“You’re welcome. Thanks, Donald.”
I end the call and quickly text him Skye’s address.
I sigh. For the note.
I start a text. Erase it and start another.
Fuck it. Why not just get straight to the point?
This will go beautifully with your black dress. Wear your hair up and paint your lips red. Bloodred. I’ll pick you up at six.
As I walk out of the district, a tiny masquerade shop catches my eye. In the display case is a striking black mask, satin with black feathers and a large crystal jewel fanning out from one side.
It was made for Skye. I don’t know when she’ll have the chance to wear it, but within two seconds, I’m in the store making the purchase. The salesperson wraps it for me and then nods to a display of plain masks.
“You get one of those for free with your purchase.”
“Oh?” I take a quick look. They’re simple masks in various colors. No embellishments, just a covering for the eyes.
I have no plans to take Skye to a masquerade, but if I do, I’ll need a mask as well. I choose the black one.
An hour later, my phone dings with a text. From Skye.
I love the pearls, Braden. Thank you so much.
You’re welcome, I text back succinctly.
But there’s so much more I want to say.
…
I’m in and out of meetings for the next twenty-four hours. Finally free, and eating takeout at my New York residence, my phone buzzes.
It’s a Boston number, but one I don’t recognize.
“Black,” I say.
“Hi…uh…Braden?”
“Yes? Who’s this.”
“Tessa Logan. Skye’s friend.”
My heart punches my sternum. “Is Skye all right?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s fine.”
I sigh in relief. “Good,” I say, hoping I sound nonchalant. “How did you get this number, Tessa?”
“Well…I kind of kiped Skye’s phone for a minute, found it, and memorized it.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I have one of those minds for numbers. You know?”
Not really, but I don’t say so. I’m not sure what to make of Tessa calling me. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Actually, there is. Skye and I went to the local pet shelter tonight. I adopted a dog. Anyway, Skye saw this little puppy. She was so sweet and lonely, and she adored Skye and Skye adored her. But you know Skye’s place doesn’t allow pets. Skye was just beside herself about the whole thing. She asked me to adopt the puppy, but I had already picked out a dog. That’s why we were there, to pick her up.”
“I see.”
“I told her to call you, but she wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Well…I thought…if you could adopt the puppy and keep her until Skye has a better place, maybe…”
“Tessa—”
“She was nearly in tears when we left.”
Crying? Skye was crying? My heart becomes a cannonball in my chest.
I say nothing.
“Are you there?” Tessa finally asks.
“I’m here.”
“I guess it was pretty out of line to call you,” she says. “Skye was just so sad to leave that poor puppy there. She can’t be more than about ten weeks old, probably missing her mother something awful.”
“Give me the information,” I say.
“Are you going to get her? Skye will be so happy!”
“I’ll figure something out. The information, Tessa.”
“Right. She’s puppy number 347. A Heeler mix. Black with white markings.”
“You remember her number?”
“I have a way with numbers,” she says again.
“I’m glad you do,” I tell her. “I’ll call my driver in Boston and have him pick up the pup. Don’t tell Skye, though. I want to surprise her.”
“Braden, thank you!” Tessa gushes. “If there’s anything I can ever do for you, please, I’ll do it.”
I chuckle slightly. “I can’t think of anything at the moment. Thank you for letting me know about the puppy, Tessa.”
“You’re welcome. And thank you. Skye’s the luckiest woman ever. Bye.”
I text the information to Christopher quickly, hoping it’s not too late.
An hour and a half later, I get a text back from him.
Congratulations. It’s a girl.
Chapter Forty-Seven
I return to my Boston penthouse early in the afternoon on Saturday.
I’ve purposefully thrown myself into my work the last two days in Manhattan, purposefully not called or texted Skye. Purposefully stayed off Instagram.
I needed a clear head to finish up the business with Foster McCain, and while I was in Manhattan, I took care of some other loose ends as well.
Try as I might, though, my thoughts never fully strayed from Skye.
She’ll most likely be angry that I haven’t been in contact with her. Why shouldn’t she be?
Normally, when I’m seeing a woman, I don’t mix business with pleasure. I don’t think about her at all while I’m working. Only when we’re together. So naturally, I don’t call and text often when we’re not together. I’m determined not to do things differently with Skye, which is why I haven’t communicated with her since her text about the pearl choker.
The difference, though?
I’ve wanted to.
Every time I look at my phone, I think about giving her a quick call or sending her a quick text. Even just checking Instagram.
Every time I check email—which is a lot—I think about writing to her, just to see how she’s doing.
I stayed strong, though. I did not.
Skye’s puppy is adorable and already a terrific playmate for Sasha. She’ll keep Annika and Christopher on their toes. I spend a few minutes playing with her and letting her lick my face before I head to my bedroom to shower.
My date with Skye for the gala tonight is still on, and I’ll be there at six as promised.
Once I’m clad in one of my tailored tuxes and in the car with Christopher at the wheel and a bouquet of bloodred roses and the plain black eye mask from New York sitting next to me, the nipple clamps securely in my pocket, I finally succumb. I’ll check Instagram. That will tell me what Skye’s been up to. I click on her profile.