Page 46 of Old Money

He looks up at me and gives me that sexy-as-fuck half-smirk as he stirs the scrambled eggs in the sizzling pan in front of him. He’s shirtless, by the way, and if I had any panties on, they’d already be damp from just the sight of him. Chestnut locks tousled from the night we had, his olive skin gleaming in the morning light that fills the space. I lean on the doorway and watch him, biting my lip. He puts a hand over the phone.

“You are gonna make me lose my damn mind coming out here like that. You better go put more clothes on unless you want me to fuck you again before breakfast,” he whispers. Then he moves his hand. “What? Oh, did you hear that? Sorry, John. Yep, four-thirty tomorrow is fine. I’ll be with my father, so we can take the call together. Yep. Alrighty. Bye-bye.”

My lady boner deflates as quickly as it came on with the words “I’ll be with my father,” and I wait for him to explain.

“So, what’ll it be? Eggs before sex, or sex before eggs?” he asks, flicking the stove off.

I laugh, walking around the island to him to give him a morning kiss. His hand slides up under the shirt as he takes a handful of my bare ass.

“You’re seeing your dad tomorrow?” I ask. He smiles again, looking down at me.

“Yeah. We’re meeting out at Bedell House tomorrow for my stepmom’s birthday party. And, uh…I was kind of hoping you’d join me.”

I swallow.

Whoa.

I feel my body get tense, and he must too. He puts the spatula down and wraps his other arm around me.

“No pressure, baby. I swear. It’s fast, I know. If you want more time, that’s completely?—”

“I want to come,” I cut him off. And I mean it. My heart might be racing, but I’m ready. The sexy half-smirk quickly grows into an all-out sexy grin, and he bends down to kiss me again, squeezing me tight.

“Are you sure? I’m really not trying to pressure you…” he starts, but I step up onto my tiptoes and kiss him again.

“I want to do this,” I tell him between kisses. Then I jump up and wrap my legs around his waist. “And to answer your earlier question, sex before eggs.”

He smiles, carrying me back toward the bedroom, but stops and lays me down on the table.

We don’t even make it to my room.

* * *

After another roundon my dining table—well, I guesshistable—and one more in the shower, we’re dressed and clothed.

“Pack for a few nights,” he tells me as he kisses me and walks out of my bedroom to take a call. A few? How many is a few? Christmas is at the end of this week, and to be honest, I’m fucking dreading it. I’ve never spent Christmas without my mom, and Julian and I literally just decided yesterday that we were a couple, so asking about holidays together feels a little quick. That, and he’s the third richest man in the world. He might have a plan or two already.

I throw enough clothes in my bag for four days, which leads me to Christmas Eve. He can bring up the holiday if he wants to spend it together, but as the much younger, much poorer member of this couple, it won’t be me.

There’s just one issue, though, and I rush back out of my room. I walk back out to him just as he’s hanging up his call, and he turns to me and smiles, eyebrows drawing together as soon as he sees the look on my face.

“What is it, baby?”

“I have nothing to wear to meet your dad. What do I wear? I have one dress, and I don’t know if it’s…fuck,”I say, storming back into my room and flinging my closet back open. I hear him chuckle behind me as he makes his way to me, grabbing my waist and spinning me around to face him.

“We’re going shopping in the city before we go to Bedell House tomorrow,” he tells me. “You can pick a few things out, and then we’ll stay at my apartment tonight and head there in the morning. Stop panicking.” He kisses me, and I feel myself let out a sigh of relief. But him spending money on me still feels weird. I know that, technically, he’s made more money before he even slides his credit card any time he purchases anything. But it doesn’t make me feel less bad about it.

He reaches up and tugs on my chin, releasing my lip from my teeth.

“If you don’t stop biting this lip, I will,” he says. Then he leans forward, pulling me closer to him. “Stop worrying about the money, Sawyer. Let me spoil you while I still can.”

I pull back, raising an eyebrow.

“What does that mean?” I ask. He breathes in deep, the expression on his face getting a little more serious, like he is a little wary of telling me more. Instead, he reaches out a hand to me.

“I’ll tell you more in the car,” he says. “Tyler’s here.”

I tryto bring it up again multiple times throughout the day, but it’s hard between a gourmet picnic lunch in Central Park, shopping on Fifth Avenue, and dinner at Delmonico's. I got my first ever pair of designer shoes that I’m pretty positive I’ll end up breaking my ankles in. I got an evening dress for the party, another more casual dress for dinner, and a few new blouses. He tried to get me into another few stores, but I refused.

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