Page 66 of Sticky Fingers
Chapter Twenty-Two
Taylor
It’sa short enough distance from Clarendon Tower to Tiffany’s on 5th Avenue so I just walk over. Literally, it’s like three avenues away, and I’m in peak physical shape.
Besides, with the all fucking Secret Service agents guarding Trump Tower, it would make it a monster headache to bring my limo out and have it idle here. Poor limo driver would probably be detained when he refuses to move his car at the order of the Department of Homeland Security.
I mean, maybe I’m exaggerating, but can you blame me? The words I never thought I’d ever hear from Malcolm Push were spoken to me by phone today.
“Buddy,” he said quickly over the phone. “I need you to drop whatever the fuck you’re doing and come meet me at Tiffany’s. I’m going to get married.”
I froze. I actually had to look at my phone and make sure it was really Malcolm calling.
“Of course, I’m alright,” Malcolm replied with a laugh when I asked if he was feeling okay. “I’ve never been better. But listen, I need your input on what kind of ring to get Sonia. And you know what? Hell, bring the guys along, too. As many as you can find.”
So, I sent out word to some of the guys we hang out with who live at Clarendon Tower. And then I left to see the next wonder of the world—a world-class player like Malcolm Push, arguably the most successful, disciplined, and ethical crime boss New York City has ever seen, giving up his heart in an attempt to settle down with one woman for the rest of his life.
I gotta admit, as a bachelor, Malcolm is at the point in his life where I don’t think I’ll ever get to yet. I mean, come on, I’m the fucking CEO of Draper Pierce—the largest investment bank in the world. If you called the media and told them that Taylor John—that’s me, by the way—had settled down, they’d probably shit their pants.
Women are a revolving door of beautiful faces, tight pussies, and squeezable asses to me.
Why would I ever settle down?
That’s all I can think of on this overcast day as Malcolm’s limo pulls up to Tiffany’s. I greet him.
A Department of Homeland Security officer comes to advise Malcolm’s driver to take a hike. This is restricted street space next to Trump Tower. The driver doesn’t want to leave Malcolm.
I can’t help but chuckle as they begin to argue. Sometimes it’s worth just walking in this city.
* * *
“So,you’re really going to do it, huh, buddy?” Dominic asks Malcolm as the Tiffany’s sales clerk brings over a box full of diamond rings.
Dominic came by, bringing Colt McCoy, the owner of some of the most fantastic gyms in New York City.
“I can’t imagine falling for a broad long enough to buy her a diamond fucking ring, bro,” Colt says, taking a sip of his scotch.
That’s right. At Tiffany’s, when you’re willing to spend upwards of a million dollars on a ring, they take you to a private client room where they wine you and bring you a personal shopping assistant.
And the dedicated girls that they got, the ones helping us, away from the unwashed masses of other Tiffany’s shoppers? They’re some of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen.
The sales girl smiles at me while Malcolm starts to answer. It’s not a shopping trip without a little bit of harmless flirting, right?
Besides, Dominic’s already married to Daphne, and Malcolm’s getting hitched. So that just leaves me and Colt with this fine piece of ass.
“Can I get a refill, baby?” Colt asks a few moments later.
His eyes twinkle as he catches mine. He darts a look towards the salesgirl as she bends over to pour more whisky for him.
“I might need a refresher, too,” I say, holding out my glass.
It’s a contest. Two smooth, wealthy, alpha male princes of New York City competing over one shop girl.
Although I said earlier that a shopping trip needs some flirtation with something I’d like to poke, I start to feel like something isn’t right.
“So, you sure about this, Malcolm?” Dominic asks for the third time. “I just want to make sure that you’re not doing this too suddenly. Marriage is…pretty fucking final.”
I pause.
