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“Tread lightly, Simeon.”
“And your mother …” He shook his head. “Word around business circles is that she was so distraught about him leaving the two of you that she drank herself insane, and you practically raised yourself.”
I clenched my jaw. “I highly suggest that you change this topic of conversation if you want to remain on my good side, Simeon.”
“It’s pronounced Simon.”
“You won’t be able to pronounce anything if you don’t change the topic.”
He smiled and pulled an envelope from his breast pocket. “I want to donate to your cause. I genuinely believe in helping kids who don’t grow up in the best of circumstances.”
“Thank you.” I motioned for him to place it on my desk. “You can leave my office now.”
“Actually, I can’t.” He was still smiling as if this was an enjoyable conversation. “I also stopped by because of Penelope.”
“Is she alright?”
“She’s more than alright,” he said. “She’s happy. With me. And I’d appreciate it if her best friend—who is just a friend, would refrain from calling her late at night when she’s with me.”
“Excuse me?”
“We’re going to be exclusive soon, so I want to let you know that I’m not the sharing type.”
I blinked.
“I’ve done my research on you,” he said. “You’ve never been in a real relationship before, so I can’t blame you for not knowing how they work.”
“Do I need to open the door for you to get you out of my face, or are you capable of doing that yourself?”
“The boyfriend, i.e., me, gets the majority of the girlfriend’s time, and the best friend, i.e., you, fades into the background until he’s needed.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Seeing as though we’re making travel plans for the next few months around her coaching and speaking schedule, you won’t really be needed. Thought I’d give you a heads-up.”
“So, I have to open it for you.” I walked over to the door and held it open. “Be my fucking guest.”
He let out a laugh and followed me over, stepping into the hallway. “I’m glad that we could have this conversation, Hayden.”
“The exit awaits you.”
“One last thing,” he said. “I hope you won’t take any of what I said personally. You seem like a good and mature best friend that knows his place, right?”
I slammed the door in his face.
Twenty-Three
Present Day
Hayden
* * *
The following morning
I couldn’t sleep.
Simon’s unwelcome visit to my office had left me on edge, and the envy I felt before was intensifying by the second. So, like the “good and mature best friend” that he asked me to be, I decided to do some research on him.
Via stalking.
I pulled across the street from Penelope’s brownstone in a tinted silver Prius.
I made sure that my baseball cap was secure, and then I waited for Mr. Prince Charming to arrive.
From the recent unanswered texts Penelope sent me, he’d started a brand-new morning routine: Bringing her a fresh cup of Starbucks coffee—along with a fresh flower bouquet at exactly seven forty-five.
He was “always on time,” but unless my watch my wrong, he was about to be late.
Five … four … Three …
Simon’s red Ferrari suddenly roared down the center lane, right past me. As if he owned the street, he swung into the ‘No Parking’ spot right in front of Penelope’s place.
He stepped out with a coffee cup and a bouquet of red roses in hand. Dressed down in jeans and a black blazer, he looked more like an insurance salesman than a “billionaire in the making.”
He knocked on her door, and she opened it within seconds. Kissing her on the forehead, he said something that made her smile and handed over his gifts.
I waited for him to kiss her on the lips—to be unable to resist her sexy mouth, but that didn’t happen. Instead, he grabbed her hand like a hero from a Disney movie and placed three soft kisses against it.
Wow.
I cranked my engine as he blew her an air kiss and returned to his car. When he pulled away, I trailed him from afar, keeping four cars between us at all times.
Half an hour later, I followed him into the parking lot of a private elementary school.
Tapping my steering wheel, I watched as he popped the trunk and grabbed a handful of bright blue balloons and a huge white box. Then he walked through the school’s front doors.
As my mind spun with theories, I noticed the flashing billboard on the side of the building.
Thank you to the Simon G. Fund for sponsoring the fourth-grade ballet recital!
Love,
Elm School for the Gifted
Hmmm. It’s probably a tax write-off.
Simon returned empty-handed minutes later and sped off onto the street.
I trailed him once more, and for the next five hours, I watched him like a seasoned chess player, committed his every move to memory.
He treated his entire team to breakfast at The Four Seasons and awarded them the next few days off as appreciation. He drove along the outskirts of the Wall Street to make deposits at his clients’ banks. Anytime someone waved or complimented his car, he smiled and handed them a hundred-dollar bill.
