Tío Martin shifted in his seat.
Eduardo’s brows wrinkled with concern.
Mariana’s mouth pursed so tight it resembled a prune.
Sloane and I were the only ones who didn’t give anything away, though a bead of sweat cut down my back despite an air-conditioned breeze.
Dante lowered his hand and said, so casually he sounded like he was discussing the weather instead of a seven point nine-billion-dollar fortune, “Yes.”
That was it.
No explanation, no grand flourish after keeping us on tenterhooks for so long. Just a simple, resounding yes.
That was all I needed.
Relief exploded behind my ribcage, leaving me lightheaded. A grinning Eduardo started saying something about follow-up paperwork, but his words blurred beneath the weight of my elation.
I did it. I fucking did it.
I didn’t need their validation, but honestly? It felt good to have it.
The call ended minutes later, and I took great satisfaction at the sight of Mariana’s frown before she signed off.
“I screenshotted an image of Mariana’s face so you can look at it if you ever feel down.”
I turned, another smile taking over my face when Sloane entered the room. She wore a perfectly pressed silk blouse and pajama shorts.
The biggest perk of taking work calls at home? No one could see below your waist.
“You take such good care of me,” I teased, pulling her into my lap. “Thanks for casting the first vote, by the way. What you said…”
“Was true. I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.” Sloane’s face softened for an instant before mischief sparked. “Just don’t forget that when you’re drafting your own will. I’m only doing this for your money.”
“Are you now?”
“Yea—aah!” She let out a yelp of surprise when I stood abruptly and maneuvered us so I straddled her on the floor.
“What was that you were saying about my money?” I threatened, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. I reshaped my grin into a stern frown.
Heat and laughter glittered in her eyes. “That it makes you seven point nine billion times hot—oh God.” The rest of her sentence dissolved into a gasp when I slid a hand beneath her shirt and palmed her breast.
It was the weekend, I’d just pulled off the biggest night of my life, and I had a long, free day ahead of me.
If Sloane wanted to tease me, I could return the favor a hundredfold.
“Not God, Luna.” I dipped my head, my mouth brushing hers with each word. She tasted sweet, warm, perfect. “God has no hand in what I’m about to do to you.”
It was for the best, considering our activities in the library, and my bedroom, and the rooftop for the rest of that day were decidedly unholy.
Sloane and I didn’t talk about work, money, or anything else, not even when the sun set and we lay, sweaty and exhausted, in my bed.
That was the best part about being with the right person.
Some days, we could talk all night; other days, we didn’t need words at all. Just being with each other was enough.
Epilogue
XAVIER
Eighteen months later
Per the terms of my father’s will, I received an installment of my inheritance every time I passed an evaluation. I’d just aced my third one last week, and the number before the zeroes in my bank account ticked up exponentially, even after I donated half the payment to various charities.
Ironically, the Vault was doing so well I didn’t need my inheritance anymore, but it was nice to have that cushion. After its smash opening night and Mode de Vie’s subsequent profile of me in its Movers and Shakers section, the club skyrocketed into fame. I was already making plans to open a new location in Miami, but first, I had an even bigger change to settle at home.
“I think that’s it.” Sloane planted her hands on her hips and looked around the living room. “Everything is unloaded and accounted for.”
Piles of cardboard boxes covered the floor, each one neatly labeled with its contents. Clothing (fall/winter). Clothing (spring-summer). Books. Office supplies. So on and so forth.
Movers had spent the day transporting those boxes from Sloane’s old apartment to my town house. Just when I thought there couldn’t possibly be more stuff, another truckload arrived.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “You packed so light.”
“Very funny,” she huffed. She patted one of the boxes. “I couldn’t leave my Louboutin collection or my review notebooks.”
“You have an entire box of review notebooks?” Jesus, how many had she written?
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sloane said. “I couldn’t fit them into one box. I split them up into two.”
