New York Billionaires Series

His eyes turn suspicious. “I do, ma’am.”

The elevator door opens and I hurry on ahead, using my keycard to open the front door. “That thing looks heavy, too. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” he says, but he grunts as he hoists it up and steps through the front door.

The hallway is filled with presents.

They make an obstacle course on the floor. Every size and shape, some wrapped, some not. The explosion of gifts stretches all the way into the living room. The coffee table is filled with so many flower bouquets it looks like a garden patch.

“What’s this?”

Steven sets the box down. “Wedding gifts.”

“Wedding gifts?”Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Bonnie answers, emerging from the kitchen with a clipboard in hand. “Welcome home!”

“Um, thank you.” I toe off my dirty running shoes and run a hand over a silver packet. “All these arrived today?”

“Yes. There’s been a steady stream.” She taps her pen against the clipboard. “I’ve started making a list of all the senders. I took the liberty to order a stack of thank-you cards that will be here tomorrow, and I’m compiling all the senders’ addresses.”

“The senders? Who sent these?”

“Oh, a ton of people. I’ll run through the list with you in a second. Steven?”

“Will you please go down and get the latest bouquets that arrived?”

His shoulders sag, but he nods and leaves the apartment without another word. I wonder how many times he’s ridden the elevator today.

I lift a small, white gift box with a gauzy bow and turn it over in my hands. In my old workout leggings and messy ponytail, I feel like an ogre next to this pristine display of wealth. “There’s no name on this one.”

“Hmm? Yes. Some have put their cards inside the present, rather than on the outside.” She shakes her head. “Understandable, for privacy reasons, but it doesn’t make it easy for us.”

There’s a giant heart of roses. As in, real cropped roses arranged in a cardboard heart, colors of pink and purple and white. I lift the attached note.

Mr. and Mrs. Victor St. Clair,

Congratulations on your wedding! We hope you’re both taking the time off for a much-deserved honeymoon.

The card is signed by a bank. Not a person. A bank.

I lower it. “Bonnie.”

“A bank sent us flowers?”

She nods. “Your marriage got out, I’m afraid. It’s public record, and there are a lot of people who want to be on Mr. St. Clair’s good side.”

“They’re sending us gifts as business investments?”

“Some, yes. Some are by St. Clair’s family friends.”

“Family friends,” I murmur.

Bonnie unfolds a large paper bag and places it between us. “Would you like to start unboxing, dear?”

My eyes glaze over as I look at the sheer number of deliveries. Some are stacked five high. “I’m not sure Victor would like that.”

“I’ve checked in with him,” Bonnie says, handing me a pair of scissors. “He wants them taken care of.”

I reach for a black and white packet. “Well, in that case…”

Bonnie is an organizational wizard, and I love efficiency. It takes us five minutes to work out a flawless system.

Unbox the gift. Add the gift-giver’s name to her list. Take a picture of the gift for our records. Recycle the wrapping paper.

Or, in my case, save the really beautiful bows and ribbons in a separate box. Bonnie smiles when she sees me do it.

“For future gift-wrapping,” I say.

“I do the same thing at home.”

I lift the hand-blown glass vase I’ve just unwrapped and turn it around.

“Wow,” Bonnie says.

“Yes. Is it just me, or does it look like…?”

“It does. Unfortunately, it really does.”

“Who sent us a phallic-shaped vase?”

She laughs, reaching for the packaging I discarded. “One of his business partners. Carter Kingsley. What are you going to do with that?”

I look around the sparse, modern hallway. There’s nothing on the console table except a round mirror, braced against the wall. It’s clearly a design mishap.

“Here,” I say, placing it on the table. “This spot is screaming for some love.”

Bonnie’s lips twitch. “Prime placement.”

“Yes. It’s the pride and joy of our home.”

“Where all guests can see it.”

“We should include that in our thank-you note,” I say. “Let them know we’re proudly displaying it.”

Bonnie laughs again. “I’m so glad he chose you to marry. I’d be doing this with anyone he picked, of course, but I don’t think I’d have this much fun with anyone else.”

My chest tightens. “Thank you. You’ve been so welcoming, you know. So helpful. Thank you for making this easier.”