Page 71 of The Billionaire's Ride

“I’ll admit, this city can be inspiring,” I say, playing with the idea for a second. Part of my heart will live here forever, and it does cross my mind to move back every time I visit. But who wants the hassle of a cross-country move?

“I saw the photos of your new collection. It’s fabulous! It seems like all that time off did you well,” she says, setting her napkin across her lap.

Sure, the time off after my burnout episode was helpful, but it was really my London lover that kickstarted this whole thing. I doubt I would be here having all these retailer meetings if it wasn’t for the inspiration he provided. Not to mention the Frederickson sketchbooks he found for me.

The man is a saint. A saint in leather.

We take some time to catch up on all the ins and outs since the last time we had a meaningful conversation. She tells me how much she enjoys working at the gallery, and I know this is my cue to bring up Drew.

“By any chance, are you looking for new artists?”

“Of course. The gallery-goers are always interested in new voices. Why?” Olivia tilts her head, and a ripple of anticipation shoots through me.

“I have a . . .” What do I call him? Let’s go with, “friendwho’s a very talented photographer. He even studied with Ferguson Burke.”

“Really?” She looks almost as interested in him as I am. “Who is it? Have I heard of him?”

“Probably not. His name is Drew Blake. He’s a fashion photographer and does a lot withLux Magazine, but his art is stunning. I’m always so moved by it. Would you be willing to take a look?”

Olivia’s intrigued expression turns skeptical, and my stomach tightens. The girl can be tough, and I sense a big fatnocoming. “I get a lot of requests like this. Since the advent of Instagram, every idiot with an iPhone thinks they’re God’s gift to photography. But,” she says like it’s a bigbut, “since I totally respect your taste in art and he studied with Ferguson Burke, I would be happy to take a look.”

It takes all my willpower not to jump up and celebrate this initial victory. “Great! Drew will be in town this week.”

“Then I’d love to meet him. I have some time around eleven tomorrow morning. Would you two be able to stop by? I’d love for you to see the place anyway.” She hands me her business card, and I accept.

“Tomorrow morning is perfect.”

Olivia leans in. “Okay, now tell me the good stuff. What’s going on between you and this photographer?”

“What do you mean?”

“Honey, that goofy grin of yours when you say his name? Please, it’s obvious.”

I want to gush about him. I do. I could talk and talk and talk about him for days and days. But I don’t want the nature of our relationship to color his work. This isn’t a favor in my view. It’s a business connection. “It’s nothing. We’re just hanging out.”

While I know this is an honest answer, I don’t like the way it sounds. I don’t like the way it feels. But for now, for this week, I just want to enjoy my time with him. I’ll worry about the rest later.

After lunch, I head Uptown to meet with the COO of one of the biggest department stores in the country—Winslow Lane. I was under the impression that they wanted to carry my new lingerie line. But they don’t. Instead, they want to do a collaboration deal, an exclusive line for their customers. They say they’ve wanted to work with a lingerie designer for a while now, and when they saw my new collection, they knew they wanted me.

I’m floored! This is how designers become household names. Not to mention the influx of capital the deal would bring. I want to jump on the deal but I strategically let them know that I have other meetings, and I’ll get back to them soon with my decision. For now, I have another very important meeting to get to.

Chapter Thirty-Five

DREW

I made it.I’m here. I step out of the car and onto Greenwich Street. The city feels, sounds, and smells exactly how I remember it. Exhilarating. Kate texted me earlier with the key code and told me to come inside.

Dragging my roller bag behind me, I step inside, landing on dark wood flooring. This place is huge by New York standards, and it’s quiet compared to outside. I walk into the living room, there’s a baby grand piano near the window and a handful of family photographs on the bookcase but Kate is nowhere to be found. Just as I’m about to wander around the house, I catch a glimpse of a familiar face in one of the pictures. It’s Billy Joel standing next to a well-dressed couple and a little girl with dark hair and sparkling green eyes. The quality dates back to the early ‘90s but they all look so happy. I smile and remember when Kate told me about this special childhood moment when we had breakfast at the diner in London.

Now where is my girl? I enter the kitchen, dining area, and peek out to a small backyard terrace. Is she not here? Music cuts through the quiet. Hmm, a clue. I follow the sultry sound up the stairs.

“Kate,” I call out like we’re playing hide and seek. Finally, I’m standing in the doorway to her bedroom. She’s lying on her stomach with a devilish look in her eyes. Her stocking-covered toes point up to the ceiling. She knows it drives me insane when she lies like that. The corners of my mouth instantly turn up into a very pleased smile.

“Welcome to New York,” Kate says as I step inside, gazing at her beautiful, barely clothed body.

I’ve forgotten English. How could I not when she’s wearing stockings? My cock grows hard at the sight of her, and all I want to do is get my hands on her delicious body. But I rein it in, planting my feet and resisting the urge to run and tackle her.

Instead, I whistle a catcall. “He-llooo.”

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