The Super: A Bad Boy Romance (15 page)

Drew’s lips are dangerously close to mine. Too close for me to know what I’m doing. Too close to be able to make a good decision.

The whole thing is freaking crazy. Following this guy I barely know into his car and driving off with him? Letting him into my apartment and my bed is one thing. Now I’m going to let him drive away with me?

But his eyes are so clear and green and honest, his face so perfect and his body so captivating. I feel like my body has been taken away and my brain is just along for the ride.

I want him to touch me all over. My body is screaming for it. The heat inside me, building up, threatening to be released at his slightest touch - I can barely take it, and the sense memory of the night we spent together slips over me like a wave.

His lips brush against mine again, like they had at the open house we crashed. It’s like I’m playing dress-up with someone else’s life, and I know the clothes don’t quite fit me. The house, the backyard, none of it is for for me. I’m a single woman in a small apartment and not in my dream dollhouse that Drew Anderson would be able to buy in a second.

His lips catch mine and caress me gently but hungrily, the tip of his tongue sliding against mine. When he pulls away, I realize that I haven’t been breathing. It’s like I was dreaming of falling, and suddenly wake up when our kiss breaks.

“Go take your clothes off,” he commands with a whisper, his fingers wrapped softly around my neck, his thumb caressing my cheek. “And put on something a little bit more formal, but something you’re comfortable in. Every guy is going to be jealous anyway, because you’re so fucking beautiful. It really doesn’t matter what you have on.”

We get into what Drew described as his
sweet car
. I’ve never been very impressed by so-called “sweet” cars, but the way Drew revs the engine is cute.

“I hope that isn’t for my benefit, tough guy,” I say, glancing over at him.

“Not at all. That’s for the benefit of any of the gearheads in your neighborhood who might be able to hear. You know a car like this attracts attention.”

“And do you like that, Drew Anderson?”

“Sometimes. I like my toys. I’m not too big to admit it.”

He shifts into reverse and backs us out of the space he snatched outside the building, throws it into drive and speeds to the corner before hitting the breaks at the stop sign.

“This is the problem with driving in the city and the boroughs. Too many short streets. Too many stop signs. Not enough room to roll the windows down and let the car do its thing.”

“You know,” I say, “when cars were first on the market, the guys who were really into them thought of them as an extension of the body.”

“I guess that explains why I know so many knuckleheads obsessed with their big cars.”

I bite my lip and know that Drew has no reason to be obsessed with his big car other than the pure pleasure of having a pretty toy. He doesn’t have to compensate for any shortcomings.

“Then what’s your excuse?” I ask, glancing over at him and gripping the armrests as he merges onto the highway.

“I just like it. It’s for me. Now, granted, like I said, I like that other guys look at it and like it. But it’s me who likes it the most.”

He takes a hand off the steering wheel and puts it on mine.

“That’s why it’s been so nice staying here in Brooklyn for a while. There’s no pretense. I don’t have to keep up the stupid appearances for my brother, try to look good.”

“You do that without trying, Drew.”

“You think I look good? Do you like me better in my suit or in my work clothes? You like me better with no clothes at all?”

My stomach fills with butterflies and I squeeze the armrests tighter as he picks up speed and approaches the bridge into Manhattan.

“Actually, this has been a very interesting few days.”

“Anyone ever done to you what I’ve been able to?”

“I can honestly say they haven’t.”

“I have a little something planned for you for tonight. Something I think you’re going to like.”

My panties are getting wet at the idea of having him in my bed again. His hand holds onto mine and his arm flexes, and I remember how good he is with his hands.

We get out of the car in front of his building, on Madison and 65th Street, and he tosses the keys to a parking attendant outside the lot on the ground floor of the building. It isn’t far from my office, but it might as well be a world away.

The lobby of his building has a series of modern, abstract statues and a fountain in the middle, and a fully-staffed security desk, even though it’s after hours.

Drew is dressed to kill. I noticed his clothing when we were back in Brooklyn, but somehow, they didn’t register in my mind. I think it was because he looked so out of place in his duds. Like a fish out of water. He’s wearing a jet-black suit and perfect shoes, and he’s trimmed his beard. I love a longer beard, but I also love how his manscaping is done perfectly to show off his hard jawline.

I settled on the little black dress I wore to my college graduation. I was a few pounds thinner back then, and the way the dress fits now looks better than it used to.

When I came out of my room to show Drew, the look on his face said everything.

What the hell am I doing? I should be at home in some yoga pants and vegging out in front of the TV.

I do not need to be going out on some kind of fancy date with a man who is way out of my tax bracket and who will soon realize I can’t keep up with him. It’s a good thing it’s just a fling.

Just keep reminding yourself of that: just a fling! Harmless and fun. Not a big deal.

“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of my brother,” Drew says, waving to the security guys at the front desk as all of the electronic turnstiles open simultaneously. “I know you’re a lot smarter than me, but there’s no reason to remind my brother of it.”

“I’ll try not to bring up any high-brow topics during our little pop-in. So, nothing about the large hadron collider? What about the multiverse? Speaking of, are you, like, microchipped, or something?”

“What do you mean?” He taps on the up button in the elevator bank and our elevator arrives.

“I mean, you didn’t have to swipe a keycard or anything.”

“Oh. The guys buzzed us in.”

“Wow. In my building, if I want to bring a guest in, they have to show a form of ID and sign their name in blood.”

“Well, it helps when you own the building.”

“You...own this whole building?”

“No, not the whole thing. 50% of it. Just the good half. My brother owns the rest.”

We step onto the elevator and the car ushers us to the top floor.

“The Penthouse, huh? That’s pretty fancy.”

Drew lets out a little chuckle.

“Is this why you’re with me? Because I have money?”

He grabs me by the waist. I’m not expecting it. He draws me deeply into him and our mouths collide, the stubble of his beard against my chin a shock to my body, in deep contrast to the warmth and softness of his mouth on mine.

“Yes, Drew. It’s because you have money. That’s why I’m with you right now.”

Wait. I’m with him?

I guess I am. I can’t help myself.

Money is the last thing on my mind, but it’s absolutely at the forefront, too. It’s just another thing Drew has and I don’t, another thing that would make him realize how different he and I are.

“It’s not because of all of my other good qualities?”

He slips one of his hands along the front of my dress and locks eyes with me as he slips his fingers up and inside the hemline.

“Drew, what are you doing?”

I breath the words heavily, my question hanging in the air.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he teases as he slips his hand into my panties. “Tell me you don’t want me to fuck you right now in this elevator.

I want it more than anything in this moment.

Drew Anderson has turned me into some crazy lady, making out in an elevator and not knowing what I’m doing.

The elevator dings and his hands and mouth are off me before I know what’s happening. It’s as if I’m in a state of suspended animation - like the moment was frozen in amber, and time is moving along without me.

He does that to me. I should have just stayed on the elevator and taken it down to the first floor and said goodbye to him for good.

“Molly,” he says, exiting the elevator ahead of me. “This is us. You coming?”

He doesn’t know how much his words mean.

“Yeah. I’m coming. And I’ll have you know,” I say, speeding up to keep pace with him, “that your money is most certainly not why I like you.”

“Ah,” he says. “I know. But just so I have this straight, you are admitting, right now, that you like me.”

“Oh,” I say, slowing down and stopping.

He stands before me and I try not to stare at him, but he’s so confident, so cocky, so infuriating, that I don’t know what to say.

“It’s okay. I sort of like you, too,” he says, slipping his keycard out of his pocket and holding the door open for me as I enter the vestibule of his office space.

“So this is where all the magic happens?”

“Here, and in my bedroom,” he says, flipping on the lights in the entryway. “But you already know that.”

My cheeks blush and my face gets hot.

“Right.”

Everything inside me is screaming for Drew. I almost feel embarrassed that this guy I barely know is doing this to me.

To me - even tempered, level headed, walking down the straight and narrow Molly. My middle name is practically “stability.” And here is this brazen guy who just swept into my life and took me away with him.

Took me to the executive suite of one of the city’s leading commercial real estate firms, and after hours, no less.

“Molly, would you mind chilling out here for a few minutes? I’ve got to go check in with my brother.”

“Of course.”

“Do you want anything? Water, coffee?”

“What, no caviar?”

“Let me check the kitchen. I’m pretty sure I asked Sarah to order caviar the last time she put in a WB Mason order.”

Is he serious? Is caviar a thing rich people really eat as an evening snack?

As he walks away, I sit down in the waiting area near the front desk. The place is certainly beautiful. It’s all new and bright, very unlike the office space I work in. I’m nearly in a basement, with stacks of newspapers and folders everywhere. And my work area doesn’t have any windows. I have to sneak a glance past my boss to get a view of a sliver of sky from outside his office.

Drew comes back a moment later with a bottle of Evian water and granola bar.

“In case you need something to hold you over until dinner,” he says.

“This is a very beautiful office you have here.”

“Oh, you like it? Want me to come to your job and design a new interior?”

He quickly walks away, disappearing down a long hallway lined with offices, and takes a right turn out of my view. I can only hear his muffled voice, and the voice of another man.

That must be Eric. Let the boys talk shop now.

There are a few magazines fanned out on a low, glass and steel table in the middle of the room. I don’t even recognize the names of many of them. Even though I work in media, the most highbrow magazine I’ve ever heard of is Vogue. I flip through one of them and see Drew and Eric in print, talking about how they made their business and their attempt to differentiate themselves from their father.

The large flat-screen TV against the wall displays MSNBC on mute. There are some financial analysts on, talking about stocks and the NASDAQ.

What the hell am I doing here?

The whole environment makes the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention. It’s exciting and new, and it is so Drew Anderson.

But that is the problem.

I told him I liked his office, and he told me he designed it.

I asked him about the building, and he told me he owns half of it.

He asked me out on a date, and he brought me here.

Cocky, arrogant. He takes what he wants. He took me.

But I let him.

He does what he wants. He excels.

Even my struggle toward independence and success looks like a vacuum of mediocrity compared to what Drew has been able to accomplish.

I hear a door close down the hall and Drew’s voice.

“You ready to go, babe?”

“What’s happening with the lawsuit?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m going to take care of everything.”

“You don’t seem too happy about it,” I say, getting up and starting with him toward the door.

“It’s not that. It’s just that I have so many other things on my mind right now.”

“Like what?”

“Like you. What I want to do with you. To you.” He puts his hand in mine and slowly interlocks his fingers with mine. “Hey, would you like to see something cool? Something I think you’ll really like?”