by K. I. Lynn
“Better than a Facebook post.”
He groaned at that. “No social media. None.”
“I wasn’t going to. I’m just saying, better at family dinner night than via the media.”
“That is over a week away, and you’re bound to run into one or two more.”
“Of your siblings?”
“Siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, parents, second cousins.” He heaved a sigh. “I have homework for you until then.”
“Homework? Yay.” I couldn’t keep the sarcastic lack of excitement from my tone.
When we arrived in the lobby, Michael was still waiting at the curb, and we loaded into the car. As the crow flies, it was a short trip, but Manhattan traffic was a different beast. When we pulled up to the skyscraper that had only in the last few years joined the New York City skyline, I was in awe.
Olympus Tower was a fitting name for the de Loughrey family to inhabit. We were greeted by the doorman, and then the concierge, upon entering. The elevators were off to the right, and I angled that way, but was pulled back by Atticus tugging on my hand. I blinked at him, but followed to the left. A large iron gate cut off an area, and past it I could see two elevators with a golden insignia of a crowned shield flanked by two lions.
As we approached, the gates opened. I didn’t even have time to wait when the elevator doors slid open without even pushing a button.
“Did they do all of that?” I asked as we stepped on, noting that the buttons started at the fortieth floor.
“No. The building has sensors that pick up a unique signal from your phone combined with facial recognition.”
“What kind of sorcery are you talking about?” The elevator rocketed up, making my ears pop, and I rubbed at the right one.
He chuckled at that. “It means the building is laced with technology that knows where you are.”
“Does that mean it’s watching you in your home?” That would seriously be creepy.
“No. Common areas only—lobby and elevator bays.”
The cab decelerated and slowed to a stop on the sixty-third floor—the penthouse floor. Of course. There was a large set of double doors in front of us, and with a press of his fingers to a button near the handle, I heard a click. Upon entering, there was what appeared to be a home office or library. We turned left, and I froze.
I promised myself I wouldn’t have one of those stupid jaw-dropping moments, but who was I kidding? A poor chick who was living in three hundred square feet suddenly in a condo with more square footage than the entire building I woke up in?
Yeah, that wasn’t happening.
There was no keeping the awestruck expression from my face as we walked through an enormous living room that also had a huge sitting area with a door to a terrace, past a huge dining room table with what looked like a crystal waterfall chandelier, but what really got me was in the great room—a twelve-foot-high glass wall of windows with a view overlooking the Hudson. The place looked like a museum, and was as silent as one. Atticus’s voice echoed on the walls as he pointed things out. It was unnerving, and I was hesitant to move from my spot, in fear of upsetting the pristine surface before me.
The kitchen was just as impressive, and I seriously wondered if the island was bigger than the apartment I came from. Maybe an exaggeration, but that was what it felt like.
“There are four bedrooms for you to choose from. All have their own en suite.”
He showed me a small one that was on the same side with the view of the river, then pointed out the large door to his bedroom. It was quite a ways down a hall lined with artwork. We stopped at the next door—the room a little bit larger than the first, and south facing.
“This one,” I said the second we stepped into the third option. It was a corner room, the impressive floor-to-ceiling windows curved and framed a southeast view. There was a walk-in closet and a large bathroom. Overall, it was bigger than the previous two.
“It’s yours.”
We continued the tour, including the fourth bedroom, which was my second choice of a room. There was a laundry room and mudroom that had access to the vestibule. We moved into the first room I saw right off the elevator. It was a cozy room compared to the rest, thanks in part to the floor-to-ceiling dark wood bookcases. There was a desk to one side, and a sitting area with a couch on the other.
He motioned for me to sit as he picked something up from his desk before taking the seat across from me.
“Homework.” He patted the red leather portfolio before setting it on the coffee table between us. “This is an account of my life, to better acquaint yourself with me, the de Loughrey family, and our business. Study it well.”
I took the thick binder and opened it. It was a few inches thick and my eyes strained not to roll at the title page—The Life and Times of Atticus William de Loughrey.
“Your phone has been integrated with the security of this building, and here are the instructions for how that works.” He slid a piece of paper closer, then held out a card similar to the one he’d given me at the restaurant, only it was more credit-card like. “Keep hold of this at all times. It will show anyone that you are with the de Loughrey family.”
I looked at the card, noticing how the shield with a crown flanked by lions was the same as the one I’d seen on the lobby gate. “What was with that gate? Do you own this building?”
He nodded. “There are sixty-three floors, and we occupy forty and above.”
“Twenty-three floors?” Holy crap. Not only did he own the building, but his family occupied it.
He nodded. “Forty through forty-three hold family amenities.”
“What does that mean?”
“Do you really think we would share anything with the rest of the building?”
Point taken. “What’s on those floors?”
“There is a gym, spa, and swimming pool on forty.”
“Wait,” I said, holding up my hand to stop him. “There is a swimming pool in the middle of the building?”
“Yes.”
“And only the de Loughreys can use it?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Wow.”
“May I continue?” he asked with a slight edge of annoyance.
I nodded as I pondered what other wonders would come out of his mouth.
“On forty-one, you will find anything for your entertainment pleasure. There is a billiards table, various other games, a movie theater, and even a small nightclub.”
Night club? Though with the track record of Genevieve de Loughrey, it shouldn’t have surprised me.
“Forty-two holds salons and a children’s play area.”
“Salons?”
“People come to us, we don’t go to them. You will also find Jack’s office there, as well as the other home assistants. Forty-three and above are all private residences with two condos per floor. Currently there is one family member per floor, with exception of the twins sharing a floor, and a few levels are currently empty.”
“Room to grow.” I couldn’t think about how much money in rental they were losing by having so much empty space.
“Precisely.” He cleared his throat and stood. “The movers should be here soon. Jack will help with that. I need to get back to the office, but I will see you for dinner. Until then, settle in.”
I awkwardly waved goodbye, our eyes catching just as the elevator doors slid closed. It was that look, that same one that I’d seen at the restaurant—longing coupled with uncertainty. Maybe it was just me, but that was what it felt like.
I glanced up and then down the hall before choosing to head toward the family room, allowing myself to really take the space in. It was huge, with tons of wasted space, especially with a bachelor occupying the space. It definitely didn’t feel lived in. I was certain only half of the seats had ever been sat in, and the reality was probably half of that. Marble, dark woods, and crystal. It was a beautiful marriage of modern with classic materials. Hardwoods ran throughout, creating a seamless flow.
After my solo tour, I headed to what was going to be my bedroom. The relief that flooded me when I realized I wasn’t going to be sharing a bedroom with him was huge. I guess I’d just assumed, seeing as we were going to be married. Sleeping in different beds was going to go a long way in keeping me from doing something to him I swore I wouldn’t allow. Something I’d made him put in the contract, and if he was abiding by it, I had to get my hormones in check when he was near.
I stood at the window looking out over the view I would have every day going forward. It was magnificent. One World Trade Center stood proudly, seeming almost close enough to touch, with Upper Bay in the background. Turning toward the bed I ran, then dove onto it face down. A groan left me as I sank into the plush mattress.
My eyes started to drift closed and what felt like seconds later, there was a knock on the door startling me awake. When I sat up, the sun had shifted and my phone showed at least an hour had passed.
“Yes?”
“Miss Ophelia, the movers are here,” a male voice said.
I scooted off the bed, wiping a bit of drool from my face as I moved to greet whomever was at the door.
“Hi,” I said with a smile.
He gave me a nod of his head. “Hello, Miss Ophelia, my name is Jack. I am Mr. Atticus’s personal assistant. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Jack was a thin man, probably a few inches shy of six feet, with slicked-back auburn hair and pale brown eyes. He looked about my age.
“Just Ophelia, please.”
He nodded. “The movers have arrived. Would you like your things in here?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Once everything, which didn’t amount to much, was set against the wall, everyone disappeared and I pulled my speaker from one of the boxes and started streaming music as I got to it.
Seeing as there wasn’t much, it didn’t take long to unpack. I did confiscate a small three-drawer dresser from one of the vacant bedrooms to set my TV on. Once everything was done, the room didn’t look that much different, and I started a list of things to get to help it feel more like my room.
I was halfway through when I heard voices and shuffling. I thought it was just Atticus, but there was a female voice as well. After a few minutes I made my way down the hall, listening in on the conversation.
It definitely wasn’t Atticus, but I did jump when he called my name from behind.
“Ophelia?”
I spun around, eyes wide. “Hi.”
“What are you doing?” he asked, having obviously been watching me creep down the hall.
“There’s someone in the kitchen?” I wasn’t sure if I was asking or telling.
“That is Chef Loreno.”
“You have a chef?” I asked in shock. Did the de Loughreys do anything on their own?
“Yes. He cooks dinner.”
“Who else is in there?”
“Amara, his wife. She assists him.”
“Does he cook just for you?”
“No. He often cooks for the others as well, but uses my kitchen, as it’s the largest. Let me introduce you.” He took my hand, and I forced myself to ignore the warmth of his touch as he led me down the hall. “Good evening, Chef.”
“Atticus!” He beamed. “It is so good to see you, my friend.” I watched as they hugged, stunned. Then Atticus moved over to Amara and placed a kiss on each cheek. She smiled at him before her eyes went wide when she spotted me.
They began speaking in what I was pretty sure was Italian, Atticus chiming in, their gazes flickering to me before Amara walked toward me. I had no idea what was said, but I was suddenly embraced by her.
“Welcome, Miss Ophelia,” she said with a warm smile. “It is so good to see Atticus in the company of a woman.”
The Italian kicked up again, and by the scowl on Atticus’s face, I think he took offense to something she said.
“Ophelia,” Loreno said, gaining my attention. “Please, if you wouldn’t mind, in the next few days, leave me a list of your favorite foods and flavors, as well as those you dislike and are allergic to. Be specific, if you could.”
“Specific how?” I asked, my mind whirling.
“Atticus does not like rocket or similar other bitter greens.”
“Rocket?”
He seemed to consider something. “Arugula.”
Atticus perked up and turned toward us, a scowl on his face. “No weeds.”
I let out a laugh at that. “Weeds?”
“Disgusting plant.” He narrowed his gaze at me. “What can’t you stand?”
I shrugged. “I don’t like nuts. I mean, I like them on their own, but I don’t like them in or on anything.”
I could feel the heat of Atticus’s stare, and my eyes widened. “Like peanuts and walnuts and almonds.” Warmth swept through my face. “I don’t like almonds but I like almond flavor, but just no to walnuts. And peanut sauce on Thai food is yummy.” I kept rambling on, making my embarrassment even greater.
Atticus stepped forward and leaned in. “I do remember you liking nuts,” he whispered low enough that only I could hear, his lips ghosting my ear and sending a shiver of heat down my spine. “On their own. In your mouth. The way you sucked on them, held their weight in your hand before popping them between your plump lips.”
My heart sped up and I glanced at Loreno and Amara, but they’re attention was fully on their task preparing our meal.
“I wasn’t talking about—”
“I know,” he interrupted, still whispering so not to be overheard. “But that’s all I can think about. Your warm, wet tongue wrapped around my nuts. Around my cock.”
My thighs clenched, and I had to take a step away to clear my throat. “What’s on the menu tonight?” I asked, trying to forget the last sixty seconds.
Half an hour later, I was staring down at an empty plate wondering if I could lick it without Atticus noticing. “Loreno is a cooking god,” I said with a groan. The man was beyond talented in the kitchen.
“Now you see why he’s our personal chef.”
“Does he do the family dinners?”
He shook his head. “Those are held at Stronghold, our family home outside the city. The house staffs multiple chefs.”
Multiple? Wow. How many people were living there?
“Okay—who all comes in here, so I know?” I asked to keep from looking at the remainder of the sauce that was staring at me, daring me to just slip my finger across to wipe up as much of the goodness as I could.
“What do you mean?”
“What kind of help should I expect?” I hated saying it like that. It almost sounded as if I thought they were beneath me, when they weren’t. They were here to do a job, just as I was.
“There are entire teams that keep the de Loughrey family running. Each property has a different set. We all also have assistants.”
“Jack. So, you need an assistant just to keep track of your help?” I needed to find another word for them. Caretakers? Did that sound less demeaning? It seemed they all had different jobs, but I couldn’t find a word to encompass them that didn’t make me sound like a pompous ass.
Employees? That sounded best of them all. Household employees? That way I could distinguish them from his company.
“That’s basically what Jack does. I don’t have time to tell Loreno what time I might be home or what sounds good for dinner—Jack handles that.”
“Does he know about us…the real us?”
“No.”
“Where does he think I came from?”
Atticus blew out a breath. “He shouldn’t be thinking anything.”
“I’m sure he’s curious.”
“Perhaps, but it is none of his business.”
“You’re his business, ergo, I am as well.”
His hand slammed down on the table, making me jump in surprise. “He doesn’t need to know our history, Ophelia, only that you are now affiliated with me.”
With that he stood, leaving me shake
n and surprised by his reaction. I watched as he walked down the hall and into his bedroom, the door shutting with a slam, leaving me alone.
I blew out a breath and ran my hand through my hair. There went the getting-to-know-you portion of the evening. Though I wasn’t sure what had set him off so suddenly, I had an inkling.
Atticus went to 130 Degrees, to a veiled booth with minimal interaction. The condo was the bigger version. My presence was bound to throw off his balance, especially with the millions of questions running through my head.
I’d rocked his peace, invaded his sanctuary, and I had a feeling he’d just gotten his first taste of having a roommate in years.
It left me to wonder one thing—had anyone ever been there that wasn’t family or an employee?
The first evening with Ophelia in my home didn’t quite go as planned, though I wasn’t sure what I had anticipated.
It wasn’t like at the restaurant where our conversations were of few words. She wanted to talk.
Maybe I hadn’t thought enough about what it would be like having her live with me. It had been an instantaneous assumption.
We get engaged equals she moves in.
Just the thought of the media hunting her down to her tiny apartment incensed me. I would not allow her to go around as if she were poor. She was going to have the finest things, no longer suffering to make ends meet.
That fucking made me sound like I was attempting to be a white knight, when it was anything but. I didn’t doubt my decision based on attraction. I’d pined for her for nearly a year, something I’d never in my life done, with the exception of Delephina Monroe in my sophomore year of college—a mild crush on a beautiful girl that ended when she caught Rhys’s eye.
Ophelia was the goddess I wanted to pray to, and I hadn’t the slightest idea where or how that conviction had emerged. All I knew or understood was the desire to be near her, no matter what. Needing a wife only facilitated the exploration of my infatuation.
The fact that she said yes left me in a new conundrum. I didn’t know how to act around her in my own home, and her questions further frustrated me
Now, there was this woman I barely knew, one that I wanted to fuck, one that I decided to marry, and she was a phantom I created that would no longer ever leave me alone. I thought I wouldn’t notice her, but even without seeing her, I could feel her presence. It pulled at me, causing an upheaval in my one and only sanctuary. She wasn’t like the workers that came and went as silently as possible.
