Page 55

Rad

Eight months later

I walked away.

And I couldn’t be happier.

It’s surreal how much my life has changed. A year ago, I would have been hitting the partners and board members hard with every reason I deserved that promotion.

Today, I stood in the conference room, removing myself from contention. It turns out, Bob Marché is financially bankrupt—morally too, but that’s another story.

Apparently, Bob thought that marrying his daughter off to me would give him an in with my family—and our money. Desperate times, desperate measures, I guess, since his last four movies tanked. It does help that Marlow was as unsuspecting as anyone else in the situation.

The mortgage papers he dangled in front of his daughter at the beach? Fake. A desperate attempt to make me close the deal and pop the question. I cut ties early enough to save the firm’s reputation. Thankfully.

And my heart had other plans.

Not only do I not want partner anymore but stepping away was the right thing to do.

Rogers is coming off a two-billion-dollar settlement deal against a large pharmaceutical company.

He wants to work long hours, all weekends, and every holiday.

Good for him. He deserves the promotion and will make a great partner.

I didn’t elaborate on the new direction my life is taking or the life I’m building with my gorgeous girlfriend. Tealey’s shown me that living to work isn’t living at all. I think she saved me just in time to fix the errors of my way.

Anyway, my winning streak in court is still intact, so I’m good.

Better than good these days because I got the girl instead.

I arrive home with arms of groceries and a present or two tucked in my bags. I was able to put everything away and get a workout in before Tealey walked in the door.

“You’re home early,” she says, hanging her keys on the hook and setting her bag on the floor.

She gets more beautiful every day. I come to greet her with a kiss but find myself hanging on to her a little longer. “Light day.”

“I didn’t know attorneys had light days.” She wriggles away after another quick kiss. I’m sweaty but was hoping to take a shower with her.

Returning to the kitchen, I reply, “Normally, no, but the partners thought I might want to leave on time today.”

“Why?” Seeing the bowl of cherry tomatoes on the counter, she plucks one and pops it in her mouth. Everything she does is so fucking sexy.

I lean against the counter like I’m not about to drop a huge bomb in her lap. Grinning, I say, “I’m not going to be a partner.”

Her mouth opens to ask the question I see forming in her eyes, but then she looks up at me. “I’m sorry. I know how much that meant to you.”

“I’m not upset.” I kiss that soft spot behind her ear, sending a thrill of goose bumps over her skin.

“I wanted it before I had anything else. That doesn’t hold true for me anymore.

” Rubbing her back, I smile, looking at my bright-eyed girl.

“I have you, and I’m pretty damn invested in our future.

So tonight, we’re celebrating a different kind of victory—a big thing called getting a life.

I got one because of my partnership with you, and that is worth more than a promotion at work. ”

“So I’m the trade-off? A life with me or a successful career?” There’s no bitterness in her tone despite the words. She knows what she means to me because I don’t just tell her. I show her. But I don’t want her to feel guilty like she’s taking something away from me.

“There’s no competition. You’ll win every time.” I look into those baby blues, and say, “I took myself out of the running because I’ve been considering a change of careers for a while now.” Her lips twitch.

“The best divorce attorney in the city doesn’t want to divorce people?”

It’s a struggle not to grin, so I cock my brow. “Do I detect a note of sarcasm?”

She shrugs and then rests her hand on the side of my neck. The caress of her thumb causes my eyelids to dip briefly, savoring her touch and the comfort between us.

Reciprocating, I touch her cheek with the same care. “I’ve been thinking about your dream.”

“Which dream is that?” she asks with her thoughts elsewhere.

Before this conversation moves to the bedroom, I reply, “The dream to help kids. What do you think about setting up a foundation?”

She leans back, her eyes wide. The dots have connected. “To help kids find homes and provide meals?—”

“And the training and after-school programs. I’ve been talking to my mom, and it’s something she could help us set up.

She has experience working with charities.

Add in your trained skill set and I think it would work.

You could develop it from the ground up, getting the right people in place to help it grow. ”

Slipping away, Tealey walks through the living room to the window. She rests against the sill, still facing me, her thoughts pinching her brows together. “I don’t understand, Rad. You’re giving up your career to help me?”

“I still might work, just not as much. I like my career. I just hate the hours. But it became even more apparent when Misty’s paperwork came through a couple of days ago that I really liked that. I liked helping her, protecting her. I’d like to do more of that sort of thing with my time.”

I come closer, wedging between her legs and rubbing her shoulders. “You could stop commuting to Poughkeepsie three days a week and follow a different dream.”

Her expression softens. “Misty’s studying to be a social worker in Philly.”

“Because you inspire people.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but setting up a nonprofit takes money, Rad. A lot of money. If you aren’t working?—”

“I’ll be working, but you’ve always known that I come from money. I have trust funds.”

Cupping her ear, she leans closer. “Did I hear an S, as in plural?”

I chuckle. “Yes, six of them, and only one’s been touched.” Taking her hand, I turn it over and then lean down to kiss her palm, worried how she’ll react to the next part. I suck in a breath. “I lied to you.”

Her hand is yanked back, and I’m struck with a glare. “Rad . . .”

She doesn’t have to say more. The tone gets her message across loud and clear. White knuckling the windowsill, she asks, “What is it?” I was trying to avoid worrying her.

I start talking faster. “I got notice that the third-floor tenant is moving out.”

She tilts her head, worry turning into interest. “I’m not following.”

There are reasons I never shared the history of my inheritances or about the building. Simply put, I didn’t want to be treated any differently. But she’s going to find out one day, so I might as well confess. “It’s a small lie by omission. I know that counts but hear me out.”

She sighs heavily. “Tell me.”

“I own the building.”

Unblinking, she stares at me for a disconcerting number of seconds. Maybe it’s been minutes. I scratch the back of my neck nervously. Not able to bear the silence, I finally ask, “What are you thinking?”

“I just . . . Um . . .” She directs her gaze out the window, blocking me from reading what’s on her mind. When her eyes return to mine, she asks, “Since when?”

“Since college. I bought it with some of the money from one of my trust funds.”

“Oh, right, the plural amount of trust funds . . . there’s nothing normal about that, just so you know.”

“It is in my world.” I tuck her hair behind her ears. “ Our world.”

“You say that like I blend in with your world with such ease,” she says in disbelief.

“You do. You fit right in. You’ve become it. You’re my whole world.”

Another soft sigh escapes her, but a smile graces her face. “I feel the same about you, but I didn’t realize how much you were worth.”

Nothing I can say will make her feel more comfortable about never having to worry about money. She’s lived her entire life doing the opposite. She asks, “How much does that apartment rent for?”

I grin. “Are you in the market?”

“I can’t afford your spare bedroom,” she deadpans.

Her hand covers her mouth, hiding most of her pretty smile from me.

“So, I know I can’t afford a full-floor apartment in this neighborhood or any apartment in the city.

” I breathe easier when all signs of concern disappear from her features. “But I am curious.”

“Ten thousand.”

Her mouth falls open. “A month?” Stumbling back, she catches herself on the frame of the window. “Good lord, Rad. You’re rich rich. Richie Rich rich. Rockefeller rich.”

“Not Rockefeller rich.”

Fanning herself, she jokes, “I’m going to need a second to process this new information. Do Jackson and Cade know?”

“I’ve never given them my financials, but Jackson St. James isn’t far off. His last name’s a staple in this city. I’m only sharing this information with you.”

“You’re telling me because you have the money to start the nonprofit? Just lying around?”

“I’ve never rolled in a pile of money exactly, but I could, so yes.

I have my trust funds, but I’ve also made a lot of money in the stock market.

” Now everything’s just pouring out, financial vomiting is probably not something I should make a habit of, but for her—anything.

“My career. Basically, everything I touch turns to gold.” I smirk because I’m not called the golden boy for nothing.

Pursing her lips, she then laughs. “Your humility is something I’ve always admired about you.”

That’s my opening. I move in and take hold of her hips. “My girl’s got jokes.” I kiss her neck, nuzzling against her soft skin until I score a mewl from her.

“Boy, do I.” She cracks up. “I started as an opening act and recently moved into headlining.”

“You’ll always be my shining star.”

I try to kiss her, but her hands are on my chest, and she says, “Before we get sidetracked, because we often do, you want to use your money to not only make my dream come true but also to change countless lives for the better?”

“Yes. Now can we kiss?”