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Anthony:It’s more than fireworks, Twyla. She makes me feel safe. That wasn’t even on my radar as something I thought I was looking for in a partner, but this morning, all I could think about was how safe I feel with her.
Twyla:Oh, man. That’s it, then. You’re done for. This is the real deal. The only thing worse than “safe” is home. Once they feel like home…
Anthony:She feels like that, too. I would ask her to move in with me tonight if I could.
Twyla:And why can’t you? You’re not a skeezy con man who was pulling one over on this girl, Anthony. You are a titan of industry, a genius legend in the investment banking world! You’re also a goddamned billionaire with an impeccable reputation and a philanthropic resume Mother Theresa would be proud of. You may have done a less than honest thing, but you’re a good, honest man who has a LOT to offer a woman.
Especially a young woman looking for an older man to show her the ropes in bed and out of it. Just bring her to the club around 5 with a good idea of what you want to say. Let me handle the rest.
Anthony:No. I’ll bring her to the club—I want her to be able to talk to you immediately if she has any questions after I explain how this happened—but I need to do this my way. I’ll shoot you a text later and let you know what I have in mind.
Twyla:Okay. I guess it’s only fair that I be held accountable, but I don’t like it. I’m not a fan of consequences. That’s why I spend most of my time hidden away in my office, pulling strings from afar.
Ugh, I knew I shouldn’t have given that kid a meeting. Kids from Maine don’t belong in New York City sex clubs. It was a disaster waiting to happen from the start.
Anthony:I’m glad you gave her a meeting. And she’s not a kid. She’s an adult, a very clever, compassionate adult who deserves the truth. I just hope I can deliver it in a way that doesn’t make her hate me.
Twyla:She won’t hate you, Anthony. You’re one of the good ones. Surely, she knows that by now, and I’ll put in a good word for you. I mean, I find almost all men loathsome and repulsive these days, but not you.
Anthony:Is there anyone in particular I should hate on your behalf? I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish. I haven’t even asked about your love life.
Twyla:It’s okay. I don’t have one, and I’m quite happy with that state of affairs. If you don’t have a love life, you can’t have a ‘that asshole promised to love me and then had an affair with my dad” life.
Anthony:YOUR DAD?
Twyla:Yeah. Long, awful story, neither of us has time for. Suffice it to say, I don’t talk to either of them anymore. They’re dead to me and so is romance. But I have rabbits now. Two big, cuddly, floppy-eared rabbits who love me unconditionally, even when I accidentally ruin their meet-cute with the woman of their dreams.
I honestly feel terrible about this, Anthony. The more I think about it, the shittier I feel. Whatever you need to make tonight perfect, let me know, and it’s yours.
Anthony:Thanks, Twyla. I appreciate that. I’ll touch base soon.
I head down the stairs into the subway, thoughts racing.
Twyla is generously providing the “where” for an apology for the ages, but it’s up to me to pull out all the stops. With that in mind, I locate the contact information for my ex’s favorite stylist, the one who charges a grand just to show up at Bergdorf’s to help you spend your money, then another five hundred per hour for the actual shopping.
The last time Maya and I were at Twyla’s, she was the most beautiful woman in the room, even in the shabbiest dress. But this time, I want her to shine like the diamond she is.
If she decides to walk away from me, she’ll be doing it in style, damn it.
A part of me hopes that might make it easier somehow…
But I doubt it.
chapter 17
MAYA
Dave’s flashlightbeam cuts through the basement gloom, illuminating century-old bricks and massive wooden support beams as he rambles on about the recent plumbing updates, a pleasant surprise in a structure that’s clearly been neglected for quite some time.
I want to focus on what he’s saying about the building’s excellent bones—this is what I’ve been waiting for, the moment I finally get the scoop on the biggest investment of my life—but all I can think about is the way Anthony balked like a spooked horse half a block from the apartment building.
What the heck was that all about?
Because I’m not buying the “sick friend” excuse for a second. In fact, I’d bet several yards of my apparently excellent L-grade copper plumbing that he faked getting a text.
Fakedit.
Faked it and flat outliedto my face.