24. Monroe

TWENTY-FOUR

MONROE

"Mmmm," Riggs hums, coasting his lips across the heated skin of my neck as we ride the elevator to our floor. Sometimes there's an attendant on duty, but because it's a Sunday, we're all alone. Thank God for that. I'm not sure an extra body in here would've stopped him from pushing me up against the wall as soon as the doors closed, anyway. "Fuck, you taste good."

I moan quietly, feeling the warm moisture between my legs as it begins to slowly soak my panties. I'll never get over how quickly and easily he can turn me on. He barely even has to try and I'm a puddle at his feet. Now that I've come to grips with the fact that I don't hate him and love the way he makes me feel, it's been so much easier to enjoy all of this. I still have the same stupid hang-ups about getting into a relationship in the back of my mind, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about what it would be like.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open, but Riggs apparently isn't paying attention because he doubles his efforts, biting down on my neck while reaching both hands around to palm my ass. I'm about to just let them close and take us to the next floor, when a throat clears from the hallway. My eyes snap open and I'm mortified to see a young porter staring back at me. I gasp, attempting to shove Riggs away, but of course, the horny motherfucker isn't deterred.

"You know it makes me hard when you fight back, Mayhem," he growls, gripping even harder with his hands as I maintain eye contact with the poor soul who's literally just trying to do his job. I internally beg the floor to open up and swallow me whole, but obviously, it doesn't.

"Riggs!" I whisper-yell, slapping at his shoulder.

"Love it when you say my name," he replies into the skin of my neck, still attempting to devour me. "But why don't you shut the fuck up so I can make you come before the elevator stops?" He reaches his hand between my legs from behind, making my face flame with embarrassment as I finally rip my eyes away from our one-man audience and focus on getting this asshole back on the same planet as us.

"We are stopped ," I say loudly, finally making him unlatch from me as he turns to see the guy, who now has his hand in the door to prevent it from closing.

"Oh, shit," Riggs says, clearing his throat and not-so-subtly adjusting his massive erection before turning around. "Sorry, Tim. Got a little carried away there."

"Not a problem, Val," he replies, pretending like he didn't just witness amateur porn in the middle of this very classy building. "I actually just delivered some boxes outside your door. They're large and fairly heavy, so feel free to leave the cart in the hallway when you're finished, and I'll swing back by to pick it up."

I hide behind Riggs as he steps forward, fishing his wallet from his pocket before plucking out a hundred-dollar bill— hush money, probably —and handing it to the porter. We exit quickly, waiting for the doors of the elevator to close, signaling to us that we're alone before he turns to me like I did something wrong.

"Why didn't you tell me he was there?" he says in an accusing tone.

My eyes go wide, and my jaw drops in surprise. "I did!" I yell. "Several times! Maybe if you weren't such a feral beast, you'd have heard me!"

He smirks. "I've got your feral beast right here, baby," he says, palming his dick and squeezing. I want to scoff and tell him how disgusting he is, but as I watch the veins in his hand when he flexes it, my throat goes dry. I imagine those same salient ridges running along my center, eliciting the kind of teasing pleasure that only he can give.

I shake my head rapidly, attempting to eradicate the dirty thought before he notices, but I'm already busted. I meet his eyes to see a cocky expression, his tongue pushed into his cheek as though he's stifling an arrogant response.

"My dirty little slut," he mumbles, making me roll my eyes sarcastically as we approach the door. Sure enough, there are several large shipping boxes stacked onto a rolling cart, all labeled with Riggs' name and address. He opens the door, ushering me in before reaching back out to wheel it inside.

"What is all this?" I ask, even though it isn't really my business. He gets deliveries all the time, but I'm intrigued by the size of these .

He pulls the cart into the living room, unloading the boxes one by one onto the sofa. "It's your new recording equipment," he replies.

I tilt my head, brows pulling tightly in confusion. "My what? "

He disappears into the hallway with the empty luggage rack before coming back inside and closing the door behind him. Returning to the room, he begins unpacking everything like I'm not standing there completely perplexed and awaiting an explanation.

"Riggs," I repeat, attempting to recapture his attention. "What do you mean it's my new recording equipment?"

He pulls a large tripod out of the first box, reaching back in to grab a massive softbox. I've seen these on commercial sets when I worked at the marketing firm in California, but I've certainly never considered using one. "You said you wanted to film how-to videos for your website. I did some research and found out what kind of setup you'd need to make them look professional, and I ordered it on my way home from Philly."

I stand there, dumbfounded as he opens another, smaller box and pulls out a top-of-the-line DSLR camera kit. I go to speak but stop because I honestly don't know what to say. My heart squeezes in my chest as he sets up the tripod and screws the heavy device onto the plate, making sure it's secure enough before letting go.

"I was just planning on using my phone to record them," I say quietly. "We don't even know if this thing is going to take off, and you're out here blowing all kinds of money." I plop down onto the couch, anxiety creeping up and tightening my throat. He must've spent ten thousand dollars on this stuff alone. What if I end up failing him the same way I failed Claire and the boutique?

My eyes fill with tears as I stare blankly at the wall of windows that overlooks the beach. Riggs notices the change in my demeanor, abandoning his task and rushing over to kneel in front of me.

"Hey," he says softly, turning my chin with his finger so I'm looking at him. The sincerity in his eyes opens the floodgates, and tears begin streaming down my cheeks. Using his thumbs, he wipes them away. "You are the smartest, most determined woman I've ever met. You love what you do, and that shows in the way that you care for your clients. I have absolutely no doubt that you're going to crush the shit out of whatever you end up creating. Even if we didn't have this arrangement going on, I'd still be the first in line to invest in your business. I believe in you, Monroe. Anyone who doesn't is out of their mind."

I look into his eyes, and I can feel the wall around my heart shudder as it crumbles into a heap of rubble, leaving me completely open and vulnerable to him. When I got here, I wasn't even expecting us to be able to form a friendship. At the time, that was the furthest thing from what I wanted. I was just praying that I'd be able to tolerate him long enough to fulfill my duties as his fake girlfriend and move on with my life as quickly as possible. But all of that has changed.

I'm falling for him. I've known it for a while. I've tried my hardest to ignore the feelings, but they refuse to go away. The effects of the life I ran from still plague me when it comes to relationships, and although it'll take time for me to work on those, he makes me want to try .

"You're so much different than I thought you were," I whisper, giving him a grateful smile.

"So are you," he replies, leaning in and pressing his forehead against mine. Memories from that day at the boutique after our night together flood my mind, and suddenly, I feel awful about the way I treated him.

"Riggs," I choke out, more tears escaping my eyes and falling down my face. "I'm so sorry for all the time we lost."

He wipes them away again, shaking his head rapidly. "No," he says firmly. "I had just as much of a part in that as you did. I knew I wanted more with you before I even got you back to my room. So when you left, then acted like it was nothing more than a night of fun, I lashed out at you. You were completely honest with me. You told me that was all you wanted, and I agreed. I had no right to degrade you the next morning. I don't blame you for hating me for that."

"I never hated you," I reply. "I hated that I still wanted you after I promised myself I wouldn't."

He closes his eyes and his shoulders sag in relief. "You have no idea how good it feels to hear you say that. I told myself I could move on from what we shared, but as soon as I got you here, I knew that I'd never be able to. Can we stop fighting this now? Please? "

I nod before leaning forward and pressing my mouth to his in a gentle kiss. His hand comes up, cupping my cheek, and when his tongue slides along my lower lip, I open for him. This is unlike anything else we've ever shared. This isn't about sex or making our bodies feel good. It's about finally opening our hearts to the things we've been denying ourselves for too long .

We sit there, making out and breathing each other in for what seems like forever. But when he finally pulls back, it feels like I didn't get enough. I whine, making him chuckle before he takes my hand and pulls me up to stand.

"As much as I'd love to be inside you right now, I think we should give one of these videos a try," he says, moving back toward the boxes on the couch. He busies himself, assembling the lighting fixtures while I watch him with a silly grin on my face.

"I don't know if I'm ready," I say. I honestly don't need a script because I've gone through this with clients so many times that I could do it in my sleep. But the thought of actually creating something so important to my success has me feeling all the nerves.

"Well," he begins, turning back toward me, "let's give it a try and see how it goes. If you hate it, we'll delete it and try again. You have all the time in the world to get this right, Monroe. And I'll be here by your side until you feel good about it."

I've never experienced this type of situation before. The only reason my parents even allowed me to go to college was that they thought it would make me more agreeable when it came to their future plans for me. They could hold it over my head, reminding me of all the things they've done for me when they asked me to marry the person they chose to further our family's success. They footed the bill but never once asked how my classes were going or if I needed anything. I truly believe that they were waiting for me to fail so I'd come running back. Unfortunately for them, that was the fuel I needed to make sure I achieved every one of my goals.

As far as my relationship with Conrad, I know he planned on making it so I wouldn't be able to work. Every generation before him, the wife stayed at home and raised the children with the help of a team of nannies while the husband controlled everything, including the finances. I wanted to have a say in my own future. I wasn't ready to be out from under one thumb, just to go right under another. That's why I had no choice but to leave when I did.

It's also why having so much support from Riggs feels foreign to me. I was programmed at an early age to depend on others to get by. My parents provided every material possession, getting me used to living that lifestyle so they could pass me off to someone who was able to maintain it when I was old enough. Now that I'm working to take care of myself, it's hard to think about letting that go. I know he isn't like them, though. He truly wants to see me do well on my own, and the fact that he's here right now assembling this camera setup tells me everything I need to know about what a future with him could look like.

It isn't going to be easy to just forget everything I've known my whole life, but I really do want to try. I've felt more love and support from this man—who up until recently, barely even knew me—than I have from my own flesh and blood since the day I was born. None of it will happen overnight, but I know I don't want the alternative. I want to be here with him. I want to see where this thing could go.

I walk over, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind as he flips the switch to turn on the studio lighting. He turns, pressing a kiss to the top of my head before giving me a light smack on the ass. "Have a seat, Mayhem," he says, motioning toward the armchair near the window. "Tell me how to fuck shit up on Instagram."

I roll my eyes, barking a laugh at his words. "Well, we can start by not using phrases like fuck shit up ," I reply sarcastically. I'm feeling more confident already, now that he's lightened the mood. I swear he knows just how to calm me.

We spend the rest of the evening recording, deleting, and re-recording until I feel like everything is exactly right. My website isn't live yet, but uploading the first video feels better than anything I've ever experienced in my career. Without Riggs, I'm not sure I ever would've had the courage to do this. Now all I want to do is make him proud.