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It took me nearly two days to stop feeling the effects of my night with Elias.
By morning, I'd discovered bruises and scrapes I hadn't noticed during the hunt, along with muscles aching in places I didn't know could ache.
Elias had taken his time caring for me afterward. A warm bath, water, something to eat, and a thorough inspection of every mark we'd collected along the way. He'd tended to the scrapes himself before pulling me into bed and keeping me tucked against him until I fell asleep.
For a man who'd threw me down and dragged me across the floor, he could be ridiculously gentle.
And apparently, his idea of recovery included making sure I didn't lift a finger for the next twenty-four hours.
This morning, my men sat me down and informed me that I was taking the day off. Apparently, whatever Elias uncovered about the gala required all three of them, SOLAÉ's security team, and their lawyers behind closed doors for most of the afternoon. So instead of spending my day worrying about what they were discussing, Nate handed me their joint black cards and told me to go enjoy myself. No spending limit.
Now, this is the part where the woman in the movie or book says, “Oh, I couldn't possibly. I'm not with you for your money.”
Yeah, well, she's stupid.
Me? I snatched that card before Nate could finish explaining, kissed all three of them, and called Trey to see if he was free.
As far as I'm concerned, this is the universe finally compensating me for everything Nathaniel Blackwell put me through when I first started working at SOLAÉ.
Trey lifts his sunglasses and surveys the shopping bags hanging from both my arms. “Girl, how much money have you spent?”
“That's between me, God, and their credit card company.”
“And you just gone run up the bill?”
"Clearly, the Lord provides." I flash the black card. “If I'm not meant to test the duriblity of the strip on the back, why give me a card with no limit.”
Trey throws his head back laughing. “You're going straight to hell.”
“First class, hopefully.”
Since the gala, Nate has practically moved into his study, Elias keeps disappearing into security meetings, and even Jace has found better things to do than annoy me. I know they're investigating what happened, and this little shopping spree is partly an attempt to keep my mind off it.
Fine by me. If three fine-ass, obscenely wealthy men want to manage their collective anxiety by funding my retail therapy, who am I to interfere with their healing process?
“Where to next?” Trey asks.
I glance across the street at the next shop. “Shoes.”
“Praise Jesus.”
Union Square gleams with the kind of polished excess that makes spending someone else's money feel almost responsible. I eye the next storefront, determined to leave with at least three pairs of shoes. Anything less would dishonor the morning's sacrifices.
I’m busy mentally ranking the window displays when Trey catches my elbow and steers me quickly through the entrance.
“Girl. Don’t look now, but I think we’re being followed.” He whispers as he rushes us over to one of the taller racks. Peeking around it, I see two men with cameras huddled near an outdoor table, pretending to examine a rack of watches.
Fuck.
“Why the hell are they following me?” I hiss as I turn to see Trey swiping on his phone.
“Okay, don’t get mad.”
“Any sentence that starts like that has never improved my life.”
He turns his phone toward me, and there’s a photo of me on the auction stage with the headline: Billionaire’s new pet? Nathaniel Blackwell drops $150M on mystery woman.
Dropping my bags, I snatch the phone, and I swipe to see a whole fucking collage.
