He leaned back in his chair and watched me with that sharp gaze and knowing smirk that had made powerful men tremble—and made me tremble, too, for an entirely different reason. “Who says I’m going to give you access to that car, Ellison?”
God, I loved this man. Every day with him was going to be a challenge, and I couldn’t fucking wait.
I braced my hands on the arms of his chair, leaned in, and whispered against his ear. “Well, Mr. Blackwood, I have certain… assets you might not have considered.”
“Is that so?” Grey’s breath caught.
“Mmm.” I let my nose trail down the side of his jaw, inhaling his unique scent. “A wise man once told me negotiations are all about emotions. That a successful negotiator will consider what might bring his opponent the most… pleasure. I’d be willing to make you a deal.”
“By all means, Mr. York. Let the negotiations begin.”
Epilogue
Grey - the following summer
“Those who are able to adapt and change in accord with the enemy and achieve victory are called divine.”
~ Sun Tzu, The Art of War
I could tell Ells was nervous.
“We don’t have to go,” he said for the millionth time.
I slid my silk tie through its loop and smoothed it down. The reflection in the mirror behind me showed a very fidgety boyfriend. “It’s your sister’s wedding. Pretty sure we have to go.”
“Yes, but… it’s… the reception is at Crosbie Country Club…” He twisted a cotton handkerchief in his hands, the one I’d given him to put in his pocket “just in case” the ceremony got to him.
My baby was a crier, and I loved that about him. He wasn’t afraid to show his emotions.
“That’s what it said on the invitation,” I said calmly, turning around to grab my suit coat off our messy bed. Since Ellison had moved in almost a year ago, the penthouse had undergone a stealthy but unrelenting makeover. Ellison’s impact on our home was striking. Suddenly, the apartment had gone from something worthy of a spread in a modern design magazine to a comfortable home that actual real humans lived in. There were colors and soft fabrics, framed photos and quirky artwork. He’d even started hinting at getting a small dog, which I was absolutely not on board with but had gone ahead and asked Jenny to prepare for nonetheless.
The puppy would be coming home for Ellison’s birthday in two weeks, and Jenny had already secretly decided his name needed to be Noodles. I suggested Midas instead, or at least Victor. We finally agreed to wait and see what Ells wanted to name his own dog.
“But you don’t want to go back there,” he insisted.
“Who says?” I shrugged into the jacket, hoping like hell the weather was cooler out in Greenwich than it was in the city.
“Me, okay? Me. I say. I say you shouldn’t have to go back there!” He flapped the handkerchief in the air so violently, I reached over to save it.
After folding it and placing it in the pocket inside his suit coat, I smoothed down his lapels. “I’m fine. But I think you might need a shot of something.”
“Why are you so calm? I hate that shit.”
I wasn’t as calm as I seemed. While I didn’t give a rat’s ass about the elitists at the club, I cared very deeply for Ellison’s comfort. “Sweetheart, I am calm because I want this day to go well for Gigi and Ethan. Also? No one at that club holds power over me anymore, with one exception.”
“My dad’s not going to be there.”
“I don’t mean your father.” But the reminder Warren wasn’t going to be there was a nice little bump in my already great mood. He and Desi were busy with their attorneys trying to figure out how to defend themselves against charges stemming from an anonymous tip to Cate McArthur, the attorney in charge of fraud complaints at the SEC. Rumor had it, she was a bulldog and was known for swift, harsh punishments.
Fortunately, Ellison hadn’t seen him in months, ever since Warren had shown up unexpectedly at the Yale Club while we were having brunch with Ian and Binnie. Ellison had shocked everyone by ignoring his father completely. Ian and Binnie had gone along with it, showing their unrelenting disdain for the crap Warren had put his son through.
He sighed. “My mom loves you. You already know that.”
It was true. When Marianne York had discovered the deceptions Warren had perpetrated on his own son, she hadn’t even given him a second chance. She’d left him immediately and filed for divorce. A certain someone had signed the York’s Fifth Avenue apartment over to her, as well as settling some of the proceeds of the sale of the Greenwich house on her in a trust. She was happily continuing her life of leisure in the city without much of a ripple in the water of her life.
“I mean you, dollface,” I said, using his term.
Ellison’s face softened, and he let out a sigh. “Stop being mature and sweet, or I’m going to have to fuck you again just to take some of my power back.”
I pulled him into my arms and kissed the spot under his ear I loved. “Promises, promises,” I rumbled against his skin. “Although I’m not sure I’m up for bottoming again anytime soon. Marcel asked me why I was limping the other day. I said I’d pulled a muscle, and he made a snarky comment that’s too filthy to repeat. Suffice it to say, he seemed to know the real reason. After that, I swear he coughed power bottom under his breath several times in the middle of a meeting.”
Ellison’s grin made my stomach swoop. His fingers reached under my suit coat to grab my ass. “Even your PA knows you’re still a bossy shit when you bottom.”
It was time to change the subject. “If you’re a good boy and stop worrying about me, I’ll let you suck me off in the helicopter.”
He rolled his eyes. “Your mom is picking us up at the airport. Besides, the flight only takes twelve minutes.”
I nuzzled the spot I’d kissed under his ear. He smelled like my apple shampoo mixed with the coffee I’d brought him in bed this morning. “At this rate, it would take me about four minutes to get off,” I murmured. “You look incredible in that suit.”
He sucked in a breath and tightened his hands on my ass. “Yes, well, it just showed up in my closet the other day. I guess I have Roni to thank for the perfect fit?”
I didn’t want to talk about our personal shopper, the tailoring of his suit, or even the short helicopter ride out of the city. There were more important things to say, like a particular question I planned to ask when I got him alone in that storage room again.
“I love you,” I said, inadvertently patting my pants pocket where a certain item was ready and waiting. It wasn’t time yet, but it would be soon.
“Mm, so you say…” His tease turned into a groan when my hand came down to stroke the front of his pants. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t have committed us to a round of golf in the morning.”
“You love golf.”
“No. I don’t even like it.”
“But you played it almost every day that summer I worked at the club,” I said, pulling back to look at him. This was a surprise. How did I not already know we shared a dislike of the sport?