ChapterTwenty-Three
Piper
Oliver shoots me a deer-in-the-headlights look over Carson’s shoulder, so I follow them down the hall on the other side of the kitchen to what apparently is the north wing of the building. I thought the custom-tiled open entry, state-of-the-art kitchen, and wall of windows facing Central Park were impressive, but it isn’t until we’re hoofing down various hallways, passing door after door, that I realize how considerable Oliver’s domain is. Most of the doors are closed, but a few are ajar just enough for me to peek in and catch a glimpse of a home gym, a small movie theater, and an office with wall-to-wall bookshelves.
Holy crap. A library.Finley was right—it is like Beauty and the Beast. Does that make Carson Mrs. Potts? Nah, he’s definitely Lumiere.
We finally stop in a luxurious guest room that’s bigger than Mindy’s entire apartment and looks like something straight out of an HGTV show. There’s an attached bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub and a glass shower, all lined with blue mosaic tiles that match the comforter on the king-size bed. Carson sinks down on a plush chair in a sitting area in the corner, holding his head in his hands.
Oliver frowns down at him. “Do you need pain reliever?”
“I need a Mark reliever,” he groans.
Mark must be his boyfriend. I know the sentiment.
“I’ll stay with him if you want to grab him some essentials.” I touch Oliver’s arm. “Maybe some water too?”
His hand covers mine, and he nods. “I’ll be right back. There’s a smaller kitchen on this side of the building, and it’s stocked, so I won’t be long.”
I sit in the chair across from Carson. Another kitchen. How many kitchens does a billionaire need?
After a minute of silence, Carson removes his hands from his face. “Piper,” he says like he’s just now realizing I’m here.
“Do you need anything?”
“I have to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
He leans forward so far I lift my hands in preparation in case he falls on his face. “His birthday is Thursday,” he says in a stage whisper as if he’s imparting an imperial secret.
“Oliver’s birthday?”
“Nobody knows. I only found out because he got an email from his dentist.”
“Does he have any plans?” I ask.
He wrinkles his nose. “What do you think? No. He doesn’t do anything but work. Last weekend was the first time he’s unplugged for more than a couple hours for as long as I’ve known him. He might not even remember it’s his own birthday.” He reaches out, his hand grabbing mine. “I’m glad he has you.”
I pat the hand covering mine. “I’m glad he has you too.”
He releases me with a sigh, slumping in the seat, his head falling back, his eyes shutting. “He thinks he stole me from Guy, but Guy encouraged me to take the job. He said Oliver needed me, but now I wonder if he realized I would need him.” He snorts out a little laugh, and then his breathing evens out, and within seconds, he’s snoring.
I smile. It’s kind of adorable. But then my thoughts turn back to Oliver. His birthday is in a couple of days. I wonder if Archer knows. I’ll have to call Finley tomorrow and check. He never would have said anything. I never would have known if Carson hadn’t shown up here, drunk and sad. Poor Carson.
Oliver returns, a bag in his arms. He takes in Carson snoring in the chair, rolls his eyes, sets the bag on the ground, and then bends over and hauls Carson up. Dipping under his shoulder, he carts him over to the bed. He tugs off Carson’s shoes and gets him under the covers, still completely dressed and still snoring.
I rummage through the bag on the floor. Oliver brought a half dozen water bottles, a ream of crackers, a bottle of pain reliever, and… a giant candy bar. Is he worried Carson’s going to be hungover or pregnant?
I hold it up, my focus narrowing at the writing on the wrapper. “Is this imported?”
One shoulder lifts. “It’s his favorite.” He stalks over, grabs the bag, and sets the items on the nightstand in neat, orderly rows.
He just happens to have Carson’s favorite imported chocolate in his apartment. My heart swells. This man is so much more than he even realizes. He tucks his employee into bed, fussing like a mother hen.
Once that’s all done, and Carson is still snoring despite being jerked around like a giant drunk doll, we head back through the maze of hallways. I have to bite my lip to hold in the goofy grin threatening to spread over my face.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.