Unfortunately, she couldn’t get her mind to stop racing, though she must have been making some interesting facial expressions because Edith asked her, “What are you doing with your face?”

  “It’s an exercise I read about recently, it’s supposed to counteract anything you do that produces wrinkles so your skin is smoother as you age.”

  Edith studied her silently and Maggie tried to make herself look as innocent as possible, but apparently it wasn’t a look she could successfully carry off when stressed. Edith gave her a scary smile, tilted her head and said, “I don’t believe you.”

  Maggie acted like it was no big thing. “I don’t care whether you do or not.” What she cared about was getting out of her apartment and getting out as quickly as possible. Edith wasn’t stable and there was no telling how much longer she’d be able to halfway reason with the woman.

  Her cell phone was in her purse, which she’d placed on the foyer table beside the front door. Of course Edith had to pick tonight when there was no way for her to carry her phone in her pocket the way she did ninety-nine percent of the time. Now it looked as if she had to decide between finding a way to get to the door or to her purse. Neither of which appeared workable at the moment.

  The box near the front door buzzed. Edith kept the barrel of the gun aimed at Maggie.

  Maggie tried to keep her voice calm. “It’s the doorman. He knows I’m here. I have to answer.” Not only that, but the box was near the door. If she could answer the box, it was possible she could open the door.

  “I’ll work the box. You can talk to him from there.” Edith walked two steps backward, somehow keeping the gun aimed at Maggie.

  Damn it. What she wouldn’t give to have Isaac’s ability to poker face at the moment.

  The box buzzed again.

  “Don’t try anything cute,” Edith said, and pressed the answer button.

  Why? You already said you can’t shoot me. Maggie wanted to ask, but bit her tongue because she only saw madness in Edith’s eyes and there was no predicting how she might react. “Yes?” she asked, hoping she’d projected enough, and the doorman heard her.

  “Good evening, Ms. Warren,” the doorman said. “I wanted to let you know that Mr. Tobias Warren is on his way up.”

  “What?” Maggie replied but Edith had already disconnected. She was screwed. While she may have had a chance against Edith, there was no way she’d be able to fight Tobias. The doorman had done all he could in letting her know the man was on the way. He couldn’t have stopped him because Tobias owned the place.

  The only thing providing her any comfort was the perplexed look on Edith’s face.

  “Wh… wh… why is he here?” she asked.

  It took too much brain power to figure out the answer to that question, and besides Maggie knew she more than likely didn’t want to know.

  Someone knocked on the door. “Edith!” Tobias called. “Open up, baby.”

  “Toby?” With that one word, her voice changed, and though she looked like a dangerous adult, she sounded almost childlike.

  “I’m here, baby,” Tobias said. “Open the door and let me help.”

  Edith’s eyes grew large. “You will?”

  “Of course. I’ll always help my girl.”

  Please, God, Maggie prayed. Please let him know his wife is sick. She only hoped that somehow Tobias meant he’d help his wife get treatment and not help kill his daughter-in-law. She hated having to place her hope in him, and she glanced around the room looking for anything she could use as a weapon. Her eyes fell on a letter opener on a table near the door. It had been a wedding present, and was gaudy, but it was heavy and sharp, so they’d kept it.

  “Door’s unlocked,” she told Edith.

  As soon as Edith turned to open the door, Maggie leaped in front of the mail table, grabbing the letter opener, and hiding it behind her back. She watched in shock as Tobias gently took Edith in his arms, while taking the gun out of her hands.

  He looked at Maggie and for a split second she thought he’d aim it right back at her. But he called over his shoulder, “I’ve got her. She’s disarmed.”

  “Toby?” Edith asked in that childlike voice as several muscular men stormed into the apartment. “Toby?” She called again as they restrained her.

  “Maggie? Oh my, God. Are you okay?”

  “Isaac?”

  He made it to her before she could blink and then she was in his arms and nothing else mattered.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was nearly dawn by the time they made it to Isaac’s penthouse. Even then he’d almost had to resort to threatening bodily injury because people kept wanting to question Maggie.

  He carried her into his bedroom and put her on the bed. She still had on her ice blue gown, and though she had to be exhausted, he knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep yet.

  “I can’t believe Edith killed Ellis,” she said. “Accidental or not. And I can’t believe you came after me. How did you know?”

  She’d already asked him that at least five times and his answer never changed. “I just knew.”

  When he rushed into the lobby of her building and found it swarming with police officers, firemen, and various medical personnel, he feared he was too late. But then he’d spotted Tobias talking with several people at the front desk. It took everything he had not to punch the man, but to ask him in a not-so-polite voice what the fuck was going on.

  “And how did Tobias not know how sick and delusional his wife was?” Maggie asked.

  “Good question.”

  Isaac still had trouble understanding the entire story himself. But from what he could piece together, Edith and been ill for a long time, and Tobias, busy with his company and making an even bigger name for himself, was rarely around her. He claimed ignorance on the letter Edith sent Maggie and the chef contract that nearly ruined the benefit.

  “At least he was observant enough to notice she was up to something tonight and followed her,” Maggie said.

  “Only because she wasn’t able to get to the wiring of the apartment like she was the house, and went back to the house to get Tobias’s gun.” The only reason Tobias was still breathing was because the gun had been unloaded. When he thought…. Isaac shook his head refusing to allow his thoughts to go down that path. He held out his hand. “Come here and let me help you get that gown off. You can’t be comfortable.”

  He was as gentle as possible preparing Maggie for bed. It was difficult when what he really wanted to do was hold her to him as tight as possible. She yawned once he’d washed her as best he could with a washcloth and warm water and slipped a soft cotton gown over her head. He tucked her into bed, stripped down to his underwear, and climbed in beside her.

  She curved her body as close as possible to his and he stroked her back, breathing her in. They’d already agreed she’d be moving in with him. It was a new chapter of his life and he couldn’t wait to write it with her.

  “I love you, Seven-Thirty,” she said, eyes closed but with a heartwarming grin. “Even though you’re a control freak.”

  “I love you, too.” He kissed her forehead and laughed. “Even though you’re nothing but chaos.”

  Epilogue

  One Month Later

  * * *

  Maggie jogged up the steps of the brownstone on West 70th Street after checking to make sure she had the correct address. She was rarely late anymore, but was cutting it close at the moment. It would have been possible to blame her almost lateness on Barbara, but the truth was she’d been just as wrapped up in work as her boss. Especially since the work she’d been doing was planning an engagement party for Barbara’s grandson Lance and his now-finance, Celeste.

  Lance had called Barbara earlier in the day to let her know of the engagement, as well as to tell her he and Celeste would be coming home at the end of September when Celeste’s term with the summer orchestra ended. She had a new position lined up, but it wouldn’t start until November, so they were coming back to the States for a month.

  She rang the doorbell and took a step back expecting the real estate agent to answer and was pleasantly surprised when Isaac answered.

  “Hey, you,” she said giving him a quick kiss as she stepped inside. “Where’s Dana?”

  “She had a child emergency and had to run off. She said for us to look around and lock up. I’ll have someone drop off the keys tomorrow.”

  When they’d decided to live together, Maggie had told him in no uncertain terms she did not want to stay in her apartment. They’d both agreed his penthouse was too impersonal, and when the real estate agent they hired suggested brownstones, they’d been intrigued. Unfortunately, this was the fifth one they’d seen, having been unimpressed with the first four. All four had been lovely homes, but renovated so extensively it was barbaric.

  “There’s a difference between renovation and restoration,” she’d told Isaac when their agent couldn’t believe they weren’t interested in the fourth property she showed them. “Not one place we’ve seen reflects that knowledge.”

  “What do you think of this one?”’ Maggie asked him.

  “I’ve only seen this room,” he replied. “I was waiting for you before taking the grand tour.”

  “Let’s not wait another second,” she said, grabbing his hand. “We’ll see if the fifth time is the charm.”

  Isaac snorted and followed her into the hallway. Maggie came to a sudden stop in front of a staircase, not sure she believed her eyes.

  “Is that mahogany?” she asked in a whisper. She dropped his hand and stroked a banister. “Do you think it’s original?”

  Isaac studied the wood. “Looks like mahogany to me and if I had to guess, I’d say it’s original to the property.” He typed something in his phone. “I’ll make a note to ask Dana.”

  “I have a good feeling about this one,” she said. “Anyone who put that much time and effort into a banister won't skimp out on the rest of the house.”

  Thirty minutes later, she was thrilled with how right she’d been. There were original touches throughout the home, including a Tiffany window and additional woodworks of cherry and oak.

  “I can’t decide if I like the private garden or the master bedroom library the best,” she shared with Isaac after they left and were walking to his car.

  “Hate to break it to you, but you’re flat out crazy if you think you’ll be reading in the master bedroom. Besides, I was thinking it’d make much more sense to set that area apart for play. After all, it is in the master bedroom.”

  His sense of humor was so dry, she often couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. All she could think to say was, “Really?”

  “Absolutely. The built-in bookcase will be perfect for storing sex toys.”

  Maybe he wasn’t joking.

  By the time they made it to Isaac’s penthouse, they’d already called Dana and made an offer for the brownstone.

  “I can’t believe we found a house. I’d almost given up,” she told Isaac as his elevator doors slid open. She took a step out of the elevator and stopped. White lights had been strung up and around in what she finally saw was a pathway. “What is this?”

  Isaac didn’t answer. He took her hand and led her down the illuminated path which came to a stop at the doors leading to his outside room. He let go her long enough to open the doors, then he took her hand again, and they stepped outside.

  The white lights continued outside, strung around the climbing plants and creating a fairy tale setting. She turned toward Isaac and found him watching her. Unlike times in the past, she read every emotion present in his expression: joy, love, desire. They were all there, and their intensity burned into her soul because they represented what he felt for her.

  “I had no way of knowing when I planned this that it would follow us making an offer for what will become our home.” He glanced over her shoulder and laughed. “I didn’t plan for the time of day, either.”

  She didn’t have to look at the clock behind her to know exactly what time it was.

  “I never planned to fall in love, and the last few months since we’ve met have been the happiest of my life. And, I know you’re not there yet, but I plan on marrying you someday. I can be patient as long as you know my desired outcome.”

  She did. They spoke of it often, and she planned on marrying him, too.

  “But I want to ask this of you now.” He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a light blue slender box. He lifted the lid revealing a delicate silver chain with an o-ring. “Margaret, will you wear my collar?”

  Isaac may have never planned to fall in love, but she never planned for anyone to offer her a collar. And just as he jumped in head first, she wanted to do likewise.

  “Yes, Sir, Seven-Thirty.” She slid to her knees before him and blinked her happy tears back. “I will proudly wear your collar.”

  “Thank you.” His strong hands came to her neck, and he clasped the chain into place. “Let me see,” he said, pulling her to her feet. She lifted her chin, proud to show it off. His eyes flashed. “You make me so happy. I’m a fortunate man, to have you with me, to be building a life with you. And I can’t wait until we move into our new place because I plan to fuck you in every room.”

  Her body temperature went up twenty degrees just thinking about it. “That’s a lot of rooms, Sir,” she teased.

  He shifted his body so she felt his erection. “I’m up for it, are you?”

  “Yes, Sir. Very. Just one more thing.” She bit her bottom lip. “You don’t really plan on putting sex toys on the bookshelf, do you?”

  He raised an eyebrow which told her not a damn thing and then laughed at the scowl she gave him. “I hadn’t planned to, I was teasing,” he said. “But now? Hell fucking, yes.”

  She couldn’t help it, she laughed right along with him, because who would have thought Isaac Gregory would ever have a bookshelf filled with sex toys?

  Don’t Miss

  FOK

  Wall Street Royals, Book One

  * * *

  “…so damn HOT and intense, what an amazing start to a series…” -The Sassy Nerd Review

  * * *

  FOK

  Chapter One

  In her mind, Celeste Walsh was a badass. She never backed down, never averted her gaze first, and never took shit from anyone.

  In reality, however, though she refused to be a doormat, she had yet to blossom into full-blown badassery. The closest she’d been able to get was to perfect the art of remaining utterly calm in the face of anything. Her roommate, Reagan, told her it was her superpower. Celeste had snorted and said if that was true, she wanted to exchange it for something useful, like mind reading or invisibility.

  Although, she had to admit that today this odd superpower could come in handy. She was auditioning for a scholarship, but that wasn’t anything new. In fact, this was her eleventh scholarship audition. What made this audition different was that it would be the last. Last audition. Her last hope.

  If she didn’t score this scholarship, she wouldn’t be attending Juilliard in the fall. Which would also mean no longer being able to stay in New York. She’d be on a bus headed back home to Middle-of-Nowhere Virginia. Upon arrival, her parents would put her to work, either washing dishes or bussing tables at the family’s farm to table restaurant.

  She shivered, determined to get this one.

  “Hey, Celeste,” one of her fellow applicants, Erin, said.

  Celeste smiled and greeted the young woman in a similar financial situation as her own. They’d auditioned at many of the same scholarships and had received rejections from the same ones. There were a few they hadn’t heard from yet.

  “Did you hear?” Erin asked, her eyes dancing the way they did when she wanted to share the latest juicy gossip.

  “Probably not.” Celeste rarely listened to gossip or watched the news. Her life revolved around the violin. Violin. School. Violin. She possessed little time for anything else in her life. And she didn’t apologize or make excuses for it. Especially with the new piece she planned for today's audition.

  “Barbara Murphy is in the hospital,” Erin said.

  “Really?” Celeste asked. That wasn’t gossip. Barbara Murphy headed and funded the scholarship they were auditioning for today, in memory of her daughter. Melinda Murphy had been a pianist and had also attended Juilliard years ago when she was younger. She’d died young, but Celeste wasn’t sure if she’d ever heard how. “Who’s running the audition?”

  “No one I’ve talked with knows.”

  They both turned to look at the auditorium doors. The first group to audition, vocalists, had entered only five minutes ago. It wasn’t long before the doors opened and three guys walked out.

  “Fucking asshole,” the tallest one said and the other two nodded and murmured in agreement.

  “Who’s running the audition with Mrs. Murphy in the hospital?” Someone nearby asked.

  “Her grandson,” the tall guy answered. “Some Wall Street hotshot who doesn’t know shit about the arts.”

  The trio of vocalists left amid a growing rumble of discontent. A discontent that, unfortunately, remained in their wake. However, Celeste felt no need to continue talking about the grandson she couldn’t do anything about. She retreated to her corner of the room and tried to tune out the noise around her like she always did, by picturing herself playing the violin.

  Knowing this was her last audition and one of the largest scholarships offered, she’d changed her audition piece. The composer wasn’t as well know as the ones her competition would play, nor was the piece itself known by very many outside the music world. If this grandson was as clueless as the vocalist had alluded to, should she play something more well known?