Page 65 of Connor

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DAISY

Connor had the jet fueled and ready, our teams briefed, and we landed in New York before the day's end. It was a whirlwind, yet nothing felt rushed or stressed. Traveling privately is definitely a luxury. One I’m not used to, and even though I flew in his jet to arrive in Whispers weeks ago, flying back to the city just because I missed my parents seems indulgent.

The way the air hostess greeted him, offering him obviously curated food and drinks, the pilot having a private conversation with him about the flight path and landing routes, the drivers who take care of all the luggage upon arriving at the penthouse, a fridge full of high-end food, not a speck of dust to be seen; a glittering view of the New York skyline that only multimillionaires could buy, it’s all overwhelming and completely different from my life. It’s going to be hard to go back to using the subway to get to work when I’m back at Sunshine with Mom.

We arrived in darkness and went straight to the bedroom, eager to make love on almost every surface we could. The high achievers we both are, we succeeded in that quest.

Now in the light of a new day, I stand up from my morning salutation and look around. My bare feet sink into the thick, luxurious carpet, the white tones of the room I’m in a relaxing color palette. I do my morning yoga with the sunlight seeping in from the large floor-to-ceiling windows, the view unobstructed and the green of Central Park nearby. Taking a deep breath, I try to center myself.

Connor’s penthouse is amazing. Over two levels, it’s modern yet still cozy. It has everything you could imagine: a large kitchen, a living room with a massive TV, bathrooms, bedrooms, a gym, an office, a private elevator… I mean, the list is endless. And it’s in complete contrast to my small two-bedroom abode I share with Trisha.

I can’t even do yoga in our apartment. There’s no room. We’re squashed together like sardines, and he’s right; had Connor stayed with me, our walls are paper thin and Trisha would’ve been given a show last night, for sure. The kitchen is literally a cupboard and a small fridge. The oven hasn’t worked since I moved in and is currently where I store my winter sweaters. And the one bathroom we share is barely big enough for me to shower in.

I look over at his bar, fully stocked with whiskey, like something from a deluxe cocktail lounge, with backlights and glass shelving and mirrors. I still haven’t tried his whiskey. I’m not even sure I could stomach it. I swallow as the startling differences between our two lives make my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth. The opulence of this place is like nothing I could ever imagine, and I feel like a fraud for even being here.

“Hey, baby girl.” His voice is a mere murmur that rumbles over my skin as his hands move around my waist from behind. I didn’t even hear him walk into the second living room, where I’ve perched myself this morning. I want to fall back into his embrace, sigh in contentment, and imagine that this is all normal. That this life I’ve stepped into could be real. That we might become something. But it isn’t. This is just two people having a good time that will end as soon as the spa opens and he flies me back here permanently. I’m not stupid. Connor is a ladies’ man, a billionaire bachelor whom many women crave, but with every touch, and everybaby girlthat rolls from his lips, I fall a little more for the man I crave like no other. The pain at the end of it all will be worth it, just to feel like this with him right now.

“Finished your run?” I ask, knowing he has if the sweat I feel on him is anything to go by. Even though we’re in a new place, our morning routine has remained. He went to the gym to run a few miles on the treadmill, and I found this little sun-soaked spot for my yoga. His head ducks into the crook of my neck, his kisses making my heart race and my knees weak. God, I don’t know how he does it, but I melt like putty in his hands, putting my head back on his shoulder as his grip around me tightens.

“I have. What are you thinking about, looking out at the city skyline here?” His hot breath skims my throat as he pulls me back against him firmly so I have no option but to sink into his protective embrace.

“Just life,” I say, not wanting to get into it.

“Hmmmmm, I can hear your brain ticking over,” he comments, and I can’t help but grin.

“This is just so… beautiful,” I tell him honestly. Opulence aside, the view, the stillness, it’s something I never thought you could find in the city, the open space with lots of blue sky above me, seeing the sun, the beauty of the world around us… It’s stunning.

“I’m glad you like it. I don’t really like the hustle and bustle of the city, so I wanted a place where I could spend time that wasn’t too loud, too congested. It’s the country in me, I suppose.” He speaks against my skin, where he continues to pepper kisses.

“What do you prefer, New York or Whispers?” I ask. Looking at him, you would think the city. Tall, handsome, a ladies’ man, wearing business suits and making corporate deals.

“Whispers,” he answers with conviction.

“Really?” I ask, somewhat surprised.

“I grew up there. My dad’s there. The distillery is there. I enjoy the city, and I’m here often. I went to college close by here, and most of my friends are from here too, but I prefer the genuine people from Whispers. The fresh air, no traffic. I feel more relaxed there.”

I think about it. There’s a lot to love about Whispers, that’s for sure.

“What time do you want to leave for your parents’ place?”

“I was just going to walk to the subway and catch the train at around eleven,” I tell him, and I feel his body stiffen behind me.

“Subway?” he questions, pulling his mouth from my neck and looking down at me with a pinched brow. I turn to look at him fully, puzzled.

“Yeah, I called Mom, told her I was coming, and she was beside herself with excitement. She’s going to make an extra big batch of dahl so I can bring some back to Whispers with me.”

“Why don't we take the car?” he asks, and my head tilts.

“Car?” Clearly, the two of us aren’t on the same page.

“Yeah, I have some cars downstairs. I can drive us,” he says, and the realization dawns on me.

“Some cars?” I ask, because how many cars does one man need?

“Well, you can choose which one we take, since I’m not familiar with the area your parents live in,” he says with a shrug, like this is a normal conversation, when nothing about this is normal.

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