“—responded to an anonymous call just after six in the morning. Desai was found hanging from the ceiling in what initial reports suggest may be a suicide. However, Robert Connors, chief spokesperson for the NYPD, says investigators aren’t done with their investigation at this time.”
The image on the screen flashed to Rajesh Desai dressed in a tuxedo as he climbed out of a black Suburban. His white, toothy smile shone as he waved for the cameras before holding out his hand to escort some beautiful young woman out of the vehicle. He silently traded some kind of quick barb with the girl and then erupted in laughter while the reporter continued to talk over the recording of the wealthy man from India.
“Known in New York as one of the strongest advocates for the gentrification of low-income areas by bringing in new business, Desai was last seen publicly attending a charity auction for Parkinson's before stopping to see fellow billionaire Marcus Upton on his way back to the Langdon, which he frequently visited. No statement has been issued from the Desai family at this time.”
The feed cut back to a pretty woman in her early thirties with dark hair cut in a short pixie cut.
“We’ll bring you updates as the story develops. For now, the financial world reacts with shock at the sudden death of one of its most prominent players, and New York holds a moment of silence for a staunch community ally. This is Patricia Stoddard with the Morning Report.”
The video froze in place as the stream reached the end of the content.
“Do you really think it was suicide?” I asked, glancing at Psalter.
The older man stared at the frozen image of the news anchor as if his dark, piercing eyes could divine answers from a digital still.
“No.”
Everyone else in the room looked his way, surprised at his certainty.
“No?” I asked.
“No,” he repeated. “He doesn’t fit the profile.”
“Henry’s right,” Helen said, her arms crossed over her chest. “Rajesh and I hardly mingled socially, but I spent enough time around him to know he wasn’t suicidal. He enjoyed his vices too much.”
“You didn’t see him right before he left,” I pointed out. “He looked shaken.”
I recounted the conversation I’d had with Desai the night before. He had come to broker a deal between Tanaka and me, but when I pushed back, he’d grown desperate. I told them how he claimed to have dirt on the Gerrards, how he threatened to bring me down… how he even tried to extort me by demanding sex with Helen.
“Do you think this was Hiro?” I asked.
Psalter frowned, doubtful. “He’s certainly capable. But it feels messy. Killing Rajesh reeks of desperation, and it risks war with the Desai family. That’s risky for someone already at odds with Gerrard.”
“Tanaka isn’t exactly the most stable guy right now,” Erin pointed out. She sat on my desk, legs dangling off the edge, palms pressed to the dark wood as she stared around the room. “First Carla and the whole boardroom humiliation, then Ryo’s fuck-up... it’s a lot for a man with that much pride.”
The brief phone call I’d had with Hiro the day before came to mind. His tone had turned menacing just before I hung up on him. He had been pissed—certainly angry enough to do something rash. Considering his rumored body count already, Erin was right. It wasn’t far-fetched to believe Hiro Tanaka would kill someone working with him.
Especially when that someone failed to negotiate on his behalf.
“If he did kill Rajesh, why? Was he just pissed off because Rajesh didn’t convince me to give him Ryo or Carla?”
“It’s possible,” Psalter said. “Hiro’s always been more calculating than that, but to Erin’s point, he’s been hot-tempered as of late.”
“Just because he’s pissed off doesn’t mean he can’t act strategically,” Chloe said. “Sure, it may have been because Rajesh failed, but Hiro is clever enough to kill two birds with one stone. Maybe three.”
“What do you mean?” Helen asked.
“Desai’s threat failed,” Chloe went on, “but if Rajesh had dirt on Marcus, who’s to say he didn’t have dirt on Tanaka as well?”
“They’re working together, though,” I pointed out.
“Working together is strong language.” Psalter adjusted his glasses. “From the sound of it, Desai was doing Tanaka’s bidding. Hiro isn’t known for being gentle with the ones who work under him.”
“And Rajesh didn’t just fail,” Chloe continued. “Marcus fired back. If Hiro picked up on that and entertained the idea that Rajesh could be blackmailed into turning on him… well, Tanaka has enough foresight to take care of him before he becomes a problem.”
“So,” I said slowly, “Tanaka might not have just been pissed that Rajesh wasn’t able to get the job done. He could have also been worried about the guy double-crossing him to save his own skin in case I actually did have damning evidence. Makes sense. What’s the third stone?”
Chloe leveled her gaze at me. “Sending a message.”
“Fuck!” I spat. Message received loud and clear. “What do we do now?”
“Nothing,” Helen said.
“You don’t think I should give Ryo back?”
“He’ll ask for Carla next,” Helen said.
That shut me up. Carla was insufferable. She was also the one who had gotten me into this mess. Sure, she’d helped me solidify Chandler as CEO of VistaVision, but it had cost me dearly. It had turned Hiro Tanaka—an incredibly dangerous man—into a monster with his sights set on me.
But that didn’t mean Carla deserved to die, which was probably what would happen if I turned her over to her husband.
“Then he’ll ask for more control over VistaVision,” Erin chimed in.
“I got it,” I said, annoyed. “We don’t negotiate with terrorists. So we don’t do anything?”
“Not directly,” Psalter said. “We can look a little closer into Desai’s death—see if there’s something that could link Tanaka. Perhaps we might get lucky and find something you could use as leverage to keep him off your back. It’s a longshot but worth a try.”
“In the meantime,” Chloe said, “we’ll beef up security more and make damn sure no one associated with him gets within five miles of you without being stripped naked and subjected to a severe cavity search.”
I nodded, not really liking the idea of even more security. The protocols Chloe had put in place just to go to a coffee shop already sounded like they were meant for the President or a king.
“So, we might have another problem,” the last person in the room finally spoke up. It was Charity. We all turned to look at her. “This was one of the last places he visited before he died. That’s a bad look.”
“So,” I said, “if the police show up, I’ll just tell them what happened—Rajesh showed up to my party. He had a good time. We had a discussion, and then he left.”
“He died at his apartment after visiting you,” Charity pointed out, “and anyone who saw the way you two were talking could tell something was up. It won’t take much for people to draw conclusions… especially when Rajesh had so many friends in the community. This could be bad for public sentiment.”
“It could also present legal trouble,” Helen said. She looked at Psalter. “Especially if they find evidence linking back to Marcus.”
“That’s my cue,” Psalter said. He placed the fedora he was holding on his head and tugged on the brim. “I’ll get started immediately. I’m assuming you want me on this personally?”
“It sounds pretty serious,” I said.
Psalter nodded and then headed for the study door. “I’ll have someone else deal with the hunt for Roger.”
Helen stood and gathered her lukewarm cup of coffee. She looked tired but alert. “I’ll talk to William and Karl,” she said, referring to her partners. “We’ll want to have a strategy in place in the event that you are accused of something.”
Considering Psalter was already out the door, the only ones left in the room were women I already had an intimate relationship with. Since that was the case, neither Helen nor I had a problem with her approaching me and kissing me on the cheek.
“You’re in the best hands imaginable,” she said. She didn’t smile, but there was a degree of warmth in her ice-blue eyes as she stared up at me. She squeezed my hand briefly, and she was right—I trusted each person in this room implicitly with my life, my reputation, and my welfare.
“Thanks,” I said.
I gave her hand a quick, firm squeeze before letting go. She headed for the door.
“I’m going to call Julia,” Charity said as she followed, approaching me. Like Helen, she looked a little worse for wear, her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“I’d like her input,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep the details to a minimum.” Then, in a lower voice, she added, “Thanks for last night. I needed it.”
“You didn’t mind it turning into… well, everything?” I asked.
Charity shook her head. “It was fun. And I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities with just the two of us.”
She stood up on her toes, and I bent down slightly so her lips could reach mine. Unlike with Helen, I didn’t settle for a simple kiss on the cheek. Our mouths met for a quick but warm kiss—open-mouthed, with just enough tongue to leave me wanting more.
Then it was over, and Charity padded out the door after Helen, leaving me with Erin and Chloe.
“What do you think?” I asked, staring at the door as Charity disappeared through it.
“I think Helen’s right,” Erin said, tapping away at her phone as she sat on my desk. “You’re in good hands.”
She stopped and looked up at me. “You don’t want to cancel tonight, do you?”
She was talking about Natalie.
“Fuck, no!” I said without even thinking.
She smirked. “I didn’t think so.”
Sliding off the desk, she followed the lead of the other two women and approached me, still finishing something on her phone.
Suddenly, she dropped the hand holding the phone, slipped her free hand around the back of my neck, and pulled me into a ferocious kiss that put the last one to shame. Our tongues dueled as our embrace deepened, going on longer than was really necessary. Her teeth nipped at my lower lip; her tongue lashed aggressively against mine. And when she finally parted, she kept her lips hovering close to mine.
“Good,” she whispered. “I want that date.”
With another peck on the cheek, she let me go. “Since you’re still on for tonight, I need to finish putting it together.”
She slipped past me and headed for the door.
“I’m getting options, right? I don’t want you choosing everything.”
“I’ll have five options within the hour,” she called out over her shoulder. Then she was gone.
That left me and Chloe. I glanced at her and caught her watching me.
“I know you hate the heightened security,” she started.
“It’s fine,” I said before she could finish. “You’re the expert. If you say we need more security, then we need more security.”
Chloe stared at me for a long, hard moment, as if she were waiting for the other shoe to drop. I simply stared back. We had been together for more than two months—I was getting used to these long, uncomfortable silences of hers.
When she didn’t say anything more, I decided to change the subject. “Last night was fun.”
Her eyes flickered in surprise—gone before I could fully register it.
“Last night?”
“Yeah,” I said, turning and heading for the door. “Just letting you know… I had fun last night.”
“That’s… good?”
“Yep.” Reaching the door, I opened it and tossed her a glance. “I wouldn’t mind doing whatever I was doing last night again sometime.”
Without waiting for Chloe’s response, I walked out and shut the door behind me.
I needed a nap. I just hoped I would be able to sleep despite everything we’d just discussed. Tanaka might be even hungrier for my blood than before.
And a man was dead because of me.
A large part of me didn’t care about that because of who he was.
A small part of me wondered if that was okay.
And most of me wanted to simply put it all off until after my date.
***
Saturday, September 14th, 3:58 pm
I slept longer than I’d intended.
Well, it hadn’t been all sleeping.
When I returned to my bedroom, I found Rose still snoozing under my sheets. As tired as I was, I hesitated before climbing in with the nymphomaniac dancer—worried about waking her and setting off a series of events that would keep me from the rest I desperately needed. But it turned out I had nothing to worry about. Rose didn’t stir as I slipped off my clothes and slid into bed beside her.
And I was grateful she stayed. It would’ve been perfectly acceptable to fall asleep alone, but feeling her naked back pressed to my chest as I spooned her was incredible.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get to enjoy it for long. I was out within minutes.
My dreams were chaotic—flashes of Hiro Tanaka’s mocking laugh, the dead-eyed stare of Rajesh Desai, and a tangled mess of women and sex. None of it made sense, and I awoke a few hours later, confused and unsettled.
…Until I realized what had woken me: the warm, velvety touch of Rose’s lips around my cock.
I opened my eyes to see the dancer eyeing me, her cheeks hollowed as she swallowed me nearly to the hilt. One hell of a wake-up call.
As soon as I was fully awake, Rose climbed on top of me and rode me to two orgasms before I finally climaxed inside her.
Once satisfied, we showered together, spending the next half hour exploring each other’s bodies.
Rose’s body fascinated me. Slender without looking starved, toned from years of dance—muscle and grace balanced in every movement. Her breasts were small, dark nipples capping mounds that barely rose from her chest, but her physique made up for it: lean lines, taut muscle, dark skin gleaming wet under overhead light. Running my hands, fingers, and tongue over water-slicked skin was almost as good as the sex.
Almost.
It ended the only way it could: with us fucking again.
Afterward, wrapped in towels, we found Emiko in my room laying out several articles of clothing. Erin sat in the same chair she’d used that morning, tapping away at her phone. She glanced up as Rose and I entered.
“There you are! I’ve got options!” she announced, bouncing to her feet and sauntering over.
Rose gave my ass a firm squeeze through my towel. “You'd better score tonight, boy. That girl is damn fine.” She moved toward the sitting area, where her neatly folded clothes waited.
Erin ran me through her carefully curated options: A reservation at a restaurant that took a month to get into. A private tour of the National Museum of Natural Science—which reminded me of the Louvre trip she’d arranged for me and that redhead in France.
There were a few more choices, but the one that caught me was the Philharmonic Orchestra.
Natalie had played cello in high school. She’d said she was good, but life had gotten in the way. Her love for instrumental music remained.
The orchestra was perfect. And the seats Erin had secured? Miraculous.
“In that case,” Emiko said, holding up a perfectly tailored suit jacket, “this will be perfect for you.”
The women spent the next thirty minutes fine-tuning everything down to my shoes. Erin kept asking questions—what I thought Natalie would like to wear, what I wanted to see her in, her favorite color, her best asset. By the time we were done, I had a flawless wardrobe, and Natalie’s dress was set to be delivered within an hour of me picking her up.
I messaged Natalie, telling her I’d picked out a dress for her and would arrive promptly at seven. She peppered me with questions about where we were going, but I kept the surprise close.
Once dressed, Emiko kissed my cheek, wished me luck, and slipped out, leaving me alone with Erin.
“Fuck, boss,” Erin said, giving me a slow once-over like she was choosing cuts at a butcher’s counter. “You look like a million bucks.”
“Not a billion?”
“Gotta take your clothes off for that.” Erin grinned her Cheshire grin.
I smiled back—but it faded quickly. “What if this goes really well?”
“Most people are worried about a date going badly,” Erin said, amused.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
Her expression softened. “Yeah. Then you have to ask yourself—what do you want more?”
“I want it all,” I sighed.
“There are some things money can’t buy, Marcus.” She reached out, took my hand, and gave me a sympathetic smile. “For the record, I want it all too. So let’s hope she’s down for an open relationship with tons of sharing.”
She pulled me into her arms, looking up at me with those big brown eyes, lips slightly parted—the silent request I knew well by now.
I kissed her. Just lips this time. Soft and slow.
We parted, her eyes fluttering open, pulling me in, threatening to change my mind.
“Just so you know,” she whispered, humor curling around her words, “if everything goes perfectly, I call dibs on sharing her first.”
***
Saturday, September 14th, 6:41 pm
The limo door opened, and I stepped out onto the sidewalk, giving a nod to the attendant as I held out my hand. Natalie’s fingers slid into mine, her weight pressing into me as she used the leverage to climb out. One white high heel struck the pavement, then the other, and she straightened with her eyes still closed, facing forward.
“Okay,” I said, grinning. “You can open them now.”
Natalie’s eyes fluttered open, and I watched surprise bloom into genuine delight as she took in the beauty of the David Geffen Hall, which housed the Philharmonic Orchestra. Her mouth fell open, her breath catching as the realization hit. Watching that moment—watching wonder and awe spread across her face—was one of the best things I’d ever seen.
She turned to me, eyes bright, shining. “The Philharmonic Orchestra!? Marcus, we just decided on a date this morning!”
God, I probably looked like a schoolboy the way I grinned back at her. “I wanted to make sure you had a good time.”
“But… how!?”
I squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy the night.”
I led her up the steps as the limo door shut behind us. At the top, a woman by the doorway collecting tickets gave us a warm smile. “Welcome! We are so happy to have you!”
“Thanks,” I said as we stepped inside.
Natalie glanced over her shoulder. “We didn’t have to turn in tickets?”
“Not us,” I said. In reality, one of my security detail had shown up earlier and already arranged it all.
I halted just past the entrance and let myself take it all in. The lobby was gorgeous—gilded light fixtures gleaming on the walls, monstrous chandeliers hanging overhead, the kind that would kill a man instantly if they ever fell. Dark wood trim polished to a mirror shine framed every entrance and window. Marble flooring stretched beneath us, the kind that cost more than an entire suburban neighborhood.
People milled about in gowns and tuxedos, glittering jewels at their throats and fingers. Each one clutched a program that probably cost more to design than most people’s monthly salary. The low, indistinct hum of hundreds of murmuring voices filled the air.
It occurred to me this might have been the first truly high-end function I’d ever attended.
I glanced at Natalie—and for a second, I forgot to breathe.
She was resplendent in champagne silk. The dress draped across her back, exposing smooth caramel skin down to her lower spine. The front was more conservative, though no less breathtaking: a soft, draped curtain that revealed the swell of her breasts and the beginnings of deep cleavage. It gathered at her shoulders in small bunches, doing its best impression of a toga while still undeniably a dress. It cinched at her waist, showing off the flare of her hips, then spilled down her right leg, wrapping around the left. When she stood still, she was covered from ankle to waist. When she moved, though, the skirt parted to reveal flashes of her silky smooth legs—and if she walked quickly enough, it might even bare her to the hip.
Her hair was piled high, with loose strands framing her face. Her makeup was flawless: liner and mascara that made her eyes look impossibly large, foundation and blush that emphasized her sharp cheekbones, and lips painted just a shade darker than her skin. Even her nails were painted to match.
There were plenty of beautiful people here. But the girl on my arm… she outshone them all.
Natalie looked like she belonged here. With these people. With me.
She turned those big brown eyes on me and broke into a huge smile when she caught me staring. “Where are our seats?”
I glanced around the massive lobby. “Eh…”
The problem was, I had no idea. According to Erin, someone was supposed to—
“Mr. Upton?”
I turned. A tall, portly man pushed through the crowd toward us, eyes fixed on me with barely hidden relief.
“Yes, sir?”
“Ah!” The man’s whole demeanor shifted, stress vanishing in an instant. “Thank heavens! I was afraid I missed you. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your seats.”
I looked back at Natalie, took her hand. “Our seats are this way, milady.”
I heard her squeal softly as she followed.
Our escort—Simon, as he introduced himself—led us through the throng of one-percenters and into a side hallway. At the end, he opened a large paneled wooden door and beckoned us in.
Inside was a single row of seats upholstered in dark violet fabric, perched on a low balcony that overlooked the stage. Close enough to catch every detail of the performance, far enough back not to be overwhelmed. The perfect vantage point.
Two of the seats were folded down, gilded brochures laid across them, tied with golden cord in neat bows.
“We hope you enjoy the suite,” Simon said. “If you need anything—anything at all—please don’t hesitate. An attendant will be just outside the door. He’ll escort you out during intermission. Is there anything else I can get you before the show begins?”
“No, thank you,” I said. I glanced at Natalie. “Everything’s perfect.”
Simon gave a knowing little smile, then bowed out and shut the door behind him.
Natalie whirled on me. “Marcus! Seriously! How!?”
I only smiled, brushing my thumb gently along her cheek. “Apparently, money moves mountains.”
“This is too much!”
“I’d move more than mountains for you.”
I felt ridiculous the moment I said it—but it worked. Natalie’s eyes welled, her lip caught between her teeth. “Oh, Marcus…”
Right then, a few tuneless notes sounded—the signal for patrons to take their seats.
I picked up the gilded brochures and set them aside so Natalie and I could sit.
The noise of the strings died off, replaced by the murmur of the crowd below as people gathered and began to take their seats. Natalie leaned over, peering at the plebes beneath us who weren’t able to enjoy her position in the audience.
Eventually, she glanced sideways, caught me watching her, and grinned like a schoolgirl. She sat back in her seat. “Thank you for this.”
“I’m just relieved this was something you’d want to do.”
“Are you kidding? This is a dream.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave me a shy look. “I used to play the cello in high school. I even started in college…”
“You’ve mentioned it a couple of times,” I said. “It’s one of the reasons why I picked this. You always seem to really enjoy classical music.”
Her shyness deepened. “Sorry…”
“No!” I said quickly. “I’m glad you told me.”
I glanced down at the stage. “Did you ever want to play? Like this?”
Natalie nodded, her voice wistful. “I really wish I’d followed through with it.”
“Maybe you can play for me sometime.”
Her cheeks darkened, but she seemed pleased. “It’s been too long.”
The din below began to quiet as the lights dimmed. I looked down to see all the musicians settling into place. A moment later, the entire auditorium went dark, leaving only the orchestra bathed in light.
The audience clapped as a man strode out onto the stage. He stopped midway, turned, and bowed before stepping into a small alcove at the bottom of the stage. The applause dwindled, then died. Silence.
And then the music began.
It started low—a chorus of strings, notes felt almost more than heard. Mournful, aching, as if mourning the death of someone. Then the higher-pitched instruments joined, weaving in a fragile strand of hope.
I’d never been particularly interested in this kind of music, but as the orchestra built, each instrument adding its voice to the stream of sound washing over us, I could feel the beauty. Or rather—hear it.
I wasn’t the only one. As the first piece swelled, I glanced at Natalie. A smile curved her lips, her eyes closed as she soaked in the beauty of something she loved. And as she did that, I soaked her in.
Nearly an hour passed, full of highs and lows, ebbs and flows. More than once, I caught tears shining in Natalie’s eyes. But it wasn’t all sad appreciation. Sometimes she caught me staring, and every time she rewarded me with a pleased smile. At one point, she lay her head on my shoulder. Halfway through the first part, she rested her hand on my thigh and never moved it.
I might have gotten bored, but watching Natalie enjoy something so deeply fascinated me.
Eventually, the intermission was called. We stood with the guests below and stretched. The door opened, and Simon appeared, waiting.
“Did you enjoy the show?” he asked.
“Oh my gosh,” Natalie breathed. “It’s so beautiful!”
Simon led us through a short hallway, past the milling crowd taking their twenty-minute break for champagne or snacks. I noticed Natalie eyeing the bar as we passed, but I held her hand and followed Simon, who brought us into another private room as refined as the first.
This one was decorated in crimson cloths accented with dark wood. A table sat in the middle with a bucket of ice chilling a bottle of champagne. Next to it, a small tray held an array of rich-looking finger foods.
“Enjoy the intermission,” Simon said. “I’ll come and retrieve you in fifteen minutes.” He closed the door behind him.
Natalie looked around, astonished, running her hand over the expensive fabrics as she approached the champagne. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
“Well,” I said, “I can’t exactly have my date standing in line, waiting for a glass of cheap champagne, now can I?”
Natalie looked at me, her eyes lingering as she studied me. She chewed on the inside of her cheek—a very Natalie thing to do.
“Do you do this often?”
“Do what often?” I asked.
“This.” She touched the neck of the champagne bottle. “The grand gestures.”
My immediate reaction was to feel a little hurt. I knew what she was getting at—asking how many women I’d swept off their feet just to get into their pants.
It was a fair question. I’d already been honest with her about my sleeping around. I’d told her I didn’t want to stop. With as much money as I had, it made sense that she’d assume this was my modus operandi. I hated that her mind went there, but I couldn’t blame her.
“None,” I said.
She gave me a skeptical frown.
“I’m serious. I mean, I’ve done some crazy things in the last month or so. The craziest was probably paying to have the Louvre closed down for a private tour. It was spur of the moment, and not even really my idea.”
Natalie still studied me, her fingers playing with the delicate foil around the champagne bottle.
“I’m being honest with you, Nat. I’ve done things—but this?” I gestured to the room. “Putting actual thought into what you might like, based on what I know about you? This is a first.”
Natalie lowered her eyes to the champagne. “You’re so different from him.”
I didn’t need clarification. I knew exactly who she meant.
“He had so much money,” she continued. “He bought me things. He took me places, but they were always places he wanted to go. I just went along for the ride. He was charming enough—”
She looked up at me suddenly, eyes wide and guilty. “I’m sorry! I probably shouldn’t be talking about him.”
“No,” I said softly. “It’s okay.”
Natalie shrugged and looked back down. “He… started saying things.” She smoothed her dress, not meeting my eyes. “When I first saw this one, it triggered me a little. He’d make comments about my clothes, about how I did my makeup. At first I brushed it off, but the more he said them, the more they hurt.”
She finally looked up again, apology shining in her eyes. “He liked grand gestures. I think he thought they made up for the rest of it.”
“I’m sorry he did that to you,” I said. My voice was low, rough. “If my brother were here right now, I’d eat his fucking heart.”
“No,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I almost accused you of something. I’m sorry I fell for him.”
“Don’t be. It gave me time to change. Time to understand more of what I want.”
“And what’s that?”
The look in her eyes was equal parts genuine curiosity and something hungrier—something I’d seen often in women lately. She had bared herself, laid her shame and regret in my hands, and I hadn’t judged her. Now that she’d done that, she wanted to see if she was worth being pursued. It was a type of reassurance.
Old Marcus would have jumped on that.
I leaned back against the door, arms crossed. “I told you what I want last night. What do you want?”
Natalie looked like she was about to cry. She stared at the ceiling, blinking rapidly, her face tightening as she fought the tremor in her lips.
For a second, I thought I’d fucked it up. I was tempted to go to her, wrap her in my arms, and whisper into her hair that everything would be fine.
Then she spoke. “I think I want you.”
It wasn’t the declaration of the century, but it was honest.
And for now, it was enough.
“I’m here,” I said.
She lunged at me, burying her face in my chest as she cried. I wrapped my arms around her and pressed my lips to her hair. We stayed like that until the door creaked open and Simon poked his head in. His eyes landed on us—me holding Natalie, who was quiet now. I couldn’t tell what he thought, though I suspected surprise at not finding us half-undressed.
This wasn’t what I had planned for this room either.
We took a moment to right ourselves. Fortunately, Natalie’s makeup was waterproof—mostly. A small black smear marked my white shirt, but otherwise, no harm was done.
Within a few moments, we were presentable and followed Simon back to our suite and settled in with minutes to spare. By the time the music began again, Natalie was composed and smiling, her hand twined with mine.
I appreciated the second half even more than the first. Natalie’s enjoyment seemed freer, like some burden had been lifted. I didn’t know what, but I was glad it was gone. Halfway through, she snuggled into me, pulling my arm over her shoulders and swapping hands so our fingers stayed laced. She guided my hand lower, onto her breast, sighing softly as I caressed her through her dress.
Eventually, the show ended. Natalie straightened, eyes glowing. “Oh my God, Marcus. This was incredible.”
“I’m glad you liked it,” I said.
I noticed the crowd gathering their things, preparing to leave. Natalie reached for her clutch.
“Not yet,” I said, covering her hand.
She looked confused but sat back down. “What’s going on?”
I sank into my chair. “Just wait.”
For ten minutes, we watched as the auditorium cleared, musicians included. Natalie chattered happily about the performance, so engrossed she didn’t notice the door open.
A short, slender man stepped in, listening for several minutes before clearing his throat. We both turned.
“Oh,” Natalie said. “I’m sorry.”
The man gave her an amused smile. “Not at all, miss. I enjoyed hearing your praise.”
Natalie gasped, her eyes going wide.
The conductor of the orchestra turned to me. “She’s agreed to play a piece, if you’re still interested.”
“We would love that. Thank you,” I said.
Natalie’s bewildered gaze snapped back to me. “What’s going on?”
“Roslyn Marco is our lead cellist,” the conductor explained. “She performed the solo after intermission. She’s agreed to play a piece she’s been preparing for next season. She’s never performed it for anyone. You will be the first to hear it.”
Natalie was speechless.
The conductor smiled kindly at her. “Thank you for coming tonight, and for enjoying our work. A lot of blood and sweat went into this performance, and it’s always wonderful to meet someone who appreciates it. Now—please enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Roslyn doesn’t do things like this.”
He glanced at me, then back at Natalie. “This man must love you a lot to make something like this happen.”
He shook both our hands and left.
As soon as the door was completely shut, Natalie whirled around and crashed into me, attacking my mouth with hers. Her generous lips molded to mine as she slipped both arms around my neck and pulled me tight. I grinned into the kiss and felt her smile back as she made out with me fervently.
Eventually, she tilted her head back just enough to break the kiss, her eyes fluttering open to look into mine. “I can’t believe you did something like this…”
“I’m just happy to see you smile, Nat,” I said, and then kissed her again.
We continued like that for another few minutes until the lights began to dim. Natalie ended the kiss, but kept her arms wrapped around me as she looked down at the stage. More interested in her, I continued to kiss along her jaw and nuzzle into her ear until she eventually pulled away. Only then did I look down to see that a single woman who appeared to be in her late fifties sat by herself in the middle of the stage, surrounded by unmanned instruments and empty chairs. She cradled a cello between her legs and was setting a piece of music on the stand in front of her.
Natalie stood up and leaned against the balcony, watching as the performer picked up her bow and positioned her fingers for the opening notes. I joined my date on the balcony railing, leaning on my elbows as we both listened as a sad, mournful piece began to ring throughout the empty auditorium.
Just for us.
Natalie’s fingers found mine again, her eyes still glued to the performance, and I watched her enjoy the small gift that was only hers. I noticed her fingers twitch, and it took me a moment to realize that they might actually be following the pattern of the woman below. There was a serene smile on her face.
And I realized that I’d lucked out. I didn’t know Natalie nearly as well as I thought I had—her thoughts, dreams, hobbies… I knew very little of it, and as I studied her, memorizing every line of her face, I decided I wanted to know more.
If she would let me.
The music began to blossom slowly, transforming from something low and mournful to something that suggested a sunrise on the horizon.
And as Roslyn continued to play, Natalie’s smile grew.
Eyes still fixed on the performance below, she whispered, “You are getting so lucky tonight.”
If you’ve got thoughts or feedback, I’d love to hear from you—feel free to shoot me a message anytime. And if you’d like to keep reading, head over to my Patreon: patreon.com/mindsketch
While Book I is available here, there are an extra 21 bonus chapters for Tier 2 patrons.
Book II is now underway, with Chapters 1–40 already available. 11 bonus chapters for Book II are also available as well as several other one-offs for the story and a few non-related stories.