“Do you think he’s going to throw out every perfume bottle they’ve got?” Marcus asks when we’re in the car on the way home.
“Oh, yeah,” I say. It’s scary how our minds are so often on the same page these days. “You better buy some stock in whichever company makes unscented products. Now that Landon’s on the case, it’s going to be the next big thing.”
And as we laugh in that way of two people perfectly attuned to each other, I finally decide how to handle the situation with my apartment.
I’m going to get rid of my old furniture and trust that what we have is real.
41
Marcus
When Emma informs me that she’s listing her remaining stuff on Craigslist and officially giving up her place, I feel both triumphant and relieved—and to my surprise, a little guilty.
“You did what?” Ashton gapes at me in disbelief when I meet him for coffee near my office on Thursday and fess up about the situation.
I scrub a hand over my face. “I just told you. I got Long to buy her landlady’s townhouse in Brooklyn at above-market value.”
“To force Emma to move in with you,” Ashton clarifies, staring at me like I’ve lost my marbles.
“No, to nudge her to move in with me,” I snap. Fucking Ashton; I was really counting on him being on my side in this. “She has all these hang-ups about money and not wanting to take advantage of me, and I screwed up with her once before, so she’s got trust issues… We were heading there anyway, and I just wanted to expedite things, okay? Is that so fucking wrong?”
“Not if you’re Machiavelli.” He props his elbows on the table, looking fascinated. “What else have you done to this poor girl?”
“Nothing.” Then some demonic creature—Mr. Puffs, perhaps—tugs on my tongue, and I grudgingly admit, “I may have also had her investigated when we first started dating.”
“What the fuck?” He straightens. “Why? Did you think she’s some kind of criminal?”
“Of course not. She said she didn’t want to see me after a particularly great date, and I needed some information to figure out how to— You know what? Never mind.” I don’t like the way he’s looking at me—like I’m admitting to murder.
Hasn’t every man in love done at least a little stalking?
“Oh, no.” He picks up his cup, dark amusement curling the corners of his mouth. “You’re not getting out of this so easily. If I understand it right, you pretty much stalked Emma until you got her to date you, and now you’ve also made sure she has no choice but to move in with you.”
“Bullshit. She has a choice. She could’ve gotten a different apartment. She decided to live with me of her own free will.” Which is why I don’t understand why I feel any guilt over this situation whatsoever.
“Yeah, sure.” Ashton is full-on laughing now, the bastard. “So how are you going to get her to marry you? Blackmail? Torture? Kidnapping?”
“Fuck you, man. One day, you’ll meet a woman who won’t put up with your bullshit, and then you’ll see what measures you resort to.”
A strange expression crosses Ashton’s face, but I’m too pissed to dwell on it. Picking up my cup, I down my coffee in a few long gulps and stand up. “I’ve got to go.”
“Marcus, wait.” Ashton jumps to his feet and steps in front of me before I can walk away from the table. “Listen, I’m sorry, man.” He sounds genuinely contrite. “You just caught me off-guard. You have to admit it’s kind of ridiculous that you’re The Herald’s most eligible billionaire or whatever, and you have to resort to this kind of shit to get a bookstore clerk to be with you. But”—he raises his palm before I can plant my fist into his face—“having met Emma twice now, and seen the way you two are together, I understand why you’re so hung up on her.”
Some of my anger eases. “You do?”
“Oh, yeah.” He gets back to his seat, and after a moment of deliberation, I sit down as well. “I’ve always admired your drive, you know,” he says, picking up his coffee cup. “Remember that first time we all went to a bar, after our Corporate Finance exam? Barry was there, and his girlfriend, Lina? Anyway, we’d all had a few beers, and then you told us you were going to be a billionaire. Remember that?” He takes a sip.
I force my tightly curled hand to unclench. “I do, yeah.” It was a few days after Ashton and I had been partnered up on our Corporate Finance project, before we really got to know each other and became friends.
Ashton sets down his cup. “Right. Well, here’s the thing. As drunk as we were, no one laughed at your proclamation. No one was even tempted to laugh because we all knew you’d make it happen. You radiated ambition; it practically oozed from your pores. You were like a fucking missile, locked and loaded and on the way to your target. Nobody doubted that you’d get there—not our teachers, not our fellow students, and certainly not me.”
I frown. “So?”
“So I envied you that.” Ashton’s face is as serious as I’ve ever seen it. “You knew exactly what you wanted out of life, and I didn’t have a fucking clue. But recently, having observed you over the past couple of years, I realized something. That missile-like determination, that ambition that propelled you forward, you couldn’t turn it off. You made your billions, and you just kept going, unable to stop, unable to appreciate any of it.”
My frown deepens. “That’s not true. I enjoy—”
“Yeah, I know, you enjoy having the penthouse and the private plane and all that money in the bank, but has any of that truly satisfied you? I’ve never seen you pause and take it in, or appreciate it on any level beyond the most
