"No," he says matter-of-factly. "I won't agree to that unless you agree to have dinner with me."
Like that will ever happen.
I kissed him to make him shut up about that night at Julian's when I was still a teenager. None of this changes anything between us. He stole the brownstone from me and I can't forgive him for that.
"I will never have dinner with you," I say coolly, my heart finally finding a beat pattern that doesn't mimic a tap-dancing troupe on a tin roof.
"Why not?" he challenges with a smirk.
Because you'll only hurt me more. You know every weakness I have and you're at the top of the list.
"You know why," I hiss out through clenched teeth, my nostrils flaring. "You keep acting like you didn't fuck me over, Smith. Maybe in your world you get by with just ignoring your wrongs until everyone else does too, but that's not how it is with me."
He draws in a deep breath and then releases it slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. "I need you to explain to me what I've done. Tell me, Brynn, because I have no fucking idea why you hate me."
I chew on my bottom lip contemplating how to respond. I can't tell if he's genuine or not. If he is, that means that all the anger I've held inside me for years has been in vain. Maybe he doesn't even remember that he stole my dream right from under me.
"If the looks you've been giving me could kill, I would have been dead days ago." He shoves a hand through his messy black hair. "I can't stand that you're in pain because of something I did. At first, I thought it was what happened at Julian's place years ago, but I get that it's more than that. Tell me. Petal, just tell me how I fucked up."
I hate that I kissed him just now. I hate that I want to again, but mostly I hate that I have to confess something to him that he should already know.
"You really don't know?" I ask softly, leaning in so he can hear me over the woman singing the final verse of, "Like a Virgin," at the top of her lungs.
He looks directly into my eyes. "I swear I don't know."
Knowing that hurts almost as much as the moment my broker called to tell me the home I wanted so desperately had slipped through my fingers.
I texted one of my dad's associates almost immediately once I got the news the brownstone was sold. I wanted the name of the buyer and he wanted me to put in a good word for him with my dad. He reached out to a couple of brokers he knew and within the hour I had the confirmation I didn't really need.
The buyer was Smith Booth.
I didn't discuss any of it with my dad because my opinion matters little to him. I got what I wanted out of the agreement and it changed what I felt for Smith from that moment on.
I turn to the stage as soon as I hear the beginning chord of "Sweet Caroline."
It was my grandma's name.
Caroline. Sweet Caroline.
I can't bear hearing her name right now.
"I'm leaving." I turn back to Smith. I've thought over and over about the moment I'd eventually confront him about what happened. There was never once a scenario in my mind where would he say that he had no idea why I'm upset. I assumed that he was living under an umbrella of guilt for taking away something so precious that was within my grasp. I've had it wrong all along. I don't know what to make of that or what I'm feeling after that kiss.
"Do you want me to come with you, Brynn?"
The question catches me off guard. I should want to walk away from him right now. I need to take some time to think through what's happened between us tonight. Instead of telling him I want to be alone, I look into his eyes. "If you want to."
He stands, his hand circling my waist. "I want to more than anything. Lead the way."
***
My first thought was to take Smith home. Not with me and not so we could round third base even though that's the only thing that consumed my thoughts my senior year of high school.
I wanted to take him to his home; the brownstone on East Sixty-Seventh Street where I should be living with Pike. As soon as we hit the sidewalk outside Easton Pub and I felt the lazy heat that fills summer evenings in New York, I changed my mind.
I craved the calm that comes from the city. Some people find it chaotic and loud. To me, it's the center of peace. When I need to think there's no better place for me than outdoors, even in this jaded, unpredictable city.
Going to Smith's place would mean I'd see all the rooms that my grandma wanted so desperately to see again. I want that, but right now my mind is reeling. I'm still trying to process the kiss, not to mention the fact that Smith seems oblivious to the reality that he stole something from not only me but my grandma too. She wanted to live in that brownstone and spend the rest of her life in the house that she always imagined she'd call home.
She first told me about it when we were hurrying down a quaint street on the Upper East Side on a rainy afternoon when I was in college. She stopped mid-step to stare at the façade of a home and I could tell by the look of enhancement on her face, that the building owned a piece of her heart.
I pushed for more details and over the weeks and months that followed, she told me tales of her mom and the work she did there. I smiled when she explained how she and her sister would spend summer days in the kitchen of the brownstone when my great-grandmother couldn't find a neighbor or friend to take care of them.
I laughed when my grandma told me that she'd written her name on the inside of the pantry door. It was a tangible sign that she'd grown up in that home in a very limited, restricted way.
The picturesque red-bricked townhouse brought a light to her face; a face that had aged beautifully and gracefully even though her body and mind had become worn with the passing years.
"Where are we going, Petal?" Smith's voice breaks through the mountain of memories.
I look up at him. I want to ask him about Sigrid Hull, the woman he bought the brownstone from. She was a model at the time and he was the host of a nationally syndicated entertainment show. Their paths crossed at a charity fashion show here in New York. He was based in Los Angeles back then, but for some inexplicable reason, he bought her place.
He knew I wanted it. I'd reached out to him twice asking him to arrange a meeting between Sigrid and me. I left messages for him both times explaining the sentimental value that property held for my grandma. I wanted to appeal to Sigrid's heart after I'd put in my offer. It was full ask, all cash, with no contingencies and a thirty-day close.
I thought I had it within my grasp, but then Smith swooped in and signed on the dotted line, for less money, terms that didn't match mine and a list of contingencies a mile long. Two days later he escorted Sigrid to the Met Gala.
My grandma died three months later still holding onto the hope that she'd live in that house one day. She left me everything, including Pike, and the guilt that I couldn't fulfill her last dream.
"We're going to the top of the world," I say, finally. I don't need to add anything to it. There's no explanation necessary. Smith knows.
His mouth curls up in a soft smile. "I'll get us an Uber."
Chapter 13
Smith
The top of the world.
To most of the people in Manhattan it means the observation deck of the Empire State Building or the city-wide views at the top of Rockefeller Center. That's not what it means to Brynn and me.
"I can't believe you still have the key." I turn my head back toward the street. The financial district quiets only marginally after the closing bell of the day. Pedestrians still crowd the sidewalks and traffic streams by at a steady pace. I've kept my head low since we exited the car that brought us here. I don't want to be recognized now. Even though the sun has set, women still seek eye contact when I pass them. I admit I do the same if I'm looking for a brief connection in the seas of faces in this city.
"The key is our ticket to the roof." She jerks her thumb in the direction of the lobby. "I'll try and talk our way into the elevator, unless…"
She perks one of those dark brows in a silent questi
on. I respond with a wiggle of both of my own. "This is going to be a walk in the park."
She laughs. This time it's genuine and fuck me, if it doesn't make her face light up. "The guards here aren't going to fall victim to your charm, Smith."
"I'll bet you I can get us into the elevator within three minutes flat."
Her gaze darts beyond the wall of glass and the manned security station near the bank of elevators. It's an office tower by day and at one time, the roof was home to one of the most exclusive bars in the city. "It’s a bet. What do I get if I win?"
My cock has its own answer to that question. My mind and mouth go with a tamer response. "I'll buy you dinner tomorrow night."
"Is this one of those bets where the wager is the same on both sides?" Her lips twist wryly. "Are you going to tell me that if you win, you'll buy me dinner tomorrow night?"
It doesn't take a goddamn genius to realize I want to have dinner with this woman. I want to fuck her more than I want a meal, but I'm not about to mess up this moment by adding unrestricted access to my dick to the pot. That's a caveat that I'll offer her the moment she eats the last bite of her dessert tomorrow.
I still want her to clue me in on what I did to her. She left that conversation back at the pub and being the selfish asshole that I am, I haven't brought it up again. I stayed silent during the car ride here because I don't want to tarnish this adventure with a replay of whatever the hell it was that I did to hurt her.
I'll get to the bottom of it at some point. I need to, but right now I'm going to savor this for what it is; a chance for me to spend a few minutes with her where she doesn’t look like she wishes I'd fall off the face of the earth.
"I can't fool you, Petal," I say on an exhale. "We have a lot to catch up on. I want to buy you dinner."
"I want something else."
So do I. I want you in my lap while I suck on your nipples and slide your wet pussy along my shaft until you're begging me to fuck you raw.
"What do you want?" I ask, my voice hoarse, sweat blooming on my skin from the mental image of her naked and ready for me.
She takes in a deep breath, pausing to look at the guard. There's no doubt in her mind that he's no match for me. She watched me talk the owner of Easton Pub out of calling the police when she refused to leave the bar after being busted with a fake ID. I convinced the man to let her walk out with a warning, even though he swore up and down that he was going to make an example out of her.
"If I win, you have to cook dinner for me tomorrow night at your place."
Brynn inside my apartment is a win for me. "You've got yourself a deal. Are you going to cook dinner for me tomorrow if I win?"
"The answer to that is no," she drawls through a small grin. "If you win I'll bring take-out from that burger place in Times Square you used to like."
How the fuck does she remember that I practically lived on those greasy burgers when I was a teenager?
"You'll bring me a cheeseburger, fries and a vanilla shake?" I ask pushing my luck. The elephant in the room is still squarely on my shoulders. Brynn wants to hate me, but her resolve is weakening. The offer for my favorite meal from a decade ago is proof positive of that. "You'll bring it to my place?"
"Deal." She holds out her delicate hand.
I shake it. Regardless of how this plays out with the security guard, Petal is going to be in my apartment tomorrow night. That's a win-win any way I look at it.
***
The key to the door that leads to the rooftop space is on a long silver chain that she tugs out of a zippered compartment in her clutch. It's not the only thing in there. I hear the distinctive sound of metal rubbing against metal as she draws the chain from her purse.
"So he didn't know who you were?" She asks me for the second time since she waltzed up behind me in the lobby and pulled some random dude's name out of a hat that she handed to the guard with a breezy smile and a wink. He waved us toward the elevator immediately even though I'd spent at least five minutes trying to convince him that I was the guy he sees every morning when he drags his ass out of bed to get his two kids ready for summer day camp.
"Rub it in again, Brynn." I stand right behind her as she places the key in the lock. "What name did you drop to get us in the building?"
"Crew Benton." She looks back and up at my face. "My friend Adley knows him. When I brought her up here a couple of months ago, she told me that he co-owns the building with his brother."
"You didn't think it might be worthwhile to mention that before I tried to charm the guard?"
She pivots, so she's facing me now, a smile playing on her lips. "And miss that show you put on in the lobby? Not a chance, Smith."
I clear my throat, my hands clenching into fists at my sides to deter the overwhelming urge I feel to reach out and pull her to me so I can kiss her again. "You won the bet fair and square so I'll be your personal chef tomorrow night."
"I'll text you a list of my food preferences."
I can't tell if she's joking or not. "I only cook one thing, Petal. It's spaghetti Bolognese or nothing."
"That's on my list of things I eat." She dangles the chain in her fingers. "Are you ready to see what the old Vernalt Social Club looks like now?"
"I'm as ready as I'll ever be." I take a step closer to her as she turns back around and slides the key in the lock.
I worked on this rooftop deck when I was in college. When the owner was around, I was busy bussing tables. The rest of the time, I was behind the bar opening beer bottles, washing glasses and downing a finger of the good bourbon whenever I got the chance.
I brought Brynn up here late one night when the world felt too heavy for her. I'd found her on the curb outside her parents' apartment, her face in her hands, her shoulders swaying with the force of her sobs.
I didn't ask her what was tearing her up inside. Instead, I waved down a cab, got her into the back seat and used the key my boss gave me to sneak her up here for her first sip of beer.
She told me that night that she felt as though she was at the top of the world looking down at a city full of hope. It was months later, after the bar shut down and I was on the cusp of graduating college that I found out what had happened. She'd been passed over for a summer internship at the company she desperately wanted to work for.
It was Bishop and Associates, her father's real estate firm. Fulton Bishop never saw the promise in his daughter that was always there. It still pisses me the hell off.
I left the key in an envelope addressed to her, on the kitchen counter in her parents' apartment the day before I graduated. I had no idea if it still opened the lock to our private rooftop retreat but it didn't matter. It was a token symbol of how the world was hers for the taking.
She didn't need her dad to succeed. I'm glad she sees that now.
"Follow me," she whispers with a crook of her index finger as she pushes open the door. "I think you're going to like what you see."
I already do. I'm staring at the most beautiful woman in the world and I'm seeing flashes of forgiveness in her eyes.
Chapter 14
Brynn
I turned immediately after I walked through the doorway so I could see Smith's reaction. I know that he hasn't been up here in years. Hardly anyone has. All the furniture and most of the lighting from the bar were removed eons ago. All that's left is a simple white string of lights strung over a fake tree of some sort that the bar owner's left behind. I added two mismatched chairs that I found on the sidewalk next to a mountain of trash bags last year. Neither of them is in good shape, but they beat sitting on the concrete staring up at the stars.
"What the hell?" he whispers under his breath. "Is this the same place?"
No one would ever know that at one time New Yorkers came up here to unwind. Relationships began and ended on this rooftop over a glass of wine. People met, left together and fucked in the hotel a block over before ending their nights with an awkward goodbye and the understanding that they'd never see each ot
her again.
The same thing happens at every bar on this island.
"It feels even more like it's the top of the world now." I stare out at the expansive views of the city. "I come up here sometimes to think."
He nods silently like he understands exactly what I'm talking about. I know that he does. He's the one who brought me here to begin with. He poured me a quarter of a glass of beer and as he finished off the bottle, he gazed at the Brooklyn Bridge that night.
I let him believe it was my first taste of beer. It wasn't. I'd snuck a bottle that belonged to my dad from the fridge when I was barely fourteen. I took a sip before I washed the rest of the expensive imported beer down the kitchen drain as our housekeepers giggled.
Smith didn't need to know that. When he poured me that beer, he thought he was giving me my first taste of something forbidden. I did want a taste of something off-limits that night; his lips.
"The city hasn't changed that much since I brought you here the first time." He sucks in a deep breath, his chest straining against the T-shirt he's wearing. "You've changed, but the city always stays the same."
He's wrong. The city has changed just as much as I have. It's not only the sky high towers that developers are building to draw the millions that foreign investors are looking to sink into the city. It's much more than that.
People don't stop to talk to their neighbors the way they used to. Familiar faces you could always count on to be there have disappeared and the dream to make a mark on this tarnished, imperfect paradise is getting farther and farther out of reach.
"I grew up, Smith," I point out studying his profile as he gazes toward Brooklyn the way he did the first time we stood up here together. "I'm not the girl you once knew."
He swallows hard, his throat working on the motion. It's sexy for some reason only my body knows. It's reacting. I don't want it to, but I can't help myself. I haven't stopped thinking about what happened back at Easton's Pub.
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