Twirling a lock of her black hair around her finger, she lets out a sigh. “A heart rate monitor for reptiles.”
I bite back a smile.
She’s a brilliant nine-year-old who is fixated on lizards at the moment, much to the chagrin of our mother.
I rest both hands on my desk. “Reptiles don’t need heart rate monitors.”
“Ah, yeah, they do.” She shoots me her signature ‘you’re-an-idiot look.’ “They can have heart issues just like everyone else.”
I lean back in my chair as she shifts from one sneaker-covered foot to the other. “Are you going to develop this monitor yourself?”
Her head bounces up and down as she nods. “I already sketched out a prototype. I need two hundred bucks for the supplies. I can order them online.”
Seeing as how she doesn’t have a credit card, I know the drill. She’s looking for mine to fund her latest pet project. That’s exactly what it is since her long-tailed gecko, Mr. Greenface, is her one true love at the moment.
I reach out a hand, palm side up. “Give me the list of supplies.”
A folded piece of white paper is out of her pocket in an instant. She jogs toward my desk to drop it in my palm. “Don’t tell Ryden I said this, but you’re the best big brother ever, Harrison.”
I’m far from it, but she’s too young to understand that, so I’ll allow her to believe I’m a hero for now.
“Mom wants to talk to you,” she warns me before lowering her voice. “I think it’s about money.”
As it always is.
I inherited a fortune when my father died. All of that wealth was born at the hands of my grandfather. Since I’m the last living Keene in our bloodline, I bear the burden and benefits of that.
As if on cue, my mother steps into the doorway of my office.
The cream-colored pantsuit she’s wearing is a striking contrast to the stark ebony of her hair. Her green eyes scour my face looking for a clue as to how generous I’ll be today.
Before she can utter a word about needing a loan she’ll repay someday, I put on my reading glasses, slide my checkbook from the top drawer of my desk, and write her name alongside an amount with a hell of a lot of zeroes.
CHAPTER THREE
Ava
“I’ll take it,” I say without a second thought.
It’s how I’ve learned to live my life. I trust my gut instinct because it’s rarely steered me wrong. I relied on it when I decided to move to London alone at the age of eighteen.
I boarded an airplane with a talent that many have called brilliant and made my way to the Royal Academy of Music.
The fact that I had a hefty scholarship in hand and the financial backing of my parents didn’t hurt.
They set me up in a sunlight-filled flat with a second bedroom that was intended to be a guest room for when they visited me.
My family never made it to London, so I hopped on a flight yesterday to remind them that I’m still alive.
“You’re sure?” The dark-haired woman standing near me questions. “It’s…um…it’s quite pricey, dear.”
That’s true, but I can afford it since a little business venture I started last year resulted in a big windfall.
What good is hard-earned money if you never spend it?
I move to look out of the windows that overlook the Hudson River. I take in the view before I turn and assess the pre-furnished space that will serve as my temporary home and the headquarters for my side hustle.
“Is your father going to help with the rent?” The woman asks with a nervous giggle woven into the words. “Or another man, perhaps?”
I don’t miss how she rakes me over for a second time. The look she gave me when I walked into the management office in the lobby of this building was one for the record books.
Apparently, based on my youth and my tight pink dress, she’s decided that some wealthy older man is taking care of me.
I bark out a laugh. “No.”
Her fingers get to work typing out something on the tablet in her hand. “Since I’m standing here with you, I assume you met the pre-qualification requirements. Everyone who is granted a showing needs to submit an application. A colleague of mine approves those.”
I exceeded those requirements yesterday when I filled out the application while waiting to board my flight.
“I passed,” I tell her so she can stop wasting her time.
Her eyes widen as she scans the screen of her tablet. “I can see that.”
“As I noted on my application, I’m interested in the month-to-month option,” I explain. “Two months, to be exact.”
She glances at me. “I’ll send you an email now with the rental agreement and the information you’ll need to pay your damage deposit and first month’s rent.”
A moment later, my phone buzzes in my palm.
“If you prefer, you can sign the rental agreement online,” she explains. “I completely understand if you’d like someone to look it over for you.”
Someone? As in someone older with experience in contracts?
I have someone just like that in my life. Declan is a lawyer, but if I go to him with this, he’ll tell me it’s a waste of money. He’s under the impression that I’m spending my time in Manhattan camping out in his spare bedroom.
I scan the document attached to the email. It’s a standard agreement, so I follow the attached link and sign it electronically before pressing the submit button.
“Signed, sealed, and delivered back to you.” I toss her a bright smile.
Her brow knits in confusion as her gaze drops back to her tablet. “That was quick. I’ll have a look.”
I take the opportunity to open my banking app to make the payment as specified in her email.
“It looks as though the agreement is in order, “ she says as her tablet chimes. Her fingers slide over the screen in response to the sound. “And it seems you’ve paid the damage deposit and two months’ rent in full.”
“When can I move in?” I ask hopefully.
“How’s Monday?” She finally smiles. “I’ll file the paperwork, have the lock changed, and you’ll be good to go.”
“Monday it is,” I say with a flutter of excitement in my chest. “I can’t wait.”
“This is the second most important woman in my life.” Sean nudges my shoulder with his index finger. “Ava, meet Calliope. She’s the most important…”
“Woman in your life,” I finish the sentence for him as I extend a hand to my brother’s fiancée.
Calliope Morrow is even more beautiful in person.
Sean sent me a selfie of the two of them that he took on the day he popped the question.
Calliope reaches for my hand to shake it softly. “It’s Callie. Saint is the only one who calls me Calliope. Well, he usually calls me Champ, but that’s a story for another day.”
Saint? Champ?
Their nickname game is next level.
The only pet name I’ve ever given a man is zero. That belonged to a guy I sort of slept with once, and it was because he lasted approximately zero seconds after he slid his cock into me.