Stone Cold Fox (33)



Speaking of, Syl had sent a small floral arrangement to my office, peonies and ranunculus, about twelve blooms or so, with a thoughtful card. All it said was “You fucking deserve it! xo Syl”—a boldly familial move, but I didn’t mind that she was taking big swings, even if it was self-serving. If Syl was in my good graces, surely she’d be in Collin’s. It’s all politics at the end of the day. Syl was an ally, as far as I was concerned. And if she had anything to do with Collin’s ring selection, which I strongly suspected, I should have been the one sending her flowers. Was it possible Collin had such pristine taste all on his own? I doubted it as much as I doubted that he’d asked the women in his family for their opinion on the diamond. I likely had some overzealous shopgirl to thank as well, but her sizable commission would have to be thanks enough.



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? ? ?

MORRIS HALEY III took the news of my departure from his digs swimmingly, even bidding me adieu with a sincere hug that didn’t feel lecherous for once. I felt his hot breath on my neck, a bit wistful, but he didn’t cross any lines, thankfully. I figured he was just about ready for my exit, since I had stopped sleeping with him weeks ago. I’d miss his divine shower room, but little else. Our time together had run its course.

I packed everything up myself. A simple task. I didn’t possess many belongings, beyond designer clothes and bags and jewels that had all been gifted to me over the years by various men, things that could be sold at a moment’s notice if needed, nothing I purchased for myself. I kept my earned money in bank accounts, foreign and domestic, and in the stock market, right where I liked it. I preferred having a light footprint when it came to material goods. Easier to make moves if necessary.

Collin didn’t say anything when my things arrived at our now-shared town house in Chelsea. Men never said anything when I pulled the ultimate power move without any prior discussion. I was skilled at selecting the perfect moment to force cohabitation with my mate. An exercise in stealth. A time when I knew it would make perfect sense, a time when it seemed inevitable, a time so perfect that the man would look like a real jackass if there was any protest. Besides, I traveled so light, used to leaving everything behind. Stuffed animals in Atlanta, Barbies in California, any gifts for me from any of her men that couldn’t later be sold. So I kept up the habit as an adult. I wouldn’t attach meaning to anything at risk of not being permanent, which was just about everything. Cash in the bank, and under the mattress so to speak, that’s what it was really about. I didn’t prioritize stuff. So what could Collin say when I waltzed in with a couple of wheelie bags and a few bankers boxes? As far as he knew, I had been living with an eccentric roommate he never met. We never spent any time there because of said roommate, after I painted a picture of an obnoxious homebody—which honestly Morris totally was. Now Collin and I were engaged. I was moving in. End of story.

I adored the Chelsea town house. All that space. True luxury. The whole place felt different when I moved in, compared to the numerous times I merely slept over as Collin’s girlfriend. While I appreciated Collin’s decorator’s taste prior to our being affianced, I was ready to do some strategic revamping so that when visitors arrived, they would remark on the much-needed woman’s touch. More than that, I was finally ready to let myself fall in love with a place I could make my own permanently. The intoxicating allure of stuff began to call to me, the stuff that makes a home, that I staved off acquiring for so long. I wanted to flounce about in long silk robes while I sipped on artisanal teas and read fine literature on the chaise in the library. I was ready to stock a walk-in closet of my own with hordes of shoes and gowns and lingerie, all on Collin’s dime. I planned to run up and down the stairs to get some cardio in on the weekend while also relishing in the fact that I lived somewhere with multiple private staircases in Manhattan.

I had really done it. It was my house, too.

And unlike her, I’d never plan on leaving it.



* * *



? ? ?

AFTER I WAS all settled in, Collin invited his family over for dinner, in the spirit of uniting us all, and to break the news they must have known was coming. Channeling Haven and her harpist on tap, I arranged for a pianist to join us so they could all find some ease when awkward silence would inevitably prevail over polite conversation. I still had to be nice to the Cases, despite my true feelings.

“Will Gale be joining us?” I asked Collin, fully expecting a response in the affirmative, but he shook his head.

“Nope,” he said, giving me a quick kiss. That put a spring in my step. I was actually looking forward to the visit from the Case family. When they arrived and we told them the news, the wedding planning would officially begin, whether they liked it or not. It sounded relaxing to plan a wedding, comparatively speaking. Most of my plans thus far had required so much foresight and forgery. It could get exhausting. Sorting out seating charts, a live band and a color scheme? Bring it. I was happy to finally take up residence on Easy Street, also known as West Twentieth.

Hayes, Haven, Chloe and Calliope filed into the town house knowing exactly what the night would be all about. They all wore shades of black to prove it to me, except for Calliope, in her signature baby pink. “I wanted this one,” Calliope said to me out of the corner of her mouth as she looked around the foyer. “It’s the best one. Collin always gets the best.”

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