Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
And he’s swallowed back into the crowd—red sash, gray scarf, all charisma.
I stand there for a moment, letting his warning settle in my mind.
The room feels louder now. Hotter.
Then, a buzz in my pocket and I glance down at my phone.
A text from Grizz. You coming over tonight?
Four words and a question mark. The screen glows.
We didn’t make plans when we parted this morning. I suspect that was intentional—Grizz keeping the boundaries clean, making sure I understood the terms. This isn’t dinner and a movie. This isn’t meeting friends. This is bodies in the dark and nothing more.
Around me, the bass throbs through the floor. The lava-hued lights flicker and Elias’s words loop through my head: Don’t lie to yourself about what you want.
The truth is, I want more than a warm body. I want the glimpses I’ve seen beneath Grizz’s armor, those sweet, tender parts he guards so fiercely. I want more of the way he softened when he talked about his past. The cracks in the mask where light slips through.
I think of that lantern from sophomore year. The words I wrote before I knew better than to admit them out loud.
A love that feels like coming home.
Maybe Grizz isn’t that. The odds say he isn’t. But somewhere beneath the bravado and the walls and the raw heat between us, there’s a broken man who needs help.
I won’t know unless I stay close enough to find out.
My thumb hovers over the screen. The music pounds. The lights flicker molten orange.
I type three words and hit send before I can talk myself out of it: On my way.
Chapter 15
Daisy
Istep out of the cab and pause on the quiet, tree-lined street because for a moment, I’m not fully convinced I’m in Manhattan anymore.
Julian Langley’s townhome sits behind a row of manicured hedges and wrought iron fencing, its limestone facade glowing in the warm spill of lantern light. It’s enormous, so wide and tall it looks like a European manor was airlifted and dropped between Fifth Avenue and Madison, tucking it just blocks from the Frick Museum.
I cross the sidewalk, step through the gate, and the second I’m at the large front door, a server in black tie opens it for me.
I hand over my coat and purse as I take in the ceilings that soar at least twenty-five feet overhead, carved with moldings so intricate they look handmade. Corinthian columns flank the foyer. The staircase is sweeping, made of dark wood and inlaid marble. Every surface looks impossibly expensive—oil paintings, antique vases, a chandelier dripping crystal.
I’ve spent years covering couture shows in Milan and touring restored palazzos in Florence. I’ve reviewed collections inside Palais Garnier and interviewed designers in converted Parisian mansions. But New York almost never looks like this. This home is a love letter to the Gilded Age, written by someone with unlimited resources and impeccable taste.
The large central salon has been transformed into a full casino floor. Multiple blackjack tables dot the room, emerald felt gleaming under soft amber lighting. Roulette wheels spin as elegantly as ballet dancers, their ivory balls clicking musically. A long row of slot machines lines the far wall.
It’s Julian’s annual Casino Night that he holds to raise money for his Vipers Care Foundation that supports at-risk youth. I received an invitation to attend as a guest, not as Grizz McAvoy’s handler, but let’s be real… that’s still my primary job tonight.
Servers sweep past with silver trays and laughter echoes off marble. I scan the room and somewhere behind the swirl of people, the flash of sequins, the hum of games and chatter… I’m aware of one thing more than anything else: Grizz is somewhere in this house, and sooner or later, I’m going to see him.
What no one knows is I just saw him a few hours ago when I left his apartment. There was no way we were going to show up to this event together since that might start tongues wagging, and one thing Grizz has been consistent with… the notion that we are not together in any way other than burning up the sheets.
That’s a thought that might make me sad if it weren’t for the fact it’s been Grizz who’s been wanting to spend each night with me. He doesn’t necessarily ask, more like tells me that he’ll be over, but I’m leaving it up to him to drive this train. I fully expect we’ll be going either to his place or mine when the party is over, but for now… I want to put eyes on him and make sure he behaves.
I weave through the crowd, taking in the sheer spectacle of it. More laughter rises from the baccarat table, accompanied by the clack of chips, the whir of roulette wheels. Everywhere I look, someone is dressed in black tie or the latest couture.