New York Billionaires Series

“Sometimes. It has a pretty good view. And well… I have a bottle of wine at home.”

Tawny eyes look down on me. There’s a light in them. “Are you inviting me in for a glass?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Well then,” Carter says. “I’ve never been more excited to see a fire escape.”

Carter’s legs are almost too long for the cramped space outside my window. He extends them, the tips of his lacquered suit shoes emerging through a slab of bars.

“Isn’t this a great balcony?” I say. I climb out after him with a bottle of wine and a blanket tucked under my arm. Despite the unusual warmth, it’s still night in New York, and we’ll need to keep our jackets on.

“Yes,” he says. “Fantastic. It’s definitely a reason to overlook the fourteen other health hazards.”

“No ragging on my place while you’re a guest,” I inform him sternly.

He holds up his hands, a half-smile on his face. “Sorry. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”

“Don’t even think them.” I hand him the bottle and sit down opposite him, struggling to fit my legs into the space. He reaches down and, as if it’s nothing, as if we’ve been intimate before, lifts them across his lap.

“Better?”

“Yes, thanks.” The railing is lit with tiny fairy lights, the one decoration I’d added to the fire escape. It’s most definitely not up to code and I don’t care.

Carter unscrews the wine and doesn’t comment on the poor quality. I’m treating the owner of one of America’s oldest newspapers to a bottle of six-dollar wine. I lean back against the bars and watch him fill up two wineglasses.

The impossibility of him, here, makes me smile.

He notices. “Why are you looking so happy?” he asks, handing me one of the glasses. But his eyes dance in the dim light.

“I don’t know. You being here, drinking this awful wine with me.”

“It’s awful?”

“My best friend bought it for me when I moved in and we never ended up drinking it. It’s cheap.”

He takes a deep swig, and then raises an eyebrow. “It’s drinkable.”

“Wow. I was aiming for oaky undertones or full-bodied, but I’ll take it.”

“Smart-ass,” he says, He rests his right hand on my calf, still draped across his lap. Connecting us even further. “Was it okay that I took us to the same bar where we met tonight?”

I nod. “We kinda came full circle, didn’t we? Returning to the place where it all started.”

“That was the idea,” he admits. “I also thought that…”

“That what?” I nudge him with my leg, and his hand shifts. Moves to my knee. “Tell me.”

“It wouldn’t be intimidating. You know, I didn’t want you hyperventilating at a bar and needing some handsome stranger to save you.”

I grin. “That happens, does it?”

“It happened to a friend of mine quite recently, actually,” he says. “Tonight was just you and me and alcohol, and I figured there was no way either of us wouldn’t enjoy it.”

“It was a good date. Great, even.” I feel brave, filled with liquid courage. “I invited you up for a nightcap, didn’t I?”

His eyes flash with heat. “You did. I’m grateful.”

“Grateful?”

“Maybe the wrong choice of words. Intrigued, perhaps. Definitely encouraged.” He looks down at my legs over his, thumb moving slowly over the edge of my knee. I feel it, even through my stockings. “So you thought I was awful when we met, then. My suit gave me away as a man who couldn’t be trusted.”

I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t thinking clearly at all. I was just trying not to throw up from nerves.”

“Right. Peanuts, water,” here he points to himself, “savior. I should be grateful to your panic attack, I guess. It meant you gave me a shot.”

“But you weren’t aiming for a shot,” I say. “Were you? I mean, what did you think of me when we first met? Be honest.”

I’d been a wreck at that bar, and not particularly kind to him either. I remember berating him for the way he spoke to the bartender when ordering another drink.

Carter’s smile is intimate. “You don’t see yourself particularly clearly. I’ve noticed that before.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re fucking gorgeous.”

I scoff. “Right.”

“I mean it. You were that night, too, you know. All big eyes and smart mouth and this long, curly hair. You didn’t know me, but you spoke to me like you did. I liked that.”

I’ve never been one to suffer from false modesty. My looks are good if I put some effort in, but I know my limitations. I’m pretty average.

Carter seems to read my thoughts. He takes another deep sip of his wine, eyes still on mine. “You don’t believe me.”© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

“It just seems… excessive. You’re you. Handsome, tall, rich, capable. I was panicking at a bar.”

“You saw me,” he says. “Even back then.”

The words fill up the space in my chest, warm me from the inside out. It could be snowing right now and I’d still be hot, on this fire escape with him. “Oh.”

He reaches for my glass of wine and puts both of them to the side. “You still do, you know. I’m myself with you in a way I haven’t been in over a decade.”

“I’m glad,” I say. “Don’t ever be anyone else around me.”

His lips curve. “I don’t think I could be, even if I tried.”

My fingertips feel cold, curving around the steely roundness of a bar. “What are we doing, Carter? Really?”

He captures a curl of my hair and watches it slip through his fingers. “We’re spending time together,” he says. “We’re getting to know one another.”