Chapter 36

MELODY

He lookslike he has just stepped into my office while I still work on my bow.

"You look all right," he says, running his gaze down, and this is not a compliment.

I look all right, as in I don't look as if I had my legs up and had been pounded with a vengeance.

Yes, I look all right, considering my hair is damp, my panties are soaked with semen, and my bra is crooked.

Maybe it isn't, but it feels that way.

I put my blazer on and look in the mirror, running my fingers down my skirt.

"It's all right. Don't worry, baby," he murmurs, reaching inside his jacket.

"No smoking in here," I quickly say.

A lazy smile drapes over his lips.

"I wasn"t reaching for a cigarette."

He extracts a small jewelry pouch and pulls out a necklace with a pendant.

"There are things more valuable than money…" he says, sliding the jewelry pouch into his pocket.

He then unfastens the necklace and nudges me around so he can put it around my neck.

We lock eyes in the mirror, my hand going to the pendant.

"In case we're not making it…" he says, his eyes glinting with a smile while he fastens my necklace.

"What does that mean?" I murmur.

"Nothing in particular. If we're not making it, this will stay with you. If you want to…"hesays, tiltinghischin toward my chest. "It looks good," he adds while I run my fingers over it.

"It'sreally pretty," I say, engraved words scraping my fingertips. "What does it say?"

"We can't have twice what only comes once."

My eyebrows wiggle with surprise.

He replaces his seriousness with a smile.

"No. That's not what it says. It says Melody and Jax."

He tosses the words nonchalantly like this is a trivial thing, ubiquitous, yet something tightens in my chest.

Is that simple, isn't it?

Two people falling for each other, doing things for one another. With alittleluck, growing old together.

Emotions swirl in my chest at the worst possible time.

It's Monday. I'm at work. I'm in the bathroom. And I just had sex. And now I'm emotional?

But something hurts inside and makes my eyes water.

He brings his fingers to my cheek.

"Are you all right, baby?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

My voice is strained, my hand latched onto the pendant asfootsteps march into my office.

"She's not here," Mina says, and I regain my focus.

"They're looking for me. I need to go."

"Sure," he says, the affection in his eyes gone.

How do these things work?

Should I say… Talk to you later?

We don't do that as we only have sex and nothing else.

"You know how to get out of the building."

"Don't worry about me," he says before placing a cold kiss on my cheek.

"I'll go first," I say.

"Sure."

Without another word, I exit the bathroom and walk into my office, expecting to see Mina.

She's trailing down the corridor, so I spin around, stick my head into the bathroom, find him scrolling on his phone, and signal him he can leave.

Quietly, he slides his phone into his pocket and follows me while my heels click-clack against the floorall the wayto my desk.

I slide into my seat, not looking at him, and he makes a beeline for the exit when Mina paces back into my office.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath, my hands sweaty on my desk.

With the air of someone visiting the building for the first time, he picks up a brochure from the coffee table.

My secretary walks in when he turns to me as if wanting to ask something.

"Oh," Mina says, coming to a sudden halt, thunderstruck. "I didn't know you had a client here with you," she says, unknowingly offering him a way out.

He looks at me, an eyebrow lifted.

"Who is this lovely lady?" he asks, acting like a pro.

"This is Mina, my secretary," I say, pondering a way out.

She steps in, a full-mouth grin on her face.

"Nice to meet you," she says, overly excited.

I get a sting of jealousy when their hands connect.

"Jax London," he says, and I watch her melt before dragging her gaze to the leaflet in his hand. "Oh, you must be here for the presentation," she says. "Building individual wealth," she drones on. "The presentation begins in five minutes. You don't want to miss it."

I push to my feet, my hands clasped on my hips.

The idea ofhaving him on the floor for another hour makes me nervous. You never know with him.

That silly voice inside my head laughs her little butt off. I so want to tell her to shut up and whack her upside the head.

He turns his face to me, utterly amused, only for me to see.

"All right then," he says, winking at me, only for me to see. "Thank you so much for your help, Miss… I'm sorry I didn't catch your name. Melanie… something."

He's pushing it.

"Melody Hill," I say as Mina witnesses the exchange before swinging her gaze to the corridor, and I wag my finger at him.

He rolls his bottom lip beneath his teeth, and I get warm below my waist.

His eyes fuck me just as good as his fingers and his dick.

I can't look at him anymore without smiling, so I tip my gaze down and sift through some reports when I speak.

"Enjoy the presentation, Mr. London."

"I sure will."

I tip my gaze up just as he turns around and follows Mina to the conference room.

I'm fucked.

‘You can say that again,'the little voice inside my head murmurs, not holding back her insolent laughter.

MELODY

Tuesday

I leftwork early to see the apartments.

After perusing the list Mina had emailed me, and honestly, not seeing anything that spoke to me, I decided to add a few properties to the list of places I'm seeing today, and here I am.

My feet hurt. I need a cigarette badly––this is only getting worse––and I'm hungry.

But I'm down to the last three properties, and the real estate agent, a woman with an infectious smile and energy for days, works her butt off to make me happy, so I can't let her down.

Even if I end up with nothing, I will at least have an idea of what's on the market.

The problem is, there's nothing wrong with the properties, except they're not for me.

I've seen small and large places, and they're either too far away, too crowded, or the buildings are too old.

Or they're some modern establishment without much history and, ultimately, soulless.

Or they're simply too pretentious.

Despite saying I don't want to raise a family in Manhattan, the way things are going, I might need to spend some time here single, so I need to make it mine.

I don't want to hate going home.

I have that now.

So far no luck.

Angela, the real estate agent, and I walk into the last place, and she looks at me, trying to gauge my reaction.

I don't have one.

She gives me a tour of the property and gestures to the windows, pointing to the serene water view.

I can't argue with her. It's a selling point.

The view is nice, but the place seems more suitable for a college student.

I can tell she's not happy that I'm distraught. I wish things were different.

"So, that's it," I say, leaning against the kitchen counter and looking outside.

The water view filters through the living room windows while the kitchen window faces a narrow street with littered sidewalks.

This is New York.

Nothing is perfect, and this shouldn't be a deal breaker. The real deal breaker is that I can see myself in this space.

Pursing my lips, I ponder my options while Angela excuses herself, walks away, and chats with someone on the phone in the hallway.

A strategy to give me time to think.

I quickly realize my house hunting resembles my dating life. I struggle a lot, and the more places I see, the less convinced I am I'm on the right path.

But here, I don't have an Aretha Stenson to guide me, so I'll need to suck it up and keep looking.

I didn't expect to find something suitable on day one, but I'ma littledisappointed that nothing looks even close to what I want.

Angela's footsteps trail inside.

"So, what do you think?" she asks, looming in the doorway while I push off the kitchen counter and take in a long breath.

"I think we should keep looking," I say, reaching inside my bag and checking the time on my phone. "How does that sound?" I ask, dropping my phone back and looking at her.

"It sounds good," she says, erasing the distance between us, stopping next to the kitchen island and retrieving her tablet from her purse.

She taps the screen and peers at me.

"You said nothing over two million dollars."

I nod.

"Yes. I thought two million dollars would be a good budget," I say softly before tellingherwhat I told Mina––that I don't plan to raise a family here.

She tips her gaze down and starts searching on her tablet.

"Okay. So, uh… Is there any way you can be a little flexible with your budget?"

She lifts her gaze to me.

"If I understand correctly, you'd like a place that makes you feel at home. Make it your little sanctuary…"

I tip my chin in agreement.

"Something like that. I want to come home and unwind. Recharge, if you know what I mean, not deal with my landlord."

A smile stretches across her lips.

"It makes sense. I'd want that too if I were you."

She sets down her tablet and slides it to me.

"What about this?" she asks, tapping the screen with her finger. "Does it look like something you'd be interested in?"

I tip my gaze down and take in the first picture. It's an open-layout, medium-sized apartment with a decent view.

"Where is this?" Iask, scooping up the tablet and checking the rest of the pictures.

Unlike the other places, this one has been completely renovated and has a beautiful kitchen and a bathroom, high ceilings, and wooden floors. All done in white and shades of chocolate brown and cognac.

There is something about this place that makes my heart rush. It's not too small or too big.

It's warm and welcoming despite only having off–white cabinets, granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, warm lighting, and a kitchen island.

I see myself cooking for myself, which I rarely do, lingering on a sofa with a book, which I now rarely do, and napping on Sundays.

The open space gives me the sensation that I can finally breathe in peace while watching the flickering lights outside and pondering little nothings.

"Where is it?"

She gives me the address, and it's not far from my current residence.

"Price?" I ask.

It's too good to be true.

"That's the problem," she says like the experienced agent that she is.

Always whet a client's appetite before negotiating.

Saying nothing, she swipes the screen a few times and points to the figure.

"Four million dollars?"

It's not the number that makes me gasp despite being doubleofwhat I had in mind.

It's how expensive these places have become.

"It's a new listing," she continues, and I know what that means.

Part of its appeal is not being on the market for long.

Thenicestplaces are snatched up even when overpriced. Everything else–like the places I have seen–has been there for a while, and I'm not the only one finding them less than perfect.

It makes sense.

This place won't be on the market for long. Someone will make an offer for sure.

"Is there room for negotiation?" I ask.

"There may be," she says unconvincingly. "Unless someone buys it outright."

I feel the pinch of pressure, and I hate it when salespeople do that, but it's normal for her to do it.

She needs her commission, and I'm a little hooked. She's noticed the glint in my eyes.

But four million dollars? Is it even a good investment? Does spending that much money on something I don't want to live in for long make sense?

And that is not even the problem.

Will I be able to sell it when I'm done with it?

I grab my purse.

"Let's see it," I say, heading to the door.