now, you’ve saved her from her twisted mother. I’m starting to think you’re Grace’s guardian angel.”
“You really do love her, don’t you?”
Rory’s eyes soften. I feel like I’m peering behind the mask when he bows his head in a gentle nod. “She’s my reason for being. Before Grace, I was headed nowhere. I was stealing, fighting, and taking any drug I could get my hands on. Heroin was my poison. I was headed straight for jail, or death.
“Then I find out Margot has a baby on the way, and it’s like a switch flipped in my head. I was going to be responsible for another human being. I was going to be a father.” Rory fiddles with his cloth napkin. “I won’t go into all the gory details now, but it’s safe to say my own father was a disappointment to me. I didn’t want my child to feel the same shame I felt. I knew I had to shape up.
“Since then, I’ve turned my life around. She’s the one truly good thing I’ve ever done with my life. Seeing her become her own person, knowing she’s going to be safe and happy and succeed in life…it brings me joy like nothing else.”
This is it. Rory Everest, the real Rory Everest.
“She’s lucky to have you.” He smiles down at his hands, and his eyes slowly rise to meet my gaze. He is about to say something when the waiter arrives with the first course. Pearl tapioca with oysters and caviar. The flavors are rich and intense. I’ve never had caviar before; it goes deliciously with the wine. As promised, I stick to one glass.
Next, we have something called “Morille Farcie,” which is a vegetable dish made to taste better than you’d ever imagine broccoli and mushrooms could taste. Course after course, the buffet of flavors keeps coming, one delicacy after the next.
All the while, Rory and I talk. We move on from conversation about Grace and Margot, and from our careers, and start talking about everything else—television, music, comedy, books, travel.
Rory captivates me. He’s had such a life; his interests are so broad. I could listen to him talk for hours. When he actually talks with someone instead of at them, he’s charming and engaging.
“I can’t believe you’re the same man I met a few weeks ago,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Rory, but you were a huge jerk to me the first time we met. Before that, actually. You canceled on me twice.”
Rory lays down his fork and nods. “I’ve been told I’m not the most approachable person.”
“Why the hard act? You’re an interesting person.”
He lets out a long breath and shrugs. “I just try to get through the days. I don’t try to make friends.”
“If you were this charming every day, you wouldn’t need to try.”
Rory laughs. “Business is business, Elise.” His fingers brush against mine as he reaches for his glass of sparkling water. He smiles as he meets my eye. “And friends are friends.”
Dinner lasts almost three hours. I relish every second of the atmosphere, the food, the wine, and the company. It’s been one of the best nights of my life.
“The night feels young,” Rory says after he’s paid the bill. “What would you say to a coffee at my place?”
“I’d like that.”
Soon, we’re back at Rory’s incredible house. When I first arrived a few days before with my research, my jaw dropped to the floor at the sight of it. Such a home is more than I could ever imagine. It’s gorgeous in every way and huge beyond belief.
“We’ll have to be quiet,” Rory says, as he leads me in. “Grace and Alice will be asleep.”
“Who’s Alice?”
“Grace’s nanny. My housekeeper.”
“She lives with you?”
“She has her own room, yes. Some nights she stays, some nights she visits home. I often work through the night. It gives me peace of mind to know Alice is here. If she ever wants to spend the night elsewhere, I make sure either myself or someone else is here to care for Grace.”
Rory takes me into the kitchen where he sets his coffee machine to filter some freshly ground beans that I’m sure are exorbitantly expensive. Everything inside his grand home is top-of-the-line. I feel scared to touch anything. It’s like I’m in a showroom or model open house.
I stand next to him as he makes the coffee, leaning forward with my elbows on the marble counter, staring at the tiles on the wall. I gasp when I feel Rory stand behind me. I spin, and we’re face-to-face.
His expression has changed. There is desire in his eyes now. “Would I be crossing a line if I kissed you, Elise?”
Instead of answering, I respond with action. I press my lips against his, and my body floods with excitement. I’ve been wanting him all night.
He walks back into the living room and quietly closes the door before redirecting his attention toward me. I feel an amazing high, even though I’ve had only one glass of wine. I can’t help but wonder if this man walking toward me has something to do with it.
His eyes penetrate me, increasing my desire. This whole night has been interesting, to say the least. I can’t help feeling attracted to him, but I also wonder if my feelings are genuine.
“I have to thank you again for what you’ve done for me,”
he says.
“You really don’t have to. I feel like I was just doing my job.”
“I insist.” His voice is husky as he moves closer, putting his hand on my shoulder.
My breath catches in my throat. I watch him erase the gap between us. His mouth covers mine, and it feels so damned good. I know I should push him away, but it has been a long time since I’ve been with a man, and Rory is on a different level than any man I thought I could ever get.
Small journalist and rising investigative reporter lands billionaire and one of the city’s most eligible bachelors.
I smile at the thought and soften under his kiss.
His lips play with mine as his hands make their way underneath my shirt. Without a word, he pulls it up and over my head, and a gasp escapes my lips. He cups my breasts. I like the way he pushes them together, his mouth kissing down my neck to the cleavage he has created. He kisses the top of my chest with more aggression, his hands pulling my bra down until I am exposed to him. I feel his hands caress my sides. His arms wrap around me, yanking me toward him. Then he scoops me up in his arms.
I’m speechless and in awe of this man. His muscles are strong and hard, and he smells so damned good it’s intoxicating. He carries me through the living room and down a long hallway to a bedroom. He pushes the door closed with his foot, setting me down next to the bed. I cover my chest with my arms, feeling more exposed as he walks back to the door.
Looking around the room, I have doubts it is his. It’s too plain and tidy, almost a guest room feel. I hear the lock click before he turns and stares at me, this devious look in his eyes. I have a moment of regret and wonder just how safe it is to be in a small room in this man’s house alone and completely vulnerable. He walks to me in large strides and dips me, his arm behind my back. His mouth covers mine as he lowers me to his bed, and all inhibitions dissipate.
He pulls what is left of my attire from my body, not hesitating or trying to be careful about it. He looms over me. I can see his chest heaving in and out, his eyes hungry for what is before him. He falls to the bed, still fully clothed, his arms stopping him from landing on me. He slowly lowers himself on top of me and kisses me hard. The feel of his clothes against my naked body arouses me further, and I wrap my legs around him. I feel his buckle press into my stomach. I feel the buttons of his shirt slide against my delicate skin. His hands sliding up and down my sides before cupping my ass and pulling my pelvis into his. My eyes widen when I feel his cock grind into me.
