plik

-Drew-
They  call  me  the  bad  boy  of  commercial  real  estate,  but  she  isn't
impressed.
Until  a  few  days  ago,  I  had  the  money,  the  looks  and  the  socialite
fiancée that kept my life running on the straight and narrow path to a
legacy of success. But when a lawsuit threatens everything I built and
my fiancée dumps me the same day, I have to get away from it all.
A temporary job as a building superintendent in Brooklyn might seem
like an unlikely gig for me, but when it leads me to connect with Molly,
the building's newest tenant and a beautiful aspiring journalist, I realize
this  is where I really want to be. I just need  to convince her that the
worlds we are from are not as different as she thinks.
-Molly-
They say that he's good with his hands, but that doesn't mean I'll give
him my heart.
What  was  supposed  to  be  a  drink  with  my  best  friend  to  celebrate
landing  my  dream  job  at  a  newspaper  doesn't  exactly  go  as  planned.
When I learn that the hot guy I can't stop looking at at the bar is the
arrogant  tabloid  magnet  Drew  Anderson,  I'm  intrigued.  But  when  he
hits  on  me,  I  realize  that  I  would  never  date  someone  so  successful,
rich, and cocky. He would never understand me.
Too bad I can't stop thinking about him.
Imagine  my  surprise  when  he  shows  up  to  fix  a  leaky  sink  in  my
apartment. It turns out that he looks as good down on the floor in a dirty
old tee shirt as he does commanding a room in an expensive suit. I can't
get him out of my head. But we are from different worlds, and I've been
burned before.

The Super
A Bad Boy Romance
Copyright © 2016 Anne Connor
All  rights  reserved.  No  part  of  this  publication  may  be  reproduced,
distributed,  or  transmitted  in  any  form  or  by  any  means,  including
photocopying,  recording,  or  other  electronic  or  mechanical  methods,
without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case
of  brief  quotations  embodied  in  critical  reviews  and  certain  other
noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events
and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used
in  a  fictitious  manner.  Any  resemblance  to  actual  persons,  living  or
dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Designed by Cormar Covers Editing by Liz Connor

1. Drew
"Have you seen this shit?"
My brother slaps a newspaper down on the marble countertop in front
of me, disrupting my breakfast.
"I've seen it. Please, sit down. The coffee is hot." I' m keeping my cool.
My  neurotic  younger  brother  is  about  to  have  a  conniption  over  this
whole fucking mess.
"There. I' m sitting down," he says, pushing his coffee cup out of the
way and resting his arms on the counter in front of him. He looks like
shit. His hair's a mess and he's still in his Hanro pajamas. He clearly
hasn't slept, and he certainly hasn't showered yet this morning.
This isn't like him. He usually hits the gym by seven and is in the office
by eight, no matter the level of chaos going on. "Good. Croissant?"
"Drew, I can't sit here all day. We have to get to the office. Do some
damage control. God, this is so fucked up." "You need to relax."
Of course I'd seen the newspaper. My attorney called me at five a.m., as
soon as the story hit the front page of the Times online.
I  know  the  whole  affair  will  end  in  our  favor.  We  have  the  best
attorneys, the best PR, the best everything.
It's a lawsuit. We've been sued before. But now, we are being sued for
the rights to some land that another commercial investment firm has a
stake in. A contract dispute is really all it is. Not a big deal. Par for the
course.
But this time, our interest in the land is not the only thing at stake. We
have the architects, investors, vendors, contractors all lined up for this
project.  We've  poured  more  capital  into  it  than  we  have  any  other
project in our firm's short history.
"Shit. Is that my phone or yours?"
It' s mine, but the buzzing inside my pocket sends my brother leaping
into the air and checking his personal phone, his work phone, the

iPad  he's  left  out  on  the  kitchen  counter  all  night.  "Eric,  would  you
relax? Take it easy."
I slip my hand into my pocket casually, as though I'm expecting it to
just be a normal text, one that I could get at seven on any morning. But
today,  I  know  that  it  could  be  anyone,  and  I  already  know  what  the
topic is going to be. It could be any number of reporters, my assistant,
my father, my mother. Maybe one of my associates or attorneys.
Or my girlfriend.
Shit.
Text me back or call me. Plz!!
This is not the kind of text I want today.
In the midst of this crisis, I know Clarissa is probably texting me about
something  superfluous,  something  I  don't  give  a  shit  about.  Like  the
flower arrangement for our upcoming nuptials. Or the cake.
Or the color of the linens.
I really love Clarissa. I do. I just don't know why I have to be involved
with every damn detail of the planning.
All I want to do is show up on the day and get it over with.
After finishing  my breakfast, I send my brother away to his room to
take  a  shower  and  calm  down.  He  looks  like  he's  been  up  all  night,
pacing, checking the papers, and calling his attorneys. And that's fine.
He can do that. But he just can't look like that's what he's been doing.
I  step  out  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  building,  where  Eric  and  I  share  an
apartment, and into the rainy morning. If it weren't so cloudy, the sun
would  just  be  rising,  the  garbage  men  and  mail  carriers  just  starting
their shifts, coffee shops opening and construction sites receiving their
early morning crews, the city slowly stretching its arms and yawning
awake.
But because of the rain, the city has a heavy fog over it, one that seems
fitting for the crap day I know I'm about to have, and it slumps hazily
out of its torpid slumber as I bound out of my building.
Damn,  who  am  I  kidding?  It  wouldn't  be  a  crap  day.  It'd  be  a  crap
month. Or year.
This can all be settled before the suit goes to court. I know it. Our

attorneys will come to some kind of settlement and this ordeal will just
be a footnote in the legacy of the firm.
I hail a yellow cab and duck inside, the newspaper I was holding over
my head to shield myself from the rain crumbling in my hands. I don' t
even know why I took the paper with me out of the apartment. Maybe I
thought that if I held onto it, the story wouldn't be real. That it would be
trapped in the black and white pages of the news. Plus, I want there to
be one less copy of the paper out in the world.
Like my mom always says, don'tput it out into the universe.
"Madison and 65th, please."
Normally, the traffic would leave me commanding the cab driver speed
up to get me to the office. I can't help it - I have places I need to be, and
besides, everyone in the city acts like a jerk sometimes.
But today, on the day I am dreading going into the office, there is no
traffic at all.
Call it karma, I guess. Or irony. I don't know what you'd call it. But it is
definitely a fucking pain in the ass.
My  phone  rings,  and  I  assume  it's  Eric.  I  answer  without  even
checking.
"I told you to calm down. Don't call me. Just get ready and come to the
office."
"It's not Eric. It's me."
Great. The last thing I want is for Clarissa to harp on something or nag
me and get into my head.
"Hey, babe. It's not really the best time. Can we talk later?"
I  pay  the  cab  driver  with  my  company  AmEx,  slam  the  door  shut
behind  me,  and  chuck  the  newspaper  into  a  nearby  trash  can  on  the
corner.  There's  a  broken,  inside-out  skeleton  of  an  umbrella  on  the
ground next to it.
I guess I'm not the only one having a bad day.
"I was really hoping to talk to you now, Drew."
"How about lunch? I'll come and get you. We can go to lunch at The
Regis. Okay? I have to go."
"Okay, but I need you to really be with me. I can't just be talking to the
top of your head. Please. It's important. Leave your cell phone at the

office."
"We'll talk later. I'll get you at noon."
I hang up and make my way through the revolving glass doors and into
the lobby of my office building.
We don't need a space as nice as we have, but Eric and I splurged a
little bit.
It' s a far cry from the office we worked from when we first started. In
fact,  after  a  little  windfall  we  made  flipping  a  commercial  building
downtown, we were able to buy the building we now work out of.
Eric insisted that when he and I broke off from our father's firm, if we
wanted to look legitimate and attract serious investors, we make sure to
look the part. And he was right - it worked.
It's not a high-rise or a tower or a skyscraper. It's a relatively modest
midtown  building.  Twenty  floors.  Nothing  like  the  towers  uptown
owned by the more established firms. But we'll get there someday.
Without me having to look over at him, the front desk attendant quickly
buzzes me through and I stride through the turnstiles, making my way
to the elevator bank.
It' s a nice building. Modern, glass, and cool, with geometric lines made
out of luxurious materials and finishes.
It's more Eric's style than mine. I like the style of the buildings more
uptown,  near  the  park.  Gothic  arches  framing  the  interiors  of  the
windows,  old  wood  and  brass.  But  he  thought  the  newer,  younger,
hipper  style  would  attract  the  kind  of  investors  he  wants.  And  more
importantly, the kind of women who are attracted to style and money,
and don't care if their proximity to it might be temporary.
I  get  out  of  the  elevator  on  my  floor  and  make  my  way  past  the
reception desk, through two sets of double glass doors, and down the
hall and into my office. It looks like the sun is starting to peek out from
behind  the  clouds  through  the  full  floor-to-ceiling  Eastern  exposure
windows.
The receptionist and most of the associates aren't in the office yet. My
engineer  and  architect  are  just  taking  off  their  coats,  and  I  duck  into
each of their offices to say hi to them quickly.

My assistant, Sarah, is already outside my office with my Starbucks.
"Here. You're going to need this," she says, handing me the cardboard
cup.  "There  was  a  reporter  here  from  the  Post,  but  I  got  rid  of  him.
You're welcome."
"Do I detect some concern in your voice? Nothing to be worried about.
Close the door behind you."
I enter  my office and Sarah follows  me in with a portfolio of what I
assume to be architectural plans for the new lobby we are building out
in one of our residential sites, a stack of legal-sized folders, other bits
and pieces I know I don't want to look at, and a small cardboard box. "I
know there's nothing to be worried about." She puts everything down
on my desk and sinks into one of the white leather and chrome chairs
facing me. She has a look of defeat on her face, but I try to be optimistic
for her and get to the other pressing business I have looming over me.
"Would you please do me a huge favor and make a reservation for me
and Clarissa at The Regis for lunch today?" I bury my face in my hands
and ask Sarah through parted fingers.
Sarah is my right-hand. She does so much for me around the office, and
she even takes care of some of my personal life, too.
Like  corralling  Clarissa  at  the  firm's  five-year  anniversary  party  six
months  ago  when  my  blushing  fiancee  had  too  many  glasses  of
champagne.
Or hailing a cab for Clarissa when she insisted on coming to my office
to wait for me while I finished up my work one Friday night but then
changed her mind, threw a tantrum, and ran out.
"Hot  date?"  Sarah  scribbles  something  on  her  yellow  legal  pad.
"Something like that."
I lean forward, placing my arms of the desk, and look out the window.
The sun is starting to shine, and it actually makes me feel a bit better.
But I still  have to get down to business. It's too bad no one is  in the
office yet, and I' m a little surprised that my phone has stopped blowing
up.
"Got it. What else?"

"God, I need a vacation."
"Can  I  please  remind  you  that  you  and  Clarissa  went  to  Turks  and
Caicos a couple of months ago?
"That  wasn't  a  vacation.  I  was  answering  my  e-mails  non-stop.  And
trust  me,  having  to  dote  on  Clarissa  constantly  does  not  a  vacation
make."
"I see. Well, maybe I can go to Turks and Caicos instead of you, next
time. If you'd pay for my plane ticket and hotel. And food."
"And while we're at it, why don't we throw in unlimited pina coladas,
too."
"Sign me up!"
A little bit of levity to brighten my morning. I know I can always count
on Sarah for that.
"Anything else you need right now, boss? If not, I'll get to work typing
those contracts."
"Nothing else. Let me go through all this stuff."
"Alright. Oh!"
Sarah walks back to my desk and parts the stacks of papers to reveal the
cardboard  box  she'd  plunked  down.  "I  almost  forgot.  This  came  for
you." "Did you open it?"
I examine the box. The tape doesn't appear to have been tampered with.
I' m not expecting anything in the mail. Everything is usually couriered
to my office, or emailed. I can't think of any reason I'd be getting an
actual package in the mail at the office.
"No, didn't open it. I thought it looked personal."
I grab the letter opener from my desk drawer.
"You ever use that thing before?" Sarah arches an eyebrow and crosses
her arms in front of her chest.
"Very funny."
I slide the thin metal across the edges of the box, slicing the packing
tape open.
Inside the box is yet another box. This one is made out of wood, and
has a beautiful finish and grain to the material.
I recognize it instantly, because I made it.

"Dear  Drew,"  I  read  aloud  from  a  notecard  slipped  into  the  box.  "I
found this when I was cleaning out the attic. I'm getting ready to sell it
and move into something smaller, maybe something in the Everglades.
I thought you should have it. Love, Mom."
"What  is  that?"  Sarah  uncrosses  her  arms  and  leans  over  the  desk,
peering at the box, her curious green eyes flashing.
"It's a little box I made in woodworking. In high school."
"Wow, that's really cool."
"I guess my mom is really serious about moving to Florida."
"She's  been  talking  about  it  for  a  while  now.  You  think  she's  really
going to go through with it?"
"I' m not sure. She always has some plan to get out of New York, but
she never does it."
"Well, I'm glad she sent this to you. It's really nice of her. And it's cute.
Want me to put it on your bookshelf?"
"That's okay. Let's just get back to work."
"Alright. Let me know if you need anything."
Sarah leaves the office and closes the door behind her. I close the blinds
on the glass walls of my office. I need some privacy.
I  tuck  the  box  inside  the  bottom  drawer  of  my  desk  and  opened  my
email on my computer. It's time to do damage control.

2. Drew
As promised, I pick Clarissa up at her apartment in the West Village at
noon. I check my new leather strap Longines watch. It's actually 11:54
a.m. I know she'd be pissed off if I was even a second late.
Her parents bought her the apartment for her 18th birthday. She was
always the uptown girl, the Park Avenue princess, but after high school
she wanted to be on her own and be independent, and have the freedom
to explore the city she never got to see during her sheltered childhood.
A four-point-five million dollar apartment paid for in cash by mommy
and  daddy  wasn't  quite  the  jumping  off  point  to  a  young  woman's
independence, but that's just my personal opinion.
I get out of the cab to greet her. She's done up in her usual style - a cute
Marc Jacobs  mini  dress with chunky Mary Janes with  a little heel, a
cardigan, natural and messy hair, and no makeup except for mascara
and a little lip gloss.
It' s not like I sought out the ability to be able to identify the pieces in
her wardrobe. It's just that spending time with her has lead me to pick
up on these things through osmosis.
"Hey, babe," she says, stepping past me to get into the cab without so
much as a hug.
Oh, God. What'd I do this time?
"What's going on? How was your morning?"
"It wasn't so good."
"I' m sorry. What happened?"
I try to take her hand in mine to console her, but she pulls it away.
"It was horrible. I tried to go to yoga, but because of the rain, I couldn't
get  a  cab.  And  then  I  said  screw  it,  and  I  went  to  the  coffee  shop,
because I decided I needed a break from this stupid diet. And they didn'
t have vanilla coffee. I was so annoyed. And then I really wanted to go
to pilates, you know, because I missed yoga, and I couldn't get a cab

then, either. And on top of everything, I got up early because I wanted
to talk to you before you got to work, and you wouldn't even talk to
me."
She folds her arms across her chest and looks out the window with as
much  sadness  and  longing  as  if  I  had  told  her  that  we  needed  to  put
down the family pet.
"How was your morning?" she shoots at me, as if out of obligation.
"It wasn't so good. Thanks for asking."
"Oh,  I'm  sorry  Drew."  She  slides  across  the  bench  seat  and  puts  her
arms around my neck. "I am sorry. I heard what happened. Can't you
just have your dad talk to someone?"
She's not the first person to suggest it  - just have  my father call in a
favor, make the other firm come to a compromise with me and Eric.
Maybe we'd have to pay them off, but it would at least make this whole
headache go away.
But I don' t want that. Eric wants it even less. No compromises. And no
more help from the old man.
"No. I'm not taking any more help from my father. It would make us
look like pussies if we asked for his help."
"Drew! Don't talk like that. And I'm sure he wouldn't mind."
"Oh, he would love it. But no. No more favors. We can work this out on
our own. Eric and I already had enough of his help."
"Whatever." She waves her hands in the air in front of her like she's
acquiescing to me turning down the old man's offer to pick up a brunch
check.
"So, what did you want to talk to me about? What was so important?"
"Let's wait until we are sitting down." "We're sitting now, aren't we?"
"You know what I mean. I want to be able to talk to you. Really talk to
you. Without any distractions."
I slip my phone into my pocket, even though it's blowing up. "I'm not
distracted."
"We're almost there. Let's just wait until we can sit down to talk." "Can
I just get the green salad, please?"

"And  I'll  have  the  sea  bass.  Thank  you.  And  a  bottle  of  the  Aubert.
Thanks."
Clarissa  removes  her  sunglasses  and  pushes  her  hair  behind  her
shoulders, and slowly crosses her arms on the table in front of her chest.
She's  gorgeous  and  comes  from  the  right  family.  I  love  her,  and  my
father loves her, which is probably more important.
Her hair looks like money. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it looks like
a little girl's hair. Untouched by the grime and dirt of the city, soft and
strong,  with  highlights  that  make  it  look  like  she  has  a  deity  for  a
hairdresser.
Of course, I know she spends a ton of money to make herself look so
effortlessly beautiful.
"So. We are sitting down now. What was so urgent that you needed
to talk about?"
My brother is texting me. He finally just arrived at the office, which is
perfect timing for him to interrupt my important meeting with Clarissa.
"I was just thinking."
"Thinking about what? The flowers? The cake? I'll go cake tasting with
you, if it's really that important. I'll do it."
I know it has something to do with the wedding, and at this point, I just
want to placate her. It's already costing me enough money, and all I' m
paying for is the fucking rehearsal dinner.
That's something they don't tell you: how expensive flowers for some
stupid dinner are.
Imagine  that:  one  dinner,  and  I'm  on  the  verge  of  landing  in  the
poorhouse.
Well, maybe not exactly. I can easily afford it. But it is still a shitload of
money.
"I can't do it," Clarissa says, absently rolling and unrolling the corner of
her napkin.
"Can't do what? You don't want to try the cake? I said I'd go with you.
Or take Liz with you. Isn't that what the maid of honor is for?"
I know she is trying to slim down for the wedding, but I didn't think
she'd take it this far.

"It's not that."
Our food arrives, placed before us by a young, fresh-faced man with a
bright  expression,  blue  eyes,  and  black  hair  slicked  back  into  a  low
ponytail. Probably a Broadway hopeful earning his way by waitering
and  doing  bartending  on  the  nights  he  doesn't  have  auditions.  He's
probably gunning for a role as a prince.
"Then what is it, sweetie?" I ask through gritted teeth.
"It's the whole thing. The whole entire thing."
"What?"
I  feel  like  the  air  has  been  knocked  out  of  my  lungs.  "The  wedding,
Drew.  I  can't  do  it."  Is  she  fucking  kidding  me?  "You  can't  do  the
wedding?"
The words roll around in my mouth like something rotten. Something I
need to spit out. "I'm so sorry, Drew."
"What do you mean by this, though? What do you mean, you can't do
the wedding."
I raise my fingers into air-quotes to emphasize her words. "I just can't."
"You're not really answering my question, though. If what you mean is
that you don't want to get married, just say it."
She shrugs her shoulders a little and then looks at me squarely in the
eyes, her sparkling green irises surrounded by a slick red start of tears.
"I don't want to get married. I'm sorry."
Fuck. After all the time I invested in the relationship. Four years -four
fucking years down the drain with Clarissa Bloom-Van March. And the
ring!
The  four  karat  platinum  Cartier  engagement  ring  I  gave  to  her  six
months  ago. It still shines and sparkles on her ring finger, her hands
busily working her fork and knife through her salad.
It's like the ring doesn't know it's on the finger of a woman who isn't
engaged anymore. Now it's just on the finger of a stuck-up brat.
"Would you deign to tell me why?"

"I just don't think I'm ready to be married. I need my freedom. Some
independence. I've never really been single. I want to be on my own."
"What's his name?"
She shifts in her chair and sits up straight, at attention. Her face twists
into a puzzled look, but she knows exactly what I'm talking about.
"Excuse me?"
"What's the name of the other guy? The guy you're fucking."
"I will not be spoken to like that. You're vulgar, you know?"
She lets out a little chuckle as she puts down her silverware and grabs
her bag from the back of her chair.
"I'm leaving. I don't need to be talked to like that. So disrespectful."
Her ring comes off faster than and I thought she would, and she leaves
it  next  to  my  untouched  salad  fork.  I  guess  it  really  isn't  her  ring
anymore. It looks curious, sitting there on the pristine white table: so
full of hope, like it's waiting to be slipped onto the perfectly-manicured
finger of some other rich trust fund baby.
"Disrespectful?  Me?  Look  at  what  you're  doing.  Leaving  me  in  the
lurch like this."
"I'm sure you'll manage."
She walks away in a huff, squeezing past our waiter as he brings over a
pitcher of ice water. "Is everything okay?"
He tops off my glass and looks at the chair Clarissa had been sitting in -
pushed away from the table, askew. She's clearly not returning.
"Everything's fine. Just the check, and the world's smallest violin for
the  insane  lady  who  just  ran  out  the  door."  "Certainly,"  the  waiter
chuckles.
He pushes the chair in and strides away. Someone else cleaning up after
Clarissa, taking care of her - even this small gesture on the part of our
kind, unknowing waiter speaks volumes about my precious Clarissa.
Formerly my precious Clarissa.
I finish my sea bass slowly. The fatty fish is delicious. The

cauliflower puree that it's served with is divine. A hint of butter feels
smooth and delicate on my tongue.
Should I have run out of there and begged her to take me back? Part of
me  assumes  she's  expecting  just  that.  For  me  to  walk  out  of  the
restaurant  with  confidence,  plead  with  her  to  reconsider,  express  my
love for her and tell her I'd do anything she wants as long as we could
work it out.
But I don't do it. I feel a wash of calm spread over me. It's like a huge
burden has been lifted off my shoulders.
I'  m  not  about  to  beg  her  to  take  me  back  just  because  I  invested  so
much time and effort into the relationship. No, I would cut my losses
here, resolve to not dwell on the past, and move on. It wouldn't make
sense for me to try to work it out with her just because we have history
together. Just because we were engaged up until ten minutes ago.
Because, really, that's the biggest thing we have in common: we were
engaged to each other.
I liked her a lot. I even loved her, in my own way, felt attachment to her
and fondness. And I certainly cared about her. But she happens to be
right about one thing - even if she didn't really mean it, even if she was
just bluffing in some attempt to kick up drama and get me to declare my
love for her, a diversion before the wedding to test me, to make sure
that I really did want to get married to her - she really should be single
for a while before getting married.
She's had too many people taking care of her for too long. She needs to
be on her own. Whether she really knows it or not.
And if there really is some other guy? I guess I'd rather not know.
I take my time finishing my lunch. I don't want see her out there. And I
don't want to look at my phone to find the shit show I'm sure is waiting
for me back at the office.
A sip of water. A dab of my napkin on the corners of my mouth. I pay
my bill in cash and leave a generous tip for the waiter. Even though he
didn't have to deal with any of Clarissa's shenanigans, I appreciate his
concern for her.
She'll be okay. If she wants to be alone for a while, be independent, I
can't blame her. It's not as though we see each other

enough for her to feel stifled by the relationship, but it's fine if that's
what she wants to believe. And if there really is some other guy, if my
hunch is correct, then fine - good riddance. Let him deal with her for the
rest of his life.
I' ve done my part, served my time.
It' s for the best.
I leave the restaurant and make my way into the sunshine on Fifth
Avenue. What started as an ugly day is becoming brighter. This is all
for the best.
I should probably be calling Clarissa and thanking her right now. One
less source of drama on my plate.
I look around and weigh where the best spot to hail a cab will be, and
see Clarissa on the corner, doing something on her phone and trying to
hail a cab of her own.
If she wants to be independent, this is a good place to start.
"Want me to help you?" I ask as I stride over to her
"No. I am perfectly capable."
A tenuous arm flails out into the street. She isn't paying any attention to
whether the rush of oncoming cabs have their available light on. She is
just groping in the dark. For a woman who spent her entire life in New
York City, she certainly seems a little bit lost.
"Let me help."
I observe the traffic and spot a cab with its light on.
"Here, sweetheart. Get in this cab and go home. Want me to give him
directions, or do you think you can manage that? Want me to write
down your address for you?"
"I can do it. God, you're really something else."
Her phone is ringing, but she's ignoring it.
"Are you sure? Want me to answer your phone for you, too? This is
your chance to be independent, sweetheart."
She doesn't even seem mad at me. This is the best possible outcome, for
both of us.
I glance down at her phone. There's no picture for the person who' s
calling, but I do recognize the name. Even looking at it upside down, I
can see it's her dickhead ex calling her.

"Why the hell is Rob calling you right now?"
"What?" She looks down at the phone as though someone just shoved it
into her hands and ran away.
"Oh. I don't know. Probably just for emotional support, or something."
"He already knows that you broke off the engagement?" "No. No. He
just knows I've been going through some stuff, and he probably wants
to check in on me."
"Right. Sure."
I' m not sure whether to believe her or not - maybe my suspicions are
true, and there is another guy. Her shithead ex, Robert Crandall.
Robert cheated on her - a lot. He just wasn't made for monogamy, or
maybe  monogamy  wasn't  made  for  him.  Either  way,  the  last  time
Clarissa caught him in bed with another woman - the last time, it was
his father's legal secretary - she finally moved out of his apartment.
It' s a good thing she had that other place just waiting for her in The
Village.
Robert's  name  is  constantly  in  the  mud  in  all  of  the  gossip  rags  and
cheap, click-bait blogs. And it isn't their fault his name is dirty - he does
that all by himself.
The  son  of  a  partner  at  a  big,  old  money  law  firm  infamous  for
defending the bankers who lead our city into disarray, he has more time
and  money  than  he  knows  what  to  do  with.  He's  a  pretty  boy  and  a
player; he came from money and would die with more than he would
have been able to spend in ten lifetimes, despite his best efforts to blow
through his daddy' s fortune, amassing collections of cars and homes
across the world.
The profligate son returns.
My  heart  pumps  in  my  chest,  and  then  in  my  ears,  and  then  in  my
throat.  The  cool,  soothing  calm  that  overcame  me  when  I  realized  I
would  finally  be  free  of  Clarissa,  the  diva  with  a  bad  attitude  and  a
penchant for drama, is being replaced with hot anger.
"It's not what it looks like."
She  almost  sounds  apologetic.  But  I  don't  have  time  for  this  bullshit
anymore.

3. Molly
"I'm so glad we decided to do this."
My best friend, Jess, puts a shot glass of a milky pink liquid down on
the table in front of me. The rim is dipped in a sweet rainbow of sugar
crystals.
We' re out celebrating because I finally landed my dream job -assistant
editor at a local daily paper.
Correction: I'm assistant to an editor at a local daily paper. And it's not
exactly my dream job.
But it could definitely lead to my dream job. And everyone has to start
somewhere, right?
"What...is this?" I ask, holding the shot glass in the air and inspecting it.
"It's a shot!"
Jess cradles three more shot glasses in her hands and plunks them down
on the table, some of their contents sloshing over the edges and making
a mess of the table.
"Aw. Well, you can't cry over spilled milk. Or liquor. Down the
hatch, lady! "
I am not about to get drunk. Not tonight. I have to start my new job on
Monday, and I want to do research on the paper, devour all the back
copies I can find online, and read up on the editor I'm going to be
assisting.
I' ve scheduled myself to do that all weekend. No, I will not be getting
drunk, but I know just a shot or two won't hurt.
And anyway, it's early. I have plenty of time to go home and sleep
it off.
I look around the bar. This is not the kind of place Jess and I usually go
to. It's in Midtown, and as two women who grew up in Brooklyn, the
city always seemed farther than just five miles away.
We spent our July Fourths sitting on the rooftop of her parents' house
drinking beers and watching the fireworks over Battery Park City.

And  our  Christmases  dreaming  of  the  tree  in  Rockefeller  Center,
drinking  it  all  in  as  though  we  were  a  world  away,  observing  the
changing  colors  on  the  Empire  State  Building,  wishing  we  could  be
closer.
And now, we finally are. Sort of.
My office will be in the city, but I still live in Brooklyn.
Don't get me wrong. I love Brooklyn. I have a ton of Brooklyn pride.
But when the greatest place in the world is mere moments from your
reach, it makes it hurt that much more that it's just beyond your grasp.
I'll make it there. Besides, I'm technically a resident of New York City.
I just want to make it in the city part of the city. "Alright. Here we go."
I shoot my drink back quickly, expecting the contents of the glass to
taste like liquor and burn like it, too. But instead, it just tastes like a
sugary sweet confection.
"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
"No, actually. Not bad at all."
"I got those for you. I'd have rather had Southern Comfort on the rocks,
but I know you need something that goes down a little bit easier. So I
got us the birthday cake shots."
"Birthday cake? I guess it did kind of taste like sugar frosting. But it's
not either of our birthdays."
"Nonsense!  It's  a  birthday  for  you,  in  a  way.  The  birth  of  your  new
career. Here."
Jess shoves another shot in front of me and takes her own between a
dainty thumb and forefinger.
"Okay. But just one more. I have a lot of work to do this weekend."
"Work? This weekend? But your job doesn't start until Monday."
"I know, but I want to prepare. Get a jump on everything. Look good
for my first day."
"Oh, you'll look good. I'll let you borrow one of my suits."
Jess  is  a  paralegal  at  a  family  law  firm  downtown.  It  isn't  the  most
glamorous job, but at least it gets her out of the boroughs five days a
week and lets her meet the rich set of hotshot Downtown finance guys
on

weeknights.
"Oh, shit. Don't look now, but the Anderson brothers are here." "Who?"
I turn around to meet the objects of Jess's gaze, but a quick swat on my
hand makes me snap my head back to Jess. "I said don't look. Jeez."
"Why?"
"Don't you read the blogs? These two are the hottest guys in real estate
right now. Well, they might not be for much longer."
"Can I look now?" I ask, turning my head slightly but keeping my eyes
on Jess.
"Fine. But be cool about it. Don't stare."
I turn my head around slowly to gaze upon the famous Anderson
brothers, whoever they are.
And I have to admit that Jess is right - they are hot.
It' s like I' m seeing double. They both have gorgeous faces and great
bodies and a similar look, but I'm more drawn to one of them. He's a
little bit taller than the other, with a thick head of ashy dark blonde hair
and strong eyebrows - God, I love good eyebrows - and a scruffy beard
that growls man. His brother is cute, but is more clean-cut. He also
seems a little distracted and nervous, typing furiously on his phone.
"So, who are these two, exactly?"
"The Anderson brothers. Their father was this real estate guy in the 70s.
Tons of money. But they wanted to do their own thing. They started
their own company, and they're doing really well for themselves, but
they just got sued. Big time. Something about some land. I'm not sure.
You're a serious journalist. Don't you read the papers?"
"Yeah, but I guess I missed this. I don't really look at the real estate and
finance stuff. You know I'm more interested in education. Local civics.
That kind of thing. And anyway, I'm not interested in the unfortunate
luck of some rich guys who might lose, like, a tenth of their
wealth."
"Well, read up on these two. You might learn something." She flashes a
mischievous smile and her eyes sparkle as she looks at them over the
top of her shot glass.

4. Drew
"She's a bitch. Forget her. And we have more important things to worry
about right now. Are you listening to me at all?"
My brother looks up from his phone. He's giving me a pep talk, trying
to  talk  me  into  hating  Clarissa,  trying  to  get  my  head  back  into  the
game. But the only thing I can think about is sleazy Robert stealing my
fiancee right out from under my nose.
The crazy thing is that I was relieved, in a way, that the wedding was
off, until I realized it was Robert's doing. If Clarissa had come to the
decision  on  her  own,  I  would  have  stayed  relieved.  But  throwing
Robert into the mix is stirring up emotions that I know I have to tamp
down.
It isn't worth getting mad over.
I  sip  at  my  gin  and  tonic  and  crush  an  ice  cube  between  my  teeth.
Fucking Robert Crandall.
"I' m listening. Would you get off your phone? Let the attorneys handle
it.  You  aren't  doing  yourself  any  good  reading  the  articles  a  million
times. You're just working yourself up. We had a successful meeting
today. You're the numbers guy. You're the one who's good at spotting
trends. All those spreadsheets prove it. Leave the legal stuff to the legal
guys."
The  entire  afternoon,  after  I  was  dumped  during  lunch,  consisted  of
strategy  meetings  with  the  attorneys.  We  had  come  up  with  a  good
plan: fight the other firm tooth and nail for the rights to the land. Prove
we had our stake in it first.
I don't want to lose this one. We've poured almost all of our capital into
this deal, and even though we could just come to a compromise with
the other firm, we decided to fight. There's just too much risk involved
in settling.
I' m confident we will win.
We have to win.
"Okay. You're right. Let's just focus on why we came here.
I scan the room. I know why my brother brought me here tonight.

It's to get my mind off Clarissa. It's to move on from her, fast, and get
my head clear.
What he meant was that I need to have some pretty little thing with her
stilettos digging into my back by the end of the night.
That shouldn't be a problem. Before Clarissa, my love life consisted of
a different woman every weekend. I was fine with it. I didn' t have time
for a girlfriend, and Eric and I had to focus on getting our firm running.
It's the usual Friday night crowd.  We're no stranger to bars like this.
Young women come here with the intention of going home with a guy
in hopes that it'll either lead to to something more and she'll be set for
life, or that it won't lead to something more. In the case of the latter, I
am  sure  some  of  these  women  have  a  pair  of  ballet  flats  tucked  into
their purse for the cab ride home tomorrow morning.
Sometimes  it  really  does  lead  to  something  more.  One  of  my  best
friends  from  college  met  his  wife  here.  What  started  as  a  one  night
stand  -  excuse  me,  it  actually  started  as  a  quickie  in  the  bathroom  -
ended up as a glorious relationship, complete with a honeymoon in St.
Lucia.
But those results are not typical. Most of the time, even the women who
come here are only looking to have a few martinis and a roll in the bed
of some numbers guy who doesn't give a shit about anything except the
dick in his pants and the money in his pocket.
Who said true love is dead?
It seems that the typical clientele is in full attendance tonight, decked
out in the standard costumes - women in bandage dresses and sky-high
heels, men in their sport coats and some in ties. Shiny, new shoes. Not a
scuff mark in sight.
My  gaze  lands  on  a  pair  of  women  in  the  corner,  at  a  low  booth  by
themselves.  There  aren't  any  men  with  them,  so  I  assume  that  their
boyfriends are at the bar. I can't quite figure out another reason why
there are no men hitting on them.
They are both hot, but I'm instantly attracted to one of them. She's slim
but not skinny, with just a little bit of curve in all the right places. She
has a fresh, smooth, natural face, and her hair is pulled back into a loose
bun, with loose tendrils tucked behind her ears.

I can see that she is here for a few drinks with her girlfriend, or maybe
with her boyfriend who is just away from the table for a moment. She
isn't here for a drunken hookup. She's here to have fun, but not that kind
of fun.
That shouldn't be an obstacle for me.
I' ll be tender with her, kiss her, and tell her how sweet and beautiful
she is. Maybe she'll be shy and coy and tell me the truth when I ask her
if she goes home with strangers often. I can already tell that she doesn't,
by the way she's carrying herself. She doesn't have some ass-hugging
dress on, and she isn't curling her hips to the music and looking over
her shoulder at me.
I'll treat her like the real lady she is, and tell her that she shouldn't go
home with strangers, because now I'm the only man for her.
If that' s what she wants. Otherwise, if she has me and this whole bar
fooled, I'll fuck her fast and hard. I'd even let her suck me off in the cab
on the way home. Or if she wants, I'd pull her into the men's room, prop
her ass up on the sink, lift her skirt up around her ass and lick her until
she comes right there.
If that' s what she wants.
"Don't you know it's rude to stare? Were  you raised by wolves? No,
you were not. I happen to know who your parents are," Eric interrupts
my thoughts as he slips his phone into his pocket.
"I'm  not  staring.  What's  wrong  with  your  phone?  Finally  broke  your
thumbs from all the emails and texts you've sent today?"
"You are staring. See anything you like?"
"Her." I gesture with my drink to the woman in the corner booth.
"Which  one?  The  one  who  looks  like  she  just  came  from  a  job
interview or the hot one?"
"What? They're both hot. You're unbelievable."
"No,  you're  right.  They  are  both  hot.  But  one  of  them  is  dressed
so...plain."
He's right. That's what I like about her.
"I'm going to go talk to them."
"Suit yourself. I'll be over here, laughing at you when their boyfriends
come back."

"You  know  I  have  never  had  trouble  picking  up  women."  "I  don't
know. You've been out of the game for a while. You've probably lost
some of your touch." "No. Fuck that."
I  pick  up  my  drink  from  the  bar  and  make  my  way  over  to  the  two
ladies.  Purposeful,  driven.  I  want  her,  if  only  for  the  night.  She  is
beautiful and cute. She is the opposite of Clarissa. She is the opposite of
every woman I've ever been with.
And I can't wait to see what her pretty little mouth can do.

5. Molly
"Are you freaking kidding me? He' s coming over here. He must have
caught you looking at him," Jess says, checking her reflection in one of
the distressed mirrors on the wall beside us.
"What? Shoot! Oh, my God. This is so embarrassing."
"No, no. It's not bad. It's fine. It's a good thing. You got his attention."
I look over my shoulder to see my chosen Anderson brother make his
way across the bar to us.
He looks even better up close. From just a few feet away, I can see that
he has light, sparkling green eyes that I absolutely want to get lost in,
and the scent of someone whose sheets I want to get tangled up in.
And his suit looks expensive in its cut and how it fits him. The skinny
tie, the way he buttons the middle button on the three-button blazer that
hugs his broad back. Everything just looks like money. I bet his boxers
are more expensive than my whole outfit.
He is drop-dead, panty-meltingly hot.
"Excuse me, ladies. Are these seats taken?"
"Nope!  Why  don't  you  sit  down?"  Jess  answers  with  a  spring  in  her
voice. It's like the words bounce out of her  mouth and into the air. I
want to grab them and shove them under the table. The last thing I need
is some rich guy's superficial attention distracting me from my work all
weekend.
I jab Jess lightly in the ribs under the table. I hope the Anderson brother
doesn't see.
He pulls out the chair across from Jess and sits down like he owns the
damn chair. He's broad and tall, and even seated, he has an effortlessly
larger-than-life  way  about  him,  like  he  needs  to  scold  women  for
staring at him all the time.
I' m sure he catches women staring at him constantly.
"I was wondering where your boyfriends were, and I wanted to come
over and keep you company until they came back."

"No boyfriends here! "
Jess waves her arms in the air to punctuate her response. "Oh? Well,
where are they?" the Anderson brother looks around with a sarcastic,
skeptical smirk on his face. Damn, this guy is good.
"What  I  meant  is  that  we  don't  have  boyfriends.  They  aren't  here  or
anywhere."
"Well, they're somewhere. You just haven't met them yet." His nimble
fingers  hold  a  cocktail  straw,  spearing  the  tip  of  his  tongue  through
slightly parted lips.
Ugh. This? This is what I'm dealing with?
"Sorry if you caught us looking at you. My friend and I didn't mean to
be rude," I say. "But she knows who you are." "Oh? Your friend knows
who I am?" He shifts his gaze from me to Jess and then back to me.
"And do you know who I am?" "I do now. You're in real estate."
The  Anderson  brother  laughs,  a  bent,  mischievous  smile  growing  on
his face.
"That might be true, but that's not who I am. Hi."
He puts out his hand to shake mine. His eyes lock onto me and don't
move, not even to my hands, which seem to be glued to the table.
"I'm  Drew  Anderson.  I  won't  introduce  myself  to  your  friend,  here,
because she already knows who I am." He looks over to Jess. "Don't
you?"
A little knot of nerves uncurls in my stomach, releasing itself into my
body,  flooding  me  with  the  adrenaline  that  can  only  come  when  a
dangerously hot guy introduces himself.
When he takes his gaze off me it feels like a bandaid has been ripped
off - painful for a second, and then soothed, like I know it has done its
job.
"Yes, that's correct. I do know who you are, Drew Anderson. And that's
your brother, right over there." She gestures with her glass. "That's
Eric."
"Correct. And since both of you know our names, would you care

to share your names with me?"
"I'm Jess. And this is my best friend, Molly."
"It's very nice to meet you, Jess and Molly."
He rolls the bottom of his glass on the table, careful to not let his drink
tip over the revolving edge. Every movement he makes is deliberate,
measured  and  even.  It's  excruciating  to  see  his  fingers  roll  along  the
edge of the glass.
"So, I take it that you really don't have boyfriends? You can't, because
if you did, they'd be here with you right now. They'd be stupid
not to."
"Nope. No boyfriends. But don't you have a girlfriend? Clarissa?" "Ex.
We just broke up today." "Aw. I'm sorry to hear that."
There seems to be genuine concern in her voice, but from the way she's
kicking me under the table, I know she wants me to talk to him. Or do
more than talk.
I was never one for a casual hookup, and I'm not sure I could entertain
the possibility of dating some rich guy. Not my style. And besides, I
don't  want  someone  aloof,  someone  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his
mouth, someone who is used to having everything in life handed to him
- a home, a girlfriend, money. I am sure this guy, judging from the way
he  talks  and  the  way  he  dresses  and  the  business  he  is  in,  is  used  to
getting his way.
Not for me. I already know it.
"It's okay. I already see someone who I like better."
His eyes lock onto me again, but this time, instead of focusing just on
my eyes, his gaze lingers on my chest, my face, my hands and arms.
Everything. I' m sure that if I had been standing up, he would have even
checked out my feet.
I'm right to not be interested. He's a womanizer. Already over his ex, in
one day? Ready to pick up another woman just a few hours later?
But I can't help what he's doing to me. His eyes yank on a little piece of
my insides. He's so hot, and just my type physically. I would love to see
him out in the light of day, without the thumping bass from the music
and the blue and red lights of the club. Maybe he's absolutely

hideous in the daylight.
"I was about to leave." I stretch my arms in the air and let out a fake
yawn. "I have to be up early tomorrow."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"New job on Monday. Need to get some work done this weekend to
prepare for it."
"Oh, Molly, don't go. The night was just starting!" Jess whines.
"Yeah, Molly. Stay with us. I promise I'll get you home in time to work
tomorrow.  I'll  have  you  back  at  your  house  by  eight  tomorrow
morning." He spears an ice cube between his front teeth, teasing it with
his tongue. "Even if I keep you up all night."
My mouth pops open in shock and a pool of heat grows deep inside my
core. Why does he have to be so hot? And charming? It's like he knows
just what to say to get me riled up inside, and if anyone else had said
those things to me, I might have considered letting him buy me a drink.
It's been long enough since I've had this kind of attention from a guy. In
fact, I don't think I've ever had someone talk to me with language so
dripping with innuendo in a public place before.
"That's fine. I've got to go."
I stand up and put my trench coat, slumped on the bench next to me,
over  my  shoulders  and  onto  my  arms.  It's  mid-May,  but  the  weather
means that most of the city is still wearing a coat. Jess isn't wearing a
coat tonight. Out of principle, she claimed. No one should have to wear
a coat in May. But principle isn't going to keep her warm. And anyway,
I suspect she didn't want to wear a coat because she didn't want to cover
up her tight dress.
"I' m sorry you have to go, Molly. I was hoping to get to know you
better."
This jackass leans down to whisper in my ear.
"I think you'd like spending time with me. I could show you a thing or
two.  Things  you've  never  seen.  Things  you'd  be  begging  for  if  I
stopped."
I pull away from him, even though I feel I could fall into his arms at any
second. My insides are fluttering with excitement as his mouth

breathes his words into my ear.
It' s too bad that this guy is so not for me.
"Well, maybe another time. Sorry. Jess, you can stay here if you'd
like."
"No, it's okay. I'd better get home, myself. Long week at the
office."
"What do you do, Jess?"
"I work at a law firm." She puts a hand on her hip. "I'm a paralegal."
"I' m relieved. For a second I thought you were going to say you're an
attorney. "
"Relieved?"
"Yeah. I' m up to my eyeballs in attorneys right now."
"Yeah. The lawsuit. Good luck with that," I say, incredulously.
"Thank  you  very  much,  Molly.  But  I  don't  need  luck with  that."  His
green  eyes  penetrate  mine.  He  must  have  picked  up  on  my  hint  of
sarcasm. "I have the best attorneys in the state working on the case."
"Well, then, good luck with your fiancee."
"Don't need luck with that, either."
"Then it seems like you have absolutely everything in order. You have
everything figured out."
"Not quite. I mean, I couldn't get you to stay out tonight. Even with my
promise of what I could give you."
God,  he  really  is  something  else.  I  can't  take  it.  It  must  be  some
mistake. Why isn't he talking to Jess, teasing Jess like this?
Maybe he's using reverse psychology on me. Yes. I read about that in a
book once. Or maybe it was on TV. Maybe it was really Jess who he
was interested in.
But right in this moment, it feels like I' m the only one in the world he
really wants to talk to.
I  swing  the  strap  of  my  Longchamp  tote  bag  over  my  shoulder.  It's
heavy and I take care not to smack Drew with it, but maybe I should
have let it just hit him.
"Good night. It was nice to meet you."
I put my hand out in a professional gesture to say goodbye to him.

I' ve done it so many times today - it feels like the natural thing to do.
"It was nice to meet you, too. Maybe I'll see you here another time."
His  hand  is  soft  and  smooth,  but  firm,  and  his  thumb  slips  over  the
inside of my wrist just for a split second as he pulls his hand away. I
observe his face, studying it, as he says goodbye. His lip are full and
soft, and I struggle to find some flaw so I can tell myself that I don't like
the way he looks.
"Very  nice  to  meet  you,"  Jess  says,  waving  goodbye  to  him  and
scooting  out  from  the  booth  behind  me  as  I  make  my  way  from  the
table.
I don't look back. I want to, but I don't. I squeeze my way through the
crowd  of  people,  women  and  men  towering  over  me.  The  women,
because they are all wearing heels, and the men, just because they are
men.
No one can hear me say excuse me over the loud music. I don't think
anyone would have been listening to me, anyway.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Jess rubs her arms and shoulders
briskly as we step outside.
"Here. Take my coat. I have my sweater."
"Thank you."
I think Jess figures that since we're leaving anyway, it's okay to cover
herself up. It isn't like she is going to meet her new boyfriend as we are
leaving the club, or back in Brooklyn.
"Let's get a cab."
I've recently moved out of my parents' house - finally, at 25, I've done
it. I just received my Master's in Journalism, I have my first paid job,
and, accordingly, it was high time for me to have my first apartment.
It  isn't  like  how  it  looks  in  the  movies.  Rent  in  New  York  City  is
ridiculously  expensive.  Sure,  I've  had  internships.  Awesome
internships. I interned at a huge weekly news magazine, I interned in
the public relations department at a university downtown when I was
still figuring out what to narrow  my focus on. But the internships, if
they even paid at all, paid a paltry amount - it was a stipend, really, just
meant  to  cover  a  metrocard,  a  sandwich,  and  a  cup  of  coffee,  if  you
were lucky. It wasn't enough to cover the cost of rent, and it certainly
wasn't enough to build

up any savings.
So now, at 25, I've just moved out of my parents' house and into a small
apartment of my own. It isn't amazing, but it is pretty nice, and I can
afford it on my own. That is the part I like the most.
Jess moved out of her parents' place right after college. She was always
a little bit more corporate than I was. She got a good job right away.
Our  apartments  are  just  a  few  blocks  away  from  each  other,  so  on
nights like this one, we often split a cab.
"Can you please explain to me why you didn't jump at the chance to
have Drew Anderson buy you a drink?"
"I already had a drink. I had already had two drinks, if we're counting."
"And clearly, you were counting."
"Why would I want this Drew Arrington character buying me a drink? I'
m not interested in dating some rich asshole."
"It's  Anderson.  And  I  wasn't  saying  you  should  date  him."  "So  you
agree that he's an asshole." "No. I didn't say that." "You implied it."
"Look. All I'm saying is that he clearly liked you, and he just broke up
with his girlfriend, and from what I could see, he actually seemed like a
decent guy."
I don't want to tell her the real problem - I was too attracted to him. That
I did want him to buy me a drink. That the smell of his cologne and the
touch of his hand drove me crazy. That I didn't have time to stay out all
night, and that if I started by letting him buy me a drink, that I would
certainly have ended up staying out all night - or even gone home with
him and let him show me whatever those things were that he wanted to
show me.
"You're right. He  seemed like a decent guy." I don't tell her what he
whispered in my ear. "I guess I just wasn't interested."
I'm not lying. I wasn't interested. I was insanely interested. That's the
problem. Better to not get involved. "Hey, here's a cab. Let's get home."

6. Drew
"You  struck  out? Damn.  Find  another  one.  It  seemed  like  you  really
wanted that one."
I put my elbows back on the bar as I sidle up to Eric. "No. I'm not in the
mood anymore."
"This one was that special? Damn, you're losing your touch in your old
age.  Especially  a  girl  like  that.  She  doesn't  look  like  she's  used  to
having men like you pay attention to her."
"Don't  be  fucking  rude.  That's  my  future  girlfriend  you're  talking
about."
"I just mean that she doesn't look like she goes out to bars a lot. Jeez.
Lighten up. And how many times have you said that, anyway? That a
girl is yours, and then they end up being one night stands. It's not a huge
loss,  it  is?"  He  looks  around  and  waves  his  drink  in  front  of  him.  "I
mean, where'd she go?"
He's right. But this one felt different. I'm sure she'll be back. But now,
I'm no longer  in the  mood for another woman.  Molly's bright, pretty
face  and  gorgeous  body  are  going  to  be  in  my  mind  all  night.  It
wouldn't be fair to take another girl home if all I'll be able to think about
is Molly.
"I think I need to take a break. Get out of the city for a while." "I think
you know that is the last thing you need to do, bro. Get out of the city?
Come on. With all the shit going down right now?" "I got a letter from
ma."
"A letter? Shit. Everything okay?" He hooks his hand around the back
of his neck and cocks his head to the side thoughtfully. "An actual letter
usually means that whoever sent it is serious about something."
"Aren't you wise?" I put my drink down and squint at my brother. Ever
since we struck out on our own, he's been a little bent about our mom
remaining upstate. He's always been a mama's boy. So have I.
"She's fine," I add. "I talk to her all the time. She also sent me a little
memento from shop class. Those were the days. Back when we

used to actually mean something."
We were everything in that small town. With our time divided between
our dad in the city and our  mom in the country, we spent the school
year in that small town upstate. And we shone. Everyone said we were
going to be the ones to make it out of there. I guess I just never realized
how much I wanted to go back as an adult until I was already sucked
into my new life here in the city.
"Yeah.  But  look  at  how  much  we've  accomplished,"  Eric  says,
spreading his arms out wide as though the bar is his kingdom and the
patrons his subjects.
"Do you think it's worth it? I mean, all we do is push numbers around
on a spreadsheet and shakes hands and make deals."
"Speak for yourself. I'm the numbers guy. You're the deals guy. And
anyway, you can't leave town until we meet with these guys tomorrow.
I  got  a  text  while  you  were  over  there  wooing  little  miss  bridge  and
tunnel. Their attorneys are going to be in our office at seven tomorrow
morning. I already emailed Sarah to set up the conference room and get
the good bagels."
"Fabulous.  Great  idea.  A  few  of  the  good  bagels  and  schmear  and
they'll drop their multi-million dollar lawsuit."
"Quit jerking around. The fact that they want to see us on a Saturday is
a good thing. It means they're in a position to bargain if they want to see
us so soon. And anyway, the point is that you better not leave the city.
Don't even leave the island. Not until tomorrow's meeting is over. And
then, you can do whatever the hell you want. Go visit ma. I'm sure she'd
love to see her favorite son."
I put my sport coat on and throw a bill on the bar to cover my and Eric's
drinks and then start to book it for the exit. I have to get home, but I
know I won't be able to sleep. Not with the meeting tomorrow, Clarissa
dumping me, and being rejected by the pretty little thing in the sensible
shoes.
"Thanks, man. That's what big brothers are for. Picking up the
tab."
"You know that's not the only thing I'm good for," I shout over the din,
but I don't think he hears me.

7. Molly
I'  m  finally  on  my  way  back  to  my  apartment  about  an  hour  after
leaving the bar. I have the cab driver drop us off at Jess's place, and I
walk the few blocks home and take a mental inventory of everything I
have to do tomorrow. I'll get up at eight and do my fitness routine. If I
get up at eight, that will give me a solid seven and a half hours of sleep.
That's perfect. I won't be tired when I wake up, and I won't be groggy
like I always am when I oversleep.
Then I'll have my egg white omelette and some juice. Then, I'll get to
work researching the newspaper. I'll just need to do some reading up on
the people I' ll be working with. I already read up on the people who
interviewed me and the the man who will be my direct boss.
But  even  though  I'm  planning  out  my  day  and  trying  to  forget  what
happened at the bar, I can' t stop thinking about Drew Anderson.
What was his angle? He just broke up with his girlfriend. He probably
went home with some gorgeous blonde after talking to me and Jess.
I  finally  get  to  my  apartment,  and  even  though  I've  pushed  any
remaining thoughts of him out of my mind, I can't shake the feeling he
gave me. He is sexy, that's a given. But he also looked at me like he
knew we were surrounded by people and decided to pay attention only
to me, but at the same time, strangely, like we were alone: just the two
of us, no swirling nightlife around us.
I feel my insides stir again. I change into my pajamas and rest my head
on my pillow. I'm going to bed alone, but I'm more than okay with that.
His words from the bar tumble through my mind as my fingertips slip
just past the top of my panties. I close my eyes and imagine his words
tumbling  softly  from  his  lips  and  into  my  ears  as  I  slide  my  fingers
down further. I' m already turned on, and as my middle finger traces
slowly around my wet clit, I wonder if I'm really okay with going to
bed alone.

What would he have done to me if I had let him? I recall my roommate
from Junior year of college telling me she had sex with a guy once in
the bathroom of a bar, and I wonder if Drew' s ever done that. I' m sure
he has. I pretended to be distantly amused by my roommate's anecdote
at the time, but deep inside, I wondered what it would feel like to be a
girl who would say yes to that. To just take an opportunity like that if it
were to present itself.
My fingers slip past my folds and slide inside, my eyes squeezing shut.
I bet Drew's big, too. He'd have to be, with the big game he talks -right?
I imagine him above me, his eyes drinking me in, his mouth consuming
mine. My breaths come quicker and quicker as I move my fingers in
and out and onto my clit. My body sharpens up as a wave of pleasure
breaks inside me.
My eyelids relax as my body drifts away into sleep. I still don't know if
I'm okay being alone, but I'll have to be.
I wake up at 7:50 the next morning without my alarm having to wake
me. But as I do my morning routine and get on my computer to start
jotting down notes, I find myself researching Drew Anderson instead.
Jess was right. He certainly has it made in the money department. But I
already  knew  that  -  it  was  obvious  as  soon  as  he  stepped  into  my
eyeline  at  the  club.  And  as  I  look  at  pictures  of  him  and  his  fiancee
-ex-fiancee - I remember that he has it made in the looks department,
too.
A strong nose and a jawline that makes him look like a cartoon prince,
and  deep,  saturated  green  eyes.  But  unlike  his  good  looks,  he  wasn't
born  with  his  money.  As  Jess  explained  to  me  last  night,  his  father
started a real estate firm in the late '70s, several years before Drew and
Eric were born. He didn't start out wealthy. Like a real entrepreneur, he
had a series of failures and setbacks before striking it big. But when he
struck big, he hit gold.
He  saved  up  his  money  and  purchased  a  small  stake  in  a  residential
building, and, trading his way up, finally wound up with holdings in the
millions.
The boys, it turned out, weren't always exposed to all that money.

Drew  Anderson  Senior  started  out  in  the  city,  the  son  of
second-generation immigrants who settled in Brooklyn around the turn
of the century. But Drew Senior met a woman from the Catskills, so it
was farewell to the city and hello to selling houses as a broker at a small
firm in a small upstate town.
Things  ended  up  not  working  out  between  Drew  Senior  and  Mrs.
Elizabeth  Anderson,  and  when  the  couple  divorced,  Drew  Senior
moved  back  to  the  city  and  their  two  young  sons  ended  up  shuttling
back  and  forth  between  the  city  and  the  country,  starting  around  the
time they started high school. The couple thought it in their boys' best
interest to have them attend high school in their mom's rural town, and
spend the summers in the city with their dad.
And  the  boys  excelled  in  high  school  -  in  everything.  In  sports,  in
academics  -  you  name  it,  they  could  conjugate  it,  beat  it  in  a
cross-country race, calculate it or spell it.
When  it  was  time  for  the  two  brothers  to  go  to  college,  the  older
brother, Drew, pursued a double-major in architecture and economics,
and then, a year later, Eric attended college for finance.
It  was  after  the  brothers  were  both  done  with  their  degrees  that  they
went to work for their father. But not wanting to be in the shadow of
one of the city's biggest real estate moguls, they started their own firm,
raising  capital  from  investors  who  had  faith  that  the  two  scrappy
brothers  from  upstate  New  York  would  be  able  to  turn  a  small  cash
investment into towers of money.
And they succeeded. I imagine their father's name couldn't have
hurt.
And now, they are in the midst of a battle over the rights to some land,
which  both  the  brothers  and  another  company  believe  they  have  the
rights to.
The picture of the brothers on their official website doesn't really do
them justice. Maybe they just  look  better in what seemed to be their
natural habitat: surrounded by beautiful women, expensive clothes and
overpriced drinks.
And it looks like before he met Clarissa, Drew was used to having one
short-term paramour after another, and there's plenty of evidence

online to prove it.
As I scroll down a list of articles, I imagine how I'd write the headlines
a little differently.
Rich Real Estate Dude Beds Gorgeous Women all Over the City Cocky
Schmuck Brags to Young Woman in Bar Young Journalist Struggles to
Maintain Composure when Man Promises to Keep Her Up All Night
Woman Turns to Pile of Goo Imagining what Sexy Guy's Tongue Can
Do
I  do  a  quick  image  search  to  see  if  there  are  pictures  of  Drew's
newly-ex-fiancee.
And boy, are there ever. The woman looks like she hasn't worked a day
in her life. She has a slim, almost waif-like look that I would never be
able to achieve, even after six months of a low-carb diet. She looks like
she survives on a diet of fashion magazines and dirty martinis. She has
the kind of look you hear about and only rarely see, even in the city: the
girl who thinks the sidewalk is her catwalk, the girl who has a kind of
old-New  York  glamor  that  can  only  be  achieved  with  the  biggest
designer sunglasses money can buy.
Apparently,  this  Clarissa  person  is  the  daughter  of  a  generations-old
commercial  real  estate  firm  with  its  name  placard  on  the  insides  of
office buildings and malls across the tri-state area.
Her father and the Anderson brothers' father are old friends. Imagine
that: two old rich guys being friends with each other, and having their
children  meet,  fall  in  love  and  marry.  That's  an  old  tale  if  I've  ever
heard one.
There aren't just pictures of Drew and Clarissa, though. There are also
pictures of Clarissa and some other guy, and it looks like they were just
posted within the last few days. And these pictures don't make the other
guy look like he is her brother or just a friend.
That's cold. And it would certainly explain why Drew was already out
on  the  prowl  himself  last  night,  trying  to  flirt  and  pick  up  a  lady  to
spend a nice evening with.
Haven't we all been there? Even though I've never been one for a one
night stand after a breakup, it's only because I never had the courage

8. Drew
"I see that you were successful in procuring the good bagels."
Eric  sits  down  and  opens  his  laptop.  The  sun  is  just  coming  up  and
starting to bleed over the tops of the buildings to the East and sneak into
our  large  conference  room.  I'  m  already  in  the  office,  busy  in  the
conference room, doodling on the dry-erase board.
"And it wasn't easy, either. I had to ask Vinny to open the store early for
me," Sarah says, leaning against one of the windows, peering outside
and yawning, a cup of coffee in her hand.
"See, that's why we keep you around. You have good relationships with
all the key players in the city."
"Oh, is that why?"
"No,"  I  say,  lifting  my  head  from  my  3D  Gothic  arch  sketches.  "It's
because you're a good worker and because you go above and beyond
the call of duty."
I shoot a look at my dumb brother.
"Well, it's my pleasure. What else do I have to do at six on a Saturday
morning?"
"We really do appreciate you coming in. And you know you're getting
paid  at  double  your  hourly  rate  for  coming  in  on  a  Saturday,"  I  say,
capping the marker and tossing it down on the table.
"I  know.  I  wasn't  kidding  about  having  nothing  better  to  do  this
morning."
"Oh, yeah?" Eric peels his eyes away from his computer. "You didn't
leave some hot guy tangled up in the sheets of your bed?"
"You  know,  that  little  comment  could  be  construed  as  sexual
harassment."
"He's kidding! Don't listen to him." I sit down next to Eric at the head of
the table.
"No worries. Actually, I just left from the bar. Had a really late night
last night. I haven't even been home yet."
Eric and I look at each other and then at Sarah.

"Now I'm kidding!" She goes over to the breakfast on the small table in
the  back  of  the  conference  room  and  pours  herself  another  cup  of
coffee. "I'm going out to reception. The other boys should be here soon.
Play nice, will you?"
Sarah leaves the conference room and closes the door behind her. She
certainly knows a lot about men and power. It's a total power play for
her to close the door - when she brings the boys from the other firm and
their attorneys around once they arrive, they won't know what they're
walking into.
One of our own attorneys, Martin O'Malley, comes through the door a
few seconds later.
"Alright, this shouldn't take long."
O' Malley is an older guy, seasoned in real estate disputes. He started
off handling small landlord-tenant issues after hanging a shingle on his
own  law  practice  in  Brooklyn  in  the  1970s,  but  made  the  move  to
commercial  and  large  land-use  clients  shortly  thereafter.  He's  a  real
old-school  Brooklyn  guy  with  a  lot  of  heart  and  a  slightly  larger
temper.
He's an old friend of our father's, but I don't like to think about that.
And  anyway,  we're  paying  him  enough.  It's  not  like  he's  doing  us  a
favor by being here.
"Good of you to be here so early, and on such short notice," my brother
says, rising from his seat and giving the man a hearty handshake.
"Yes,  thank  you,"  I  add.  "I  know  you  probably  have  a  yacht  you'd
rather be on right now."
"I see Sarah got the good bagels. And it isn't short notice. We've known
for weeks that something was brewing with these guys."
"We really appreciate your time anyway, O' Malley," I say, sitting back
down.
"It's not my time. It's your time. You're paying me! And don't worry -
we'll bring these guys to their knees."
The  intercom  in  the  middle  of  the  table  lights  up  and  Sarah's  voice
comes through.
"They're  here.  They're  waiting  in  the  small  conference  room.  They
can't hear me."
"How many?"

"Five. It's the two main guys and three lawyers. How long do you want
me to keep them in there to sweat them out?"
"A  minute.  You're  the  one  who  told  us  to  play  nice,"  I  saw  into  the
intercom.
"Got it. Need anything else?"
"Yeah," my brother says, leaning over the table and shouting directly at
the  intercom,  looking  at  it  intensely.  "You  can  tell  them  to  go  fuck
themselves. And you can tell them I said it! "
"Sorry, can you repeat that, Eric? I want to write it down to make sure I
have it right."
"That's  all  we  need,  Sarah.  A  minute.  Thanks,"  I  say,  swatting  my
brother away.
The intercom clicks off and the blinking green light fades.
"You don't have to yell into the the thing," O'Malley says, getting up
and fixing himself a cup of coffee.
"I'm just a little bit on edge, okay?" my brother says. "Can you blame
me?"
"Yeah,  but  you  always  scream  into  the  thing,"  I  say,  letting  a  little
smirk pull at the corners of my mouth.
"Maybe  I'm  always on edge. I can't  be the cool one.  You're the cool
one."
"Sorry if I'm preventing you from being cool."
The door swings open and Sarah sashays into the room, presenting the
five men behind her one by one. I' m impressed that she knows each of
them by name.
"Anything else, sir?" she asks, looking squarely at me.
"That's all, Sarah. Please hold my calls."
She  nods  and  gives  me  a  look  of  confidence  and  assurance.  Thank
goodness  for  her.  Maybe  I  should  give  her  that  vacation  as  her
Christmas bonus, and even throw in the unlimited drink package.
"Gentlemen, please sit down. This shouldn't take very long, should it?"
O'Malley sits next to Eric and gestures for the five men to take seats
across from him at the table.
"No,  I  don't  think  it  should  take  long.  I  think  we  can  all  come  to  an
agreement today. Don't you?"

Eric nods and leans on one of his armrests. I can see that he's trying to
be  confident  and  casual,  but  it  just  doesn't  work  on  him.  He  looks
rehearsed and stilted.
"Re-read  your  contracts.  We  have  the  right  to  build  on  the  land  in
question. It's ours. We purchased it six months ago."
"We understand your position," the attorney for the other firm says. I
know him. He's a nice guy. His name is Ryan Lee, and he went to the
same university as Eric did, and was enrolled in the law school around
the same time Eric was there for finance. I met him a few times, years
ago, and I knew he was working as an attorney in the city.
"If you understand our position, then you understand that we are going
to move forward with our plans," I add to Eric's comment.
"Look,  we  don't  want  this  thing  to  drag  on  and  on.  My  clients
negotiated a contract with a third party, and part of the deal included
the space adjacent to the lot they acquired. It's very simple."
"But  the  third  party  didn't  own  the  land,"  O'Malley  says
matter-of-factly, taking a sip of his coffee.
"It is their contention that they did own it. That before you purchased it,
the deal was already done for the other firm to acquire it. The money
was in escrow."
"But the contracts weren't signed. It wasn't a done deal," O'Malley says.
"That's a matter of public record."
"My clients are willing to compromise. For the right figure, they could
be willing to drop their claim to the land, and you 'll be able to do what
you want with it. It'll be yours."
"It's already ours," I say. This would be a fucking cakewalk. They have
no  stake  in  this  land.  Someone  on  their  side  dropped  the  ball.  "And
that's our firm position. Sorry, but you're going to have to walk away."
The other attorney on their side, and their three principals, don't say a
word.
Lee clears his throat.
"We will draw up an agreement to put everyone in the best position to
move forward."
He's being a little aggressive. I like it.
This is the kind of shit I live for. The kind of stuff I feed off of. The

fight, the thrill.
"You can draw up an agreement if that's what you want to do, but there
is no way we are compromising on this one. Just cancel the deal with
the old owners of the land. It's that simple. In fact, there was no deal. "
Lee gathers his jacket and attache case and pushes himself away from
the table, and the other four silent men follow suit. "We'll be in touch."
He reaches out and shakes each of our hands and leaves with the other
four men in tow.
A few seconds after the men are gone, Eric sighs.
"Damn. This is a little bit more complicated than I thought it would be.
Lee is good."
"The sign of a good outcome for my client is when I barely have to say
a word," O'Malley says. "And when the other side is out quick. They
didn't even touch the bagels. It's not complicated. We have this one in
the bag."
"I agree," I add. "This will be fucking easy. Eric, don't get your panties
in a knot."
"I don't know. They're not saying much. Lee was a little bit reticent."
"Go out, you two. Go to a strip club this weekend. Oh, not you, Drew.
Aren't you married by now?" O'Malley grabs a bagel from the table and
takes a bite.
"We actually just broke up. I guess she wants to be more independent."
I figure it would be ungentlemanly to mention that she's fucking her ex.
"That's a shame. You're still young. You'll meet someone else. If you
want to. Being a bachelor isn't all that bad."
O' Malley scoops up his attache case and starts toward the door before
doubling back to the breakfast spread and grabbing another bagel.
"We're taking that extra bagel out of your hourly billing," Eric quips.
"I'd love to see that. Anyway, I'll reach out to Lee. We should do

this again soon. It was nice to have such an easy meeting."
"I've  got  to  get  to  my  office,"  Eric  says,  following  O'Malley  out  the
door and down the hall into the reception area. "I don't feel right about
this. I want to do some more reading on the deal. See if I can get to it
from a different angle."
"I  can't  believe  you  are  wasting  your  time  with  this,"  I  say  to  Eric,
following them out of the conference room.
"Your brother is right," O'Malley says, turning to face us. "Just don' t
talk to their side. Let me handle everything. And take a break," he adds,
turning to Eric. "You look like you haven't slept in days."
"That's because I haven't. Thanks for noticing."
Eric disappears down the hall and O'Malley exits toward the elevator
bank.
"So it went well, I take it?" Sarah says, catching my attention.
She's sitting at the reception desk with the main computer off. All she
has up is a security feed of the elevator bank and the hallway outside
our office area. There's no one around. And there won't be - everyone in
the city is probably still asleep. Even the people who make it a habit to
come into work on a Saturday won't be groggily coming in for hours.
"Yeah. It actually did. We're going to win. It'll just be a matter of time."
"Well, that's good. They left awfully fast, didn't they?"
"Yeah. Always a good sign. And they didn't say much. Lee pushed for
an agreement, but we won't be backing down."
"I'm glad." She stretches her arms out in a yawn. "Sorry. I'm not tired. I'
m wide awake."
"Go home and get some sleep. You probably have a good three hours
until your girlfriends call you to go to brunch."
"I'm not much of a bruncher. I don't like drinking during the day. Isn't
that what brunch is?"
"Yeah.  That's  what  it's  become.  Clarissa  always  loved  going  to
brunch."
"Loved?  Did  she  suddenly  have  a  change  of  heart  when  it  comes  to
eggs benedict and bottomless mimosas?"
With everything going on the past couple of days, I realize that I

never told Sarah about Clarissa breaking off the engagement.
"She did have a change of heart. But not about brunch. About me."
"What?"  Sarah's  face  falls.  Even  though  she  was  never  Clarissa's
biggest fan, she looks disappointed for me.
"Yeah. It happened yesterday at lunch. She broke off the engagement.
Gave me the ring back, and everything."
"She has clearly lost her mind."
"She told me that she wants to be independent, but I think she's getting
back with her ex."
"Oh, God. That guy is the worst."
"Tell me about it."
"So, what are you going to do?"
"I don't know yet. I think I need to go somewhere to clear my mind."
"That's not a bad idea."
"Yeah.  I  might  actually  go  upstate  to  my  mom's  place."  "Get  out  of
town for a few days. I think that's a great plan." "You go home. Eric or
I will lock up." "You sure?"
"Yeah. Get out of here. And take some bagels with you. It looks like
our guests didn't bring much of an appetite this morning."
"You probably scared them away," she says, getting up and making her
way to the conference room.
I walk past Eric's office and see him through the blinds covering the
glass  walls.  He's  banging  away  at  his  keyboard.  Beads  of  sweat  are
threatening to drip off his face and onto his desk.
I open the door without knocking and stick my head in.
"I think I'm going to take that trip out of town we talked about."
"That's fine. Just make sure you're back by Monday. And say hi to Ma
for me."
"Sure thing. You know, if you manage to tear yourself away from your
desk, maybe you could take the train up there and meet us."
"The  train?  No  way.  I'd  have  the  service  drive  me  up  there,  if
anything."
"Having a few hours of alone time might do you some good. And I

don't mean in the back of a Lincoln. I mean in a public place."
"Come on. Don't be ridiculous. I haven't taken Metro North since we
were kids."
"Suit yourself. If you come up, maybe you can ride back with me in the
Mustang. If you behave." "Shut the door, would you?"
I smile and close the door behind me as I continue making my way to
my office.
Closing the door behind me, I take the small wooden box out of my
bottom drawer, along with the letter Mom sent me.
I tuck the letter and box into my inner jacket pocket and text Ma.
Care for some company?
The draw to stay in the city for the rest of the weekend is there. I want
to go back to that club, find Molly, and give her what I know she wants.
I imagine her pretty, pink, heart-shaped lips on my cock as I show her
what a real man is like.
She doesn't belong cooped up in her apartment. She's too pretty for that.
She needs to be out and meeting people. Loosen up. She's too serious.
I'd show her something that would loosen her up, and she'd beg for
more.
But I have to get out of the city. And I have to check in on Mom.

9. Molly
After researching the Anderson brothers and their firm, and getting my
more  important  research  out  of  the  way,  I  decide  that  instead  of
borrowing something from Jess, I'll go out and buy a new outfit of my
own for my first day of work.
I hop into the G train subway station and give a few bucks to the man
playing U2 songs on his guitar, case out and filled with crumpled bills.
He's always there, and he always sounds amazing. He has the voice of
an angel and is good with the guitar, and I wonder if he ever tried to
really make it, and when he stopped.
The  train  comes  quickly  and  I  get  on.  It's  crowded  for  a  Saturday
afternoon, but I get the one empty seat left near the door.
I finally get to the L train, stay on for a few stops, and get out at 14th
Street to go shopping at my favorite discount designer store.
It' s a hot day, and I smile because this is always how summer comes on
in New York City. Last night was freezing, and today is the day all the
women trade in their boots for flip flops and their rain coats for tank
tops.
It's a city of extremes  - high highs and low lows. No  grey areas. No
room  for  in-betweens.  The  best  of  times,  the  worst  of  times,  and  all
that. Even the weather follows suit.
When I open the door to my destination, a cold, air-conditioned gust of
wind hits me squarely in the face. I feel like the beads of sweat on my
back freeze into little ice crystals as I trade in one form of discomfort
for another.
I take my time browsing the store. I look at the shoes and settle on a
pair of cute patent-leather flats. I pick up a trim little black suit with a
cropped  jacket  and  a  navy  blue  shell.  Everything  looks  on-trend  and
classic at the same time.
There's  a  woman  browsing  the  aisles  near  me  -  a  really  pretty,  tall
blonde woman. She looks familiar. I swear I've seen her before.
Holy crap!

Clarissa? Could it actually be Clarissa, Drew's ex?
Why would she be shopping here? Shouldn't she be on Fifth Avenue,
shopping in some chi-chi boutique?
I try not to stare, but I need to know if it's her.
Call it research. For my new job. I'm on my way to becoming a real
journalist, after all. I shouldn't stifle my desire to get the scoop.
Tonight at eleven: Wealthy heiress seen shopping at a bargain store.
What was she doing there? Coming up after the weather.
Maybe I should go into TV journalism, instead of print.
I try to study her face, without looking too obvious. I notice everything
about her - the who, what, where and why, which are the basics of
reporting.
Who? I'm not quite sure. I think it's Clarissa. I try to look for clues as to
whether it is actually her or not.
The what? Shopping. It's what lots of young women in the city like to
do on a lazy, hot Saturday afternoon, maybe after some brunching. Go
to one of the big makeup stores, try out some new eyeliner, and pick up
a few new pieces to freshen up the old wardrobe.
But our mystery woman doesn't look like she's enjoying herself. She
looks bored. And she isn't studying the garments or picking anything
up or comparing prices like most girls would.
Where? A big discount department store, a place where I would never
expect Clarissa to be. It just wouldn't make sense for her to be here.
And finally, the why. This is the key question. Why would Clarissa be
here?
Just as I'm about to reject the idea that it's her, a man's voice calls out to
her.
"Clarissa!"
I was right! It's her.
Clarissa looks up and seems instantly more bored than she did a few
seconds ago, when she was browsing the rack of shirts with the
enthusiasm one would have when trying to decide which brand of cold
medicine to get.
"Yeah?" she responds.

"Come here! "
I tilt  my head down and bury my eyes in a rack of dresses, but keep
stealing little glances at Clarissa and our new mystery guy.
Mystery guy is hot. He has a perfectly symmetrical and tanned face, a
five-o'clock  shadow,  a  white  t-shirt,  dark-wash  jeans  and  a  naughty,
crooked smile. If I didn't know any better, I'd almost think it was Drew.
But  from  my  research,  and  from  meeting  Drew  Anderson,  I  know  it
isn't him. But it isn't Robert Crandall, either.
He pulls her in tight by the waist and presses his lips onto her, giving
her a short but passionate and hot kiss, his hand holding her chin softly.
He's  tall,  and  she  has  to  stand  up  on  her  tip-toes  even  though  she's
wearing  three-inch  tall  lace-up  gladiator  espadrilles,  and  the  way  he
holds her makes them seem like new lovers.
But Robert, he is not.
That's  a  cold  move,  Clarissa.  Two-timing  your  fiancee  with  two
different guys?
It would explain what she's doing in this store - hiding out.
She  pushes  him  away  softly,  like  it's  just  for  effect  and  she  doesn't
really want him to stop kissing her.
"What if someone saw?"
"Let them watch. I don't care."
She  locks  her  hand  into  his  for  a  second  and  then  swats  it  away,
heading toward the escalator with him following her.
Damn. She can't even display affection for her one of many boyfriends
in public for fear of getting caught, and here I am without a boyfriend at
all.
It's not like it's anyone's fault but my own that I'm without a boyfriend.
I wonder what it would be like to be like Clarissa for just a day. I also
wonder what it would be like to be with Drew for just a
night.

10. Drew
"Ma?"
I  make  my way up the crumbling wooden steps and open the creaky
screen door. "I' m in here! "
She  has  a  dust  rag  and  a  bottle  of  cleaning  solution  in  her  yellow
rubber-gloved hands.
Mom's  wearing  black  skinny  pants  and  a  white  work  shirt  to  clean.
She's chic, there's no doubt about it. I take after her in that department.
Like her, I also know how to dress. A red bandana holds her jet-black
hair  away  from  her  face.  She  looks  like  a  modern-day  Rosie  the
Riveter, just with a little bit more lemony-fresh cleaning solution.
"Put that stuff down and give your favorite son a hug."
"Eric is here, too?" she says, putting her supplies on the table just inside
the front door and peeling off her gloves.
"Very funny."
She brings me in tight for an embrace. She smells like the musty old
house and marinara sauce.
"Come, let's sit in the kitchen. I am so happy you're here. Tea or
coffee?"
I  don't  like  coming  here.  It  just  reminds  me  of  the  fact  that  I  had  to
spend my time as a kid in two places, and it makes me think about the
fights and disagreements my parents always had about the correct way
to raise their sons. I'm thankful that they came to the compromise they
did, but being in the country house still makes me feel on edge.
"I'll have whatever you're having."
"Tea, then."
She goes over to the stove and turns on the burner under her tea
kettle.
It' s funny how a place can endure so many years and still not change. I
still  remember  leaving  the  house  at  the  beginning  of  every  summer
with bittersweet excitement - I would be leaving all my school

friends behind, but I would have adventures in the city. When I was in
high  school,  I  would  leave  behind  whatever  girl  I  was  dating  at  the
time,  and  meet  new  ones  in  the  city.  It  was  like  leaving  for  summer
camp. And while mom had to rule the house during the school year and
make sure we did our vocabulary flashcards and times tables, our dad
let us do pretty much whatever we wanted during the summer while he
was busy building up his empire.
The  house  is  the  same  as  it  was  about  ten  years  ago  when  I  left  for
college. There's still the tapestry showing New York State hanging on
the wall over the old floppy couch. My mom still even has her old TV,
a tube-style, and definitely not high definition. I think she got it back
when I was in junior high.
It feels like Clarissa re-decorates her apartment twice a year. Out with
the old, in with the new.
Mom sets down two cups and saucers for our tea.
"So? How is the planning going? I know you must be pretty stressed
out with all the wedding preparations."
"Clarissa did most of it. And anyway..."
I  don'  t  want  to  tell  my  mom  about  Clarissa  breaking  off  the
engagement, and I don't want to tell her about the legal troubles Eric
and  I  are  having,  either.  But  she  has  to  know.  I  have  to  tell  her
eventually.
It' s not like I can  stage a fake wedding with Clarissa just so I never
have to tell my parents that this so-called perfect woman of New York
society dumped me.
"What? Don't tell me you haven't helped her at all. Not even with the
cake tasting?"
"Mom, I have to tell you something." I suck all the air I can manage to
fit into my lungs and blow it out in one big, exasperated breath.
"Clarissa called off the engagement."
Mom's  face  drops  with  disappointment,  and  she  puts  her  tea  spoon
gently into her cup.
"I can't believe it. I'm so sorry, Drew." "It's fine. It wasn't meant to be, I
guess."
Not with her ex in the picture. I'm getting angry again, and I don't

want to be.
I' ve had enough anger in my life. I want to focus on the silver lining of
the situation. Like the fact that I'll be able to go out and slay as many
young things as I want. Like the fact that I don' t want to be with
someone who would cheat on me. Like the fact that I'm glad it ended
when it did, instead of twenty years from now, like my mom and dad's
marriage had.
Of course, I know mom wanted me to settle down and marry. Leave my
old bad habits and trail of women behind. Mom puts her hand on mine.
"Anything you need, I'm here for you. That's what moms are here for.
To take care of their kids."
"But I'm not a kid anymore. I should be able to take care of myself."
The tea kettle whistles and mom gets up.
"Nonsense," she says, pouring hot water into each of our cups. "Even
when you're grown up, you're always someone's son or daughter."
"I got the package you sent me."
"Ah, yes. I love it, but when I found it, I knew you had to have it. I
wanted to remind you how small you started. Building that little box for
me. I kept your Honor Society medal in it for so long. But you should
have it."
"I really appreciate it. I brought it with me, actually. It was in my office,
but I feel like I should carry it with me." "I'm glad, Drew."
She still has a little bit of the accent she had when she was young. Even
after traveling all over the world with my dad and having a life outside
the small town she was from, she always went back to her roots.
I get up and walk over to the front door. The condition of the house is
bothering me.
"When are you going to get this fixed? The creaking on the joints of
this screen door sounds like a dying cat."
When my dad left, she really let the place go to shit. It was already
starting to fall apart when he was still around. When he left the city, I

think he gave up on everything around him. He turned inward. He was
distant. And the house was the first thing he started to let go of. He had
bigger  things  to  give  a  shit  about  than  Mom.  And  the  house  has
deteriorated even further in the years since Eric and I left.
"Oh, what's the point?" she asks, taking a sip of her tea. "I'm selling the
place, anyway."
"You could get more for the house if you fixed it up. Let me do it."
"You don't have to do that. I don't care about the money. I have more
than enough in the bank to put a down payment on a  new place  and
cover  my  mortgage  and  other  expenses  for  years.  Plus,  I  intend  on
continuing to work. Maybe do some part-time math tutoring."
"Everyone could use more money."
"I guess you learned that from your father," she responds, rolling her
eyes.
"Come on, Mom. You know it's true."
"Fine. If you want to fix some basic things, you can. You're right. No
one is going to want to buy a cottage with a busted door." "Thank you."
"But just basics, okay? People up here don't buy property to get a new
jacuzzi tub or a sub-zero freezer. They want to live here so they can
have a sense of community and send their kids to schools with small
classes."
"Running for city Council? Or are you exploring a new career as a real
estate broker? Trying to sell the house to me?" "I' m just saying."
I hear a light rap on the screen door behind me and my mom waves and
starts toward the door. I turn around to see an older gentleman outside,
holding a paint can and wearing a kind smile and an old work shirt.
"Hey, Richard! Come on in! "
Mom scurries past me and pushes the door open for her visitor. "Hey,
Liz.  How  are  ya?  I  just  came  by  to  see  how  you  were  doing.  If  you
needed anything."
"I'  m lovely. Here, this is  my Drew." "Drew, it's nice to finally meet
you."

He puts his hand out and shakes mine firmly but kindly, not like some
shot caller in the city who's trying to put on a front like he's been your
best  friend  for  years  when  he  just  met  you.  For  once,  it  seems  like
someone is actually happy to meet me. It doesn't seem like he wants
something, which is the case with nearly everyone I meet.
The money doesn't always attract the right kind of people.
"It's nice to meet you, too."
I slip a hand through my hair. It's a little odd to be greeted by someone
who clearly knows my mom well, who thinks it's okay to just pop by.
Then I remember where I am. In the country, front doors are always
open to allow in the calm breeze or an unexpected visitor.
"We were just having a cup of tea. Would you like to join us?"
"I would like that very much! So, Drew," he says, placing the paint can
down at the door and making his way into the kitchen with Mom and
me, "I hear that you live in the big city. You have a real estate firm with
your brother?"
"That's  right.  Yes.  We  mainly  deal  with  commercial  and  multi-use
properties. We actually just acquired something new, but there's a little
bit of an issue with it."
"Oh? You didn't mention anything to me," Mom says.
"Nothing too serious, I hope?" Richard chimes in.
"No, no. Just a little contract dispute. It's nothing. But I won't bore you
with all the stupid details. Eric is more worried about it than I am."
"That's  Eric.  He  was  always  the  slightly  more  neurotic  of  my  sons.
Drew here was always a cool customer."
She  punches  my  shoulder  playfully.  It's  like  I'm  back  in  high  school
and my mom is trying to embarrass me in front of a girl.
"Anyway, I just stopped by to help mom with the attic a little bit. Get
some of my old crap out of her way."
I start to get up from the table, but it seems like Richard wants me to
stay.  For  him,  chatting  isn't  just  a  formality.  Small  talk  isn't  just  a
means to an end, something to fill up a quota of time before business is
discussed.
He's laid back, his tone ambling and conversational.

"How's the fiancee treating you? I heard all about her from your mom."
" O h . "   My  mom  shoots  Richard  a  glance  and  shakes  her  head  in
quick, small bursts.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Trouble in paradise? It seems like you're going through
a little bit of a rough patch, son."
"Something like that. It's actually good to be away from it all. I took my
Mustang up here. Good to feel the breeze in my hair for once."
"Good for you. Hold onto that. When you're my age, you'll be lucky to
have any hair." Richard puts a hand on his head. He's balding slightly,
but he still looks great.
"Oh, I'm not afraid of going bald," I respond. "I think an older man with
a bald head can look distinguished."
"Tell that to my ex-wife!"
The  three  of  us  laugh,  but  all  this  feel-good  talk  and  closeness  is
making me feel itchy.
"You're not older, Rich. And anyway, some things get better with age,"
my mom says, looking at Richard with a sympathetic smile.
"Like me," he responds. "Or a nice cheese."
"Or  wine,"  I  add,  separating  myself  from  the  table.  "I'm  going  to  go
check out the attic. You need me to do anything up there?"
"No, no. Rich helped me clear some of the stuff out. Take anything else
up there that you want. I probably would have ended up shipping it to
you, anyway."
I make my way up the narrow stairs to the attic. It's just as dusty as I
remember. I don't blame Mom for wanting to sell the place, and if it
were up to me, I would do a full gut-renovation on it until the thing is
fucking unrecognizable.
All that remains, tucked in a corner of the attic, are a few boxes and the
spare  couch  we  kept  up  there  for  guests  back  when  the  space  was
usable  as  a  spare  bedroom.  All  the  Christmas  decorations  and  board
games are gone.
I recognize the boxes right away as the place where I had tucked away
all  the  mementos  I  collected  from  high  school.  Yearbooks,  football
trophies, my science fair ribbons, my bowling ball and shoes

everything that would remind me of my life before moving to the city
has been set into the boxes.
These things aren't just reminders of the past - they're everything we're
supposed  to  keep  as  reminders  of  the  past.  That's  what  they're  for.
That's why we have them.
And here mine are, packed up into some shitty, dusty boxes in a house I
don't live in or even visit much anymore.
I dig into the box and open up the back cover of my Senior yearbook. I
don't want to look at pictures of my old classmates - I'm friends with all
of them on social media and can see pictures of them whenever I feel
like it. I don't want to see pictures of them from  Senior year of high
school. No one actually looks good in high school, and to make matters
worse, it was the early 2000s.
Instead, I go straight for all the messages my classmates wrote to me,
and seek out the message from the girlfriend I had Senior year.
I  don't  have  to  look  far.  I  know  exactly  where  that  loopy  pink
handwriting is - right in the top corner of the back cover.
Drew, don't ever change! You 're a truly special guy, and I hope you
have fun in college. I hope we can still be friends!
She didn't even sign it. She didn't have to.
It'  s  strange,  in  a  way.  I  had  so  many  girlfriends  in  high  school  and
college, and so many cheap, disposable one night stands before settling
down with Clarissa. It's like Amanda represented all of them, the way
she kept her message anonymous. Or maybe she didn't sign it because
she thought I'd never forget her.
The truth is that this simple message means both things to me, all at
once.
When I get back to the kitchen with my box of memories, Richard is
still sitting at the table with mom.
"I'm just going to put these things in the car. I'll be back in a minute. I'm
not particularly keen on rushing back to the city. If it's okay with you,
maybe I could stay here tonight."
"Of course you can, Drew. Maybe we can go into town for a movie."

"That'd be really nice. I wish I could disappear for longer than just a
weekend, but I know it's not possible."
"Listen, Drew," Richard says as I turn to leave. "Yeah?"
"What if you could get away from it all, just for a little while?"
"I'd love it, but I don't know how I can maneuver it. Eric doesn't want
me leaving the state. And maybe New Jersey."
I put my box down on the floor and sit down at the table.
"Listen. I might have a little opportunity for you."
Richard looks at Mom and then back at me.
"I own a small building in Brooklyn, and my superintendent is going to
be on vacation for a couple of weeks. I was going to hire someone to
look  after  things  a  few  days  a  week,  and  make  the  trip  down  there
myself  the  other  days,  but  would  you  like  to  do  it?  Fill  in  for  my
super?"
I look at the man blankly and rub my chin. Honestly, it's not a crazy
idea,  and  I  know  I'  m  more  than  capable.  I'  m  familiar  with  simple
plumbing and maintenance, and it would give me the opportunity to get
away for a little while, but still be nearby in case I need to get into the
office quick.
"What are we talking? How many units?"
"It's  a  twelve  unit  building.  Four  floors.  You'd  have  a  unit  in  the
basement.  It's  actually  nice.  I  stay  there  when  I'm  in  the  city.  The
building is very quiet, and the tenants are great. I would only be able to
pay you about $100 a day, but I don't think you'd have to actually do
much. Just stay there in case anything happens."
"Oh, I couldn't accept payment. You would be doing me a favor."
"So you're saying you'll do it?"
I put out my hand and we shake on it.
"You have a deal."

11. Molly
Ever since meeting the famed Drew Anderson, it's been impossible to
get  him  out  of  my  mind.  His  height,  his  scent,  the  way  he  carried
himself  and  the  way  he  acted  so  entitled  to  anything  and  everything
was absolutely infuriating but absolutely captivating, all at once.
The  only  thing  I  haven't  done  yet  is  check  to  see  whether  he  has
Instagram. I shouldn't do it. Only bad things happen when I discover a
hot guy's Instagram. I'll get fired from my job on the first day. A quick
check under my desk, just opening the app for what's supposed to be a
one-minute  break,  will  certainly  devolve  into  me  looking  at  all  his
posts, and being paranoid all day that I accidentally clicked "like" on
something from 73 weeks ago.
But I can't help thinking about him. And there's no harm in just thinking
about  him,  right?  It's  just  the  invention  of  my  own  mind:  imagining
what he's doing, wondering what kind of pen he uses to sign all those
contracts he must have passing by his desk every day.
Ugh. Really? No. I don't care about any of that.
Obsessing over this guy is the absolute last thing I need right now. I
have my job starting this week, the new apartment to get settled into,
research to do. And it's not like me to obsess over a guy.
But maybe it should be me. Even if only for a little while. Maybe Jess is
right.
But I know I can't let my heart get involved where my head knows it
shouldn't.
And anyway, it's not like I'll have a chance with Drew again. No matter
how much Jess prods me about going back to that bar, there is no way
I'm going to a place that charges $15 for a shot ever again.
I have my shopping bag containing my new outfit and shoes in tow and
I'm walking up the stairs to my place, and all I can think of is him. I
recall his shoulders, the way he trotted over to me and Jess with a little
spring in his step, like the Drew Anderson parade was making its way
down Fifth Avenue with horns and whistles, even though he was just

another suit guy among many in the bar that night.
God, those shoulders. His arms. They make me think bad things.
I get to the top landing of the stairs and hear the familiar sounds of
masculine voices traveling up. There's very little in the way of a buffer
between them and me - it's all steel and wood, and their voices bounce
off the walls and the banisters.
I peek my head over the railing to get a look at them. It's three guys, like
I thought. They're not bad looking - probably in their late 20s, nice
suits, nice ties. If I could see their watches and their shoes, I'm sure I' d
be able to see that those accessories are nice, too. They look like guys
who would be friends with Drew. Maybe they actually are his friends.
His colleagues, even.
It's nice. Good location. And it actually doesn't need much work. Just
knock down a few walls and make the units bigger.
My heart sinks into my Chuck Taylors. What the hell? Even though I
just moved into the building, I know what they're talking about.
Years ago, when I was a kid and my family lived in the apartment I was
born in, the building was sold to investors just like these guys, and we
were forced to get up and move.
I guess, technically, we weren't forced to move. We had the option of
buying the apartment after the new owner renovated and converted it to
a condominium. But with the only options being purchasing it for an
amount of money that was way beyond my parents' reach and moving
into another rental, it really wasn't a choice at all.
And now, I guess it's happening with this building, too. This time, I'm
one of the lucky ones. I haven't made a lifetime of memories here, like
some of the older tenants have.
We just have to get the old guy to sell. Shouldn't be too hard.
And they talk like arrogant jerks, just like Drew does.
As I' m leaning over the banister, my hair falls into my eyes. I move to
brush it away and my keys jingle in my hand. The three men one flight
down from me direct their gaze upward.
Shit!
I' ve been caught staring at these guys. What is it with me and getting
caught looking at rich dudes?

But this is nothing like when Drew caught me staring at him. I'm not
interested in these three guys.
Wait. I' m not interested in Drew, either.
By now it's dead silence in the stairwell and I feel like a complete
dope.
Someone up there? One of the voices makes its way up to me.
I glance over the banister to them, each of their faces peering up at me.
One looks impatient. Two look amused. I can tell that as soon as they
realize it's a lady who was spying on them, their attitude has changed.
Like I'm not a threat. It doesn't matter if I hear their plan to make the
building into something it's not.
"Oh. Hi. Hey."
I peek over the railing at them and wave, my keys jingling in my hand
again. I squeeze them to stop them from making so much noise.
"Hello, Miss," one of them says, waving to me.
"Hi. Sorry for interrupting. I was just trying to get my keys."
"Do you need help finding them?" another one of the guys calls up to
me.
"No, I'm fine." I walk backwards away from the railing until my back is
against the wall of the hallway outside my apartment and their faces
have disappeared.
"Sorry for interrupting you! Have a good evening! " I call out, jamming
my key into the lock on my door and slamming it shut behind me.
Those guys have some nerve, trying to make me feel like an intruder in
my own home.
Maybe I' m being overly judgemental again. What were they doing
wrong, anyway? They were just standing around the building. I was the
one eavesdropping. Maybe they're even friends of Drew's.
They certainly dress like it.
I drop my purse down on the kitchen table and make my way into the
kitchen to pour a big glass of wine for myself.
I might need a bigger glass to be able to wipe out all thoughts of Drew
Anderson.

"You are absolutely more than welcome to come over, but I don't know
how much fun I'll be."
This is not my idea of a Sunday afternoon - especially not right before
starting my new job. There's a drip coming from the pipes under my
kitchen sink, and I'm not getting through to the owner of the building. I
called a few times this morning and afternoon, and repeated attempts to
get him or the super have been unsuccessful.
Between this and not being able to get my mind off Drew, I'm a little bit
of a mess.
I' m not a diva. I could probably go out and get the tools I need to fix the
problem. I'm handy. I know my way around a wrench. But I think it
best not to meddle with the issue, and just call the professional to take
care of it.
But for some reason, the super isn't answering his phone.
I cradle my phone between my ear and shoulder as I search my linen
closet for a bucket to catch the dripping water beneath the sink.
"Okay, good." Jess responds. "Because I'm outside your building. I' ll
be up in a minute. You okay?"
"I'm fine," I respond with a huff as the phone nearly falls from my
shoulder and into a pile of dirty towels in my hallway.
"Okay, but you sound like you're out of breath or something."
"Just come up, will you?"
Jess doesn't have a key to my place, but she might as well. She's over
constantly, except on the weekends if she has a guy over at her place.
Maybe she's right. Maybe I should have hooked up with Drew on
Friday, whatever that means.
What would it mean, anyway? A kiss? Me sprawled out beneath him on
a stupid mahogany desk in his office? A quickie in the bathroom?
I hear a knock at the door, and even though I know it's Jess, I hope it's
someone to take a look at my sink.
"Who is it?" I call, peeking through the peep-hole, unlatching the chain
and unlocking the deadbolt.
"It's the handyman. I'm here to make you feel all better."

There's Jess, dressed in short shorts and a black tank top.
"Oh, really? Where are your tools, then, Mr. Handyman?"
She skips past me and collapses onto the couch.
"It's Ms. Handyman. Handyman isn't a gendered term. Just because it
has the word man in it."
"Oh, okay," I say, rolling my eyes and going back into the kitchen.
"What's the problem, anyway? I thought you said the building was in
good shape."
"It is. And the owner is very nice. It's just this little issue with the sink.
And I don't want to let it go too long and have it become a big problem.
You know. Nip it in the bud while it's still manageable."
I get down on my hands and knees to slide the bucket into place under
the sink to catch the drip. I go to turn on the faucet to wash my hands,
and then realize, of course, I shouldn't be doing that.
"Have  you  ever  tried  relaxing,  Molly?"  Jess  puts  her  feet  up  on  the
coffee table as I go into the bathroom to wash up.
"Oh, what a good idea. I guess I never thought of it like that."
"I'm  just  saying.  It's  not  a  big  deal.  It'll  get  fixed  when  it  gets  fixed.
Worrying about it isn't going to get anyone here to take care of it
faster."
"You're right." I open  the freezer and start to grab a pint of Ben and
Jerry' s, but quickly put it back.
"So, how was the rest of your night on Friday? Get everything done that
you needed to yesterday?"
"Yeah. I did, actually. I did a little bit of reading on the Andersons, and
then I did some reading on the folks at the paper, and then -"
"Did some reading on the Andersons, huh? You mean you obsessively
searched for every picture of Drew you could find, right?"
"No. It's not like that." I look away to hide the smile I can't help from
growing on my face.
"It's  exactly  like  that.  You  should  have  seen  how  red  your  face  got
when he hit on you at the club. And now you regret not hooking up with
him, right?"
"I'm not going to just hook up with some guy, okay?"
"Maybe I should remind you that he is not some guy. He's Drew

Anderson, and he liked you."
"I guess the problem is that I kind of liked him, too.  I  mean, it's not
possible to like someone you just met, but he was certainly hot."
I' m being demure for no reason. I should be able to tell my best friend
about this stuff. But I can't tell her I think this guy was panty-meltingly
hot.
"Why isn't it possible to like someone you just met? I heard that when
he and Clarissa first met, they liked each other right away."
"Oh, you mean the woman who cheated on him and broke his heart?
I'm  sorry  if  I'm  not  using  that  relationship  as  the  barometer  for  true
love."
"I don't think she broke his heart. He's a player. I don't doubt that he
loved her, but he can get another girl like that'' She snaps her fingers in
front of her face.
"She's definitely not having any trouble getting another guy, that's for
sure."
"I know. She's already back with her ex. It's sort of funny, in a way. Too
bad Drew doesn't have any exes he can hook back up with. I heard that
he burned all those bridges. All the girlfriends he had, and all the one
night  stands.  Lit  a  match,  tossed  it  behind  his  shoulder,  and  never
looked back."
I want to tell Jess that I saw Clarissa out and about with yet another
guy, but I don't want to add to the rumor mill. There's already enough
gossip out there about them. No need to add more.
"Yeah. That's how he seemed."
"So what would have been the problem with you hooking up with him?
As long as you knew what to expect. One night, and then poof! It's like
he never existed. You wouldn't have enough time to get hurt."
I  think  about  those  green  eyes  of  his,  the  smooth,  tanned  skin,  his
strong arms. Maybe Jess is right. Maybe I should have gone for it when
I had the chance.
"You know, we should probably go back to that bar. And this time, we
should dress you up a little bit more. Put you in something sexier." "I'm
okay.  I  think  I'll  just  focus  on  work  for  a  while."  "You've  got  to  get
back out there some time, Molly."

She's right. It's been a long time since I've kissed a guy or had sex, or
even gone out on a date. I guess I really allowed myself to get screwed
up by my ex.
Jess hops up from the couch and goes to the kitchen. "I'm hungry. You
got  any  food  around  here?"  "I  think  there's  some  ice  cream  in  the
freezer." "Hm. I think I want some street meat. I'm going to go to the
corner to get a kebob. You want?"
"Yeah. I'll have a falafel."
"Extra hot sauce, extra white sauce?"
"Please."
Jess leaves the apartment excitedly and lets the door swing shut behind
her. I feel like a bomb has just been dropped on me.
It isn't her fault for reminding me that I need to get back out there. In
fact, it' s always in the back of my mind. Even more now, after meeting
Drew.
It would be pretty easy to run into him again. After all, the address of
his  office  is  listed  right  on  his  website,  and  from  the  way  he
commanded the room on Friday night, I'm sure that if we went back to
the bar, he would be there. It might take a few tries, but we would be
sure to run into him again.
Yeah, maybe I could just show up at his office. That wouldn't raise any
red flags.
Maybe Jess is right and I should just go out and have a one night stand.
Drew  would  have  been  perfect  for  that,  right?  It  seemed  like  all  he
wanted was a one night stand, too, something to take his mind off all
the crap going on in his life.
Go back to his old ways. Love 'em, leave 'em. Hit and run.
I think about his arms embracing me, his lips brushing lightly against
mine. That mouth was so kissable. Those eyes so deep. I even wonder
what is going on below the belt. With all the women he's been with, I
can't imagine he would be at all lacking in that department, either.
Or maybe it really was just about the money for all those girls. And the
power. Money is power, at least in this city, isn't it? And power can

be extremely attractive. Sexy. It can draw you in.
But he's an asshole. He's arrogant. He was too self-assured when we
met on Friday. Even if he's self-made, things come too easy for men
like him. Whatever turmoil he's been through in his life, and whatever
family  issues  he  had  growing  up,  maybe  it's  made  him  a  little  bit
messed up.
But  it'  s  not  like  I  have  to  be  the  woman  who  sees  all  of  that,  sees
through  him  to  the  real  man  inside  the  suit.  I'm  not  going  to  change
him.
Even if I shouldn't judge him, it's not like I have to jump into bed with
him.
But it's not like I would let that happen. Not with Drew. He's too hot,
too charming, too charismatic for me not to get my feelings hurt.
I'  m  jolted  out  of  my  thoughts  of  Drew  Anderson  with  a  few  rapid,
urgent knocks at the door.
I peek through the peephole and open the door again for Jess.
"That was fast," I say, taking my foil-wrapped sandwich from her.
"Um,  you  didn't  tell  me  there  was  a  Drew  Anderson  look-alike  who
works in your building."
"What? Who?"
"There's an incredibly hot guy who looks just like Drew dressed in an
old work shirt and jeans."
"No,  that's  not  right.  The  guy  you  saw  must  be  a  tenant.  The  only
people  who  work  in  the  building  are  older  guys.  The  super  and  the
owner. They're both old. You'd never confuse either of them for Drew
Anderson."
"Well, it doesn't matter who he is, he looks just like Drew. You have to
go out there and talk to him."
"I've had enough snooping and spying for one weekend."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing."
We  dig  into  our  sandwiches  and  I  wonder  why  the  super  still  hasn't
gotten back to me.

12. Drew
This isn't so bad. I could actually get used to this. No Eric following me
around asking me a million questions. No calls constantly blowing up
my work phone.
Not bad at all.
I plop down on the pull-out sofa against the far wall of the main living
area.  It's  a  studio  apartment  and  it  reminds  me  of  the  attic  at  Mom's
house. I turn on the TV, put my phone on silent, and put my feet up on
the coffee table.
Not bad.
Maybe Eric's right. I should go out and get laid. My mind wanders, and
I keep going back to the girl I met on Friday night.
She was just so cute and sexy, all at the same time. She wasn't trying so
hard, like all the other girls at the bar, all the other girls I've been with.
She seemed to be the complete opposite of Clarissa, which is exactly
what I need.
A palette cleanser. Something that would remind me not every girl is a
cheater. That there are still a few honest women left in this city.
My cock struggles against the inside of my jeans, begging to be set
free.
It's  too  bad  I'll  probably  never  see  her  again.  I've  squandered  my
opportunity,  and  I  kick  myself  for  not  insisting  she  give  me  her
number. And if she refused, I'd just ask to see her phone and put my
number  in  it  myself.  I'd  done  it  dozens  of  times  and  it  has  an  80%
success rate. Eric did the math once.
She'd have called me. She wouldn't have been able to help herself.
I guess that's just the way shit goes sometimes.
I  get  up  and  look  around  the  place.  Even  though  the  apartment  is
technically  in  the  basement,  on  the  other  side  of  the  door  leading
outside there's a little patio and a staircase leading up to the sidewalk,
and a large window next to the back door to let in some natural light. It
could  almost  pass  for  a  first-floor  apartment,  even  though  the  view
outside the

window  is  of  people's  feet.  I  look  out  and  come  face-to-face  with  a
roly-poly English Bulldog and a pair of men's basketball sneakers.
The kitchen is modest but upgraded. A nice stove and refrigerator, but
the fridge and cabinets aren't stocked with anything besides a few cans
of soup and old packets of soy sauce.
The bathroom's nice too. New, white tile and stainless steel fixtures. I
can  see  that  Rich  has  good  taste.  Reminds  me  of  the  bathroom  I
designed for my and Eric's office space.
I go back into the living room. I could do this for a couple of weeks. It
would be great. Perfect, even. Just far enough away from everything to
clear my mind, and close enough that I can get back in the action at a
moment's notice.
A phone rings, and I search for the  landline. That definitely isn't the
sound of my cell phone, and I can't believe there's an actual landline in
this  place.  People  in  Brooklyn  still  use  landlines?  At  least  the  guy
probably has one of the old 718 area codes.
I find the phone and put the receiver to my ear.
"Hello?"
"Hey! Oh, wow, okay, I' m so glad I got you," a young woman speaks
sweetly into the phone. "There's a little bit of an issue in my apartment.
Can you come take a look at it?"
The voice on the other end of the phone sounds a bit familiar, but I can't
place where it's from. It's a kind voice, with just a hint of nervousness.
She sounds like a typical 20-something girl, but with just the slightest
Brooklyn accent, something you don't hear very often anymore.
"Of course. I'd be very happy to help you out today, ma'am. Apartment
number?"
I  chuckle  to  myself.  I'm  really  embracing  this  super  thing,  aren't  I?
"4-A."
"Very  good.  I'll  be  up  in  about  20  minutes."  "Thank  you!  I  really
appreciate it."
I'm not sure why I tell her I'll be there in 20 minutes. It'll only take me a
minute or two to find Rich's maintenance supplies and climb the stairs
to the fourth floor. Maybe I want to sweat her out. Make her wait a

little.
Overall,  the  building  is  in  very  good  shape.  It  certainly  looks  better
than  my  mom's  house,  and  I  can  see  that  Rich  takes  pride  in  his
building. I'm sure the issue in this girl's apartment won't take more than
twenty minutes to deal with.
I get to the fourth floor and take my time getting to apartment 4-A. I
knock on the door and hear two women's voices behind it, chattering
and giggling.
"Who  is  it?"  the  woman's  voice  from  the  phone  calls  out.  "It's  the
temporary super. You called me." "Oh, um, just a second!"
"You need to put some clothes on before you let me in?" I imagine two
girls in their bras and panties behind the door, having a pillow fight.
The door swings open.
"Drew?"
How does she know my name? Maybe she keeps up on the gossip blogs
or  real  estate  and  finance  news.  It  isn't  too  hard  to  imagine  that  this
gorgeous  young  woman  standing  in  front  of  me  would  be  up  on  the
latest news about a guy like myself.
But then I take a closer look at her, and between the way she said my
name with so much familiarity and her deep brown eyes, I realize it's
the woman from the club.
I stand there, stunned.
I  mean,  really.  If  she's  going  to  be  hanging  out  at  one  of  my  usual
watering holes, I'd be sure to run into her again. But here? I came out
here to get away from everything.
But I' m not complaining.
"At a loss for words? That's not like you," she says, pulling the door
open all the way and stepping aside. "Hi...Molly, right?"
She  looks  so  different  now,  and  even  better  than  I  remember.  She
traded in her little suit and heels for a more casual outfit, perfect for
staying in on a Sunday afternoon - short shorts and a low-cut tank top.

Her tits look perfect, something I couldn't tell the other night, and her
shorts really hug her ass. A messy bun high on her head completes the
look,  and  her  cute,  heart-shaped  face  is  framed  with  a  few  wisps  of
chestnut brown hair.
It'  s  not  like  me  to  let  a  woman  render  me  speechless,  but  the  sheer
coincidence of the whole thing shakes my body.
"Yes,  it's  Molly.  And  I  don't  like  the  way  you  ma  'amed  me  on  the
phone before."
"Well, now that I'm working for you, that's what you are. As a tenant in
my building, you're the boss."
Her friend from the bar is sitting at the kitchen table with a foil wrapper
of  street  meat  spilling  out  onto  a  paper  plate,  her  eyes  wide,  a  grin
slowly starting to replace her open-mouthed expression of surprise.
"Would you care to let us know why a billionaire real estate mogul is
fixing a leaky sink in Brooklyn?" she asks after picking her jaw up off
the floor.
Of all the buildings in the city, my mom' s friend has to own the one my
new object of desire lives in.
"I just wanted to get away from it all for a minute," I say, making my
way past Molly and setting my toolbox down on the kitchen counter.
"And you landed here?" she asks, drumming her fingertips loudly on
the kitchen counter.
"Obviously, I couldn't get you out of my head after I met you on Friday.
So I decided to leave it all behind so I could serve your every whim.
Clogged drain, leaky faucet, I'm your man. Anything you need."
"No, quit messing with us. What are you really doing here?" Jess peers,
her eyes narrowing on me.
"Like I said, I just wanted to get away from all the drama back home.
I'm here hiding out, and like it or not, I'm going to be here for at least a
couple of weeks, unless anything drastic happens at the firm."
The  girls  look  skeptical.  Surely  they  don't  really  think  I  could  be
stalking them. That would be some certifiably insane shit.
"Well," Molly says, grabbing a water bottle from the refrigerator and
handing it to me, "now that you're here, maybe you could do your job
and take a look at this leak I' m having."

"You need help with your plumbing? You called the right guy."
Jess laughs. "Really, with that? You're a walking cliche!  Plumbing?"
She shoots Molly a quick smile. "But I don't think she minds."
Molly slaps a hand over her mouth as if she didn't get my little joke at
first.  She  doesn't  know  how  hot  she  is,  which  makes  her  even  more
beautiful. And she doesn't know how adorable she is, which makes her
even more special.
"So, what seems to be the issue with your plumbing, ma 'am? You may
not know this about me, but I'm pretty good with this kind of
thing."
"As a matter of fact, I didn't know that about you. I thought you were all
about making deals and impressing the movers and shakers. I didn' t
know you would be able to get down in the dirt with the rest of
us."
She shoots a hip out, cocks her head to the side and crosses her arms in
front of her, her pretty pink lips drawn up at the corners and forming a
little smile.
I can' t take how adorable she is when she gets sarcastic with me.
I  sit  down  on  the  floor  in  front  of  the  sink  and  scoot  down  a  little,
getting a clear view of what's going on beneath the sink.
The girls might think I' m playing a character, but I really am good with
maintenance issues.
In high school, I was Mr. Fix-It. It was the combination of my shop and
engineering classes that made me the guy to call in case of a loose roof
shingle or a clogged gutter.
"Oh, this is a simple fix. I just need to tighten a washer right here, and
it'll be good as new. You were right to call when you did."
"I was calling all afternoon before I finally got you. Where were
you?"
"Woah. We just started dating, and you're already on my case about not
answering my phone?"
"I' m sorry, what? All I did was ask you to come by and take a look at
something in the apartment."
"Don't act like you've been able to think of anything but me since

Friday night."
If her friend wasn't here, I would be telling her that I know she's been
thinking  about  my  tongue  on  her  body  since  Friday  night.  That  she
probably's probably masturbated multiple times since then, imagining
it  was  my  fingers  traveling  over  her  instead  of  her  own,  my  fingers
sinking into her, my mouth and tongue making her say my name.
"You're unbelievable!" she says, waving her hands in the air, but she
doesn't seem annoyed. Instead, she seems flustered and her cheeks are
blushing.
I imagine her beneath me, squirming with pleasure. I already know I
can get a rise out of her, take her places and make her feel things she
hasn't before.
"Okay,  I'm  unbelievable.  That's  fine.  Can  you  please  hand  me  the
medium-sized wrench in the tool kit?"
"Here," she says, thrusting it in my direction.
"Okay. This will all be fixed up in just a second."
I slide out from under the sink when I'm done and prop myself up with
an elbow. Molly is still standing over me, the toe of her white sneaker
tapping rhythmically against the tile floor.
"Is that all you need for now, ma' am?"
She crosses her arms in front of her chest, but again, that little tug of a
smile on the corners of her mouth and the flush in her cheeks tells me
more than the rest of her body does.
"That's all. And don't call me ma'am. Please."
"Okay, boss."
"That either! "
"Whatever you say, baby. Is that better?" "Better, but still not my first
choice."
I take the water bottle from the counter and drain it down my throat.
Molly doesn't have the air conditioning on in her apartment. She just
has the windows open and a fan set to low, and clearly this is a place
that doesn't have central air like mine does.
"You know what to do if you need me," I say, leaving the apartment.
The door closes behind me. Shit.

13. Molly
Between the new job and the fact that the new super in my building is
Drew Anderson himself, in the flesh, looking devastatingly hot in old
jeans and a workman's shirt, I can barely sleep at all.
I thought Drew looked good in a suit, a twelve thousand dollar watch
and shiny, polished Ferragamo shoes. But I was wrong. He really looks
good on the floor of my kitchen, his shirt creeping up his stomach to
reveal his abs, and his strong arms flexing beneath my sink.
And I can't believe I didn't just get down there and straddle him and
press his lips to mine. Well, I can believe it. I would never, ever do that.
But you know what I mean.
He really is unbelievable.
I keep going back to how he acted. How cocky he is, and how hot he
makes it. He isn't just cocky. It's obvious that he thinks any girl would
just throw herself at him. But it isn't just that  - he also has a genuine
confidence. Like he knows that whatever he wants, whatever goal he
sets, he'll be able to achieve it with hard work and a good attitude.
It must be nice to live in a world where hard work guarantees success.
Not  that  I  want  to  minimize  everything  he's  accomplished.  But  it  all
just seems to come a little too easily to Drew Anderson.
But still, I can't stop thinking about those abs. His flashing green eyes
looking up at me from the floor. The way he got down there with as
much  confidence  as  he  had  when  ordering  a  drink  at  the  bar.  Eye
contact, and a swift command, and whatever he wants is brought to him
instantly.
Not like me. I have to leave ordering the drinks to Jess. If it was me
getting  the  drinks,  I'd  be  waiting  for  a  week.  I'd  have  my
twenty-dollar-bill  in  my  hand,  and  stand  there  sheepishly,  while  the
rest of the patrons went up to the bar and got their drinks.
Move fast or get left behind. I still have that lesson to learn.

"This  is  your  desk.  I'll  show  you  where  the  kitchen  is.  There's  fresh
coffee  all  day,  and  you're  going  to  need  it.  You  drink  coffee,  right?
Come with me."
Natasha is the second personal assistant to the editor I'll be working for.
There's  a  full  bio  of  every  employee  of  the  paper,  from  the
Editor-In-Chief to the assistants.
She's just out of college and wants to be a novelist. She works at the
paper part-time, taking care of Mr. Bradshaw's personal affairs along
with  his  first  personal  assistant,  and  does  a  number  of  human
resources-related tasks, like on-boarding new hires.
Stacks  of  folders  and  papers  are  piled  high  on  every  surface,  every
cubicle  and  office  humming  with  people  trying  to  get  the  scoop,
making calls and trying to get ahead of the competition.
It'  s  one  of  the  last  papers  in  the  city  that  actually  has  a  large  print
circulation, and they are trying to position themselves to hold onto that
for as long as possible. They believe it will give them an edge over the
rest of the papers in the city.
The Editor-In-Chief is an old-fashioned guy, and he's been the editor
for 20 years. He wants to capture the heart of the city, and believes that
having a physical paper to read on your commute to work every day is
part  of  that.  At  the  same  time,  however,  he's  turned  the  paper  into  a
leader in online content.
Unfortunately, part of that transition has involved more gossip-oriented
content and less of a focus on hard news and feature stories. I guess this
is just a fact of life for the extant daily newspapers in the city.
"Coffee? Yes, I drink coffee. I love coffee."
"Good. Because you're going to need it with the kind of schedule Mr.
Bradshaw keeps. Now, you're just going to be nine-to-five, at least to
start off with, but it's going to be a busy day. The day will go by fast.
Blink, and you'll miss something."
"Got it. I can handle it."
"We know you can handle it. Mr. Bradshaw has complete confidence in
you.  Now,  let's  go  back  to  your  desk  and  I  can  give  you  your  first
assignment."

She beams at me with the kind of pride a mom shows her child when
they come home with a straight-A report card.
She turns on my computer as I sit down. I'm not in a cubicle - not yet,
anyway. I'm seated outside Mr. Bradshaw's office at a long table with
the other editorial assistants.
"Now. The first thing we need you to do is summarize some clips from
our paper files. You're going to go down this list and see what needs to
be pulled from the archives, and  you're going to enter  a summary of
each story here." She indicates a blank text field in on the screen with
her perfectly manicured finger.
"There are fields for by-line, date, and headline. And usually, you can
summarize the article by just typing in the first sentence of the story.
This task is a little bit boring, but you'll be able to see what kinds of
stories we've published in the past. It's not that difficult. And it might
even be a little bit fun, if you're lucky enough to get papers that have
sexier and more interesting articles in them."
"Okay. Got it. I can do this."
"For sure." She beams at me. "Plus, you'll just need to do whatever Mr.
Bradshaw asks of you. He is a really nice guy. And you won't have to
do any personal kind of stuff. He's already got two assistants for that.
You'll just do stuff like make copies, maybe grab a coffee for him. I
think you'll like him a lot. And if you have  any questions at all, I sit
right over there." She nods her head toward a desk outside the boss's
office.
"Great. Wow! Thank you so much!"
"Don't  mention  it.  Just  settle  in,  get  into  this  assignment,  and  enjoy
yourself. Bradshaw  might bark a lot of orders at you all at once, but
you'll be able to do it without a problem. I know it."
It' s so nice for someone to have so much faith in me, implicitly, based
on my credentials and background. Based on me. On what I can offer.
I' m not really used to that.
It'  s  around  lunchtime  the  next  time  I  look  up  from  my  computer.  I
spent  all  morning  summarizing  and  indexing  articles  for  digitization
like  Natasha  showed  me.  And  she  was  right  -  everyone's  so  nice,
including

the boss.
At around 12:30, my phone vibrates from inside my desk drawer. I'd
tucked it away and promised myself I wouldn't look at it until lunch,
because I don't want to look like a slacker on my first day. I mean, I
don't  want  to  look  like  a  slacker  on  any  day,  but  I  want  to  look
especially good on the first day.
It's  Jess,  of  course,  checking  in  on  me.  Even  though  she's  a  little  bit
more  advanced  than  me  in  the  job  department,  having  already
established  herself  as  a  working  woman,  she  supported  my  desire  to
hold out for the job I really wanted, even if it delayed me moving out of
my parents' house.
Well, how is it?
I text her back and tell her everything I did that morning.
I don't mean the job. I mean your new love affair with Drew. Kidding, I
meant the job.
I didn' t exactly try to seek out articles about real estate, but maybe I did
spend a little bit of extra time reading them once I did find them. And I
didn't exactly have Drew in my thoughts all morning, even though he
had kept me up all night by refusing to get out of my mind.
But I did think about him from time to time.
I wonder how long he'll be at the building, and how the hell he landed
there in the first place.
I know I'll be stuck with him for the next couple of weeks, at least, and
part of me is excited at the idea of him being near. But of course, part of
me is also afraid I might do something that will lead to me getting hurt.
"Okay, people."
My boss pokes his head out of his office and everyone around me gets
up and makes their way over.
I look to Natasha for help, and she waves her hand at me to let me know
that I'm included in "people."
I shuffle into this office with the other employees on his team, and we
all sit around a small table in the corner. Everyone turns their chairs to
face him at his desk, where he's perched on the corner with a legal pad
and pen in his hands.

Mr. Bradshaw is in his mid-50s and has the kind of look that brings to
mind Albert Einstein meets Hugh Laurie. Absent-minded looking, with
disheveled  hair.  If  he  continues  to  be  as  nice  as  his  reputation  and
Natasha indicated to me, I know I'm going to love working for him.
"Thank you all for being here. I just wanted to check in for a minute on
this gorgeous day." He lets a hand drift to his floor-to-ceiling window,
at the grey sky and puffy white clouds rolling by.
The group lets out a little collective chuckle.
"Laugh. Laugh it up. But I' m not kidding around. Every new day gives
us  an  opportunity,  doesn't  it?  So  it  doesn't  matter  if  it's  raining  or
snowing  or  you're  up  to  your  eyeballs  in...I  don't  know  what...old
newspapers."
Everyone laughs again.
"Let me ask everyone to welcome our new editorial assistant, Molly, if
you haven't already met her. She is going to be a fine addition to our
team."
The  group  smiles  and  waves  at  me  and  everyone  mumbles  an
individual hello.
"Now. If anyone has an idea for a story, let me know. Anything. Even
celebrity gossip. We aren't above the gossip page. Isn't that what news
is,  anyway?  Something  everyone  is  talking  about?  We  elevate  it  by
digging  into  the  facts,  of  course,  but  all  news  starts  as  a  kernel  of
something."
Damn.  I  realize  I  have  a  hot  tip.  Seeing  Clarissa  with  some  guy  the
other day would certainly count as celebrity gossip, and I haven't seen
any other media outlet report on it yet.
No. I'd keep it to myself. I can't imagine that Drew would want it to get
out. And besides, maybe I misunderstood the whole thing.
"Nothing? Okay, get back to work, then. Welcome, again, Molly."
"Thank you, Mr. Bradshaw. I'm very happy to be working here."

14. Molly
I have a cold compress on my forehead and a glass of white wine on my
coffee table, and a NASA astrophysicist is on TV talking about black
holes.
It' s finally Monday night, and I had a very busy first day at my job.
Natasha was right. Mr. Bradshaw is the nicest guy. Certainly the nicest
boss I've ever had.
He's  also  very  theatrical.  Between  the  meeting  he  held  in  his  office
before lunch and his constant barking to get so-and-so on the phone,
and  his  random  shouting  to  ask  how  to  spell  random  words,  he
approaches every action like it is a matter of great importance.
And for him, it is. I'm sure I'll grow into having that attitude eventually.
But for now, I' m just exhausted and want to put my feet up and
relax.
I'  m  about  to  turn  the  TV  off  when  I  hear  a  knock  at  the  door.  I
recognize the knock. It's like when you can hear someone's footsteps
coming and you know who it is, from the weight and force they use in
each step.
I know that knock to be Drew's. My heart beats just a little bit quicker
when I hear it.
I' m already in my pajamas and practically in bed. The cold compress is
helping my eyes feel less strained after a day of staring at a computer
screen  in  my  contact  lenses,  and  it's  blocking  out  the  sunlight  in  the
apartment.
Even though it's already past 7:00, it's still light outside. I wonder if I
forgot to pay my rent this month. Today's the 4th, but there's a 5-day
grace period, not that I need it. I know I paid my rent on time, so I don't
know why Drew could be wrapping at my door this evening.
"Hello? You in there?" his deep voice booms from the hallway.
"Yeah! Coming!"
I throw the compress on the table and make my way over the to

door. I check my appearance quickly in the mirror. I look tired and a
little bit grey. But Drew's sort of acting in place of my landlord now,
and I figure that I have an obligation to open the door. "Hello."
Drew has his hand on the doorframe and is leaning forward slightly.
He's wearing an old white tank top and jeans, and his scent is divine.
It's  like  a  fresh  glass  of  water  on  a  scorching  hot  day,  mixed  with  a
high-end, masculine cologne with notes of tobacco and lavender.
"Hi," I respond, tucking my hair behind my ears and shifting from one
foot to the other.
"Aren't  you  going  to  invite  me  in?  I  don't  usually  stand  at  a  girl's
doorway for this long. Coming or going."
I move aside.
"How rude of me. So, are you here to collect the rent? The check is in
the mail. I promise," I say, putting a hand over my heart.
"You seem like the kind of girl who would pay your rent on time. But
don't worry. I won't tell Rich if you need to pay a little late this month.
Maybe you and I could even work out some kind of arrangement," he
says as he strides into my apartment.
"I' m perfectly capable of paying my rent," I say, walking over to the
coffee  table  where  I  have  my  glass  of  wine  and  a  half-empty  bottle.
This guy has some nerve, but he's too hot to kick out right away.
"You want a glass?"
"No. I'm okay. I'm at work right now, you know. You don't want me to
get in trouble, do you?" "How silly of me."
I put the bottle down on the counter and gulp down the last sip of what
remains in my glass. It's probably a good thing that he doesn't want any
wine. Another glass and I might not be able to help jumping his bones.
"You  wear  glasses,"  he  says,  crossing  his  arms  across  his  chest  and
stroking his chin. "Yeah. So?"
"I  don't  usually  see  many  girls  in  glasses.  I  mean,  if  they  stay  over,
sometimes they'll have their glasses on in the morning. Sometimes I

think  of  seeing  a  girl  in  her  glasses,  a  girl  who  doesn't  usually  wear
them, as an intimate thing."
My  cheeks  get  red  at  the  idea  of  Drew  counting  me  among  the  one
night stands he's had.
"I can't believe you let me see you in your glasses so soon. I didn't think
you were that kind of girl."
He takes a few steps toward me, green eyes flashing with mischief and
his honey-sweet lips looking like soft clouds of flesh. Warm spreads
through my stomach and between my legs.
I can barely breathe with him standing over me. I take a few steps back,
until my back is against my kitchen counter.
"What...what kind of girl do you think I am?"
"I thought I already knew. After you brutally rejected me on Friday, I
thought you weren't the kind of girl who would let a stranger into her
apartment.  But  since  you've  invited  me  in,  now  I  know  that  you
probably want me to carry you into the bedroom right now. Hold your
hands down at your sides as you part your knees for me. As I slide my
tongue between your legs. That what you want, baby?"
I suddenly feel myself panting as he puts his hands against the wall on
either side of me, locking me in. I duck under one of his arms and run to
my room.
"We can go to a bar!" I blurt out, shutting the door behind me. I'm not
sure why I say it, but I need to get out of the apartment. Even if he has
to go with me.
"You're asking me out? Isn't that a little bit presumptuous? And after I'
ve seen you in your glasses?" he says from outside, in the hallway.
"I mean, if you don't want to drink on the job, if we go out to a bar, you
wouldn't technically be at work."
"I can't argue with that logic. I like the way you think."

15. Molly
I'  m  scurrying  around  my  bedroom,  trying  to  find  something  I  can
actually leave the apartment in.
"Hurry up, hun. I thought you wanted to go out. Change your
mind?"
"Um, no! I just need to get some real shoes. And I'm not your
hun! "
He's already treating me nicer than my old boyfriend did. But it's not
like Drew Anderson is my boyfriend.
This  isn't  even  a  date,  no  matter  what  he's  doing  to  my  body.  Just  a
quick drink between two neighbors.
"Am I going to have to call the PTA and tell them we're running late?
You know our little Timmy doesn't like it when we look like the slacker
parents. He's such a good boy. So responsible, unlike his mother."
I smile to myself as I scurry around my room for something to change
into as I keep reminding myself it's not a date. A date would usually be
planned  out  in  advance.  A  date  is  not  when  one  neighbor  knocks
unexpectedly on another neighbor's door and someone suggests getting
a drink as a diversion to avoid jumping into bed.
I find a simple black sundress with thin straps in my closet, and after
taking  my PJs off, slip it on over  my head. I add a pair of flat black
sandals and a swipe of lip gloss and hurry out of my bedroom, closing
the door behind me.
"Thanks for putting yourself together for once."
I feel a smile pull at the corners of my lips as I brush past Drew to open
the door to the hallway.
"Do you ever wear anything other than a suit or this get-up you have on
now? You look like a real Brooklynite in that tank top."
"Thanks. I got it at the Wiseguy Emporium."
We leave the apartment and I check and double-check the three locks
on the door.

"Are you always this careful? So cautious? I'm here to protect you. I'll
fight  off  any  bad  guys.  You  don't  need  to  make  sure  every  lock  is
dead-bolted shut."
He's right. Maybe I am overly-cautious. But there's nothing wrong with
simply locking your front door, is there?
We make our way down the stairs, and I lead him. Even though I can't
see his face, I can feel that he's smiling.
"Okay," I say, finally pushing the door to the street open. "Where do
you want to go?"
"This  is  your  neighborhood.  You  lead  the  way.  You  know,  I  don't
usually let the woman take control, but the way you asked me out was
so  assertive.  It's  kind  of  hot  to  be  with  a  woman  who  says  what  she
wants."
"What? I didn't. All I said was that we should have a drink. If I recall
correctly, you were the one who originally wanted to buy me a
drink."
Oh,  no.  What  am  I  doing?  In  my  mad  dash  to  get  myself  out  of  the
apartment  and  away  from  the  possibility  of  letting  Drew  Anderson
push  me  onto  my  bed  and  rip  my  clothes  off  me,  I  had  unwittingly
asked him out? So it is a date?
But  I  can't  help  it.  It's  like  I'm  being  tugged  at  by  a  string  he  has
connected to some piece of me, on the inside. Some part of my heart. I
try to cut the string and let him go, but I can't.
I haven't been able to stop thinking about him since the night in the bar,
and I couldn't believe it when he landed in my building.
"Okay," he says, "then let me buy you that drink. You lead the way."
We walk to my favorite watering hole on the block, the kind of place
I'm  certain  Drew  never  frequents.  It's  more  of  a  pub,  and  is  often
patronized by guys who are from the neighborhood, whose fathers and
grandfathers  are  from  the  neighborhood,  whose  uncles  know  the
bartenders and the owner and the girls who work the front of the house.
"So, this is your neighborhood, huh? Tell me, Molly, how did you end
up in Brooklyn?"
"I didn't end up here. I was born here, actually."
Okay, so maybe I don't have any of that world-famous Brooklyn

attitude Jess has, but I'm still from here.
"I  thought  you  were  born  here.  I  thought  I  detected  a  little  bit  of  an
accent."
"Yeah. Brooklyn native, through and through."
The truth is, I always try to hide my accent. I want to fit in at the block
parties and barbecues on the side streets of my neighborhood, but I also
want  to  make  it  in  the  bigger  world,  the  one  beyond  the  open  fire
hydrants in the summer and the stop-signs tagged with graffiti.
"What is it you really want, Molly?"
"I mean, I want to move up at the paper where I' m working right now.
It was a busy first day. But I think I can do it. Just a good-old can-do
attitude, and I can make it work. You know?"
"No."
Drew Anderson laughs and opens the door of the bar, putting his hand
on the small of my back to guide me in and sending a warm, slow shock
through my body.
"No? You mean, I don't want to be a journalist? That I'm going to fail
miserably?"
"I don't know if you want to be a journalist one way or the other. I can
gather that it's what you think you want to do. And maybe you really
do. But that' s not what I was asking."
We sit down at a booth near the door. He scoots into the booth across
from  me,  and  he  fits  in  here  just  as  well  as  he  did  at  the  swanky
Midtown bar where we first met.
"Do you like being in a place where no one knows who you are?" I
ask.
"As a matter of fact, I do. But even though I came here wanting to hide
out, what I found was even better. If I hadn't wanted to get away from
everything,  I  might  not  have  seen  you  again.  But  we  weren't  talking
about me. I want to know about you."
His eyes lock onto mine and I struggle to catch my breath. Most of the
time,  when  I'm  out  on  dates  with  guys,  they  just  want  to  talk  about
themselves.
Shit. This isn't a date.
"So you like it here, then?"

"Stop trying to avoid my question."
"I'm sorry, what was the question, again?"
I want to hide my face, but I can't, so I do the next best thing: I start
fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers on the table.
I know what he's getting at. I can feel it in his eyes, in the magnetism
that's attracting me to him. He wants to know what I want in a man, but
I don't know if he's talking long-term or just for one night. I know this
guy couldn't care less what my chosen career path is, or why I chose it,
or a million other questions I've been asked on so many interviews at
different papers in the tri-state area.
"The question was what you want. Not what you want to do. What you
want. What you want at the end of the day, when you get home and take
off your work clothes and sit down to dinner with the  people you've
chosen to make your life with. All of that other stuff is just the things
we do to get to what we want at home, isn't it?"
"This, coming from you? I thought you were married to your work, and
recently divorced from all the young things on your precious island of
Manhattan."
He puts his hands on his hips and cocks his head to the side slightly.
"Oh,  you  read  that  in  a  rag  mag?  That  my  engagement  imploded
because I'm obsessed with my work and with bedding every gorgeous
woman in New York City? Those are all rumors, baby. I don't know
why they write those things about me."
The  corners  of  his  sexy  mouth  and  stubbly  cheeks  turn  down  into  a
slight frown.
"I didn't mean to offend you."
"I' m not offended. I' m just a little bit confused. I mean, if you and I are
going to work out, sweetheart, you shouldn't be reading about my
ex."
I gasp at his words. The way he says sweetheart, it's like it's my name.
Like  he  only  calls  me  that.  And  even  though  I  know  he's  screwing
around with me, his arrogance is astounding.
"I don't even think I should have to defend myself against that. But you
have to know that your reputation is not one for being a family

man."
As soon as I say it, I regret it. After reading about his life, about his
parents' divorce, I'm afraid that I might have hit a nerve with him.
But it doesn't seem to phase him at all.
"Maybe meeting you will change that reputation, Molly."
Again, so cocky and confident. I can't help being turned on by it, even
though I know I should bolt toward the exit to go home to curl up under
the covers.
"Should we get a waitress to take our order?" I ask hurriedly, my eyes
darting around the bar.
"No. I don't wait for waitresses to get my order. I like to go up to the bar
when I' m ready and get it right from the bartender himself. Make sure
he's doing it right."
The way he says doing it right makes me feel a bit uneasy. A wash of
heat cascades over my face and into my lap. This is not good.
Drew shoots me his signature smile. He has a smile that lights up his
whole face and makes his eyes look like they're grinning, and he has
just the slightest hint of dimples covered up by that five-o'clock shadow
I first noticed a few days ago.
Which, by now, is about a two-day shadow.
I guess he didn't bring his shaving kit with him over the bridge to
Brooklyn, and if he did, he certainly isn't using it. "Hey, where are you
staying, exactly, anyway?" "At your building. You know that." "No, I
mean, where?"
"You know I can' t tell you that. This is only our second date. I have to
protect my privacy. The last thing I need is you coming to my door and
asking why I didn't answer my phone. I'm here to work, you know.
Look after the building."
"I guess I'm going to have to knock on every single door until I find
you, then."
"I guess I better answer my phone when you call so you don't wake the
whole building. What are you having to drink, anyway?"
I grab a menu from a metal holder on the end of the table and quickly
scan my options.

"Oh. Um, I guess I'll have..."
"I got it. You don't drink. Or let me guess. You always have so many
guys buying you drinks that you don't have to decide on your own what
you want. You just have them handed to you."
"The former," I respond sarcastically.
"It's fine if you want to hide the fact that you've had other guys buy you
a drink before, but it's not a big deal. I'm not the jealous type." "Okay,
fine. It's a little bit of both."
"Well,  we  can't  have  that.  You  should  know  what  kind  of  drink  you
like. I assume you know what kind of men you like?"
He raises an eyebrow and looks at me through the dim, early evening
light of the bar. There is something about him, something that makes
me feel half at ease, and half totally giddy. It's the oddest thing, having
both of these feelings in exactly equal measure. Part of me wants to sit
at  this  table  with  him  until  the  sun  sets  and  then  until  the  sun  rises
again, and part of me wants to run the hell out of there.
I guess that means I kind of like him, which is the problem.
"Don't answer. I think I already know what kind of men you like."
He gets up from the table and I can't help but notice his butt as he makes
his  way  to  the  bar.  This  bar  is  such  a  different  setting  than  the  one
where we met, but Drew blends in perfectly with both of them. It's odd,
almost, the way he shakes the hand of an older man sitting at the bar
and watching the NBA playoffs, but it's cute. The older man is alone,
and looks happy as Drew introduces himself.
He makes small talk with the man for a moment before turning his hips
and shoulders squarely to the bar to order our drinks. Again, my eyes
linger on his butt for a second and I wonder for the hundredth time what
he's like in bed.
I haven't been with many guys, and I've never had a one night stand.
However,  after  carefully  studying  my  girlfriends'  relationships,
hook-ups, and whatever it is in between, and hearing about all the little
details,  I've  been  able  to  surmise  that  a  guy  like  Drew  Anderson  is
likely  one  of  two  things  in  bed:  a  beast  with  a  big  dick,  or  a  totally
average guy who likes to talk a big game.
There would only be one way for me to find out what camp he falls

into, and I' m not sure I want to go there.
I cast my glance over to him again. If he looked great in a suit, I am just
now really realizing he looks even better in his new duds: dark wash
jeans,  combat  boots,  and  a  white  ribbed  tank  top  that  shows  off  the
muscles in his chest and arms.
Now,  with  his  back  to  me,  I  notice  what  a  great  body  he  really  has.
Seeing him on my floor might have made me want to hop onto him and
see what else he could do down there, but now I'm really seeing him.
I' m a sucker for backs. Shoulders. Especially when they are muscular
like Drew's, perfectly chiseled. Just right, strong. Big enough to wrap
around you perfectly, warm and safe.
I scold myself and tell myself not to go there. It's not the right time. Not
after everything that went down with the ex. Not with the new job. I
need to focus.
And  say,  for  argument's  sake,  that  I  were  to  have  a  fling.  It  would
certainly not be with him. Not with a guy who is just going to go back
to his real life after the storm passes. This is not the real him. This is not
Drew Anderson's real life. The panty-meltingly hot handyman is just a
role he is playing. It doesn't matter how convincing he is at the role, and
it doesn't matter how much I want it to be real. I'm not mixing business
with pleasure,  I'm  not putting  my heart out there, and  I'm not letting
Drew use me like a plaything while he bides his time.
He even said himself that he wanted to get away from everything. He
meant that he wanted to get away from his real life. And I'm just not
part of it. I never will be. He's got his women and his stacks of money
and his closet full of shoes and ties. I've seen the pictures. Despite all
my best efforts not to look, I've seen his Instagram. There's no place for
me in there.
But why does he have to look so good?
He  turns  back  to  me  and  flashes  that  million-dollar  smile,  but  I  also
notice that he doesn't have any drinks in his hands.
"What, nothing here is up to your sophisticated taste level, fancy
guy?"
"Come on. I knew you thought I was hot, but I didn't think you thought
I was a snob."

"Maybe a little bit," I say as I shrug my shoulders.
"So you admit I'm hot."
"I didn't say that."
"You also didn't not say it, baby"
"That's not evidence of anything."
"I thought your friend was the legal professional. And anyway, I know
I'm not the kind of guy you like. You like nerdy guys."
He isn't completely wrong, but I'm surprised that he's suggesting I like
any guy other than him. I am a sucker for a guy in glasses, for a guy
who has a brain and can do a full literary analysis of the latest fiction
pieces in the New Yorker. That much really is true.
"I do like nerdy guys," I confirm. "But I don't discriminate."
"I know. And you know, I used to be a big nerd. I can pull out my old
glasses and graphing calculator and fuck you while I recite Pi to thirty
digits, if you'd like."
I  feel  my  face  blush  and  the  tips  of  my  ears  get  hot.  His  comment
renders  me  absolutely  speechless.  I  shouldn't  be.  I'm  an  aspiring
reporter. I should never be at a loss for words.
"So I am your type." He slips his fingers between mine and my hands
soften. I don't even care that the table is making my hands sticky.
It  sparks  something  inside  me.  Something  that's  been  dormant.  The
pads of my fingers feel soft and warm on his as he weaves his fingers
through mine and places them back down on the table.
My heart is beating out of my chest and I swear Drew Anderson can
hear it over the bass line of the classic rock song thumping out of the
jukebox in the corner.
"Oh,  here  we  are,"  he  says  as  he  waves  over  the  waitress  coming
toward our table.
His hands slip out of mine and I feel their absence on me, almost more
than I felt their presence a moment ago. I'm already craving his touch
again,  but  I'm  relieved  that  I  can  take  my  hands  away  from  his  and
pretend they were never there to begin with.
The waitress brings over a narrow, long wooden plank with a row of
three small glasses filled with different shades of brown liquid, ranging
from light amber to dark, chocolatey brown.

"What's all this?" I ask, pushing the salt and pepper shakers aside and
plunking my hands back down onto the table quickly.
"This is a beer flight," he explains, gesturing along the row of glasses.
"I thought you'd like it. You get to have a little bit of a few different
things, and then, if you want, you can have more of whichever one you
pick."
I look at the glasses, skeptical but intrigued. I was never really one to
drink beer. I' m more of a cheap white wine drinker. Even better if the
wine comes in a box.
"Okay. I'm game for this."
"Start on this end," he says, indicating the glass with the lightest color
liquid, "and work your way over." "Okay. I can do this."
I' m just glad that Drew has given us something else we can do with our
hands. Any more of his touch on me and I'm not sure I would be able to
control myself.
I take the first glass and bring it tentatively to my lips. It has a mild,
slightly sweet aroma, and as I sip it, a cool and refreshing sensation
coats my tongue.
"Ohh! I like it!"
"You look like you like it. Okay, now try the next one." The next one is
slightly darker, with a more heavy scent. "This one is good too, but I
prefer the first one. This one almost tastes like oats."
"Okay. That doesn't surprise me. I don't think you're going to like the
next one, but try it anyway."
I take the glass to my lips and sip it slowly. I don't want to drink it too
fast in case it tastes bad.
"Hm," I say thoughtfully, putting the glass back down on the paddle.
"Not your favorite?" Drew asks. "No. That one's not my favorite. Too
bitter." "That's fine. I'll have that one. You have the first one. We can
share the middle one."
"Sorry, but I don't want to swap spit with someone I just met."

"Suit  yourself,"  he  says,  grabbing  the  middle  glass  and  shooting  the
liquid back quickly. He puts the glass down on the table and wipes his
mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand.  "But  I  have  a  feeling  that's  not  all
we're going to be swapping."
"An open house. I love these."
We' re walking back to my apartment after finishing our beers, and my
head is spinning. It's not from the drinks, and it's not because I'm on the
first date - accidental date - I've been on in too long. It's because I can't
get Drew's words out of my head. I can't shake the feeling of his hands
on mine. His hands are an oxymoron. They're too rough to belong to a
man  who  sits  in  his  cube  of  glass  above  the  city,  making  deals  and
signing  contracts.  But  they're  too  perfect  and  smooth  to  belong  to  a
man who does manual labor.
The sun is just setting over the city's horizon of rooftops, painting the
sky pink and blue behind the black outlines of the buildings, and his
words take me out of my head and back to reality. I' m no longer lost in
a daydream about the guy standing right next to me.
He  starts  up  the  stairs  of  the  brownstone  with  "For  Sale"  and  "Open
House" signs perched in the windows.
"Aren't  you  coming?"  he  asks,  one  foot  on  the  top  step,  hovering
between me and the house. He reaches his hand out to mine, as if to
help me up the stairs.
"Um, I' m not really in the market to buy a house right now. And what
do you need with a house in Brooklyn? This isn't really your target for
investments, is it?"
He hops down a few of the steps and sits on the bottom step.
"No, it's not. But it would be fun just to check it out, right? Sometimes
they have good snacks at these things. And," he says, gesturing for me
to follow him, "you can pretend to be someone else."
I enter the foyer of the building after him. He puts his hands on the solid
wooden  handrail  of  the  staircase  and  looks  upstairs  quietly,  peeking
around corners and taking his time.
"I wonder how many bedrooms it has, honey," he says to me. "We need
at least a three bedroom, if we want this to be a place we can grow

into."
I don' t know why, but I pretend to go along with his little game.
"Right. Little Timmy needs his own room, and then Samantha, and you
never know what the future might hold after that."
He  winks  at  me  and  turns  to  walk  down  the  hallway  and  into  the
kitchen.
"Nice work, here. Nice cabinets. Custom."
A woman' s heels click from the other room and a slightly older, maybe
mid-30s woman comes through the doorway and into the kitchen. She's
wearing a pantsuit and big gold hoop earrings, and has a dramatic mane
of blonde hair.
Her look, her attitude, everything about her screams Brooklyn.
"It's  nice,  right?  The  owners  are  moving  to  Florida,  and  they're  very
motivated to sell."
She puts her hand out to shake Drew's.
"Older couple?" he asks, shaking the woman's hand and looking from
her to me, grinning.
"That's right. Snowbirds, they were, up until now. Two kids, married
with their own kids. You know, these older folks don't want to be up
here with the ice and cold in the winter. They've had enough of it."
"This is a very nice property," Drew says, folding his arms across his
chest and making his way through the kitchen, around the center island
with a large barn sink.
"You should see upstairs. The owners did all the work themselves, and
they did a good job of it, too."
I stand in the doorway opposite the broker and look around, peeking
my head into the room. I don't feel like I belong here. I'm sure I'll never
have enough money to buy a gorgeous place like this. It's all old wood
and new appliances, and way out of what my budget will be when I' m
ready to settle down with a family.
"God,  I'm  so  rude,"  the  broker  says,  striding  over  to  me  with
confidence. "I'm Marie. It's very nice to meet you."
"It's nice to meet you, too."
"That's my wife, Cindy," Drew says as I'm about to offer my name.

He stands behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders. His hands are
warm and safe. Protective. Reassuring.
"Yes. I'm Cindy. And this is my...husband..."
"Chip," he offers, giving my shoulders a little squeeze. "We're kind of
on the fence about Brooklyn. We're from Pennsylvania ourselves, and
we  always  wanted  to  live  in  New  York,  but  we're  not  sure  about
making the big move yet."
"Well, I' m glad you both came to the open house today," Marie says,
grabbing  a  flier  from  the  kitchen  counter  and  handing  it  to  me.  The
price shocks me. "Please take a look around, and let me know if you
have any questions at all."
I  walk  past  her  and  Drew  and  into  the  dining  room.  I  can  imagine
having a big family here. Two boys and a girl, a loving husband, a big
bowl of my grandmother's sauce and ziti in the middle of the table.
Bustle, commotion, love. A lot of space to grow into. A yard. A cat and
a dog. At least one of each.
"Do you like it?" Drew doesn't make much noise as he walks up next to
me and moves the lace curtains on the window aside to look out at the
backyard.
"I do like it. It's very nice."
"Did you have a dog growing up?"
"No. No dog. Our building didn't allow them. Other tenants had them,
but my mom and dad were real sticklers for rules."
"I had a few dogs growing up. They liked to run around at my mom's
place. There's a lot of land there."
"I read that your mom lived upstate when you and Eric were young."
"That's right. Still does. I went up there a couple of days ago."
There's a little bit of tension in his voice, and I'm not sure if I should ask
if something is wrong, or just leave him alone, even though I want to
know that everything with his mom is okay.
The way he parts the curtains on the window makes the light from the
setting  sun  dance  across  the  warm  brown  hardwood  floors.  Even
though the overhead ceiling light is off, the room is awash in gold and
pink tones, like the colors you see inside your eyelids while falling

asleep on your towel on a hot day at the beach. "Everything okay with
your mom?"
"Yeah. She's fine. She's going to try to sell the house. I wish she'd come
live in the city. I'd buy this place for her, if she wanted it."
"Do you think she'd like it? It's got a sort of country vibe to it." "Yeah.
You're right. It does."
He takes his hands away from the delicate lace curtains and lets them
go slack, brushing and whispering against the floor. "Do you like this
house?"
He walks toward me, gently and purposefully, not taking his eyes off
mine, until he's standing squarely in front of me. He looks down at me
from  above,  his  chest  moving  up  and  down  with  his  steady,  even
breaths.
I should just walk away. Go out the door, back to my apartment. Forget
that  Drew  Anderson  ever  landed  in  my  building.  Think  of  him  as  a
random rich guy who hit on me at a bar, someone whose name I don't
know. Someone whose backstory I don't care about. Someone whose
struggles I don't identify with.
"Yes. I like it."
He cups my chin and brushes his thumb along the edge of my bottom
lip, his breath still calm and even.
Inside, my body is screaming. My heart is pounding in my chest, my
ears,  my  throat.  I  feel  like  there  is  a  string  connecting  me  to  Drew
Anderson. I want to cut the tie between us. He is too hot, too confident,
too cocky and too rich for me. He would only be at my building for two
weeks, and then he would go back to his life. Even if something had
happened with him  at the bar the first time we  met, it wouldn't have
been good. I don't want to get my heart involved with a guy who has a
reputation like Drew's.
But for all his arrogance and cockiness, all his teasing and ribbing, he is
actually being kind to me. And I want to know about him. He isn't just
what I thought he was at first.
That might even be worse.
But I' m already getting swept up in him.
My breathing is speeding up, and even though I want to be cool, to

16. Drew
As if I wasn't already a lucky bastard, here I am kissing Molly for the
first time.
I knew she'd come around. They always do. But it's different this time.
She does something strange to  me, deep inside. Like I can sense she
and I are kindred spirits, and there's something inside me only she can
unlock, and that only I can do the same for her.
I slip my tongue past her parted lips and hers meets mine. I pull away
from her, her hand gripping my shirt, like she's holding on for dear
life.
"You're really fucking beautiful. You know that, right? And I want you
so fucking bad."
God, what the fuck am I doing? How does this woman have so much
power over me already? This would have been the perfect opportunity
for me to have a fling with this hot girl and then cut it back to the city.
But I won't. I can't do that to her.
"Remember  what  you  said  when  you  knocked  on  my  door  the  first
time?" she asks.
"Yeah. I think I teased you about you blowing up my phone."
"No." She pulls her gaze away from mine and steps back a little. She's
still  close,  but  I  can  feel  the  distance  between  us  growing,  the  gulf
between us spreading, even though she's still standing before me.
"You said you were only here temporarily. And I know how this ends.
You're  only  here  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  and  then  you're  going  back
home.  Maybe  even  sooner,  you  said,  in  case  something  important
comes up and you have to leave. This isn't a good idea."
"But Molly," I say, getting close to her again, "that was before I knew it
was you on the other side of the door."
Her beautiful brown eyes light up, like she's coming back to life.
"I bet you say that to every girl who harasses you to come fix a leaky
sink." She punctuates her words with light, playful jabs on my

chest.
"Not  a  chance.  Only  you.  I  do  have  to  admit  you're  the  first  woman
whose  sink  I've  fixed.  I've  done  drywall,  roofs,  even  some  light
electrical." I tick off the contracting skills I have, listing them with my
fingers.
"But you do have to leave at some point," she says, turning away from
me slightly, her chestnut brown hair glimmering in the faint sunlight. "I
know  that.  I'm  not  stupid.  You  have  your  whole  life  across  the  East
River."
"Molly,  you  are  less  than  five  miles  away  from  me."  I  look  tenderly
into  her  eyes,  trying  to  reassure  her.  "But  that's  like  an  hour  on  the
subway." "Baby, you haven't seen my sweet car yet."
"God, you have a sweet car? Of course you do." She pokes me square
in the chest. "You would."
"I'm going to take you upstate sometime in it."
"Some time? That's a line if I've ever heard one. I should actually be
getting home, like, right now."
"Quit your job and come hang out with me."
"But what about your job? Remember that?"
"Of course I do. But I'll quit. Just to spend time with you."
"Let's not get carried away."
"You're right. We have a long time until we retire like this old couple
that's moving to Florida."
Something  changes  subtly  in  her  eyes.  But  even  if  she  doesn't  know
that I won' t hurt her, I know it.

17. Molly
"Do you have anything here that isn't Ben and Jerry's or a box of
wine?"
"Yeah! I do!" I call out from my bedroom.
It's crazy that I kissed Drew Anderson, but that's not the most insane
part. The really freaking crazy part is that I've invited him to come back
to my apartment to hang out.
It' s like in college. Hanging out means have a make-out session in the
dorm.
Come over to study? Make out.
Come over to watch a movie? Make out.
Come over to see the new awesome tape recorder I ordered online to
help with my interviews for my final project in this semester's
journalism class? In case you haven't already guessed it, some guy in
my class actually used that line on me. It was fine because I liked him a
lot, and he was hot. But I knew what the line was for.
You didn't know? It was to make out.
So now, here is Drew Anderson in my apartment to "hang out." Have a
drink. I think once you reach the real world and have your own job and
your own apartment, you're supposed to ask the person you're on the
date with if they want to come upstairs for a drink.
So here he is for that drink, and I'm in my room, pacing about like a
madwoman, unsure of what to do.
It wasn't even supposed to be a date.
And now, I' m faced with a few different options.
I can do what Jess told me to do. Just take this opportunity to get back
out there and put some distance between myself and the ex. Have a
fling with Drew Anderson. I've done stupider things. Like the haircut I
got last summer. And the aftereffects from that took longer to go away
than Drew Anderson will take to go away.
But I don' t know if I' m ready for that experience. I want to think I'm
mature enough to have a fling with Drew, but I don't know if I can

do  it.  I  already  know  too  much  about  him.  I  already  find  him  too
interesting.  My  mind  wanders  to  him  when  he  isn't  around,  and  I'm
definitely regretting looking him up after the first night I met him.
The second option would be to just see where this all goes. Have a little
faith in him, date him if that's what he wants, and go with the flow.
But  I'm  not  really  a  go  with  the  flow  kind  of  girl.  I've  always  had
everything planned out for myself. Grad school, the job, the apartment.
It's all been predetermined. There's no way I could have predicted and
planned for the contingency of Drew Anderson.
Why  does  he  have  to  be  so  hot?  It's  freaking  infuriating.  And  his
cockiness doesn't help. It's just making it so much worse. Maybe if he
wasn't  so  cocky  and  confident,  I  wouldn't  be  so  afraid  of  falling  for
him.
It' s really the entitlement that makes me so afraid of him. The idea that
he wants  me, has  gone after  me, likes  me. The way he acts like he's
already got me.
It's frightening. It's dangerous.
And it' s a total turn-on.
I check myself in the mirror. I need a haircut and I'm hardly wearing
any  makeup.  I  check  my  hands.  They're  dry  even  though  it's  the
summer, and I'm in desperate need of a manicure.
Drew's nails are better manicured than mine are.
Clarissa  doesn't  need  a  haircut.  She  doesn't  need  a  dye-job  and  a
mani-pedi. She lives an easy life, and she's able to do maintenance on
her appearance constantly, if she wants to,  I'll bet.  It's  not crazy  that
Drew would go for a woman like her.
What is crazy is that he would go for a woman like me.
So, what's my third option? My third option would be to kick him out
of my apartment, avoid him in the hallways, and pretend I never met
him.
"I thought you said you have food in this place," Drew calls out from
the kitchen.
"I did say that!" I yell.
Get it together, Mol!
Option three is out. I' m not going to be rude. That would be rude. After
he brought me to the bar and bought me that beer flight, there's no

way I would be able to just ask him to leave. I owe him a drink, at least.
I suck in a sharp breath and turn on my heels to make my way out of my
bedroom and into the kitchen.
Drew is searching my cabinets, opening each one and peeking inside.
He doesn't have to stand on his toes to reach like I do, but the edge of
his shirt does ride up a little, exposing some bare, tanned skin on his
lower back.
He finally checks the last cabinet and turns to face me.
"I guess I'm going to have to go grocery shopping for you. You need a
fully-stocked kitchen. We need to have you nice and fed."
"I'm perfectly fine, thank you." I sit  down at one of the stools at the
counter facing into the kitchen. "I think there's a granola bar in one of
those drawers."
He checks a drawer and pulls out its contents.
"This?" he asks, holding a metal spatula up.
"Try and eat that, and see what happens," I say, hopping off the stool
and walking over to grab the spatula from him.
"No  time  to  go  food  shopping,  I  guess,"  he  says,  putting  the  utensil
back in the drawer and pushing it shut with his hip.
He  leans  back  against  the  counter  and  puts  his  hands  on  my  hips,
pulling me close.
I guess I'll have to go with options one or two. I'm just not so sure yet
which one it's going to be.
He slips his thumbs against my stomach as he squeezes me around the
waist,  pulling  me  closer  to  him.  I  recognize  his  cologne  from  the
makeup store I like to go to. Sometimes I check the mens' fragrances
section and pick out the most expensive bottles just to sample them. I
used to think it was crazy that someone would spend over two hundred
dollars on a few ounces of a scented liquid, but in his arms, now I can
see why he would.
But  it's  not  just  the  cologne  that  I  can  smell  on  him.  It's  also  the
freshness of the evening, the dewy night time air coming through the
window. He's part of the atmosphere, and it's like he belongs here as
much as I do, even though I know he's going to leave, one way or the
other.

"So when I asked you in the bar whether you have a boyfriend or not,
you really weren't lying when you said you didn't?" he asks, pushing
my hair behind my shoulders and gathering it at the nape of my neck.
"No,"  I  say,  looking  up  into  his  green  eyes.  "Why  would  I  lie  about
something like that?"
"I don't think you would. It's just  crazy that some guy  hasn't already
scooped you up. But I'm glad." He puts his lips to my ear and whispers.
"I have some things in mind for you. When I saw that gorgeous little
mouth of yours, I knew I needed it."
I feel my knees get weak and I'm glad Drew is strong enough to hold
me up without even noticing that I would fall down without him to grab
onto.
His  hands  make  their  way  to  my  ass,  and  he  grazes  them  over  my
backside.
"What did you need, exactly?" I ask.
"I think you know what I needed. That I needed to kiss it. I needed to
kiss  you,"  he  says,  scooping  my  ass  into  his  hands  and  giving  it  a
squeeze.
"You've done that, Drew," I reply breathlessly, standing on my tip-toes
with my arms thrown around his shoulders.
"So you know that's not the only thing I want to do with that mouth,
then," he said, drawing his lips close to mine and taking them with his.
He tastes like spearmint and craft beer, and his chest moves slowly and
steadily against mine, his breathing taking on the same even tempo as it
did earlier.
I can feel his heartbeat in his chest through his skin and his thin shirt,
and as he picks me up and spins  me around to sit  me  on the kitchen
counter,  my  mind  spins with the  room.  The heat between  my  legs is
unbearable, and as his lips and tongue crush mine and he spreads my
legs apart so he can stand against me, I feel a hand slip up my dress and
into my bra.
"I can't wait to get you down on your knees. That pretty little mouth is
all mine now, babe."

I' ve never had someone talk to me like this before. The hot sensation
between my legs has me squirming in his arms.
His tongue slips over mine and his fingers wrap around to my back to
unclasp my bra. He frees my breasts from my bra in two seconds flat,
and I wonder how many bras he's unclasped in his day.
Now I really have a decision to make, but it's like his tongue is making
my brain unable to operate.
"Your body is fucking unbelievable," he says, taking his mouth away
from mine for a moment and growling into my ear.
This  is  the  real  Drew  Anderson.  I'm  not  sure  whether  I  expected
something different. Now I really have to make a choice. Options one
and two are still open to me. Obviously, option three, kicking him out,
is no longer a possibility. I guess I could still tell him to stop, push him
away, send him to wherever it is in the building that he's staying, and
pretend to not see him around, but like I said before  - that would be
rude, and I certainly was not raised to be rude.
Option two seems to be flying out the window by the second, too. Date
this guy? The guy who soaked my panties with just a light kiss on the
lips isn't any guy I would be able to date, and I'm starting to realize that
maybe I am just a conquest for him. I don't want to think it, but there's
no way a guy who kisses like this and says he wants me on my knees -
and of course I know what for! - would really want to take me out on a
second date and then back to his mom's house like he said.
So by process of elimination, it seems that all I am left with is option
one.
A fling. It's already a fling, I think, and it seems that the first option
chose me, and not the other way around.
I  can't  think  straight,  and  I  make  the  conscious  decision  to  close  my
eyes  and  let  myself  get  swept  away  by  Drew.  Or  is  it  a  conscious
decision? I feel completely out of control of my own body as he picks
me up again and starts to bring me toward the hallway to my bedroom.
I wrap my legs around him, and I' m afraid he can feel how wet I am
already.  It's  embarrassing,  almost,  the  fact  that  this  guy  has  had  this
effect on my body so quickly.
"I think you're going the wrong way," I say, pulling my mouth

away from him.
His mouth contorts into a wicked grin.
"What  do  you  mean?  You  wanted  me  to  fuck  you  right  there  in  the
kitchen? I can do that. Floor or counter?"
"No, no. I mean, I think reruns are about to start. You gotta bring me
back into the living room so I can watch my shows."
"Fuck  that,"  he  says,  putting  me  down  and  opening  the  door  to  my
bedroom.  "I  have  more  than  enough  entertainment  for  you  in  here.
You're going to be begging for me to come over to replace your 90s
sitcoms."
"Really? You think you're funny?" I straighten my dress out and shift
my feet around, unsure of what to do. My bra is in Drew's hands, and he
turns it over, examining the lacy pink and orange fabric.
"This is pretty," he says. "Do the panties match?"
I don't say anything. I involuntarily suck  my bottom  lip between  my
teeth and nibble. My clit does a little jump as he walks toward me.
"Let me see," he says, picking me up by the waist again and placing me
down on the bed. I lay back and see, clearly, I am firmly within option
one territory.
He puts his hands on my legs and runs them up to my thighs, hooking
his fingers onto each side of my panties and pulling them down. I lift
my butt a little so he can grab them. I've never let a guy like this do this
to me before, and it's thrilling. Any doubt I had in my mind has been
replaced with clarity.
I can do this. It's just a fling. It is not a big deal. It's just sex between two
adults. Two normal, regular, average adults.
Except that Drew is far from average.
"This  what  you  wanted?"  I  ask,  kneeling  on  the  bed  with  my  feet
tucked under me.
"Exactly,"  he  says  as  I  reach  for  the  zipper  on  his  jeans  and  yank  it
down with a quick tug.
So, I thought he would either be a well-endowed sex god with a body
made for sin, or a regular guy in the sack with a big mouth but without
the size to back it up.
It seems that between those two possibilities, I am left with option

one again.
I guess there was a reason for all those girls to throw themselves at him
before he was engaged. It seems that on his island, good news really
travels.
But  I  remind  myself  that  this  is  not  really  for  me.  That  it's  just
temporary.
That's what I tell myself so I won't get hurt. I pull him out of his pants
and look up into his eyes. His gaze is soft and hard all at the same time,
and I'm unsure of what to do. "Put your pretty little mouth on it, babe,"
he says. I guess that settles it.
I bring him into my mouth, taking his length all the way into my throat.
He's  bigger  than  any  of  the  other  few  guys  I've  been  with,  and  it's  a
struggle to take him in all the way.
"God, that's so fucking good, Molly," he says, pushing me away and
grabbing my ankles.
I let out a gasp and a laugh.
"What are you doing?"
"Wait  and  see,  baby,"  he  says,  pushing  my  knees  up  and  kissing  me
between my legs.
I let out a low, long moan and he licks from the top of my clit all the
way down to my opening. His fingers search my body expertly, sinking
past my folds and massaging me deep inside.
"You taste so good. You're better than anything," he says, taking his
mouth away from my pussy and kissing the insides of my thighs. He
wraps his hands around my ankles and holds my legs open, exposing
me for him. His tongue swirls around my clit, my pussy hotter than it's
ever
felt.
He lets go of my ankles and positions himself between my legs, pulling
a condom out of his back pocket and sheathing himself, rolling it down
to the base quickly.
"Do you always have a condom with you?"
"Do you want me to always have a condom with me?"
"I' m not sure," I say.
His arms make a cage around my face, his hands propping himself

up above me.
I don' t know what' s gotten into me, but I reach down and take Drew
into  my  hands,  guiding  him  between  my  legs.  His  dick  reaches  my
opening, and slips into me easily, rocking and moving inside me as his
chest heaves above mine.
Any ounce of tameness and restraint he showed before has now flown
out the window with any sense of propriety I possessed.
He pulls away from me and flips me over onto my stomach, placing a
firm hand down on my ass.
The heat inside me radiated from my stomach and into my limbs, and
the fear I felt just moments ago is melting out of my body.
"What the hell was that?" I yelp, looking back at his face, his signature
grin growing across his face and his eyes sparkling.
"You're just so spankable. You think that cute little ass isn't going to be
spanked?"
I wiggle it in response and giggle, but I what I really want to do is bury
my face in a pillow. I don't understand how it's possible that he is doing
this to me, and how good it feels. It's freeing.
He flips me over again, onto my back, and teases my opening with the
tip of his dick.
"Come for me, Molly. I need this from you."
He drags his dick across my clit before sinking into me once again.
"Drew, I can't believe this happening."
I  don't  want  to  show  him  all  of  what  I'm  feeling,  and  I'm  just  happy
something more didn't slip out.
Like, Drew, you 're the hottest guy I've ever met.
Drew, I know you 're badfor me and I don't know if I can trust you. I
don't do cocky guys. I don't do arrogant. You 're going to grow bored of
the simple girl from Brooklyn.
Drew, your dick feels incredible inside me.
I'd never let that last statement just slip out. I'd be utterly mortified if I
ever said anything like that.
"I  just  can't  believe  you  didn't  let  me  fuck  you  on  the  first  night  we
met," he says, pushing himself deeper inside me.
"Is that really the kind of girl you think I am?"

"No. Not at all." He grins and pushes my hair away from my forehead.
I run my hands up and down his chest, his chiseled body moving above
me and inside me like nothing I've felt before. He's so deep, so hard, so
big.
"I don't think you're that kind of girl," he adds. "But I'm that kind of
guy."
"Too many one night stands for Drew Anderson, huh?"
"Not too many," he says. "Come for me, Molly. I told you to. Come all
over my cock. Your juices feel so good."
His mouth collides with mine as my eyes grip shut tightly, my vision
turning black and then white as my body writhes beneath him in
pleasure. It's too much to stand any longer, and I feel my body rising
with pleasure as he works it with exquisite expertise.
He groans as he explodes inside me, rocking his hips back and forth
between my legs as he comes.
I come down from what just happened, panting and smiling like a crazy
person. Maybe option one wasn't such a bad idea.
I know what I know about Drew. There won't be any surprises. Even if
I never see him after today, it's fine.
Anyone who can make my body feel like he does deserves a chance.

18. Drew
I'm on cloud fucking nine as I leave Molly's apartment.
She's incredible. She's funny, smart, gorgeous, and self-assured. After
what just happened, I'm no longer surprised it took this long for us to
screw. She's not like any of the try-hard girls who just want a taste of
the fame and want their picture to be taken. They want to get in the
paper, heaven only fucking knows why.
I'm okay with being in the paper and on the blogs. It's fine. But it's not
something I would seek out. In fact, I'm starting to think it's getting a
little bit old.
That's not what Molly wants. She dodged it. The fact of my wealth and
reputation was an immediate turn-off for her. I could see it. Most of the
time, the girls in that bar would do anything with any guy with my level
of status.
Again - not that there's anything wrong with that. But after Clarissa?
Molly is exactly what I need.
No, fuck that. She's what I need in my life because she's as gorgeous as
she is smart, motivated and driven.
There is no fucking comparison between her and any other girl. She's in
another category.
Molly looks for the real me. Maybe it took her a little bit longer than I
wanted for her to warm up to me, but now that she really sees me for
who I am, I' m going to show her my best.
She's already shown me her best - that's her default setting. She's the
best without even having to try. She's real. She doesn't have to switch
the way she acts, ever.
I think she and I have that in common.
She gives it to you straight.
Fuck, she's good. Beautiful. Perfect.
I' m nearly whistling as I make my way down to the apartment where
I'm staying. I hear the voices of a few men, and they're talking

shop. I stay on the landing I'm on so I can get a better read on what
they're discussing. All I can make out over my thoughts is a cloud of
random words. I lean against the wall on the landing above them and
peek over.
It's Lee and a few other guys from  his firm. It's bizarre, seeing them
here. It's like seeing a fucking polar bear on the moon.
Or something. I'm not the writer. Molly is the writer.
Whatever  it  looks  like,  it  looks  weird.  But  I  know  immediately  why
they're  here.  There's  really  only  one  reason  why  a  bunch  of  random
finance dudes in Gucci loafers would be in this neighborhood. This is
their stupid idea of dressed-down. Gucci loafers. Unbelievable.
I'm at least wearing my Varvatos boots. I blend in. I don't stick out like
a sore thumb like these guys.
These guys. They're here because they want to buy the building. It's so
obvious. It's in a good neighborhood, up-and-coming, and I don't need
to pull the comps for the area to know that the market can bear rents
two  or  three  times  higher  than  what  I'  m  sure  the  tenants  here  are
paying. Rich is a good guy, and I' m sure he knows what the fate of the
building will be if he sells.
If he's anything like Mom, he doesn't want that for the building. If he' s
anything like Mom, he wants a place where people can call home. Not a
place where some dickheads can knock down a few walls and pour in
some money and make a profit on the place over a short term period.
He doesn't want the building to be a quick investment. I already know
that. It would change everything about the place.
I just had no idea Lee was interested in taking his firm in this direction.
Maybe they're trying to diversify a little. Nothing wrong with that.
I'm sure Rich has had offers before. And he doesn't seem like the kind
of guy who would gather multiple offers and try to leverage the best
deal for himself. He's a guy who likes being an owner. The fact that he
stays here a few nights a week is proof.
We  could  put  an  elevator  in,  make  the  top  two  floors  a  duplex
penthouse.
Okay, now I have absolute fucking confirmation of what these guys

want to do.
I  wonder  if  Molly  knows.  She's  relatively  new  to  the  building  and
might not know what's going on here.
The  guys  on  the  floor  below  me  continue  down  the  stairs  and  make
their way through the front door and the storm door, letting it slam shut
behind them. I continue down to stairs to the cellar now that the coast is
clear.
The absolute last thing I need right now is Lee knowing where I am. I'
m staying here to get away from everything. Not to get more involved
in something that doesn't concern me.
I flop down onto the pull-out couch in Rich's apartment and check my
phone. I have 40 unread emails, twice as many texts, and half as many
missed calls.
Of course, most of them are from Eric, so I call him back.
"Good god, man. Where the hell have you been?" he barks.
"You mean Mom didn't tell you? Sarah didn't say something at the
office today?"
"Yeah, Sarah told me you lost your damn mind and decided to take a
little vacation."
"I  highly,  highly  doubt  Sarah  said  that  about  me.  She's  loyal.  She
supports me in my decisions. Which is more than I can say about you
right now."
"I support you. I think that if you want to disappear for an entire two
days, stay somewhere else, go crazy and not shave and turn into a total
lunatic, it's fine. Go and take a plane to Puerto Rico. Get whatever the
hell happened between you and Clarissa out of your system. But please,
please answer your phone."
I have to hold the phone away from my ear. My brother is shouting, and
I don' t want to risk permanent hearing loss.
"I'm talking to you now, aren't I?"
"Drew, you cannot do this. When you told me you were getting out of
town for a few days, I didn't know it would involve going off the grid
and neglecting our firm. Come back to the city. If you aren't going to
answer your phone, we need you here. If you want to be wherever the

hell  it  is  you  are,  it's  fine,  but  answer  your  phone.  And  if  you're  not
going to do that, you need to come back so I can keep tabs on you."
"Keep tabs on me?" I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb
and forefinger. "Look. I met a girl."
"So  you're back to your old ways? Don't tell  me  you're in Key  West
right  now.  Or  Nantucket.  Please  don't  tell  me  it's  Nantucket.  You'll
never be able to get rid of her."
"It's not like that, Eric. I don't want to get rid of her. Actually, you know
her."
"For fuck's sake. It's not Clarissa, is it?"
"Are you fucking kidding me? God, no. It's Molly."
"From college?"
"No, not Molly from college."
"Oh, from your real estate broker license class. That was a long time
ago, dude. But I guess if you wanted to double-dip, enough time has
gone by that it's okay that you're back with her."
"First, that's gross."
"That's a phrase you coined."
I shake my head. He's actually right about that.
"Second, it's actually Molly from the bar the other night."
"Friday? But you didn't hook up on Friday."
"No, I didn't, but I randomly met her again. It's the craziest thing. Wait
till we tell our kids how their parents met."
"So, let me get this straight. You are shacked up somewhere with a girl
who showed zero interest in you just a few days ago?" Suddenly, his
tone changes. "That's what I'm talking about."
I nearly hear his arm go up for a high five, even though I'm not there to
reciprocate it.
Not that I would have.
"No. Not shacked up. Taking it slow."
I don't want to tell him the full truth right away. She deserves better
than that.
"Look.  I  don't  know  what  the  hell  you're  talking  about,  but  if  she  is
preventing you from doing your job, then you've got to do what you
always do and just move along."

19. Molly
It' s been another long day at the office. I' m starting to think this isn't
for  me.  Have  you  ever  wanted  something  so  badly,  but  never  really
slowed down to ask yourself why? I like my job, but I can already feel
that my passion for the news is going to be squashed at this job, instead
of being allowed to flourish.
Even though it's only my second day, I'm starting to think that maybe I
should start reevaluating things
I' ve already reevaluated my situation with Drew, decided to go for the
fling thing. The memory of his lips dances on my mouth. I push him out
of my head. For all I know, he's already gone.
Going over last night's events in my head is going to do me no good if I'
m  just  going  to  allow  myself  to  have  a  fling.  A  fling  implies  that
feelings aren't to be involved. Just bodies. It's just sex. There's nothing
going on between my  ears  and nothing going on in  my heart toward
Drew Anderson. Nothing.
So I need to stop thinking about his scent. His strength. Everything I
know about him. I need to put it away, tuck it away, deep down, and
maybe I can reminisce about it when I'm older and thinking about when
I was a  younger woman and had this random fling with a billionaire
real estate guy.
It's not for me to think about now. It's for the girls in the heels, the girls
in the tight dresses, the girls who want to be on the arm of a rich guy. It'
s not me.
I just need to keep telling myself that. I hope I'll start to believe it
soon.
I slip  my key into the lock on  my door. I'  m  looking forward to just
taking my heels off and putting my feet on a pillow and drifting off in
the early-evening sun streaming through my window. Maybe I'll check
out the leak in my sink and make sure I don't need Drew to come over
and take a look at it.
After all, he is still my super, and there's no feelings involved in

routine apartment maintenance. It's all mechanical
As  I'  m  about  to  enter  my  apartment,  I  hear  three  sets  of  footsteps
coming up the stairs slowly. There are only four units on my floor, and
I  know  all  of  my  neighbors  personally,  and  I  wonder  if  it's  those
investors again.
Mrs. Martinez, the sweet older lady who always makes the floor smell
like garlic and onions and whose granddaughter is about my age, opens
her door and shuffles out into the hallway.
"Hello, Molly. How is the evening treating you?"
"It's pretty good. I'm just getting home from work."
"Good day at the office? That's good, sweetheart."
I  don't  want  to  tell  her  the  truth,  that  the  job  is  hard  and  I'm  having
second thoughts about my chosen career path. That I thought I'd love
sitting  in  a  cubicle  doing  grunt  work  because  I  know  it  will  lead  to
something better. The truth is, even though I do know it will lead to
something better, I'm not so sure I want what it's leading to. And even
though I love my boss and coworkers, I'm not so excited about working
at a paper that's gravitating more and more toward being a throw-away
gossip blog.
Look at Mrs. Martinez, for instance. She moved here from Puerto Rico
in the 1960s, and she was a homemaker for most of her life. When her
husband passed away, she decided to go to college, and then graduate
school, and became a Kindergarten teacher. She's currently a substitute
teacher a few days a week at the very same school she sent her children
to.
I find that much more interesting than reading about Clarissa and her
ilk,  the  adult  kids  of  the  wealthy  who  treat  Manhattan  like  a
playground.
The footsteps making their way up the stairs stop, and there are some
muffled voices and the scuffle of feet before the footsteps start again,
getting  quieter  as  they  continue.  I  tip-toe  over  to  the  banister  of  the
landing and peer down between the railings. It's the suit guys again.
I shift my purse onto my shoulder and walk over to Mrs. Martinez.
"What do you think those guys are doing in the building, Mrs. M?"
"Oh, you don't know? Come inside, dear. Would you like a glass

of iced tea?"
"I'd love that." I smile and enter her apartment.
It'  s  a  larger  unit  than  mine  -  a  two  bedroom,  and  I  take  in  the
surroundings. A China cabinet boasts a collection of ornate, beautiful
dishes, and she has a collection of ladybug dish towels hanging from
the  handle  of  the  oven.  She  has  a  pot  of  red  sauce  cooking  on  the
stovetop,  and  it's  making  the  apartment  warm,  but  the  late  afternoon
breeze coming in through the living room and the modest dining room
are making the space feel like a big home.
"Here, put your bag down. I guess you haven't seen those men around
the building yet."
"I saw them once. I' m afraid I already know why they're here."
She ambles over to the stove and scoops a little bit of sauce onto a plate
and tears a piece of semolina bread off a large loaf.
I slip into a chair in the dining room and put my bag down on the table.
It's cluttered with bills and catalogs, and a stack of spelling exams.
"They make you grade the kids' tests, even though you're a sub?"
"No, I volunteer for it. I enjoy it. Plus, it gives me something to do. My
granddaughter can't get here as much as I'd like her to. She comes about
once a week, and I need things to take up my time." She sets the plate of
red sauce and bread down in front of me, piping hot with steam rising
off the plate. I inhale the sweet aroma of chopped garlic, tomatoes and
extra  virgin  olive  oil.  "There's  only  so  much  Wheel  of  Fortune  and
Golden Girls one old lady can watch."
"Oh, you're not old, Mrs. M." I drag the bread through the sauce, blow
on  it,  and  pop  into  my  mouth.  It's  sweet  and  salty  and  just  the  right
temperature.
"That's  great,  Mrs.  M.!  It  tastes  just  like  the  sauce  my  grandmother
used to make."
"Is she Italian?"
"No,  actually.  She's  from  Alabama.  Daughter  of  the  American
Revolution,  or  that's  what  the  folklore  in  my  family  says.  My
grandfather  was  from  Sicily,  and  his  mom,  my  great  grandmother,
taught my grandmother how to cook."
"It's so nice how the generations take care of each other. It's a very

special thing." She gets up from the table and goes to the refrigerator,
taking out a pitcher of iced tea. "You don't really see that very much
anymore.  Everyone  in  New  York  seems  to  be  from  someplace  else
nowadays. But that's okay. Everyone needs to plant roots down, and it's
a  beautiful  thing  to  be  able  to  start  a  family  somewhere  else.  That's
what I did."
"And you think your grandkids will stay here in New York?" "I think
so. My Anna is thinking about going to Puerto Rico to visit her cousins
for the summer, but she loves it here too much to not come
back."
She stirs the iced tea with a long wooden spoon and places it gently in
the sink before reaching up into a cabinet to grab two glasses.
"It's a shame about what they're going to do to the building."
She  makes room  on the table,  moving the stacks of papers and bills,
putting  them  into  a  cardboard  box,  and  pours  the  iced  tea  into  two
glasses. The sun is setting and it's the perfect evening, not very much
unlike the ones I used to share with my own grandmother and parents
before moving out to get my own place.
"It's those men who are in the building. They represent some fancy real
estate company. They want to buy the building and kick everyone out."
She shakes her head in disappointment and lays her hands down flat on
the table.
"That happened to my family when I was younger. I hardly remember
it. I guess I'm lucky."
"They  won't  kick  us  out  right  away,  but  I've  heard  that  they  are
planning  on  converting  the  building  to  condominiums.  They'll
probably offer buyouts to the tenants who stick around and don't move
right away, and the remaining tenants will have one hell of a headache
when the construction starts."
"Yeah, I've seen them before."
"We've had other guys here before looking at the building, but this is a
new group of men. It's not really that big of a deal. Especially to young
people  who  don't  have  roots  where  they  live.  Present  company
excluded." She gets up and walks over to her window, pulling back the
lace white curtains and peering down at the street below. "But I

remember my kids being picked up for school by the school bus right
down there on the street. The ice cream truck in the summer, and the
cookouts on the terraces. The fabric of the community is going to
change."
"What do you think is going to happen?"
"I know the owner of the building has turned down offers before. He's
never been interested in doing anything like that with the building. He
likes having the old tenants who he knows."
"Present company excluded?" I smile and take a sip of my tea. Even
though I may be young, I' m from the neighborhood, and I can
appreciate what Mrs. Martinez is going through.
"Anyway, it's just a rumor. We get people coming through the building
every few months. Big shot guys in suits, guys from the city. I hope the
owner holds out, but he has to do what's best for himself, too. It' s what
we all have to do."

20. Molly
"Well? How is my working woman?" "Who? Oh, me? I'm good."
I open the door for Jess and let her in. She's still in her work clothes.
"That bad, huh? The boss really cracking the whip already?"
"I mean, yeah. Kind of. I like it and all, but it's very exhausting."
"At least you work regular hours. Nine-to-five. That's not so bad. Wait
until  you  move  up  and  you  have  to  work  crazy  hours.  Imagine  how
busy you'll be when you become Editor-In-Chief."
She kicks her black pumps off and flops onto the couch, putting her feet
up on the coffee table and flipping on the TV.
"Oh! Jeopardy is about to start," I say, sitting down next to her.
"You know, I always thought you'd be on Jeopardy someday. You're so
smart."
Not smart enough to stay away from Drew Anderson.
"I'm  not  smart.  And  anyway,  it's  all  trivia.  I  don't  know  all  the  little
details about presidents and 18th Century poets, and all that."
"Yes, you do."
"Anyway, I like Wheel of Fortune better now. I used to like Jeopardy,
but now I' m a wheel watcher."
"That's a sign you're getting old. I remember always sitting down with
my grandma for Jeopardy and Wheel. The younger people always like
Jeopardy, and the older people always like Wheel."
"Old? Because I like Wheel of Fortune? That's a new one."
"Think about it."
I get up and start into the kitchen to grab a couple of glasses and a bottle
of wine. I still can't believe that Drew got  me to drink beer  - and do
other things.
But I'm not about to go out and buy beer now. That would be too drastic
a change for me.
I'm already doing things I know I shouldn't be doing.

"How's the man?"
My face flushes and I turned to the sink to wash my hands, an attempt
to divert my attention away from Jess.
"Huh? Can't hear you over the running water."
"You're so full of crap. Drew. How is Drew doing?"
"He's fine, I guess. I wouldn't really know."
I pad back over to the couch with my after-work libations and pour two
generous glasses for me and Jess.
Jess's eyes light up and she tucks her legs under her, taking a glass of
wine eagerly from the table.
"Something happened. Did you have sex with him?"
"God, no! " I reply, but I know that I' m incapable of lying to my best
friend even if I want to.
Jess  sips  her  wine  coyly  and  looks  up  at  me  through  thick,  dark
eyelashes.
"Oh, okay."
"Okay, fine. Maybe a little."
"How do you have sex with someone a little? You either did it, or you
didn't. And I can tell that you definitely did. Go ahead and deny it. It' s
fine. Just make sure to Skype me from the penthouse when you move in
with him."
"Okay, first of all, no one is moving in with anyone. Second of all, it
isn't going to happen again. And third of all, you don't even know what
happened."
She  tosses  her  hair  behind  her  shoulder  and  inspects  her  fingernails.
"Then  what  is  it,  exactly,  that  isn't  going  to  happen  again?"  "Okay.
Fine. Something did happen."
"Tell me! What did you mean when you said that you had sex with him
a little? Does that mean you didn't do it in a bed? Where'd you do it?
His office? Bent over his desk?"
"No! "
"Your office?" "Shush!"
"It's not like anyone can hear us. It's just us girls. You think your boss is
hiding in the bathroom and he's going to pop out and say,

surprise! You're fired because you fucked the hottest guy this side of
the Mississippi in your new office?"
"I didn't." I take a large sip of my wine. "Okay, fine! I did. We had sex.
Not sort of, not a little, not kind of. We did it, okay?"
"This is exactly what I told you to do, isn't it?"
"Yes. I have to say that I did do what you told me to do this time." I
grab the remote from the table and turn up the volume. "Shh, Alex is
on."
"Your man Trebek is going to be there after we talk. Turn that off. We
have important things to talk about. Right now."
She grabs the remote from me, mutes the TV and puts the remote
behind her back.
"You know, in the old days, I would have been able to get up and turn
the volume up. I don't even know how to do that on this TV."
"You're too nostalgic, you know that, Molly?"
"Yeah. I've been accused of that before. By you."
"So where is he now? Why isn't he taking you out to a fancy restaurant
tonight? A gala? A ball? Isn't that what those Anderson types do every
night?"
"I don't know what he does every night."
"But you know what he did at least one night, no?"
"Yes. And I also know it's not going to happen again."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. It was a fling. He is going to be gone soon, and as much fun as it
was, I can't afford to get hurt again."
"Why not take a chance, Molly? He obviously likes you. And I don' t
think I should have to remind you that you should really get back out
there."
"So what? So, he likes me. I don't know why that has anything to do
with it. Guys like anything with boobs and a vagina." "That's so
romantic."
"I mean, you know who he is. This," I say, gesturing around the small,
stuffy apartment, "is not for Drew Anderson. He might like me now,
but remember that this is not his real life. He is going to go away, and
go back to work and his real life. Maybe he'll even go back to his

fiancee."
I take a long sip of my wine and feel the cool calmness of the alcohol
steady my nerves.
"You're acting like he lives a million miles away. He doesn't. It seems
to me that you're just looking for reasons why it won't work between
you, when it's obvious that it's at least worth a shot."
"So, what, we date for a little while? Six months? A year? It's not like
we are going to be together, so why not just skip all the pain and get to
the inevitable?"
"I understand that you don't want to get hurt again. But you have to take
a chance. This isn't like you. What happened to the tough-as-nails bitch
that I know? Think about it. You got this  awesome job, you got this
apartment, you graduated with honors from one of the best journalism
schools in the country."
"But what if I've been wrong all along about what I want?"
Maybe Drew is right. Maybe I don't know what I want. My whole life,
I've ushered myself into a narrow path. Go to the right schools, get into
the right college, the right grad school, the right job. I even had the right
boyfriend, but now that seems like so long ago.
"What do you mean? You have it all, Molly. Every single thing you've
set  your  sights  on,  you've  been  able  to  achieve.  It's  actually  pretty
infuriating."
Jess smiles and puts a sympathetic hand on mine.
"And  if  you  aren't  sure  this  is  what  you  want,  why  don't  you  start
reevaluating exactly what it is that you're going for?"
She  doesn't  have  to  say  anything  else.  I  know  what  she  means.  She
means  that  I  should  be  figuring  out  what  I  want,  starting  with  Drew
Anderson.
"Not every guy," she adds, "is going to be like Thomas."
There it is. The unspoken name, the elephant in the room, the guy who
said that he would be with me but who unceremoniously broke up with
me after college to go do his own thing in California.
He told me he didn't like New York anymore. That after a lifetime of
subway rats and greasy pizza, he wanted to move to California where
the sun shines all year and there isn't the perpetual threat of a blizzard

around the corner.
I reminded him that the summers in New York are as hot as the winters
are cold, but that wasn't enough for him.
He  didn'  t  want  to  listen  to  me.  He  packed  up  his  Volkswagen  and
drove away.
He didn' t even really do anything wrong. He never treated me badly.
He  never  cheated  on  me.  But  I  took  it  harder  than  I  should  have,
because he was my first boyfriend, and I never got those relationship
mistakes and heartaches out of the way when I was in high school.
It was like I dove right into the deep end and never went through the
water-wings stage.
"I'm just not so sure that the first guy I need to jump into a relationship
with is Drew Anderson."
"Why  not?  It  seems  like  he  has  a  lot  of  great  qualities.  Even  though
they may not be what you think you want, maybe you should examine
what you want a little bit closer."
"That's  what  he  said  to  me  a  few  days  ago.  He  asked  what  I  really
wanted. And I didn't know how to answer."
"And don't you think that's a little bit funny?"
"What do you mean by funny?"
"Not funny ha-ha, but ironic."
Jess reaches behind her back and unmutes the TV just in time for Alex
to read the Double Jeopardy categories.
Drew  Anderson  doesn't  want  a  girl  like  me.  He  wants  a  girl  like
Clarissa. A girl who is going to look good next to him, a girl that his
dad will love, a girl who can keep up with him and his lifestyle. It's a
lifestyle I' ve never been introduced to.
I know it isn't acceptable for  me to  be giving  myself  over to him,  at
least not for anything more than a hushed fling.
It doesn't fit in with my plan. Even a thorough reevaluation of my plan
would never reveal that I should be with Drew.
And I know, deep down, he probably feels the same way.

21. Drew
I cannot get Molly out of my mind. Since sleeping with her, all I can
think about is her soft lips, her soft pussy, and her perfect ass.
I cannot deny what she does to my cock. When we had our first kiss, I
wanted to push her shirt up her body and pin her hands over her head
and screw her right against the wall of the empty dining room at the
open house.
I showed more gentlemanly restraint with her than I ever have with a
woman.
But that might partly be because Molly wasn't throwing herself at me
like most women do.
I want to be with Molly in her apartment, cooking her a proper meal
and  feeding  it  to  her  in  bed,  but  instead,  I'm  in  my  pajamas,  on  the
couch  in  Rich's  apartment,  fielding  emails  and  responding  to  my
brother's many texts when I realize I don't even have Molly's number.
In all of the craziness that's gone down over the past few days, I never
even got her number.
At least I know where she lives.
The emails about the headache of a lawsuit seem standard. There are
emails  between  O'Malley  and  Lee  that  all  of  the  partners  at  the  two
firms are copied on. O'Malley gave me and Eric strict instructions not
to engage the other side, not to involve ourselves in the talks with the
other firm or with their attorneys and strategists.
Leave the lawyering to the lawyers, he said.
But I know Eric wants to get in the mud with the guys. He wants to be a
shot-caller, even though he's really just the numbers guy.
Not merely the numbers guy, but you know what I mean. I want him to
stick to what he knows best.
Identifying opportunities. Leveraging our assets.
My phone rings, and of course it's him.
"Hey, man. What's up? I'm still not working hard enough for you?"

"Drew,  you  might  have  to  come  back  to  the  city  tonight.  I  think  the
other side wants to have a meeting."
I toss my laptop on the couch beside me and flip on the TV. I'm not
trying to be cavalier about the whole thing, and I admit I was nervous
about it at the beginning, but we have this in the bag.
And I' m not shy about telling my brother that.
"You  think  they  want  a  meeting?"  I  laugh  as  I  talk  calmly  into  the
phone.
"Yeah.  I  mean,  they  said  they  would  be  in  touch  about  a  possible
compromise."
"I  told  you,  Eric.  No  compromises.  Don't  you  remember  how  they
acted like a bunch of pussies when  Lee  called  O'Malley? With them
trying to put on that faux-aggressive posturing shit with the agreement?
I should go to his office right now and tell him where he can shove the
agreement."
"Just get back here, okay? How fucking weak would it look if O'Malley
and I were there and you weren't?"
"No,  man."  I  hit  mute  on  the  TV  when  I  get  to  some  early-evening
psycho-babble  talk  show.  "Think  about  how  cool  that  would  look.
Like, I'm so sure we are going to win that I don't even show up for the
meeting."
"And whose purposes would that be serving? The firm's, or would that
be for your own personal gain?" "I just think it would look badass."
"It  would  look  cocky,  and  that's  the  kind  of  antics  that  garnered  the
reputation you have."
I can feel through the phone that my brother is a little pissed off at
me.
"Hey,  if  you  want  a  reputation  like  mine,  maybe  you  should  start
blowing off some important meetings."
"Blowing them off? Is going on a bender in Miami with a couple of
lingerie models your idea of blowing off a meeting?"
"I  don't  know."  I  smile  and  put  my  feet  up  on  the  coffee  table.
"Something like that."
"But all of that is behind you now, right? Now that you've met

Kristy?"
"It's Molly."
"Oh,  you  remember  her  name.  How  charming.  And  when  you  come
back  home,  you  aren't  going  to  just  forget  her  like  you  did  all  those
other girls in high school? And in college?"
"I thought my brother would be happy that I finally met the love of my
life."
"I'  m  certainly  happy  for  you.  Thrilled.  I  just  think  you  should  be
paying more attention to your work. I' m not about to let our whole firm
go up in flames just because you're pussy-whipped by some bridge and
tunnel chick."
"You're going to regret making that comment when you have to give
me and Molly a toast at our wedding. And maybe I should remind you
that  I  negotiated  one  of  our  biggest  deals  while  I  was  on  a  video
conference on a boat off the coast of Crete with one of those lingerie
models you mentioned earlier?"
"Fine.  You're  right.  You're  the  best  thing  that  ever  happened  to  this
company."
"Dude, I am the company. With you. We can do whatever we want."
"You know that's not true. We have shareholders. Investors. We have
to answer to them, buddy. It's not just you and me running the show
anymore. We have a million invisible strings attached to us, pulling us
in every direction. Just remember that."
"You know, maybe I should make a little trip into the city. Take Molly
out on the town."
"Just make sure you know what you're doing."
"Do I ever not know what I' m doing?"
I tend to a jammed door in Molly's next-door neighbor's apartment, and
then make my way to her place. I don't have her number, but I decide
that she won't mind if I just pop in.
I knock on the door like I usually do, and it opens a few seconds later,
with Molly standing there, looking as gorgeous as ever.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, a coy smile creeping across

her lips.
"I came to take you out on a date."
"Oh, really? How do you know I don't have other plans already?"
"I don't. But I know you'd cancel them for me."
"Do these lines really work on women? I mean, do women really go for
the cocky type like you?"
"It seems that they do. I mean, here I am, standing in your apartment.
Looking at you. Seeing you."
I  take  a  few  steps  toward  her  and  brush  her  hair  away  from  her
shoulders. They are delicate, petite, flawless, and perfect.
"That  doesn't  mean  anything,  Drew  Anderson.  We  are  neighbors.
You're my super. That's it."
"That's not it," I whisper in her ear. "That's not all you want, is it? I can
tell you want more. Just one little taste of my cock wasn't enough for
you, was it?"
I feel my jeans get tight against my crotch. I want her so badly, but I
want to prove that she isn't just another hot piece of ass to me.
Because  she  isn't.  If  she  had  been,  I  wouldn't  have  pursued  her  after
stumbling  into  her  apartment  that  first  time.  I  would  have  know  she
wasn't interested, and just moved on.
It's not like me to chase a woman who isn't interested. I don't have time
for that. And I don't need it in my life.
There are more than enough women throwing themselves at me.
But again, part of why I was attracted to her, part of why I wanted her
so badly, was the fact that she didn't throw herself at me as soon as she
met me, like most women do.
Most women who go to that bar where we first met are only interested
in one thing.
Or two things, if you count my money as something they want, next to
getting laid.
"You do want it, don't you?"
I feel her body shudder at my words, even though we aren't touching.
I  slip  my  arm  around  her  waist  and  pull  her  in  close  to  me.  Her
shampoo smells like lime and lavender, and she's breathing fast. I can

nearly  feel  her  heart  beating  against  mine.  I  want  to  tell  her  to  calm
down, that we have all the time in the world.
"I...yes," she sighs into my arms. "I do want it."
"How bad? I want to hear you say it."
I put my hands on her chest and cup her perfect breasts through her thin
t-shirt. She's wearing a black lace bra underneath. I love how simply
beautiful she is. Her big brown eyes say everything she wants to say,
but  I  love  pulling  her  out  of  her  shell.  Cracking  her  open,  and
discovering what' s beneath the surface.
"Drew, you know what I want." She looks up into my eyes and presses
her body against mine.
"I want to give it to you. And more. Let me take you out. Tonight. You
showed me your turf, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you take
me out on a date and didn't take you out on one in return."
"That's very progressive of you," she says, her eyes sparkling, a smile
tugging at the corners of her pretty pink lips.
"I'm a modern man. What can I say? We'll never go dutch, but I have to
take you out, because you took me out. It's only fair."
The light from the window in the small apartment illuminates her eyes,
and I can see the word yes forming on the tip of her tongue.
"Can I go out in this?" she asks.
"I don't know. Do a little spin for me."
She steps aside, tentatively, and walks in a slow, small circle, glancing
over her shoulder as her gaze snaps away and then back to me. Her little
white sundress is cute, but it isn't what I have in mind for her.
It's so strange to date a woman who doesn't need to be seen in the latest
runway  trends  all  the  time.  It's  refreshing.  Molly  dresses  for  herself.
She doesn't need to impress anyone.
Maybe it isn't fair of me to compare Molly to my ex, but there really is
no comparison. They are leagues apart.
"I'm afraid that what you're wearing isn't quite appropriate for where I'd
like to take you. And would you mind very much if we stopped at my
office  quickly  to  check  in  with  my  brother?  Let  him  know  I  haven't
pulled some Joaquin Phoenix stunt on him while I've been
gone?"

"Ooh! Going to the big  man's office? Are you sure they allow lowly
people like me into the building?"
"They would be lucky to have you."
"So I finally get to see you in your natural habitat?"
"Baby," I say, stepping toward her, looping my arms around her waist
and pulling her close to me, "this is my natural habitat. This is where I
belong."
Her  breasts  are  pressed  against  my  chest,  her  breath  becoming  rapid
and heavy. I want to slip my hand up her shirt and feel every inch of
her, drink her in and feel her. But I don't do it.
It  takes  all  of  my  energy  not  to,  but  I  don't.  I  have  more  important
things to do with her first.

22. Molly
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?"
"Is this something you show all the girls?"
His eyes pierce mine, the soft glow of the overhead lights on the high
ceilings illuminating us, the rest of the office dark. "No. It's not. This is
only for you."
We  walk  down  another  hallway  to  a  glass  door  with  nothing  but
darkness behind it. Our reflections stare back at us, and Drew opens the
door, letting the warm, balmy atmosphere in.

"Here, come," he says, stepping over the precipice and offering me his
hand.
"Does this door lead outside?"
"Just come. And let's not keep this door open too long. Sarah will kill
me if our electricity bill goes up because I let a little bit of warm air into
our perfectly temperature-controlled space."
I laugh and step up the one small step outside. We're on a terrace, with
the city laid out before us, just beyond our reach.
"This is breathtaking, Drew."
"I  can't  take  credit  for  this.  This  view  came  with  the  building."  A
180-degree view of the city is before us. I stretch out my arms at my
sides.
"I've done that a million times, babe. You can try, but you won't be able
to touch the other buildings. It's fun to try, though, isn't it?"
He walks over to the ledge of the terrace and puts his elbows on it. A
glittering,  sparkling  dance  of  red  and  green  lights  play  on  the  street
below, and all around us are the lights and sounds of the city.
"This reminds me of when I was in college. Jess and I would go to her
parents' roof and look out at the city. We always wanted a part of it. To
be part of it, not just to have it, but to be it. And I think this is the closest
I've ever been."
"I  could  give  this  to  you,  Molly."  He  keeps  his  distance.  He  leans
against the edge of the terrace and looks me up and down like he did the
first time we met, before I knew him. Before he knew me.
"You could give me the city, Drew? All of it?"
"No. I don't mean that. I mean, I could give you what you want."
"I thought you said that I don't even know what I want."
The  warmth  of  the  air  envelopes  us.  It's  one  of  those  special  nights,
when it feels like the air around you is the exact temperature of your
skin, of your body. Like you're one with the atmosphere, one with the
world around you.
Not just in the world, but part of it.
"I think you do know what you want, but you just haven't admitted it to
yourself yet."
"I'm not sure I follow what you're saying," I respond impatiently.

"I wanted to be a journalist, so I got all the right internships and now I
have the right job to get  my foot in the door. I wanted  to go to grad
school, so I didn't just go to grad school, I went to the best grad school.
I wanted  my own place, so I got it. You've seen it. You've fixed  my
leaky sink, for goodness' sake."
"Wow, you're so full of yourself," Drew says, cocking his head to the
side, grinning. "I thought you were a nice girl from Brooklyn. But you
aren't. You're cut-throat. I like it."
"Come  on,  Drew.  You  know  what  I  mean.  Of  course  I  know  what  I
want. And I have it."
"Why are you here with me, then? What can I offer you?"
He walks toward me, a slight breeze between us rustling my hair. Drew
gathers my hair into his hands and draws it gently at the nape of my
neck.
My body is on fire, the heat in my core growing as he kisses me. He
guides me slowly so I'm standing against the terrace wall.
He kisses my face, my neck. A hand slips up my leg and into my dress,
and as my eyes close and my head tilts back slightly, Drew gathers my
dress and pushes it up so it's pooled around my waist.
I open my eyes and look down at him through fluttering lashes. He's
gentle but firm, like he knows what he's doing, but only wants to do it
for me.
"Is...is anyone else around? What about your brother?"
"He's gone. I saw the light in his office turn off. Just relax."
Relax. That isn't something that comes easily to me.
But  as  my  body  melts  into  pure  bliss,  the  heat  between  my  legs
growing,  I  feel  my  body  become  tense  and  slack  at  the  same  time,
relaxation and danger mixing into a purely delicious combination.
Drew slides my panties to the side and slips a finger past my folds. He
draws my clit into his mouth and works it between his lips, his tongue
sliding over it.
The rhythm he's using feels like a song in my mind. He holds me steady
as my heart beats wildly in my chest, my throat, my ears, between my
legs. The humming in my body grows, threatening to spill over into the
night.

Drew lifts one of my legs up so it's draped over his shoulder at the knee.
His tongue dances over my clit as he keeps pushing his fingers into me.
"God, you're so fucking hot. I need you come all over my mouth."
It' s a dizzying thrill to have his tongue on me, lashing my mind with
the filthy words coming out of his mouth, overtaking my body with the
pleasure he gives me.
He keeps kissing me until a pure white release overcomes my body, the
dark sky of the night colliding with the silence bursting from within
me. I hold onto him and struggle to stifle my moans, and he gives me
everything he has within him.

23. Drew
"You've been to the pier, right?"
The pier is the place where lots of guys bring dates. There are all kinds
of fun activities. The inky black sky is dotted with stars - it's the kind of
sky you don't see often in the city. It's the kind of sky that you usually
only see in the country, away from  the city's bright lights. Up in the
country, nature isn't competing with the skyscrapers. It gets to be on its
own without having to be overshadowed.
But the city is fun. I love it. And the pier is fun, and what Molly and I
just did back at my office was fun.
I'  m  watching  her  ass  move  in  her  little  black  dress,  but  she  would
honestly look just as fucking good in pair of old overalls. Or what about
one  of  my  white  button-down  collared  shirts  on  a  Saturday  morning
when she wakes up at my apartment for the first time? I'd love that. I
can  imagine  her  sitting  on  the  couch  watching  her  beloved  retro
sitcoms while I make pancakes for her.
"Yeah, I think I've been here," she says, walking ahead of me excitedly.
"I remember that my mom and dad brought me here when I was a kid. I
think  they  had  ice  skating  here.  Or  maybe  it  was  in  Queens.  I  don'  t
really remember."
"That's okay. We'll make lots more fun memories together that I'm sure
you won't forget."
"So where are we going, anyway? Ice skating? Rock climbing? What
else do they have here? Hot dog eating contest?"
"Wrong  borough,  wrong  day.  And  I  don't  want  to  bore  you  with
go-karts or anything like that. I was thinking we would go up."
"Oh! Rock climbing?"
"Higher." I point up and she grabs  my hand excitedly. "Sky diving?"
"Not that high."
I weave  my fingers through hers and start walking toward the water,
where the heliport is located.

"You ever been on a helicopter before?"
"Ohh!"  She  squeals  and  jumps  up  and  down,  clapping  her  adorable
hands together.
"So you do like me," I say.
"My friend had a birthday party where she did a helicopter tour when
we were in junior high. I had the chicken pox so I missed the party."
She turns toward me and puts her arms around my neck. There is still
some hesitation in her touch. I haven't completely captured her mind or
her heart yet.
"Baby, come on. Let's go."
We  walk  to  where  the  helicopters  are  assembled  and  her  bouncy,
natural brown hair whips around in the air. The lights of the heliport
shine on her like a spotlight. I know she doesn't like attention, so I'm
happy we've been  able to connect during a time that the cameras are
focused on some other bastard, despite the chaos going on in my life at
the moment.
I guide her to the helicopter reading Anderson Equities on the side. Eric
and I argued over whose name should go first, so we decided to just
have it say the name of the firm.
"What?"
Molly's  mouth  hangs  open  as  she  turns  to  me  and  points  to  the
helicopter. "I thought we were renting one for a couple of hours. Why's
your name on the side of that thing?"
"It's one of my toys, baby. It's not a big deal."
"Hi, captain," I say to my friend, Toby. He's a guy Eric and I grew up
with, and he always loved flying. I texted him when I left Molly alone
in the reception area of my office and asked him if he wanted to come
to the West Side to help me out for a few hours. He's been a licensed
pilot for years, and I envy the guy.
He's got a wife and two kids. He's the picture of perfect married
bliss.
"I just got my two most important clients into bed, so this was perfect
timing," he says as he reaches out to shake my hand.
"This is my new girlfriend, Molly. Mol, this is Toby. She's  my  most
important client right now. I'm trying to woo her into entering this

deal with me."
Molly flashes  me  a smile, her brown eyes grinning and the hint of a
dimple forming on her left cheek.
"It's nice to meet you, Toby. So, what is it that you do? Are you in real
estate like Drew? Finance? Law?"
"Nah. I'm a middle-school math teacher."
Toby pushes his hair away from his forehead and smiles at my girl. She
cocks her head to the side and looks a little puzzled.
"But...clients? Getting them into bed? Isn't that code for getting them
into some juicy deal? Something secret?"
"Let me rephrase. When I say clients, I mean my kids. I think I work
harder for them than Drew's ever worked for one of his clients."
"Yeah," I add, "and when he says he got them into bed, he means he
literally gave them their dinner and tucked them into bed."
"And here I was, expecting some corporate espionage," Molly
says.
"That what you want, Mol?" I ask, opening the door on the side of the
helicopter for her.
"I don't know, Drew. Do you think I'd be any good at it?"
She slides into the seat and I get in after her, closing the door and giving
a thumbs-up to Toby through the window.
"Actually,  I  do.  I  think  you  have  a  lot  of  business  savvy.  You  know
how to deal with people. You'd have to, if you work at a newspaper."
"I don't know how much longer I'm going to be working there, to be
honest."
"Oh? You finally doing your reevaluation? In my world, we call it an
operational overhaul."
"Yeah. Something like that."
Something in her voice changes.
"Hey. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it," I say.
"It's  not  your  fault.  It's  just  that  I'm  not  so  sure  I  want  to  work  at  a
newspaper anymore. I guess you actually helped me to figure that out."
"If that's the case, then I'm glad I could help."
"You're just different from any guy I've dated before, Drew. You know
that. Look at me."

The helicopter's propellers speed up and we lift off the ground. It's still
my favorite part. I've been in the copter so many times, and I've even
driven it a few times. But the take-off, the moment when you leave the
earth and ascend to a new height, is always still the most exciting part.
I grab Molly's hand and squeeze it tight.
"I  highly  doubt  that  I'm  very  different  than  the  guys  you've  dated
before.  Let  me  guess  the  profile  of  the  guys  you've  dated.  I  already
know  you  love  nerds,  so  the  guys  all  have  glasses.  I  wear  contacts,
myself, so that's not much of a departure for you."
"Okay, yes. I like a guy in a cute pair of specs."
"And the guys you've dated are driven but sometimes a little confused."
"But that's not you, Drew. Maybe that's the guys I've dated, but that's
how you differ from them."
She looks away from me and casts her gaze out the window at the lights
below us quickly falling away.
"What were the other guys confused about?"
I see her chest rise and fall in a wistful sigh.
"Me."
She turns her attention to me and slumps down in her seat, her eyes cast
into her lap. She picks at her nails nervously.
"That's not possible. No guy could ever be confused about you."
"My ex. He was. He said he wanted to move to California. So he did.
And if he really wanted to be with me, he could have stayed."
"I'm sorry, Molly. I had no idea. But that guy is a piece of crap."
"He's just a little bit immature. He went to California because he didn' t
like New York weather anymore."
"To be honest, I can see his point."
Her  expression  softens  and  she  looks  at  me  with  sympathy.  It's  as
though  she's  comforting  me,  somehow.  But  I  should  be  the  one
comforting her.
"I don't know," Molly says. "That's part of what I like about New York.
The  weather.  It  can  be  unpredictable.  I  love  it."  "That  makes  sense
coming from you."

She turns to look out the window again and nestles back into my
chest.
"What do you mean?"
"You're  a  planner.  You  like  order.  If  you  find  something  you  can't
control, then you like it to be a little wild. There's no way you're going
to  be  able  to  harness  the  weather,  babe,  so  you  like  that  it's  out  of
control."
"Look at us, talking about the weather. I don't know if this feels like a
first date or a thousandth date."
"It doesn't matter. And don't try to change the subject."
She tenses up in my arms, but I slip my hands onto her shoulders and
she relaxes a little.
"Maybe you're right. I do like things to be just-so."
"You've got everything, babe. Just take a breather. You don't have to
figure  everything  out  right  this  second.  Just  breathe  and  think  about
what you want to do next."
"That might already be determined for me, you know. I saw some guys
in the building. My neighbor, Mrs. M., said she thinks they want to buy
the building. You don't know anything about that, do you?"
So she does know. I'm disappointed. I don't want her to be hurt, and I
know moving would be a huge pain in the ass for her. But even if Lee
gave a good price to Rich, I'm sure he won't want to sell.
"Actually, yeah. Just between us, I saw the guys in the building and I
happen  to  know  them.  It's  the  firm  that  Eric  and  I  have  this  stupid
dispute with right now. But I don't think you have anything to worry
about. I know the owner, and I don't think he wants to sell."
"I hope not. A lot of the people in the building have memories there. It
would be a shame to see the building made into something else."
I pull her in close me to. We're high above the city now, and moving
East, over the ocean.
"Let me take you away, Molly. Let' s go across the pond. You ever been
to London?"
"Nope. Never been to Europe."
"You want to go?" I ask, pulling her closer.
"I've always wanted to. I hear that London is a lot like New York."

"It's  true.  But  even  older,  if  you  can  believe  there's  any  place  that's
older and has more history than New York.
"There's  lots  of  places  older  than  New  York.  Ever  hear  of  the
pyramids? The cloisters? The colosseum?" she asks. "I guess I'm just
nostalgic for the place I love."
I  wrap  my  arms  around  her  more  firmly.  She's  soft  and  fits  me
perfectly.
"You really mean it about wanting to take me away from it all?" she
asks, reaching back and touching my face.
I lean down to kiss her plush, pink lips, high above the city. "Yeah. I
really mean it."

24. Molly
"Get in the car," Drew commands, honking the horn of his Mustang as
he pulls up in front of my building.
It's Friday afternoon, and he's taking me upstate to his mom's house.
It's not like  me to  meet a guy's  mom so soon. Drew and I have only
been dating for a week.
Shit. When did we start dating? Was it the first time he knocked on the
door of my apartment, pretending to be someone else, and he brashly
told me I was his new girlfriend?
Was he even pretending? Or did he really become a guy who works in a
low-key building out in the boroughs?
The ride to his mom's house is beautiful. He has the windows down and
the radio loud and the soft breeze of the late afternoon whips my hair
around my shoulder, kissing my neck.
When  we  get  to  the  house,  he  parks  the  car  in  the  narrow  gravel
driveway.
I' m a little bit surprised by the condition of the house. It's older than I
imagined, and it's a little rough around the edges.
A very chic older woman comes to the front door and waves to us.
"Hello!  Finally,  you  made  it!  I've  been  waiting  for  you  since  last
weekend."
"Mom, you've got to stop being so obsessed with me."
Drew bounds up the stairs to the door and embraces his mom in a big
hug. I can  see the family resemblance, but  his  mom looks a little bit
more like Eric than she does like Drew. His mom and Eric are a little bit
more petite, and Drew is more muscular and built.
"Molly?"  His  mom  puts  out  both  of  her  arms  to  me,  as  though  she's
been waiting to meet me for more than just a few days.
"Hi! Mrs. Anderson, I am very happy to meet you."
Drew's mom embraces me and rocks me from side to side a few times,
like she's just been reunited with a long-lost child. She smells of

mint and garlic, and I can smell a red sauce cooking in the house.
The three of us enter, Drew holding the door for me and his mom.
"Okay. I' m getting to work. Let the man do his thing. You two can talk
about manicures, or whatever it is that girls talk about."
"Drew promised to help me fix up the house a little bit," Mrs. Anderson
explains. "I've lived here by myself for so long, and I have a neighbor
who helps me out with little odds and ends, but Drew is going to fix a
few things before I put the house on the market."
"You already know this, but I do have to agree that your son is very
handy," I say, sitting down on the couch with Mrs. Anderson, taking in
the home.
It' s very different from the house I grew up in. Growing up, my family
lived in a rent-controlled unit in a large elevator building.
Instead  of  a  breeze  coming  through  the  front  door  and  whipping
through  the  house,  bringing  with  it  the  scent  of  soil  and  freshly  cut
grass, we had the smells of the city.
Our  home  was  filled  with  mementos  and  tchotchkes  and  souvenirs.
Mrs. Anderson's home is filled with all of the memories she kept with
her  through  her  life  -  the  boys'  football  trophies  are  displayed  in  a
China cabinet in the living room, along with a collection of snowglobes
she has lined up beside them.
Small things make up this space, and so much goodness is wrapped up
in all of it.
Even though it' s the first time I' m visiting, I feel a little sad to know
that she's selling it.
"Handy?"  Drew  interrupts  my  daydream.  "You  called  me  handy  in
front of my mom? Wow, you really will say anything, won't you?"
"Don't pay any attention to him," Mrs. Anderson says, getting up and
disappearing into another room. "Coffee or tea for you, Molly?"
"Whatever you' re having," I call after her.
"So, what do you think of the place?" Drew says, plopping down in a
chair next to the couch.
"What, did you build it, or something?"
"No. Hardly. This place is old. Older than me."
"Well, I like it just the same."

"It's a shame she wants to sell." "Why did she never move to the city?"
Mrs. Anderson pads back into the room with a tray of tea cups and a
pretty floral China teapot.
"Never liked the city," she says. "Too many people. It gets too lonely."
"I always wanted her to come, but she stayed up here, instead," Drew
says, pouring hot water into each of the teacups.
"But I have two good boys. They always came up to visit their  ma,"
Mrs. Anderson says, looking at her oldest son lovingly.
"This  is  the  attic,  in  case  you  couldn't  tell.  I  just  want  to  grab  a  few
things."
After a wonderful dinner of baked ziti, homemade by Mrs. Anderson,
Drew shows me the house and the grounds.
The  house  sits  on  50  acres  of  property,  with  its  nearest  neighboring
home a quarter of a mile away. Drew is optimistic that the home will
sell fast, and for a good price, after he makes some minor upgrades to it
and corrects some of the issues a home that old would inevitably face.
"You ever sneak girls up here?" I ask, walking around the nearly empty
room.
"Actually,  no.  You'd  think  I  would  have,  because  I'm  such  a  player,
right?"
Drew sits down on a couch against one of the attic walls and pats the
seat next to him.
"I have to say that is the reputation you have, Drew Anderson."
"What's a reputation?" he asks, grabbing a football from a box next to
the couch. "It's just what other people perceive about you. But let me
ask you something, Molly." He tosses the ball back into the box and
turns to face me. "What is it that you perceive? Forget my reputation."
There  are  no  lights  on  in  the  attic,  but  the  bright  moonlight  shines
through a window and illuminates Drew's face in its glow. He looks as
good as he always does, but seeing him in this place throws him into a
new light.
He's infuriatingly hot. I definitely perceive that about him.

"I perceive that you know what you want."
He slips a finger under the strap of my tank top, and presses it against
my shoulder, slowly slipping the strap down.
"That's not a matter of reputation, baby. That's something you've been
able to observe about me, isn't it?"
My breath catches in my throat.
"It's both."
"What else?"
His  lips  come  down  upon  my  shoulder  and  place  a  few  light  kisses
upon it.
"I perceive that you aren't afraid to go after what you want."
He pulls me into his lap and I straddle him, his erection pressing against
me.  His  lips  engulf  mine,  his  mouth  hungrily  searching  mine,  his
tongue sweeping past my parted lips.
An  impossible  rush  of  heat  and  light  invade  me,  my  mind  spinning,
searching for answers.
I don' t even know what the questions are
Because  all  I  know  now  is  that  being  with  Drew  just  feels  right.  He
makes me feel giddy and excited and safe and protected all at once.
He scoops my ass up with both hands and scoots me forward on his
lap.
"Is this alright?" he asks, his voice in a low growl. "Yeah. More than
alright."
He undoes the buckle of my belt and slowly unzips and unbuttons my
jeans, slipping a hand into my panties.
I' m already aching for him. Feeling him against me, even though we
are both clothed, makes me feel dizzy with desire.
He  grasps  at  his  jeans  and  undoes  them.  He  gently  guides  me  away
from him and slips my pants down to my ankles, and in response, I kick
them off my legs and onto the floor. He slips my panties off and they
land on the heap of clothing.
He pulls me back into his lap and slips his hand into the pocket of his
jacket, draped over the couch.
He takes out a condom, along with a small wooden box.
"Hey, what is that?"

"Come on. You've seen a condom before. I know you have," he says,
with his signature Drew Anderson smile and sarcasm.
"Not that, Drew. This." I take the box from him and run my hands over
the smooth wood. "What is this?"
"That?" He scratches the side of his face and puts a palm on his cheek,
looking down at the box. "That's just a little something I made in high
school. It's nothing."
"I  guess  you  really  are  handy,  then.  The  work  on  this  is  beautiful.  I
didn' t know you were a carpenter."
"Just a hobbyist. I gave it to mom back when I made it. She kept my
medals in it. But she gave it to me when she decided to move. That's
why the attic is empty. I've already hauled a lot of junk out of here."
"This is not junk. This is lovely." I look into his his eyes. The moon
outside the window has moved, illuminating now his chest, his perfect
washboard  abs  on  display,  his  strong  arms  holding  me  in  the
moonlight. "Everything here is lovely. You helped build it."
"I tried. I tried to be there for mom after the divorce. But I wanted to
prove something to my father. To myself."
"So you made it your singular mission to make something of yourself,
huh?"
I open the box.  It's finished on the inside with dark  red velvet and a
simple gold clasp.
"Yeah. I guess I did. But it's all bullshit. I guess I never realized that
when you make something of yourself, everyone wants a piece of you."
He  draws  in  his  breath  sharply  and  then  exhales.  "But  not  you.  You
never wanted a piece of me."
Everything seems to come into sharp focus, even in the dull blur of the
moonlight.
"You're right, Drew. I didn't want a piece of you. Just like I didn't want
a piece of the city. I wanted all of it."
Drew takes the box from me and slips it back into his pocket. He tears
the gold condom wrapper and slips the shield onto himself, gliding it all
way down to the base in one quick motion.
He guides my body down onto his, slowly, until he's all the way inside
me, before he starts to rock his hips against mine.

My breasts hang free against his chest, our bodies moving together to
the rhythm he sets. With each rock of his hips, my hair swings against
his shoulders, his hands grasping at me and gliding along each inch of
my body.
It all feels so right.
He was right about everything. He was right about what I wanted, and
he helped push me toward realizing it.
I speed up to match his tempo, and our bodies move in unison, his thick
cock sliding in and out of me, rocking me to the core.
"I want you to come, Molly. You look so fucking beautiful right now."
His body crashes with mine, his cock expanding inside of me. The heat
within me radiates out from my core, into my limbs, my fingertips, the
fire between us invading my body.
I feel a crest of pleasure overcoming me as the dark room goes white
behind my eyes, Drew's breath fast upon my lips, our hearts racing
toward the finish line.
I lean back and moan as pure pleasure overtakes my body.
"Come for me, Molly. I need you."
His hands cup my breasts as he moves inside me, pulling every last
ounce of pleasure from my flesh.

25. Molly
"Good job with those summaries."
Natasha sits down in the empty chair next to me and slides over to my
workspace. It isn't yet 9:00, and the editorial assistant who sits next to
me, Ashley, isn't in yet.
"Thank you! Yeah, I tried. You were right, with the first line being a
good way to summarize."
"But you went above and beyond. You didn't just grab the first line in
the articles. You put a little bit of extra thought and effort into it."
She glides back over to the neighboring workspace and gets up, sliding
the chair back into position.
"Thank you! "
It'  s  true.  I  did  put  a  little  bit  of  extra  effort  into  summarizing  the
articles.  Even  when  I  realized  that  many  of  the  assistants  around  me
seemed  to  be  texting  with  their  phones  hidden  under  their  desks,  I
carefully perused each article assigned to me.
And it isn't just because I was looking for Drew's name.
Okay, maybe that was part of it, but it isn't the whole story.
"We have our eye on you, Molly. Excellent first week here. And I'm
sure you'll be moving up soon, if that's what you want."
Natasha smiles and goes back to her desk.
Is that still what I want? It would be a very simple trajectory, and I can
see myself on it already. Editorial assistant, then editor for a few years,
then executive editor.
I' m on a good path, a sure path, a path that is predictable and sets me up
for success. And all I have to do is make sure nothing gets in my way.
Too bad that's already happened, and it's too bad that Drew has thrown
my whole world into disarray.
The stupid leaky sink. If it wasn't for old plumbing, we never would
have met again, and my life would still be perfect. I'd still know what I
want. I' d still be excited about my job.

But now, I' m not sure what I want.
I can' t stop thinking about him, even now more than ever. About his
hands, his body, his lips caressing mine.
The rooftop terrace he brought me to was like a fantasy. The helicopter
rider - in his helicopter! - was like a dream. It represented everything
I've ever wanted, all in that moment. All of the wishing and hoping and
planning and making sure everything was always just right  -the right
schools, the right internships - nothing could have made me believe I
would be that close to it all, in such close proximity, breathing it all in
and seeing it all up close.
I finally feel like I haven't just made it to the city, but that I am actually
part  of  something  bigger  than  myself.  And  I  realize  it  was  what  I've
always  wanted.  That's  what  Drew  was  asking  when  he  asked  what  I
really wanted.
And  of  course,  I'm  afraid  now,  more  than  ever,  that  it  will  be  taken
away from me.
Drew Anderson, self-made billionaire real estate mogul, master of all
trades, and infamous playboy. And now I'm his.
But it's not like I accomplished this status on my own. It's not like when
I put in the hard work to land a dream job. Drew is someone I never
would have gone for before getting to know him.
And because he just fell into my lap by pure luck and chance, because I
didn't have to work hard to earn him, I'm afraid he'll be taken away.
To  make  matters  even  more  confounding,  visiting  his  mom's  house
with him has made me see him in a different way.
Drew worked for everything he has. He's secure in the fact that it can't
just be taken away. He has his name written all over his buildings, his
deals,  his  fingerprint  on  the  sleek  interiors  he's  designed,  his  DNA
encoded in the makeup of his company.
I don' t have that.
And when I woke up this morning, I was waking up from more than
just one dream.
It's still before 9:00, and the work day hasn't technically started yet, so I
decide to check out the front page of the paper online.

Call it research. I do work for a newspaper, after all.
I click on the gossip page. This part feels a little bit like cheating, but I
want to see if there is anything about Drew online.
Even  though  he's  been  laying  low,  I  know  there  is  certainly  the
possibility that his case will be reported on. Maybe I'll find something
about his brother.
Oh, shoot.
There she is, with the other guy.
It'  s  Clarissa  with  the  very  same  guy  I  caught  her  with  while  I  was
shopping a few days ago.
And the headline isn't kind, either. Heiress Sneaks Out With New Man
The article is even worse. It describes Drew as a work-obsessed guy
who neglected his fiancee. It quotes a source who claims to be close to
Clarissa.  The  article  doesn't  mention  that  Clarissa  broke  off  the
engagement with Drew to be with her ex, Robert Crandall. It just states
that she has a new man, and shows a picture of her with this other guy,
who I know to not be Robert.
One thing is clear - if anyone who knows Drew and the situation with
Clarissa  sees  the  story,  they'll  know  Clarissa  is  messing  around  with
two different guys right now.
This is the story I had a few days ago, the one I kept to myself for fear
of  embarrassing  Drew.  This  is  the  story  I  knew  would  look  bad  for
everyone involved - not just Clarissa, but Drew, too.
I take out my phone and text him to ask if he's looked at the news this
morning.
He texts me back quickly.
Haven't seen it yet, about to go into meeting. Sorry, talk later babe.  I
want to tell him, but I don't want to distract him.

26. Drew
I  have  an  important  meeting  upstate  today.  After  Molly  texted  me,  I
checked out the tabloids. It's not right, what they're doing to  me and
Clarissa. Even though what she's doing is wrong, she doesn't deserve to
have her name dragged through the mud like this.
Let what she did be between me, her, and whoever else she's with.
Don't  get  me  wrong.  I  love  being  in  the  spotlight  sometimes.  The
media's been good to me. They've propelled my reputation. They're the
ones  I  have  to  thank  for  women  throwing  themselves  at  me  and
whispering to me about my big dick before I even have to.
That's been the beauty of this whole wild ride. When you're just some
guy, you have to work to get women. When you're a guy like me, the
women work for you.
That's why Molly's different, and it's why I like her. And it's just one
small part of why I love her.
The meeting's at my mom's house. I've called her to broker a meeting
between myself and an important mover in the real estate scene right
now.
"Rich!" I swing the rickety door to my mom's place open and he gets up
from the table with his hot tea.
"Hello, Drew. It's so very good to see you again."
Mom wipes her hands on her apron as she comes into the foyer through
the kitchen.
"I'm just pouring tea. How's my favorite son?"
"I promise I won't tell Eric you said that," I say, embracing my mom in
a tender hug.
"Wait, he isn't here?" Rich smiles and pats me on the back.
"Very nice. I see how it is."
The three of us make our way to the kitchen table. It stings a little bit to
know  that  the  house  will  be  sold  soon,  but  I  don't  have  time  to
reminisce today. I'm here on business.
"So, how've you liked being a super, Drew?"

He  has  no  idea  what  his  question  means.  He  probably  assumes  I've
been changing light bulbs for little old ladies, maybe saving a cat from
a tree.
"Let's just say it's reminded me of what I've been missing."
"Oh?" Mom asks. "I thought you loved living in Manhattan."
"I do. Don't get me wrong. But staying away from all the craziness is
just what I needed for a little while."
"Well, I guess you'll be happy to know that my regular guy is coming
back on Monday."
A little pit forms in my stomach. I knew the gig was temporary, but I'm
sad I'll have to leave. I was starting to like living in Brooklyn.
"That's no problem," I say coolly. "I'm going to get a room at the Motor
Inn nearby. I'm still not ready to go back to my and Eric's place."
"I have a vacant unit there, Drew, if you'd like to stay there a few more
days. It's on the market right now, but I haven't had any interest
yet."
I take a sip of my hot Earl Grey tea with extra cinnamon, just the way
my mom' s always made it.
"You have a broker? Advertising?"
"Not really. My regular super knows it's available, and I do have an ad
running in the paper right now."
"I have to tell you, Rich, that I haven't seen anyone come by looking for
an apartment. You want me to get the word out?"
"It's okay. I don't really care if it sits empty."
I take a sharp breath and cross one leg over the other, resting an ankle
on my knee. It's a power move, but then I remember that I'm not dealing
with  a  cut-throat  investor  here.  I'm  dealing  with  my  mom's  friend.  I
plant both feet firmly on the floor and lean forward a little, letting the
sweet aroma of the tea fill my nose.
"I  have  seen  some  people  coming  around  the  building,  though.  Not
people looking for an apartment. Investors. Have you been approached
about selling?"
"Yeah. As a matter of fact, I have."
I swallow hard. Shit.
"And?"

"I'm seriously considering it, to be honest. I'm getting too old to be able
to  keep  up  the  building.  My  super  is  good,  and  I  have  a  good
handyman, but I just can't keep tabs on the building for much longer.
It's getting to be a little bit too much for the old man to handle."
"I see."
"I'm thinking about selling and then retiring in Florida. I can't go back
and forth between the city and here  anymore. It's too  much."  "So  do
you have any real offers?"
I  clench  my  fists  in  my  hands  and  think  about  Lee  and  his  asshole
assessors  going  into  the  building  and  destroying  what  Rich  has  built
over  the  years.  Disrupting  Molly's  life  and  the  life  of  her  neighbors.
Making the building into a spot for rich assholes like me to park their
money.
"I do have an offer. And I'm going to take it. It's the first time I've really
ever entertained the idea. But I want to do it."
He looks over at Mom. She has her hands in her lap, and her apron is
covered  with  flour  and  rust.  I  can  see  that  she's  been  working  in  the
house, and she seems anxious to leave.
"It's  my time," Rich says, looking back at  me. For the first time, I'm
seeing the lines in his forehead, the white of his hair.
"What if you had another offer?" I ask, putting my cup down loudly
into the saucer.
"I don't have time to compare bids. I don't want to go through all the
trouble of talking to more than one company. It's too much."
"You're doing the right thing," my mom says, putting a hand over his.
"You  have  to  do  what's  right  for  you.  You've  held  out  long  enough.
Really. It's okay."
"I can't say I'm happy with what they want to do with the building, and
if I had someone come by who promised to keep it as a residence for
families, I would sell to them. But no one is interested in that. They just
want to buy it, flip it, make a profit and then unload it on the next buyer.
No one wants anything long-term anymore. Everything's fast these
days."
"I  think  I  know  a  buyer  who  would  be  interested  in  keeping  the
building as it is now, Rich." I unfurl my fingers and relax them on the
table. It's a gamble, but I want him to be interested.

"Really? Even if they say that, there's no guarantees." "Whatever Lee is
offering you, I'll double it." My mom' s mouth goes slack and she looks
at me with surprised, wide eyes.
"Drew? You're the buyer?"
"Yeah. Look. I can't say I'm not being selfish here. The truth is that I
met a girl who lives in your building, Rich. And I've gotten to know
her. And the building. And there's life there. And I want to buy it, and
continue what you've started."
"Drew, you don't have to do that. I appreciate it, but it's too much.
You've already done me this huge favor by looking after the building."
"Letting me purchase it from you would be an honor, Rich. Really. It' s
what I want."
My mom is tearing up and wiping her eyes on her apron.
"Mom, don't do that. You're going to get all that crap in your eyes."
"Sweetheart, I can't help it."
"I need to get back to the office to have some contracts drawn up. Rich,
just tell me how much Lee was going to give you for the building. It' s
not worth that. It' s worth double. More than double."

27. Drew
"We get the good bagels again?" I ask.
"No. Fuck 'em. They don't deserve the good bagels," Sarah responds.
When she's done putting out a pot of hot coffee for Lee and the others,
she takes a seat at the head of the conference room table.
"You really think this is going to work?" she asks, playing around with
the projector she has set up in the middle of the table, hooked up to her
laptop.
"It's going to have to. I know how their firm works, because it's how my
firm works. It's how all of the players in this space work"
"Just don't let your brother hear you call Anderson Equities your firm.
You' re going to have a bigger problem on your hands if he hears that
kind of thing come out of your mouth."
"Don't worry about him. He's too busy being paranoid to even notice if
I hang a portrait of my face in the lobby and don't put his picture up
next to it."
"You're right. Too busy looking down at his phone."
I  pulled  some  of  the  plans  Lee's  firm  filed  with  the  Department  of
Buildings, along with financial statements that were publicly filed with
the  state  last  year.  It  should  have  been  the  first  thing  I  did,  but  my
arrogance got the best of me, and with all the cases O 'Malley's had in
the pipeline, he hasn't had a chance to make much headway yet.
That's fine. I'm the one who likes a tight timeline.
My research revealed that not only did Lee's firm  already think they
were  going  to  be  able  to  acquire  Rich's  building  without  even  the
slightest of a fight, they had a large portion of their liquid capital tied up
in the Limited Liability Corporation they'd set up to fund the alterations
to the building, the buyouts, and the contracts.
I guess they didn't think Rich would put up as much of a fight as he
did.
And now that the contracts between Rich and me have been signed

and  sealed,  Lee  and  his  firm  are  going  to  have  to  find  a  different
multi-family building to put their capital into. I guess next time they
won't over leverage their assets, if they're smart.
He could drag it on and on, but now that I know he has so much money
tied up in Rich's building, any threats he makes to take this to court will
be a bluff. I know it, and I'm going to let him know that I know it by
showing him the gorgeous plans I worked on all morning drafting in
CAD and creating quick renderings on for Rich's building.
I guess it's technically  my building now, but I'm going to put a little
plaque on it, honoring Rich. Maybe add a palm tree to the plaque. The
last I talked to him, he was planning to buy a little place of his own on
the intercoastal.
It's really a win-win for everyone. A compromise. That's a new word to
me.
But Molly, the person who's the most important to me, is really the one
who's going to come out ahead. She shouldn't have to compromise. Not
for me, and not for anyone.
There's  no  way  Lee  isn't  going  to  drop  his  suit  against  Anderson
Equities. All of the capital they were going to use against us is tied up
in Rich's building. There's no way out of this one for them.
But I' ll do the right thing. I' m not going to totally fuck Lee over. He's a
good guy. He's just too cocky for his own good.
To  make  the  deal  sweeter  for  everyone,  I'm  going  to  give  his  firm  a
little bonus to drop the lawsuit he has with Anderson Equities. They'd
do it anyway, because they have no liquidity without Rich, but let's just
call it a little incentive between friendly adversaries.
"Shit. They're coming."
Sarah scrambles up and adjusts the projector so it flashes against the
white dry-erase board on the wall of the conference room.
"How do you know they're coming, Sarah?"
"I have psychic powers." She stares at me and blinks. "Freaking Eric
sent me an instant message on my laptop. Get it together, man! "
She runs out of the room and hustles down the hallway to the reception
area. It's amazing how she can walk so fast in those heels. It's just one
of her many superpowers.

I  hear  her  tone  change  sweetly  when  she  greets  the  men  and  ushers
them into the small conference room to sweat them out a little.
But today, I don't want to play games. I'm ready for them. I don't have
to keep them waiting to show that I'm too important or too busy to meet
with them right away.
"Sarah, bring them in, please," I say as she makes her way back to me,
turning  on  a  dime  when  she  hears  my  words  and  shuffling  back  to
them.
"Wait,"  I  call  after  her.  She  spins  around  again  to  face  me  from  the
middle of the hallway.
"Are you freaking kidding me?" she huffs. "You want them to wait, or
not?"
"No.  I  don't  want  them  to  wait.  But  why  don't  you  go  into  the
conference room and sit down and make sure that the presentation is
ready? I'll get the boys."
Sarah gives me two thumbs up and smiles.
"Wow. You're your own assistant now? You think Molly will be okay
with dating an assistant to some rich guy, or is she going to hold out for
an actual rich guy?"
"Won't matter to her," I say with a smile as I walk past her through the
hall and to where Lee and the guys are sitting.
I open the door and the men stand up.
"Very nice for all of you to come by on such short notice."
"Ready  to  compromise?"  Lee  asks,  reaching  out  his  hand  for  me  to
shake.
"Something like that." I hover by the door and gaze at the men. For so
long, we were so alike. It's all posturing and fighting with numbers in
this  business.  It's  all  on  paper.  Ephemeral.  There's  nothing  physical.
Nothing real. "I want to show you all something."
I  stride  back  to  the  large  conference  room,  where  Sarah  has  our
presentation open and Eric and O'Malley are just taking their seats.
They both look scared shitless. Eric, especially, but that seems to be his
default setting these days.
"Gentlemen, please sit down," Sarah says, gesturing to the empty seats
around the table.

"Coffee, anyone?" I ask, making my way to the corner of the room and
pouring two cups for me and Sarah.
"What's going on, here?" Lee asks quizzically, putting his attache case
down  on  the  table  in  front  of  him  and  easing  himself  into  his  chair
slowly.
"We have a little bit of a presentation for you all today," I say, sliding
into the chair next to Sarah. "Would you like to kick it off, S?"
"It would be my pleasure," she says, standing up and sliding her laptop
in front of her. An image of Rich's building appears on the whiteboard.
"Anderson  Equities  has  identified  an  opportunity  to  purchase  a
residential, multi-family building in Brooklyn."
"What  the  hell  is  this?"  Lee  asks,  pointing  to  the  picture.  "Are  you
trying to screw us over intentionally?"
"May I finish?" Sarah asks, with a cool smile. "As I was saying. The
former owner of this lovely building has had many chances to sell."
She  taps  a  key  on  her  laptop  and  the  next  slide  appears  -  it's  an  old,
faded picture of Rich.
"In  the  late  1990s,  during  one  of  New  York's  real  estate  booms,  the
previous owner, Richard Sender, received multiple offers a month to
purchase the building. But he didn't want to sell. No, instead, he wanted
to hold the property so he would have a steady income, and because he
liked working in the building. He was the original Superintendent, and
he loved forging connections with the tenants. Getting to know them.
Working with his hands. Building something."
She taps her laptop again and another slide appears, this one a picture
of Molly and Mrs. Martinez.
"These  are  just  two  of  the  current  tenants  in  the  building.  The  older
woman, on the left, has lived in the building since the 1970s. She raised
her  kids  there.  And  the  young  woman  who  you  see  on  the  right  is  a
Brooklyn native who is just starting to plant roots of her own."
"We have a lot of plans for the building." She taps the keyboard a few
times, flashing pictures of the renderings I've created: pictures of the
interior and exterior, new finishes and a small garden outside.
"What the hell?" Lee asks. "We had a lot of interest in that

building."
"Look," I say, getting up from my seat. Sarah sits down beside me and
folds her hands on the table in front of her. I flash O'Malley and my
brother a quick look. O'Malley nods. He thinks I'm doing okay.
Not bad for a non-lawyer guy, I guess.
"The owner wasn't  interested in selling it to a firm that was going to
change it too much. He loves the neighborhood. And just because he
can't be as involved with it as he used to be, he still cares what happens
to  it.  And  I  promised  him  I'  m  going  to  keep  it  in  the  same  good
condition he left it in."
Lee and his men turn their backs to me and whisper to each other. I can
see  that  they  know  they're  screwed,  but  of  course,  like  any  good
businessman, none of them wants to be the first to admit it.
"Look," I say again, walking over to the corner of the room to flip the
lightswitch back on. "I don't want to totally leave you guys in the lurch.
Which  is  why  I've  decided  to  compromise  by  giving  you  a  little
incentive to walk away from the deal your firm is currently suing me
over."
"Suing us over!" Eric calls out.
"Excuse my brother. He's the only person I know who gets FOMO over
things  like  getting  sued  up  the  ass."  "What  kind  of  incentive?"  Lee
asks.
Bingo. Got 'em. The first sign of wavering is always the first sign I' ve
done something right in business.
"Why don't I draw up the contracts and send them over to you
boys."
Lee gets up and grabs his attache case. The other men remain silent as
they make their way to the door.
I guess they listen when their attorney tells them not to get involved.
I guess that's just one thing I don't have in common with them. "Drew,"
Lee says as he turns back to me. "The renderings look really good."
He turns again to leave and everyone remaining in the room lets out a
collective exhale.

"Holy shit! " Eric says, pumping his arms in the air. "We fucking
did it! "
"We did do it," Sarah says, taking a sip of her coffee and smiling. "And
guess what? I have some of the good bagels for us to celebrate with.
They're just for us."
"Those other guys don't appreciate the good bagels," I say, flopping
down into my chair. I can't wait to tell Molly the good news.
I take out my phone to text her, and of course I have about ten texts
from Clarissa.

28. Molly
I  summarize  ten  articles,  have  three  cups  of  coffee,  place  four  very
important  phone  calls,  and  have  two  very  big  blisters  on  my  feet  by
lunch time, but I only have one text from Drew.
I thought the real estate guy was supposed to be the numbers guy. I'm
the journalist. I'm not good with numbers. He's good with numbers.
But aside from the one text from Drew telling me that he can talk now
because  his  meeting  is  over,  I  also  have  one  colossal headache  from
sneaking  looks  at anything  about  Clarissa  that  the  paper  has  deemed
newsworthy.
I'  m  growing  more  and  more  annoyed  at  myself  by  the  second.  Is  it
right  to  pry  into  people's  personal  business,  even  if  they  are  in  the
public eye? Even if they do have some claim to fame? After all, that's
what fame is, isn't it? It's when everyone knows you and no one knows
you.
But what the hell did Clarissa ever do to become famous? She's just a
gorgeous  girl  with  a  famous  dad.  And  I  mean  that  in  the  nicest  way
possible.  She  doesn't  deserve  to  have  the  papers  and  blogs  writing
about her constantly.
All  of  the  doubts  I've  had  recently  about  my  choice  of  career  come
crashing down on me like  a ton of bricks. The direction the paper is
going in isn't what I envisioned for myself.
I grab my phone and my purse and kick my heels under my desk. I slip
my feet into my flats and tell Natasha that I'm going out to lunch.
I take a cab over to Drew's office. It isn't far, and I get there in just a few
minutes. I can feel that something strange is going on with him, and I
want to talk to him in person. I want to tell him what I've decided.

29. Drew
Clarissa is standing in the lobby of my building. I want to dodge right
past her, but it doesn't seem like the right thing to do.
But I know she won't stop blowing up my phone with texts until I come
down to see her.
"I just wanted to talk," she says as I approach her. "You wanted to talk?
And you needed me for that? There are millions of people in this city,
Clarissa. You could have talked to any one of them."
"I wanted to talk to you, okay?"
"Right.  Now  you  want  to  talk  to  me.  What  about  one  of  your  other
boyfriends? I know of at least two."
She puffs her cheeks out and exhales sharply. "It isn't going to work out
with them."
"So  you  admit  there  was  more  than  one  guy  in  the  picture?  What,
Robert wasn't enough for you? You needed to add another asshole guy
to the mix?"
"No. I don't admit that. God, Drew, you think you know everything."
"So you are saying there wasn't yet another guy you were dating?" "No.
I'm not saying that. I'm just saying that..." Her voice is small and meek.
This woman drove me crazy, made me feel like I had an obligation to
her. I was relieved when she broke off the engagement, in a way. I was
angry, of course, that she had gone back to her piece-of-shit ex, but I
had bigger things to deal with. This is just so much petty nonsense, and
I don't want to get wrapped up in it again. But I don' t want to see her in
pain,  either.  She  isn't  a  bad  person.  Just  confused,  immature,  and
dramatic. "Come on. It's okay." I soften my tone. She must really be a
mess  if  she's  coming  to  me  instead  of  any  of  the  girls  in  her  social
circle.
Clarissa  always  had  a  lot  of  friends.  Her  level  of  beauty  and  wealth
always attracted people.

"What's going on, C?"
"Oh, God. I'm sorry that I'm coming to you like this." "Just spill. You're
already here. Tell me what's going on." "Oh, God. It's horrible."
She takes a tissue out of her oversized tote bag and sits down on the
edge of the large fountain in the middle of the lobby. I sit down next to
her, careful to give her space.
I don' t want there to be any confusion about our relationship. I am just
here for her as a friend.
"What is so horrible?"
She blots her eyes and blows her nose loudly into the tissue. "Well, you
know how I was with Robert?" "Yeah. Thanks for reminding me."
"He left me! And that's not all. Oh, God. It's so embarrassing."
I want to tell her that I' m not at all surprised Robert left her. He had left
her once before, and that type of guy doesn't change.
He's an entitled, rich asshole. That kind of guy never changes.
He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. The chip on his shoulder
developed later.
He wasn't born bad, but he certainly didn't make any attempt to shake
off all the trappings of having everything in life handed to him.
"What else is it, Clarissa?"
"Don't rush me. Can't you see that I'm a mess?"
"Yes, I can see that."
I want to tell her that she brought this all upon herself. That she had a
good thing with me, and that we could have had an acceptable life
together.
I really dodged a bullet with this one.
"I don't appreciate your sarcasm, Drew. For once, can't you just let this
be about me?"
"Don't worry, this is clearly all about you. If you'll allow me to remind
you, you dumped me. Right in the middle of the planning. And right in
the middle of all the bullshit with my firm. I haven't even had a chance
to cancel the reservation for the rehearsal dinner yet."
"You haven't?"

She looks up at me, her green irises bright beneath her tears. A little bit
of mascara is smudged beneath her eyes.
"No. I haven't. Honestly, it's been the last thing on my mind." "Well,
what if...what if the wedding was back on?" "For real? This is why you
came here?"
"No," she says as though she's scolding herself. "No, not at all. But now
with both Robert and Marcus out of the picture, I just didn't know who
else to talk to."
My blood runs cold at Marcus's name. He is a real piece of crap guy. He
grew up with me and Eric upstate. He's some artist type, always trying
to mooch off the next pretty rich girl who'll fall for him, sucked in when
he tells them that he wants to paint them in watercolor and post it on
Instagram.
He doesn't offer anything to anyone. It's all to get girls. He was the guy
at the high school party who would bring his guitar along to play a
ballad for the room and seduce whichever pretty thing happened to be
around. He didn' t care who it was that he seduced, and he always lead
the girls on.
At least with me, they knew I didn't want a relationship. Guys like him
disgust me. "Marcus? Man Bun Marcus?" "No. He got rid of the man
bun."
"Okay, so the artist formerly known as Man Bun Marcus." She laughs,
her eyes lighting up as she wipes away her tears from her cheeks.
"Yes. Man Bun Marcus."
"I don't think it's funny. That man bun was a serious problem." "You
didn't think it was cute?"
"No." I put my hands on my knees and get up. "Please forgive me if I
didn't find that douche bag's man bun adorable."
Clarissa looks around the lobby before resting her eyes on mine.
"Look," I say, rubbing my forehead. "You don't deserve that. You're a
good person. You'll have it all figured out soon enough. What about
being independent? Didn't you say you wanted to be on your own for a
while?"

"Yeah. That's what I really want. I don't want Robert or Marcus or any
of those other guys."
I don't even want to ask what she means by those other guys. Because it
doesn't matter.
Soon, I'll have all of this crap behind me and I'll be able to be with
Molly.
It doesn't even matter that Clarissa broke off the engagement.
Correction: it does matter. I'm thankful for it. And I'm mad for allowing
myself to go so far down that path just because I thought it was the right
thing to do.
I won't allow myself to do that again.
Clarissa leans in to give me a hug. I happily embrace her.
"Maybe we can be friends," I say. "It seems that you are in the habit of
remaining friends with your exes."
"Yeah, and look at how great that turned out," she says sarcastically.
"Look, I have to go. But go home and get some rest." "I will. The rest of
my day is open."
Figures.  A  woman  without  a  job  and  without  any  of  her  many
boyfriends would be able to just drop everything and go home to relax
on her couch with daytime talk shows and a glass of wine.
"Alright, C. Take it easy."
She turns and walks past me, out the revolving doors of the lobby and
into the summer air. She will be fine. She has enough to fall back on.
Good riddance.
I take my phone out of my pocket and start to go through the turnstile to
make my way back up to the office. I need to talk to Molly as soon as
possible, but Lee is walking toward  me  to leave the building as I'  m
about to go back upstairs.
"I  thought  we  already  said  goodbye,"  I  say,  pausing  before  the
turnstiles.
"I had business in another office in the building. You know how fast
these things happen." "I certainly do."
"Look. I don't get why you did what you did. It just seems like a

strange strategy. But I respect it, because it's clearly something you're
passionate about."
"It's not a strategy, man. Not this time. It's just the right thing to
do."
He puts out his hand to shake mine. "It's been good doing business with
you."
"Drew?"
I turn around and see Molly standing by the fountain.
"That's the girl from the picture," Lee says, smiling. "Now I get it.
You're crazy, but I get it."
His phones rings and he walks away, shouting into the phone as I make
my way over to Molly.
"Hey, what are you doing here?"
"I, um. I came by to talk to you."
"What's going on?"
I put my hands on her shoulders and start to move my hands down her
arms, but she feels tense and cold.
"I was going to come by to tell you that I saw something weird online
about Clarissa."
"What was it?"
I'm probably already aware of whatever Molly's talking about.
Clarissa was out with Robert. Clarissa was out with Marcus. Clarissa
was out with Robert and Marcus.
It could happen.
wanted to tell you that I saw something about how she was with...two
guys. I don't know. I just saw her outside."
"Oh, yeah. She came by to talk. Listen, I really appreciate you coming
up here to tell me. But we have more important things to deal with right
now, Molly."
"Why the hell were you talking to Lee?"
"It's just a little business deal."
"A business deal? I thought he was interested in buying the building.
And now you're doing business with him?"
I pull her in for a hug, but she still seems a little bit tense. Distant. Cold.

"Why was Clarissa here?"
There's something strange in her tone. Something suspicious.
"She just needed a shoulder to cry on," I say.
"She looked awfully happy when I saw her leaving just now."
The truth is starting to crystalize before me.
"You don't think I'm getting back with her or anything, do you?"
Molly's big brown eyes stare up at me.
"I don't know. Is that what you want?"
"Molly. You're mine now. There is no one else in the picture."
"Yeah. That's what you keep saying. But she did look awfully happy. A
little bit too happy."
"What do you want me to say? All of her friends are awful. I'm sure it
was one of them who leaked the info about her cheating on me with two
different guys to the media."
"So you were the only one she could talk to?"
"I guess so. I guess I'm just that great of a guy."
"Yeah. You keep saying that. But all I know about you right now is that
your ex looked awfully happy to be back in your arms, and you were
shaking hands with someone who you yourself admitted wants to ruin
the building."
"Wait, what?" I can't believe she's suggesting what I think she's
suggesting.
"It looks like you just made a deal with the one person who could ruin
the building."

30. Molly
There has to be an explanation for this.
As a reporter, I try to look at a story from all angles. I try not to take
things at face value.
Take the gossip blogs, for instance. They just post a picture of whatever
celebrity is hot right now and has the unfortunate luck of leaving the
house without makeup, just like the rest of us do every single day.
And all the rags run is the picture. It's superficial. It's the definition of
skin deep.
There  could  be  another  explanation  for  everything  I  witnessed  with
Clarissa the day when I was out shopping, but then I got confirmation
from Drew that it really was what it looked like.
Now, I have two new pieces of information that I've learned first-hand.
First, we have Drew hugging his ex. This is the same ex who I know is
out and about with at least two other guys.
Second,  we  have  Drew  shaking  hands  with  some  finance  guy  who  I
know  for  a  fact  wants  to  flip  the  building,  and  who  I  know  Drew  is
already sparring with. It is just not adding up.
"I  know  this  is  a  cliche,  but  it's  not  what  it  looks  like,"  Drew  says,
smiling.
"You think this is all funny? A game? These are people's lives you're
dealing with here, Drew."
"Okay, ma'am, I am going to have to ask you to calm down. Don't make
me call security on you."
"You really are unbelievable." I turn away from him and try to hide my
face. The sun outside is shining, but I feel like there is a lightning storm
going off in my heart.
"And what about you, Molly? Why don't you try having a little faith in
people. You're all about listening to people and their stories. It's what
you're passionate about. I know that's why you wanted to be a

journalist. But you've been skeptical about me and judged me from the
moment I walked up to you in the bar. But guess what? It doesn't matter
what clothes I have on. It doesn't matter how much money I have. You
have to break down the wall you have around your heart."
"So tell me. Why were you talking to Lee? You told me yourself that he
was going to screw up the building. You told me yourself that he and
his firm are up to something."
"This is the girl I fell in love with. The girl who asks questions. The girl
who doesn't take things at face value. I was talking to Lee because,
actually, I bought the building."
I spin around to face Drew.
"You...bought the building? The building?"
"Yes. I bought the building, okay?"
"And do you have amazing plans for it? Knock down a bunch of walls?
Get everyone out?"
"I have plans. But it's not what you think."
"Then why don't you tell me what I think, Drew?"
I sit down at the fountain and take a deep breath. So Drew bought the
building. Not a big deal. He bought me that beer flight. He bought the
building. All in the same week. Whatevs. No biggie.
"I bought the building precisely because I didn't want to happen what
you feared would happen. I' m sorry I scared you there for a minute.
But Lee is out of the picture. And as a bonus, I got the whole mess with
the lawsuit straightened out, too. That's what we call a two-fer."
I want to stand up and run away, but I feel like my legs won't work if I
try. It's the same feeling I had when Drew first hit on me at the bar, the
first time he came into my apartment to check on my leaky sink, the
first time he told me I needed to get some real food into my refrigerator.
It's all been so mundane, the things he's done for me, but so
extraordinary at the same time, because he's Drew Anderson.
"A two-fer? Is that a real estate term?"
"No, babe." He sits down next to me and tucks my hair behind my ears.
I guess it got a little messed up when I was busy ranting and raving like
a madwoman in the lobby of his building. "That's just when two really
good things happen at once. It doesn't have to be only in real

estate."
"I know, Drew. I was playing around. I know what a two-fer is."
"Then I guess we're finally talking the same language, no? I guess we
really do have some common ground, after all."
"Yeah." My heart will not shut up again. I can't take it. I can feel people
looking at us as he looks down at me and puts his hand under my chin
to guide my mouth to his. He kisses me sweetly. It's electrifying, and I
don' t want it to stop.
"So I guess you aren't the super of the building anymore, huh? Am I
ever going to see you after the paperwork goes through and you 're the
new owner?"
"Well, you're right. I'm not the super anymore. There's always been a
regular building super, and I think he's about to come back from
vacation in a couple of days."
"So it's back to your island, right?"
"No, Molly. I plan on being a very involved owner."

31. Drew
One Month Later
"This can't take too long. I have more important places to be than here
with you fine gentlemen."
I put my attache case down on the table in the large conference room,
where  Eric,  O'Malley,  Lee  and  the  other  firm's  partners  are  already
gathered.
"How nice of you to join us," O'Malley quips, not bothering to stand
up. "But we won't trouble you for too long."
The sun pours through the windows. It's the opposite of the day when I
first learned about the lawsuit. On that day, Clarissa had dumped me.
On that day, the fate of my and Eric's firm was unclear.
Today, I have a little surprise for Molly.
Today, Lee and the other firm are relinquishing their claim to the land
we were sparring over, and we'll finally be able to start building out the
space like we planned months ago.
But  that'  s  not  even  my  top  priority  anymore.  Right  now,  my  top
priority is my mom' s house. I have a showing this afternoon, and I have
to get up there to meet potential buyers.
"I'll start," Lee says, standing up. "As you know, my clients had a stake
in  the  land  in  question.  However,  upon  reviewing  the  contracts  and
agreements with the seller, they have decided to drop their claim. It just
makes the most sense for all parties involved. They have other projects
in the pipeline, and they've decided to move on from this one."
"This  is  all  a  formality,"  Eric  says.  "Why  don't  you  announce  to
everyone what really happened?"
He's so full of shit. This whole time, he was a nervous wreck over the
whole thing.
I really did come through when I needed to this time, didn't I?
My  brother  needs  a  dose  of  confidence.  He  should  have  known  this
would end in our favor. He just has a tendency to assume to worst.

I should stop boasting. I have my mind set on bigger things, anyway.
I rise to shake Lee's hand.
"We will definitely be in touch. It was great working with you on
this."
The men file out of the room and Eric slaps the air. "That's what I'm
fucking talking about!"
"Oh, really, sonny?" O'Malley says, gathering up some papers on the
table  and  shoving  them  into  his  attache.  "If  I  recall  correctly,  a  few
weeks ago you had no idea how this whole thing would turn out. It's
thanks to your brother's ingenuity that the whole thing worked out in
your favor."
"Nah. I knew we would win."
"Okay, okay," O'Malley says dismissively.
I'  ll  let  Eric  have  his  time  to  celebrate.  There  will  be  more  lawsuits,
anyway, and maybe I'll remind him later of how he acted during this
one.
The  door  opens  and  Sarah  appears  in  the  doorway.  "Drew?  Molly  is
here to see you." "I' m coming! "
I jog out of my office and into the reception area. "You two know each
other, don't you?"
"Yes, we do, but it's not because you're so good at introducing people.
But  I  already  feel  like  I  know  her,"  Sarah  says,  smiling  at  Molly.
"You've said so many good things about her."
"About me? So you do like me, huh?" Molly teases.
"To what can I owe this lovely pop-in?"
"Can we chat for a second?" she asks.
We make our way down to the hall to my office. I sit down at my desk
and Molly pulls the door closed behind her, sitting in the chair across
from mine.
"I've been thinking a lot about what you said. About what I really want.
And I don't want to be an editorial assistant at some paper. It's a great
opportunity, and I liked it, but I never took the time to slow down and
reflect on what I wanted. Maybe in a year, after doing something

else,  I'll decide it's what I want. But  it's not what I want right now."
"Oh, really? Drew Anderson is right again?" "Hush. Don't you want to
know what I do want?" "Of course I do, baby."
"I  want  to  write  features.  Human  interest  stories.  Profiles  for
magazines, about people and places that are interesting to me."
"So you're going to work at a magazine instead?"
"Yes. I don't want to get the scoop. I don't want to work at a newspaper.
I want something lasting, something that endures, something that takes
a long time to build and a long time to read. Not something that is here
one day and gone the next."
"Oh,  that  reminds  me  of  something.  Meet  me  downstairs  in  ten
minutes. I just need to grab something from my brother."

32. Molly
We leave Drew's office in his Mustang and take the tunnel into Queens
and  stay  on  the  Brooklyn-Queens  Expressway  until  we  are  in  my
neighborhood.  He  drives  fast  and  he  moves  fast,  and  it's  one  of  the
many things I love about him. He balances me out. I'm so deliberate
and  careful,  and  it's  refreshing  to  have  an  alternate  point  of  view  to
bounce things off of. Just thoughts, ideas.
For  example,  it  takes  me  forever  to  pick  out  the  kind  of  ice  cream  I
want. Drew just goes in and grabs the one that looks the best. He knows
what he wants. It's sort of a talent of his.
"I  thought  you  said  you  wanted  to  show  me  something,"  I  say  as  I
stretch my legs out of the car when we finally park outside my building.
"You thought correctly."
"Here, though? Why are we here?"
"Because I want to show you something, like I said."
We amble along to the corner, taking our time. The sun is high in the
sky, and I know that he has to get up to his mom's house this afternoon
to help her show the property to some prospective buyers.
"See anything you like?" he says when we get to the corner.
"I'm...not sure, Drew. I don't know what you're getting at."
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes.  I  do."  I  turn  to  look  into  his  eyes.  "Of  course  I  trust  you."
"Finally! Now, follow me."
We  turn  the  corner  onto  a  narrow,  tree-lined  block.  I  recognize  the
block. He takes my hand and guides me a few more steps forward, until
we're outside the house we visited that night of our first date. The open
house.
"Oooh! Are we going to pretend to be that couple from Pennsylvania
again?"
It' s a little bit of a bittersweet feeling. It would be fun to pretend I'm
someone else again, but I thought I was through with that. I'm ready to
be the person I always wanted to be. The person I didn't realize I was

on  my  way  to  becoming.  The  person  Drew  Anderson,  of  all  people,
helped me to be.
"Molly, if you'll notice, there are no For Sale signs out here anymore."
He pulls out the box he made for his mom back in woodworking class,
and opens it before I have a chance to respond. Inside are two keys.
"Drew? What is this?"
I take both of the keys out of the box and hold them. They're cold and
feel soothing in my warm palms. I press them into my skin until I feel
the outlines sink coolly into my flesh. I can't believe what's happening.
"Don't get greedy. One of those is mine."
"You...what?"
"Yes. Exactly what you're thinking. But only half is yours. I swear, you
and my brother both." "I don't understand."
I sit down on the edge of the top step to steady myself.
"What don't you understand? This is for us, Molly. When I met you, I
knew I liked you.  And spending all this  time with  you? It's been the
best six weeks of my life. I'm not asking you to move in with me. Not
exactly. There's actually two units in here, and we have the option of
keeping them together or separate. One of the units is for you, and one
of them is for me. It's fifty-fifty."
"Drew, I really just need one promise from you."
"Yeah? What is it?"
I  try  not  to  grin.  I'  m  giddy  with  happiness  and  excitement.  The
possibility of me and Drew Anderson being together feels so new, and
so right.
"Drew, I need you to promise that if this is really going to be fifty-fifty,
that you won't automatically take the good half. We should negotiate
that. Figure it out together."
"You have a deal, ma'am."

Epilogue - Molly
I take the For Sale sign down from the front of Drew's mom's house.
With all of the upgrades Drew's done, the house has sold in just a few
weeks.
Rich doesn't think it's the upgrades that sold the house. He thinks it's
the heart of the place that sold it, and that the upgrades were just an
added bonus.
I'm not sure who's right, and it doesn't matter. There's room for all of it
inside the house, and the new owners are a young family from the city,
excited  to  move  in  and  give  their  two  sons  a  backyard  and  a  place
where their dogs can run around.
"Honey, you don't have to do that," Drew says, jogging up next to me
and taking the sign from me.
"I want to. You already put so much work into fixing up the house. And
selling it."
"Yeah," Eric says as he exits the new screen door Drew installed. "I bet
you never thought you'd use that broker's license again, huh?"
"Nah, I thought I'd left that all behind. Traded in my small-town deals
for bigger fish. But it's good that I had it."
"Yeah, you're a real Renaissance man," Eric quips.
After we moved into the Brooklyn brownstone, Drew was able to rent
out  my  former  unit  in  the  building  to  another  young  professional.  It
happens to be Mrs. Martinez's granddaughter. I usually go over to Mrs.
M.'s  place  on  Wednesday  nights  for  pasta  with  her  and  Anna,  and
afterward, we always catch some old sitcoms on TV.
Drew always comes to pick me up and drive me home with him, even
though  I'm  just  traveling  a  few  blocks.  He  likes  to  drive  his  car  in
Brooklyn. He says that it gives him an opportunity to slow down and
take in the neighborhood on his way back from the weekly meetings he,
Sarah, and Eric have every Wednesday night while I'm at Mrs. M.'s for
dinner.
Drew's still learning the neighborhood, and even though owning a

small residential building is a step backwards for him in a lot of ways,
he  loves  being  able  to  get  his  hands  dirty  and  help  out  around  the
building.
He's even installed a garden out front, which some of the older tenants
have  adopted  as  their  space,  spending  their  time  there,  puttering
around, playing chess for hours in the afternoon and tending to their
flowerbeds.
Drew  told  me  it  would  be  a  way  to  upgrade  the  building  without
changing its essence.
On  Thursdays,  I  have  my  mom  and  dad  over  for  dinner  at  my  and
Drew's new place. They're happy that I've quit my job at the paper, and
even  though  they  were  always  proud  of  me  for  setting  goals  and
following through on them, they're even happier now that I've decided
to take a little bit of a risk and start a blog featuring stories about the
people and places that make my neighborhood great.
It's not a full-time living for me yet, but now I don't have to pay rent.
And anyway, it's growing, and I like working for myself and being my
own boss. I'm hoping to use the blog as a jumping off point, and look
for a job at a magazine in a few months.
"Should  we  keep  this  For  Sale  sign  as  a  souvenir  and  put  it  in  our
house, Mol?" Drew asks, holding it up with pride.
"Yes,  take  it  with  you,"  Drew's  mother  says  as  she  comes  down  the
stairs and takes in the sight of the house.
"I can't believe you're actually doing it, Ma. You're actually moving to
Florida after all these years."
"I' m happy about it," Rich says, putting an arm around Mrs. Anderson.
"Our condos are going to be in the same development."
"It's a good thing, too. If I ever need a light bulb changed, I'll have my
guy over in minutes."
"That's  what  good  neighbors  do,"  I  say,  beaming  at  Rich  and  Mrs.
Anderson.
"You're  a  good  neighbor,  Mol,"  Drew  says,  looking  down  at  me.
"You're  a  good  neighbor,  too.  I  still  can't  believe  you  bought  the
building," I say.
"I can believe it," Drew's mom says. "No matter what crazy thing Drew
does, it's never shocking. He has a proven track record of doing

outrageous things, and making them seem natural."
"Like taking over the job at Rich's building," Eric chimes in. "I mean, I
thought that he needed to get his head examined when he told me what
he was doing. But it actually made sense."
"You know what else makes sense?" Drew asks, taking out the box he
made in woodworking class, the box he presented the keys to the house
to me in.
He bends down and puts a knee on the ground. Thank goodness he's
wearing old jeans and not one of his suits.
Wait, what the hell?
I try to apply logic to the situation. In one second, I'm gaming out every
eventuality in my head. I'm predicting what's going to happen, and I'm
trying to figure out if what is occurring before my eyes is real.
That's one of the things I learned in journalism school. How to be
careful. How to be prepared. How to predict the degree to which a
source will be reliable.
Oh, crap. Who am I kidding? I was overly cautious and too careful long
before I ever wanted to be a reporter.
I feel like I already know what he's going to do. Ever since he told me
how important that little keepsake box was to him, I've imagined that
he would propose to me some day, put a gorgeous ring inside it and ask
me to be with him for good.
I can' t apply logic to this. It defies all that. The who, what, where and
when of the situation don't matter, because everything is blotted out by
how I feel. Everything hinges on the why.
I guess I never thought my wish would materialize so quickly, but the
way my heart is beating out of my chest makes me unable to dwell on
how crazy it is and just feel my emotions - and how right it feels.
"Drew, really?" I ask as he holds the box in both of his hands, his green
eyes flashing, all of the people who are most important to him standing
behind him.
"Yes, really. It's not like me to take a long time to make decisions. And
I know that sometimes I should slow down and take everything in. And
Molly," he says, slowly standing up and slipping his hands around my
waist, pulling me close, "that's what I've learned from you. I always

said  that  I  wanted  to  go  to  New  York  City  and  make  something  of
myself.  It  was  my  goal.  And  I  reached  it.  But  there  was  always
something  missing.  It  was  heart.  It  was  you.  You're  kind.  And  pure.
You give a shit about people. I know that. I've seen it. And I need more
of that in my life. For good."
"I thought you had something that you wanted to ask me, Drew," I say,
weaving my fingers through his.
"That's right. I wanted to know if you'd like me to pick up a six-pack of
beer from this  really nice brewery that just opened up in town. Now
that you like beer, and all."
Eric snorts and laughs from the porch behind Drew, as his mom slaps
her hands down at her sides and rolls her eyes.
"Ask the lady the question, Drew," Rich says. "I thought you were this
direct, to-the-point guy."
"Right,"  he  says,  getting  down  on  his  knee  again.  "Molly,  this  is  for
you. Marry me. Be my better half."
"Not better. Fifty-fifty. And yes, Drew. I will. I've learned a thing or
two from you, too, you know."
He gets up and swings me around in the air. When I finally touch down
again,  he  parts  my  lips  with  his  and  slips  the  ring  onto  my  finger
mid-kiss, just like it's belonged there all along.