Page 10 of Merging with the Billionaire

“When it comes to the matter of business, that’s true,” Conrad agreed, moving closer to her. “But when it has to do with personal choices, I’m capable of making a decision with ease.”

His proximity was making her uncomfortable, not because she didn’t like it, but because she did. She had been fighting her physical attraction to Conrad Gaines all week, constantly reminding herself of all the reasons she couldn’t get involved with him, though she sensed he might be open to the possibility if she let him. The way he was speaking to her right now made it even more clear that she had assumed right. He was looking at her with those penetrating coffee-colored eyes of his, and she knew if she didn’t get away from him that very moment, she’d let him kiss her right there in the hallway if he tried.

Her phone buzzed, drawing her attention to the screen. She looked at it and read the text from her brother, reminding her she was behind schedule.

“I have to go. I’m already late,” she whispered, licking her lips before swiveling around and taking off without looking back. She shouldn’t have stayed alone with Conrad as long as she had. It was a mistake.

A half hour later, the Town Car pulled up in front of her parents’ lavish apartment building, Remington Tower, in the Upper East Side. With its modern architecture inspired by Art Deco and luxury amenities including a full-service health club, screening room, wine cellar and spa, it was one of the most elite buildings in all of Manhattan.

When Tiffany had decided she wanted her own place after university, her parents had tried to persuade her to get one on the same floor as them. She had opted to get one a few blocks away, knowing she needed to establish her own life free from her father’s dominating ways and her mother’s need to insult her choices.

The limo driver came around and opened the door, allowing Tiffany to shimmy out of the vehicle.

“Good evening, Miss Boswell,” the doorman said with a smile as he held the door open for her. “Enjoy your family dinner.”

“Good evening, Wilbur. I’ll try,” she greeted in return, happy to see the veteran employee of the building. As far back as she could remember, he had been there every day after prep school, and later when she returned from university during the holidays.

She entered the elevator and let it take her to the top floor of the building. She exited, then pushed back her shoulders in preparation for the exhausting night that was sure to lay ahead.

Tiffany knocked on the door, knowing better than to just enter the home she grew up in. It swung open to reveal Alima, the newest Russian maid, who stood woodenly on the other side in her starched black and white uniform.

“Good evening, Miss Boswell,” she stated in her broken Russian accent. “Your parents are waiting in the dining room.”

As Tiffany made her way through the opulent, penthouse apartment, flashes of memories of her childhood came back, but she pushed them away, not wanting to think about how sad it was to be alone for most of it.

Despite the place being pristine and lavish from its oversized windows, to its high ceilings to the gold and crystal dripping from every corner of the place, it didn’t replace the fact her parents were never home, preferring to be out with friends or at social events rather than being bothered by parenting their children. They left that bothersome job up to the endless revolving door of nannies.

Tiffany arrived in the large dining room that was filled with elegant decor. There were two large mahogany buffet tables covered in silver utensils and fine china, a set of three custom curio cabinets that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, and a matching massive table with twelve ornate chairs. The table was already set for dinner, and both her parents along with Roger, Celeste and Marcus sat around the table.

“You’re late,” her platinum blonde mother chastised as Tiffany came into the room. “I hope you know how hard it is on your father to wait to eat. His routine is very important to him these days.”

Tiffany glanced over at her father, irritated that her mother would talk about her father right in front of him like he wasn’t there—and what’s worse—like he was a child. Though it didn’t seem to bother him, as he was starring off into space rather than listening to the scolding Tiffany was receiving.

“I’m sorry, Mom. My meeting at the company went longer than I expected,” Tiffany explained. “I came as quickly as I could.”

“It’s all right, Tiff, we all know how hard you work,” Roger excused away her lateness with a sympathetic smile.

“Don’t defend her, Roger. It’s not acceptable for her to make us all wait on her.”

Tiffany bit back her reply that when her father worked at the company, they often waited up to an hour for him to return home for dinner—when he actually decided to come home at all. She couldn’t count how many times she went to bed without seeing him the entire day.

Tiffany hurried over to her seat across from Celeste and next to Marcus. The little boy reached out and squeezed her hand, a giant grin spread across his face. “Hi, Aunt Tiffany.”

She squeezed his hand in return, his joy erasing the irritation she felt from the earlier rebuke by her mother. “Hello, Marcus. How’s my favorite nephew?”

“I’m great, Aunt Tiffany. School was awesome today.”

Tiffany was glad to hear Marcus was doing better at school. She loved her nephew dearly and wanted him to be happy.

“I’m so glad, Marcus. You’ll have to tell me—”

Before Tiffany could finish, her mother rang the bell, prompting Alima to enter the dining room.

“Alima, go tell Chef Monteu we’re ready for dinner. Hopefully he doesn’t have to re-fire anything due to Tiffany’s tardiness.”

It always amazed her how her mother saved up all her niceness for Roger but treated her with veiled contempt. Tiffany often wondered if it was because she hadn’t wanted a second child and was even less pleased when Tiffany turned out to be a girl.

A few minutes later, Alima, along with a second maid and the butler, entered with plates of food. They placed them down in front of everyone in unison.

---