Daisy
Well, this is an interesting turn of events. I’m in an elevator in my pajamas with Ronan Kade in the middle of the night, about to sleep in his apartment, like some sort of vagrant he found on the streets. Which…technically, I am.
I can’t decide if I’m incredibly lucky or incredibly stupid.
We stand in silence until the elevator chimes and the doors open. Then we’re in a foyer area, and he strides across the small space, using a key to open the heavy door. As we step through, my jaw nearly hits the floor. It’s an expansive space that leads to floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city and the bay beyond. The kitchen is bigger than my entire van, and the living room has a TV that’s surely taller than I am.
He walks into the room, his shoes clicking against the marble floor. But I’m standing by the door in silence, wondering how I went from shivering under three blankets an hour ago, to now standing in a penthouse suite in the city.
“Come in, Daisy,” he calls, his deep, authoritative voice echoing through the room.
I quickly follow him, but I can’t stop looking around.
“Agatha will be here in the morning. She will make breakfast and get you anything you need.”
I pause. “Who’s Agatha?”
“Agatha is my housekeeper,” he answers matter-of-factly.
He leads me down a long hallway with rooms on each side. The one straight ahead appears to be an office with another large window, where the night sky is shimmering through the glass. My eyes linger on the office, knowing that it must contain a lot of important information.
“This is the guest bedroom,” he says, opening a tall door that leads into a massive bedroom. As I step in, he clicks on the light for me. The bedding is a crisp white with more pillows than necessary. “There’s an en suite bathroom here too. Help yourself to whatever you need.”
As I spin around to see the bathroom, I come face to face with Ronan. His chestnut brown eyes stare down at me expectantly.
“Why were you walking in the middle of the night?” I ask.
His jaw clenches. “I like to go for walks when I can’t sleep.”
“At two in the morning? Aren’t you afraid of getting mugged?”
“I didn’t take anything of value. Are you afraid I’ve somehow manipulated you into my home? Like I planned all of this?”
The confusion on his face morphs into a playful expression, and there’s a lightness to his tone that’s too handsome to hate.
“Yeah…maybe I am. I mean, it’s just weird that a…billionaire would be in some random gas station in the middle of the night that I just happened to be at too. Were you following me?”
When he licks his lips as he smiles, he almost looks sexy, his mischievous expression making me grin in return.
“Now, you’re concerned about your safety…” he says with amusement.
He has a point.
“Listen, Daisy. If you’d like me to leave, I have another place in town I could go to and you’d have the apartment to yourself. You can also call anyone at Salacious to vouch for me. I have no intention of hurting you or taking advantage of you.” Then his expression darkens again as he adds in a fatherly tone, “I’m glad you’re interrogating me, though. You should.”
I chew on my lower lip as I stare at him, trying to gauge how serious he is. One thing about Ronan Kade is that he seems ridiculously down to earth for a man of his wealth and stature. I do believe him, which means he’s either sincere or the kind of sociopath who’s good enough to make people believe his lies.
After a moment of contemplation, I say, “You don’t have to leave. I’m not worried.” It’s strange how much I don’t want him to leave.
“Good. I’ll let you get some sleep. I usually rise early, so if I’m not here when you wake up, help yourself to anything in the apartment and Agatha will get you whatever you need.”
“Thank you,” I mumble.
There’s a long pause as he watches me for a moment, the weight of this weird encounter thickening the air with tension. From the doorway, he dons his stern expression again as he furrows his brow at me and says, “Don’t ever sleep in the city park again. It’s dangerous. Are we clear?”
I stifle a laugh as I link my hands behind my back. “Yes, Dad.”
His stiffening expression and momentary pause is proof that I might have just made things even weirder by saying that. I wait one long, torturously awkward second after another before he finally leaves, taking the tension with him.
After he shuts me into my room, I throw my bag on the floor and head into the bathroom. Of course, it’s huge, with a sleek full-size tub, a tiled shower with two shower heads, and a fancy-looking marble counter.
I take all of my showers at the club, but I haven’t taken a bubble bath in months, and I’d love to have one now, but I’m so tired, I’m afraid I’d pass out in there and drown. So instead, I kick off my clothes, wash my face, and climb into the giant bed. The mattress is so soft, I almost forget I’m in Ronan Kade’s apartment and not sleeping on a cloud.
I’m only alone with my thoughts for a few minutes before I’m swept away into a deep sleep.
I don’t move an inch all night. This might be the best I’ve slept in months. When I do finally peel my eyes open, the bright light of the sun shines through the window and I’m instantly reminded of where I’m sleeping.
No thin foam mattress. No stuffy, poorly ventilated van. No street traffic.
I’m in Ronan Kade’s apartment.
What a strange, coincidental twist of fate. It must be a sign, right? I’m here for a reason, and everything I want is within my grasp. All I have to do now is reach out and take it.
I could ask him. I probably should ask him. But I’ve already spent three months working at the club and sort of missed my opportunity to bring up the whole you knew my mother and left me a million dollars conversation, without now looking like a psycho stalker in this scenario.
But if I could get him to open up about a woman he knew and/or dated briefly in the past, then at least I’d have something. Then I’d be able to move on. I could take the money, knowing it was truly what my mother wanted and that I would be taking a piece of her with me too.
I jump out of bed and immediately hear muffled voices down the hall. Gently prying open the door, I listen in on their conversation.
“You’re the best, Agatha,” Ronan says, his deep voice carrying through the long hallway.
“How long will she be staying?”
“As long as she needs to,” he replies warmly. “She won’t be sleeping in that van, parked alone in the city.”
I roll my eyes at his insinuation that he somehow now controls my life.
“She’s as stubborn as she is sweet,” he adds, and I laugh silently. He thinks I’m stubborn.
“Might be what you need. She’ll keep you on your toes,” the woman jokes.
“Yes, she would,” he replies in a low tone.
As quietly as possible, I close the door and head into the bathroom. My fingers slide easily over the marble counter before I reach into the shower and twist the handle, until steaming water sprays from both showerheads. In my head, I hum a tune that’s been plaguing me for a few days now, and when I’m standing under the warm spray, I play with different lyrics to assign to the melody.
Showers are always my favorite place to think, and after months of public showers, I’m so relieved to finally have the privacy and time to really brainstorm.
And for the first time in months, the song comes easily. By the time I get out, I feel more refreshed and cleaner than I have in ages. Standing in nothing but my towel, I grab my phone and quickly jot down messy, typo-riddled lyrics in the notes app before my brain forgets them.
After slipping on something comfortable, I run my fingers through my hair while it dries, so it ends up with a wavy textured look. Admiring my good hair day, I decide to leave it down.
Then I ease out of the bedroom and walk barefoot down the hallway toward the main living area. I’m not sure what’s more impressive: the view at night or the bright light that makes this entire apartment feel warm and inviting, as if I’m living on a cloud hovering above the rest of the city.
I’m surprised to find the place empty when I emerge, so I take a few minutes to be snoopy and curious. I mean…who wouldn’t?
The intoxicating aroma of coffee pulls me toward the kitchen, but instead of pouring a cup, I continue on through the dining room and into another large living space, this one a little more formal than the other. There aren’t any personal photos to inspect. Just some art on the walls, a few pieces of memorabilia that look to be from his travels. There’s a bar and a shelf full of old books and—
I gasp, freezing in place as I allow my eyes to drink in the image before me. A black, pristine baby grand piano. Probably the most beautiful piano I’ve ever seen.
Taking a few steps toward it, I listen for the sound of anyone approaching, but the apartment is silent. I reach out to touch it, and when my fingers brush the cool, clean, black-lacquered wood, I let out a husky breath. This is the kind of piano you only see in movies.
When I was eight, my mom found an old upright piano that someone left in one of the houses she sold. The day she brought it home and shoved it into the tiny, cramped corner of our two-bedroom bungalow was one of the best days of my life. I fiddled with that piano relentlessly, learning notes, scales, and Chopsticks on repeat for an entire year.
She gifted me proper lessons the following Christmas with the money she scraped together from her commissions. Every Tuesday after school, I sat with an old woman named Dorothy who taught me the proper way to play, but it wasn’t long before I went rogue.
When I was truly alone with the piano, I felt connected to it. Like it was an extension of myself. To the point where I didn’t know if I was the one writing the songs, or it was. But together, we pieced together melodies, then bridges, refrains, choruses, and hooks.
The day I sold that piano was the second worst day of my life. But it reminded me too much of my mom.
Just as I let my fingers slide along the ivories, a deep voice echoes from behind me. “Do you play?”
With a yelp, I jump back from the piano, as if I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
“Oh my God, you scared me.”
“Sorry,” he replies with a laugh. “Didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay…”
With my hand over my chest, I take in Ronan’s casual appearance. No suit or tuxedo, like I’m used to seeing him in. Not even the unkept, afterwork version, where he ditches the jacket and lets the top few buttons loose so he can relax.
Today he’s in a tight long-sleeve shirt and jeans over black boots. I feel myself tensing as I quickly assess his appearance. Why am I struggling so much with how good-looking he is? Why can’t I just admit that he’s gorgeous?
“So, do you?” he asks, his eyes trailing toward the baby grand.
“Um…yes. Actually, I do. Or…I used to.” There’s something strange about revealing personal details to Ronan, being a real person around him, letting my guard down enough to let him see the girl underneath. Maybe it’s from always only seeing one another in a work environment.
I see him as nothing more than a rich older man, and he sees me as nothing more than a drink server in a short skirt and heels.
When he pulls back the bench, I tense.
“Well, go ahead then,” he says softly.
“Oh no, that’s okay. I’m so rusty.”
“There’s no audience. No one to impress. Just play.”
I force a smile and let out a heavy breath, knowing I could argue more, but a part of me doesn’t want to. This piano is calling to me.
“Okay…” I mumble, moving toward the seat. When I sit on the bench, he gives me space, leaning against the wall as he watches me with those somber brown eyes.
The keys are smooth against my fingers as I rest them gently in place. It feels as if they’re home for the first time in years. After swallowing my nerves, I press down with both hands at once, and the room fills with a rich, intoxicating sound. Instantly, I’m transported. A different time. A different place.
Nowhere specific. The notes take me away as I play a simple song I wrote years ago, but it’s really a feeling I’m whisked off to. The sensation of being free. No worries or fears or stress. The melody drowns all of that out.
My eyes begin to sting with the threat of tears, so I keep my head down.
Even the damper pedal feels like butter under my barefoot as each note melts into the other, and suddenly, I can’t seem to stop. I play from memory, deviating from the melody and blending together my own chords and bridges until I find a place to stop. Even after my fingers have risen, I keep my foot pressed, letting the sound coast until I lift it and it’s replaced with silence.
And just like that, I’m back. Back in the real world. Sitting in a billionaire’s apartment playing a piano that’s not mine.
“That was beautiful,” he whispers delicately, almost as if he doesn’t want to disturb the tender moment I’m in.
“Thank you,” I reply just as softly.
“Did you write it?”
I shrug. “Yes.”
“How long have you played?”
When I finally lift my gaze to his face, I find it almost difficult to look him in the eyes. The way he stares at me with interest is intoxicating, and I worry I’m falling into his hypnotic trap.
“I started taking lessons as a kid, but then I just liked to mess around on our piano at home. But I’ll be honest…” I say, staring down at the keys, “I think this is the first in-tune piano I’ve ever played.”
When I look up at him, my face pulling into a gentle grin, he smiles back, and for a moment, I swear I forget to breathe.
“You’re welcome to play this one anytime you’d like.”
I clench my molars together as I swallow down the emotion building in my throat. The opportunity to play again—really play—hits me harder than I expected.
“Thank you,” I reply, clearing my throat as I look down.
Ronan has this strange way of feeling far more relatable than he should. Maybe that’s his charming trick with women, to deceive them into thinking he actually cares about them or has more in common with them than is reasonable to believe.
The worst part is that I think I’m falling for it.
And I’m sure my mother did too.
