Page 132 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

Cupping her ear, she leans closer. “Did I hear an S, as in plural?”

I chuckle. “Yes, six of them, and only one’s been touched.” Taking her hand, I turn it over and then lean down to kiss her palm, worried how she’ll react to the next part. I suck in a breath. “I lied to you.”

Her hand is yanked back, and I’m struck with a glare. “Rad . . .”

She doesn’t have to say more. The tone gets her message across loud and clear. White knuckling the windowsill, she asks, “What is it?” I was trying to avoid worrying her.

I start talking faster. “I got notice that the third-floor tenant is moving out.”

She tilts her head, worry turning into interest. “I’m not following.”

There are reasons I never shared the history of my inheritances or about the building. Simply put, I didn’t want to be treated any differently. But she’s going to find out one day, so I might as well confess. “It’s a small lie by omission. I know that counts but hear me out.”

She sighs heavily. “Tell me.”

“I own the building.”

Unblinking, she stares at me for a disconcerting number of seconds. Maybe it’s been minutes. I scratch the back of my neck nervously. Not able to bear the silence, I finally ask, “What are you thinking?”

“I just . . . Um . . .” She directs her gaze out the window, blocking me from reading what’s on her mind. When her eyes return to mine, she asks, “Since when?”

“Since college. I bought it with some of the money from one of my trust funds.”

“Oh, right, the plural amount of trust funds . . . there’s nothing normal about that, just so you know.”

“It is in my world.” I tuck her hair behind her ears. “Ourworld.”

“You say that like I blend in with your world with such ease,” she says in disbelief.

“You do. You fit right in. You’ve become it. You’re my whole world.”

Another soft sigh escapes her, but a smile graces her face. “I feel the same about you, but I didn’t realize how much you were worth.”

Nothing I can say will make her feel more comfortable about never having to worry about money. She’s lived her entire life doing the opposite. She asks, “How much does that apartment rent for?”

I grin. “Are you in the market?”

“I can’t afford your spare bedroom,” she deadpans. Her hand covers her mouth, hiding most of her pretty smile from me. “So, I know I can’t afford a full-floor apartment in this neighborhood or any apartment in the city.” I breathe easier when all signs of concern disappear from her features. “But I am curious.”

“Ten thousand.”

Her mouth falls open. “A month?” Stumbling back, she catches herself on the frame of the window. “Good lord, Rad. You’re rich rich. Richie Rich rich. Rockefeller rich.”

“Not Rockefeller rich.”

Fanning herself, she jokes, “I’m going to need a second to process this new information. Do Jackson and Cade know?”

“I’ve never given them my financials, but JacksonSt. Jamesisn’t far off. His last name’s a staple in this city. I’m only sharing this information with you.”

“You’re telling me because you have the money to start the nonprofit? Just lying around?”

“I’ve never rolled in a pile of money exactly, but I could, so yes. I have my trust funds, but I’ve also made a lot of money in the stock market.” Now everything’s just pouring out, financial vomiting is probably not something I should make a habit of,but for her—anything. “My career. Basically, everything I touch turns to gold.”I smirk because I’m not called the golden boy for nothing.

Pursing her lips, she then laughs. “Your humility is something I’ve always admired about you.”

That’s my opening. I move in and take hold of her hips. “My girl’s got jokes.” I kiss her neck, nuzzling against her soft skin until I score a mewl from her.

“Boy, do I.” She cracks up. “I started as an opening act and recently moved into headlining.”

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