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The stairs beckon me.
Do I have time to snoop?
I don’t want to. I’m a woman. I’m quickly becoming involved with a mystery billionaire. And I’m alone in his home. I know I shouldn’t. But I have to.
Don’t I?
Not even sure what I’m looking for or if I want to find anything anyway, I dash up to the third-floor bedroom. At first, I do the okay thing, just walking slowly by his dresser, looking for photos, jewelry, signs of relationships. The dresser top is wiped clean, not even a speck of dust mars its sleek black top.
Strange, isn’t it? To not have a single family photograph in your home?
Naughtiness tickles the tips of my freshly manicured fingers. I reach toward the top drawer of the dresser, the small, dark space that we humans have universally agreed upon as being an acceptable hiding spot for our most important possessions.
The ones we don’t want anyone to see.
Guilt fills me as I grab the small metal knob, pulling the drawer toward me. Leaning forward, I peek into the small space. Socks, tightly rolled in the anal way I would expect someone like Rockwell’s socks to be stored.
Lifting a pair of black and red argyles, I peek underneath. “Oh. Right. There it is.” The thing I’ve been looking for without knowing what it was.
A small red leather box, with the gold words, Bachman’s Jewelers, scrolled over the top. I know what’s inside before I open the lid. Still, I pop that sucker open.
A gleaming diamond nearly blinds me as the light hits it, shooting rainbows across the room.
“What is that? Five carats?”
It’s huge. Massive. A fairy could ice skate on the darn thing.
Who could it be for? Is he dating someone? Then saw me having my purchase declined and swooped in to help me? A charity case, a broken toy to fix? A man with all the money in the world, bored and using me as a distraction?
All along having a girlfriend—wait—fiancée hidden somewhere?
There’s a knock on the door. “God!” I jump a mile in the air.
“Ms. Watkins? I’m here to pick you up. Is it alright if I go ahead and take your suitcase?”
“Yes! Coming! Be right there.” I take one last look at the ring, flip the lid closed, and carefully replace the socks.
I close the drawer and fly down the stairs.
There’s a man waiting for me, dressed in coat and tails. He holds the suitcase handle in one hand, the door handle in the other. “Miss. Are you ready?”
“Yes. Thank you.” His old-timey suit makes me have to hold back a curtsey.
I follow him down the front porch stairs and it’s only when I get to the bottom that I look up at the street and see the mode of transportation that’s waiting for me.
CHAPTER 15
Rockwell
Onlookers watch as she arrives, the horse and carriage pulling up to the front steps of the Mark Hotel. I can’t blame them for gawking. She looks stunning. All in white, her dress fluttering in the breeze as I help her down the delicate stairs that go from the white, gold-gilded coach to the ground.
“How was your ride?”
There are practically stars in her eyes as she answers me. “Amazing! What a dream. To ride down the streets of New York City in a horse-drawn carriage.”
Her feet delicately hit the sidewalk. Her hand stays in mine, dragging me over to the horses. “May I?” she asks the driver.
“Yes, of course. Carrots and Bristol are both older horses, happy to work for a pet. Approach from the side, arm outstretched so Carrots can see you.”
