His to Have: A Billionaire Romance (6 page)

CHAPTER 7

CATHERINE

Blake and I have a rhythm. We have a back and forth that I can’t describe. It’s beyond a connection. It’s a craving, a half-manic need for each other, like gravity is pulling us together, and we’re powerless against it’s force. Maybe that’s it. It’s like we’re crashing into each other over and over again, and I wonder what will happen if something upsets the balance. 

I also know that this balance won’t hold forever. Something has to give. At first, I think it will be the key that undoes us. I think he’ll figure out that it’s missing and connect the dots. I worry that Ben will show up demanding answers or that my father will find some way to tear me away. I’m afraid that Blake will get bored of me. Mostly, I’m afraid of being found out. It never occurs to me that maybe I’ll be the one to knock the world back out of balance, that I’ll be the one to send us tumbling off in a new direction.

But slowly, I begin to realize that
I
am the one who will undo us, that my need to know more about Blake, my need to have more than some unnamed fling could end up ruining everything, or it could be the one thing to make our relationship something more. I hide the key for days, hoping he won’t look for it. I know I should put it back. I know I should respect Blake’s privacy and return the key and forget all about it. But I can’t. I know I can’t. That need for more won’t let me.The first chance I get, when Blake’s at work and I’m sure no one is following me, I decide to take the key to a hardware store and get a copy made.

This is a harder task than it seems. There are almost no hardware stores in Manhattan, and I don’t exactly have much of an idea where to find one. When I finally do get there, it’s clear I stick out like a sore thumb. I’m wearing a dress and heels, and the guy behind the counter with a three-day beard and bags under his eyes gives me a dead stare as I look around to make sure no one else is watching.

I look up at the stacks of paintbrushes and screwdrivers (and tools I don’t even know the name of) that stretch up to the ceiling. The sooner this is over with, the better. “You in the right place?” the guy at the counter says in a way that (correctly) says I’d be lucky to know the difference between a hammer and a hacksaw.

I pull the key out of my pocket and place it on the dingy counter. “I need a copy made.”

He picks the key up and holds it up to inspect it.

“You know this says ‘Do not duplicate,’ right?”

I reach out and place my hand on his. “It’s for my boyfriend. We’re taking the next step in our relationship.”

“A paperclip would do you about as good.”
 

“Excuse me?” I ask.
 

“The key is for a padlock, but you already knew that right?”

“It’s for a locker in the laundry room.”
 

“Your boyfriend does laundry?” the man asks.

“Can you help me or not?” I ask.
 

The man reaches back on the wall and grabs a blank key. “That will be four fifty.”

“For one key?” I flip through my purse and pull out my wallet. I’m over a hundred short, and there really isn’t much money left in my bank account. I can’t believe I’m actually going broke. Losing the apartment is one thing. Not being able to pay for a simple key is another. He’s probably gouging me because I’m a woman. “I only have three hundred on me. Do you take checks?”

He laughs so hard he starts to wheeze. He leans over the counter to catch his breath. “It will be about two minutes, and it’s four dollars and fifty cents. Wait until I tell the guys that one. Four hundred dollars for a key. If that were the case, I’d have retired years ago.”

I nearly die of embarrassment as I wait for him to finish. I slide a hundred dollar bill out of my wallet and place it on the counter. When he comes back with the key, I slide it across. He has a big grin as he hands me the key, but he waves away the bill. “The laugh was payment enough. Come back and let me know if that boyfriend of yours actually does the laundry. Four hundred and fifty dollars.”
 

“Thank you,” I say. “I never got your name.”

“It’s Mel,” he says holding out his hand.

“I’m Catherine,” I say, shaking his hand. “Thanks for your help. If I ever come in here with the boyfriend, maybe don’t mention my mistake.”

Mel nods and calls another customer up to the counter. I’ve done it. Now I have two keys, and I need to put one of them back.

It’s two more days before I can put the original back. I wait until Blake’s taking a call on the veranda, and I sneak back in and examine the desk, reopening the drawer and looking it over top and bottom. I find the residue from where the key was taped to the underside of the drawer and I tape it back on. Then I hope like hell that Blake doesn’t realize that it’s been missing for the better part of a week.

When Blake comes back inside, I’m on the couch, reading one of the books from his office.

“You look different,” he says, “relieved almost.”

“It’s because you’re back.” Then I hear a clank inside the desk.
The key
. I watch as it tumbles out and hits the floor. My blood pressure spikes. “What was that?” I ask.

Blake steps around the desk and leans down on one knee.
Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit
. He picks up the key, holds it up to the light and grins. “It’s something I thought I had lost, something important.”
 

Does he think I had anything to do with it? Is he going to tell me anything else?
I slip my hand over my pocket where I hid the spare. “Sounds… mysterious. It just looks kind of beat up from here.”
 

He laughs. “The key itself isn’t worth much, neither is the place it unlocks, but it means the world to me. To the right person, I think it would mean quite a bit too.”

“Now I have to know.”

“Maybe I’ll show you.” He walks over to me and kisses my cheek. I can smell the smooth, cool scent of his cologne. I can feel the buzz of anticipation on his lips. He slips the key into his pocket and runs his hands over my arms. “I was planning something for next weekend anyway. Maybe I’ll show you then.”

“How about now,” I say.
 

He slips his arms under me and scoops me up. “I have different plans for right now,” he whispers before he plants a slow, searing kiss on my lips. When he pulls back, I slip my tongue against his bottom lip. “I came up with them during my last meeting. It took all my willpower not to drop everything and come running back to you. You’ll have to wait a while to find out how that book of yours ends.”

I let the book drop to the floor.
Blake, take all the time you need
.

CHAPTER 8

CATHERINE

“You’re killing me,” Blake says as he turns and lets his gaze fall over my body. I’m reclining in his bathtub, looking out over the city. I’ve been trying to think of ways to entice him to stay since I woke up. I think I might have found the right one. “How am I supposed to leave knowing you’re so beautiful and so naked?”

“You could always join me,” I offer. “I’m sure no one would even know you were missing. What’s the point of owning your own company if you can’t play hooky every once in a while?”

He tenses his jaw and grits his teeth. “When I get back…” he says.

“I’ll be fully clothed and uptown. I have some errands I have to run.”
 

He walks over to the tub and leans over me, hovering just far enough away that I can feel his breath but not his lips. “And I’ll have to do my best to change that.”
 

“Tease,” I say. I grab his tie and pull him the final few inches into the kiss. He doesn’t miss a beat, and he leans into my lips, sliding his tongue against mine as he braces himself against the edge of the tub. Warmth floods through my body, and I’m holding out hope that he’ll stay a while longer. When he pulls back from the kiss, I keep my grip on his tie. It’s dripping with water.

With a quick motion he pulls the tie off and hands it to me. “You are gorgeous. Let’s pick this up when I get back.”

“Like I said, I’ll be gone.”

“Tonight then. I’m not opposed to your place.”

In the past week, I’ve spent as many nights at Blake’s place as I have at mine, but I still haven’t invited him over. I’m being kicked out soon enough anyway. “We’ll see,” I say. I lean back in the tub and slide a little lower. If he’s not going to enjoy this bath with me, I can enjoy it well enough on my own.
 

After Blake’s gone and I’ve soaked for a while, I get dressed and decide to head back to my place. I’m not sure if I’ll spend the night with Blake, but either way, I need a change of clothes. It’s a beautiful day, and I decide a walk will help me clear my head. I grab a pair of Blake’s sunglasses before getting on the elevator. They’re thick rimmed and retro in a way that makes me look like a hipster, but I catch a glimpse of my reflection and like the way they look. I joke to myself that they’re my disguise and shove my hands in my pockets as I strike a dumb pose.
The key
. The copy is still in my pocket and suddenly I remember all of the doubts and worries I have. I wonder if Ben’s waiting for me once I get outside. Maybe I’ll need a disguise after all.

I decide to walk. It’s nice enough out, and, contrary to what I told Blake, I have nowhere to be. I spend the next two hours slowly making my way home, fiddling with the key and wondering what secrets it can reveal. I study its outline and wonder what could be so special about it. I pore over each notch, each groove. I tell myself that this is just a copy, that though it opens whatever lock, it’s not the real thing; it’s not his. And yet I feel like if I stare at it long enough, I’ll learn something more about Blake, some secret I don’t even know exists. Once or twice I nearly walk into traffic. I bump into someone at some point, but I barely notice. My full concentration and imagination are focused on the key.
 
I become so engrossed in it that I walk right by my building, and don’t notice until I’m a few blocks beyond where I meant to be.
 

That’s when I see Damien. I wonder if he’s headed to my building on Blake’s behalf or if he’s following me for some reason. He doesn’t seem to have noticed me and is walking into a cafe, so that seems unlikely. He looks over his shoulder, like he’s worried someone is following
him
. I stop and I watch for a minute. Damien said he lives nearby, maybe he’s just stopping home for an early lunch or running errands before heading out of town. It’s really none of my business, but I can’t help wondering what he’s up to. I know it’s wrong, and I know I should leave it alone, but I decide I should walk by and see if there’s anything going on.
 

I pass slowly on the opposite side of the street, trying not to call any attention to myself. It’s hard to see through the glass, but I can make out Damien sitting down at a table with someone young and handsome. A chill runs through me. He’s meeting with Ben.
He’s meeting with Ben
. Does Blake know about this? What would happen if Ben found out I know about this? I hide just out of sight and wait for one of them to emerge. It’s Ben, he’s got a newspaper tucked under his arm, and he’s wearing a tweed jacket that makes him look more like an English grad student than an FBI agent, but maybe that’s the point. His hair is tousled. He looks unassuming. He looks like the kind of guy you’d trust in a second. I’ve known him for years, and I don’t trust him anymore. And even though it’s been years, he still knows me better than I’d care to admit. He’s one of the only people I’ve fully opened up to at any point.
 
He knows me, and he knows which buttons to push.

I keep my distance, taking care not to be seen, but after a block I know where Ben’s going. He’s heading to my place. I should rush back to the building and beat him there. I should confront him and tell him to come clean about everything he knows about Blake, but I can’t. I can’t face him right now. I can’t go home. I’ll blurt something out about the key, or I’ll inadvertently show it to him, or I’ll do something else to screw myself over. As soon as Ben is around the next corner I reach my arm out and do something I haven’t done in years. I hail a cab.

CHAPTER 9

CATHERINE

Once I make it back to Blake’s place, I decide I’m not leaving until I know more about what’s going on with Ben and Blake and everyone involved. Blake gets home early from work and says he wants to make me dinner. He wants to know what my favorite meal is. I tell him I don’t know. I’ve never had much interest in food. If you want to talk about designer cocktails, then sure, I’m your girl, but food? Food always seemed like something I had to avoid in order to stay attractive. I’m not sure how to explain this to him. Guys never understand this. They never understand calorie counting and weighing yourself and worrying about what people think about your appearance.
 

“You’re telling me you live in this city, and you don’t have any favorite foods? All of the best food in the world is within about fifteen minutes of here. “I thought you said something at some point about eating at all the hottest restaurants.”

“I should have said being seen at the hottest restaurants. The eating is kind of an afterthought.”
 

“Well, I’m starving and I’m sure you are too,” he says. “Tell me one thing you like to cook.”