Page 276 of One More Kiss

“So what are you going to do? Just accept the fate that the English language has handed you?”

I grinned so hard my cheeks hurt. “Babe, I love it when you talk like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like one of the judges on Shark Tank.”

She burst into laughter, and the husky lilt caused both my heart and my cock to swell. “We can thank my dad for that.”

I didn’t want to thank him for anything. A business mogul worthy of joining the cast of Shark Tank—that was one of the only good qualities I’d grant the man.

“For that, and for bringing you into the world. But that’s about it.”

Cora sighed heavily, though I couldn’t tell if it transmitted annoyance or agreement. Probably both. “Well, let’s not condemn him just yet. He is, after all, putting me on a flight to New York this weekend.”

A sputtering noise blocked my airways. My fingers reflexively gripped the ring box while a cough tore through me. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t choke and die before I can see you.”

“Don’t worry, babe. Even if I died, you know I’d haunt you until you came.”

That husky laughter thrilled through me again, prompting another grin I couldn’t have wiped from my face if I tried.

“God, I love you,” Cora said.

“I love you more. So what’s the special occasion? Somebody getting married?” I tapped the ring box against my forehead as my brain started sectioning off to conquer the new challenges in front of me. I thought I’d been working with months to plan the perfect proposal. Now she’d be in my arms in mere days, and I wasn’t prepared.

But I’d go through with it. So help me God, I was going to ask this woman to marry me when I saw her.

She laughed softly, but it sounded humorless. “Ah…no. Well, I’m sure my father would love if there was a wedding. But no.”

“What?”

She started to say something then stopped.

“Cora.” I stared at the far wall of the room, where my poster of Elon Musk kept an eternal watch over my belongings. “What does that mean?”

“It means nothing.”

“What does that fucking mean.” I hated when she played coy like this. Her mouth was often faster than her brain, and I could read her like a book. So when she tried to sidestep a comment like that, I had to dig.

When a long sigh ripped out of her, I knew my shovel had struck gold. “He set up a meeting between me and the Rossbergs.”

I knew that name—I knew I knew it, in the same way that lesser-cultured people knew the name Rockefeller without being entirely sure why. “What for?”

“I don’t know. Potential business collaborations, now that Eli and I are graduating soon…”

Eli. The lightbulb went on, but it illuminated a picture I didn’t want to fucking look at. “You and Eli, huh?” I knew she and the white-collar bastard went to Stanford together. I’d run into him at a charity function once, one of the few events in their world that Cora’s father had allowed her to bring me to. Maybe “allowed” wasn’t the right word. I’d slipped in, and I’d been shadow banned ever since. Eli had been a disgusting, smarmy mess—slicked hair, condescension crinkling at his brown eyes, a sort of bored distaste punctuating his every murmur and movement—even in his mid-twenties.

I remembered this shit because it was so fucking common in the elite circles. My brothers and I even had a bingo card for the most ostentatious signs we were dealing with rich assholes and their ilk. Using the word “ilk” was, ironically, on the bingo card.

“We’re in the same program…”

“I know.” I squeezed the ring box, a million different questions sprouting to life inside me. The conflicting pressures created a dangerous environment beneath my rib cage. “So the wedding thing—your dad wants you to marry him?”

“I…think so.”

A long silence stretched between us, and I felt sick. Of course her dad wanted her to marry Eli. It didn’t surprise me. On the list of potential fiancés, anyone with a 401(k) was automatically in line before me. But at the front of the line was anyone who looked, talked, and acted like Eli. Jackpot for coming with family money.

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