Chapter One
My heart thrums in my ears. This has to work. It just has to. I offer what I hope looks like a smile. “It’ll go through. Give it another swipe.”
The store clerk looks at me with disinterest. “Sure.”
“Thanks.” I tap my fingernails on the countertop, praying that my debit card will make this possibly life-altering ten-dollar-and-some-change purchase.
He runs the card again, looking unsurprised when it’s once again declined.
“It’s okay,” I say, grabbing the item off the belt. “I’ll put it away.”
“Wait.” A deep voice from behind stops me. “What is it? Ten bucks? I’ll pay.”
I turn around, searching for the voice. Behind me stands a gorgeous man looming over six feet tall, impeccably dressed, with a jawline that could cut glass. His piercing blue eyes stare down at me.
“Um. That’s nice but I don’t think—”
“Please,” he says, reaching for the item in my hand. “Allow me.”
Shame and humiliation bubble up inside me. Do I give it to him? Those blue eyes go cloudy at my resistance. This is a man who isn’t used to being told no.
It takes a full ten seconds for me to hand him the white cardboard box.
“I see.” That’s all he says as he hands the box to the cashier for purchase.
This handsome stranger is buying me my first pregnancy test.
As the cashier hands over the white cardboard box, I feel a mix of gratitude and embarrassment wash over me. This man, this stranger, is buying me a pregnancy test without even knowing my name.
I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze as he pays for it, the weight of the situation settling heavily on my shoulders. What will this test reveal? Is he judging me for needing it?
Once the transaction is complete, the man turns to face me again, his intense blue eyes searching mine. “I hope everything turns out okay for you,” he says quietly, his voice filled with an unexpected tenderness.
I manage a weak smile, feeling a lump form in my throat. “Thank you,” I whisper, unable to muster any more words.
He nods once, a silent understanding passing between us, before turning to leave the store. I watch him go, his confident stride carrying him away from me and the uncertainty that awaits me at home.
I take a deep breath, pocket the pregnancy test, and return to my apartment. The short walk feels like an eternity, each step heavy with the weight of the unknown. I can feel the man’s eyes on me, his act of kindness lingering in my mind.
As I walk into the house, the silence wraps around me like a suffocating blanket. The white cardboard box on my kitchen counter seems to taunt me, daring me to uncover its secrets. With trembling hands, I tear it open and pull out the test, my heart racing.
Minutes tick by agonizingly slowly as I wait for the results to appear. The seconds feel like hours as I stare at the test, willing it to give me some sign, some answer to the question that looms over me.
And then, as if in a whisper, only one pink line materializes before my eyes. My breath catches in my throat as a rush of conflicting emotions washes over me—relief and a glimmer of disappointment.
I know it’s the wrong time. Wrong man. Wrong life. But I always wanted to be a mom one day.
I sink to the floor, the weight of the moment crashing down on me. Relief floods through my veins but is quickly replaced by a sense of loss. The tiny hint of excitement that came with the possible pregnancy now is an empty void.
I’m all alone.
My small town, too young parents couldn’t hide the fact they didn’t want me in the first place. Once I went to college, they were out of the picture. Took what little savings they had and went off to explore Scotland, Ireland, and Wales.
Together.
Driving in the final knife that made me cut them off for my own mental health.
It wasn’t their relationship they weren’t happy with.
Just me.
Making friends in college was easy. I felt like I had a chosen family. Then I fell for him and ruined everything good I had created for myself, all the while fooling myself into thinking I was building my future with him.
My controlling boyfriend pushed all the friends I made in college out of my life by demanding every moment of my time.
Then said boyfriend learned that my period was four weeks late.
And now, he’s gone too. Along with my savings account, leaving me with a possible pregnancy and rent due in two weeks’ time.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I clutch the test, the reality of my situation settling in. How did I get here? What will I do now? Questions swirl in my mind, each one more daunting than the last.
The bright hope of my future when I was earning my art degree seems like a million miles away now. When we moved in together, he was going to help out with the bills, allowing me to hit the pavements of New York to apply at every art museum and gallery I could, attempting to find my dream job.
Then he cleaned out my savings and disappeared in the night.
Unemployed. Heartbroken. Broke. Alone.
A loud, determined knock startles me, and I scramble to compose myself before answering. As I open the door, the man from the store stands before me, his expression unreadable.
Was he… following me?
“Hello?”
“I wanted to check on you,” he says quietly, his gaze searching mine for any hint of what I’m feeling.
I swallow hard, struggling to put into words the whirlwind of emotions raging inside me. “Thank you, um. It’s all good.”
“That’s good to hear.” Those blue eyes stare at me, drawing information from me.
I shake my head. “Negative.”
“Sorry. You don’t have to tell me. I didn’t mean to intrude on your personal life. I just wanted to be sure you got home safe.”
“You followed me,” I say, stating the obvious, but it needs to be said.
I don’t know this man and an act of kindness in the city doesn’t go unappreciated, but after the disaster the last time I trusted a man… I need to ask the right questions.
“I did,” he admits, his voice soft and sincere. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. I saw the turmoil in your eyes back in the store, and I couldn’t just walk away without knowing if you were alright.”
His honesty catches me off guard, and for a moment, I struggle to find the right words to respond. This stranger, with his chiseled features and kind eyes, is showing me more concern than anyone has in a long time. But can I trust him? After everything I’ve been through, can I allow myself to lean on someone new?
Taking a deep breath, I meet his gaze, searching for any sign of malice or ulterior motives. All I find is genuine concern and a hint of vulnerability that mirrors my own. Maybe, just maybe, this man could be different.
“Thank you,” I say finally, the weight of my gratitude heavy in the air between us. “I appreciate you checking in on me.”
He nods. “I couldn’t help noticing you might be short on money. I have a proposition for you.”
His words hang in the air, laden with a promise of hope and possibility. I can’t help but feel a spark of curiosity ignite within me. A proposition? What could this stranger possibly want from me? But as I gaze into his eyes, I see sincerity and kindness, not a hint of deceit.
“What kind of proposition?” I ask cautiously, my heart fluttering with a mix of apprehension and intrigue.
He hesitates for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully before speaking. “I run a business not far from here, and I’ve been looking for someone to help me with the day-to-day operations. Your need for work… it’s evident. I’ve been interviewing for weeks but haven’t found the right fit for my front desk. You seem sweet. What I need. Would you consider working for me?”
The offer hangs in the air between us, shimmering with possibility. Me, working this soon, an income just when I need to pay rent? It’s a dream I never dared to entertain, especially after everything that has happened. Yet here it is, laid out before me like a lifeline in the storm.
Worry and doubt creep in. Like my last boyfriend, this man has to be too good to be true.
“No,” I say. My hand goes to the door. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“Why?” His face tightens, again a man not used to being told no.
“Thanks again for the pregnancy—purchase.” I offer a smile as I close the door, memorizing the lines of his extraordinary face as I do. “Good night.”
The door closes with a click. I lock the deadbolt. Ending the chapter of my life where I trust men.
[divider]Chapter Two
Rockwell
I’m standing at the window of my three-story row home as I overlook the neatly manicured gardens of the Village. I’ve lived here, single, for three years now, never bringing so much as a fling back to my place.
Didn’t want to taint my sacred space with pleasure when I need to stay focused on my work.
I sip whiskey, ice clinking the sides of my glass as I stare out into the dark night.
“I can’t stop thinking about her.”
The girl at the store. Her big brown eyes looking up at me, filled with worry and fear as she handed over that test for me to buy.
And now, she’s turned down my offer. I watch as the last light in a neighboring window goes out, leaving me even more alone with my thoughts and a sense of longing I can’t quite shake.
There’s something about her, about the vulnerability in her eyes that draws me in like a moth to a flame. I take another sip of whiskey, the burn of the alcohol doing little to ease the ache in my chest. Maybe it’s foolish of me to feel this way about a stranger, but there’s an undeniable pull between us, a connection that I can’t ignore.
Claudia says I have a savior complex.
As I stand there, lost in contemplation, a sudden noise startles me from my thoughts. It sounds like someone moving downstairs. My senses go on high alert as I quietly make my way down the stairs, heart pounding in my chest.
We’re safe here, literally living in a hidden town, armed with brownstone shops that line the city streets. Not to mention the military-grade security that protects these walls. It’s got to be a family member, but still, unannounced visitors always put me on edge.
Being a Bachman, I’ve found it prudent to be cautious.
I reach the first floor, the sound now coming from the kitchen. Instantly, I relax. Only one other person in this world has a fingerprint on my pad that unlocks my door.
A familiar voice eases my nerves.
“Nothing in this fridge but beer and wine. I swear if a woman lived like this, she’d look like a crumpled paper bag. How men get more good-looking with age, especially on a steak and beer diet, I’ll never know. And there’s not even steak on these shelves this week!”
Claudia is a stunning woman with a huge heart and habit of talking out loud to herself, especially when she’s annoyed—and her said annoyance is usually directed toward me.
As per usual.
I think it started when she was born two minutes behind me, but still tells everyone she’s my older sister.
“Hey, Claude,” I greet her, headed over to the bar cart in the corner for a refill of Pappy Van Winkle Whiskey, the bottle aged ten years giving it the nickname Old Rip Van Winkle. Following my evening regime, I fill the glass to the first of the diamonds in the cut crystal, turning to Claudia to ask, “Want a drink?”
Unloading the last of her groceries, halibut and broccoli I’ll probably give to my housekeeper to take home for her dinner tomorrow, among other items my sister has declared to be ‘superfoods’ to keep me in tiptop shape, she gives me an exasperated sigh. “No, thanks, I’m on a juice cleanse. Nothing but microgreens and probiotics for me.”
“Sounds awful. Why do you do that to yourself?”
“Skin problems. You know I’ve got that beauty charity event in two weeks. Here I am, forty years young and I’m battling an acne breakout of a sixteen-year-old!” She marches over to me, pointing to the world’s smallest zit on her chin, caked in makeup. “See!”
“Can’t you just get a facial at the spa?”
“I’ve already booked the full day skin enhancement package with microdermabrasion—something your dignified face knows nothing about.”
I give a shrug. “Have some wine. I had your favorite delivered. It’s in the fridge.”
“It’s not just my skin I’m worried about.” Neatly folding the grocery bags and tucking them under the counter, she says, “The cleanse is to stay healthy. Nothing you would know anything about. Which is why I just stocked your fridge full of fish I know you will never cook and probably give to your housekeeper, and pre-made salads from Antonio’s deli. All you have to do is pull off the lid. Think you can handle that?”
I chuckle at her comment, knowing Claudia means well even if she can be a bit overbearing at times. Taking a swig of my whiskey, I lean against the counter and watch as she busies herself tidying up the already spotless kitchen. The warm glow of the dim lights casts a soft ambiance around us, creating a sense of familiarity and comfort in the air.
She goes back to the fridge. “Well… maybe just a small glass of chardonnay.” She takes out the chilled bottle, opening it and pouring herself a generous glass.
“So, where were you earlier?” Claudia asks casually, leaning her bum against my counter as she studies me with the knowing look of twin power in her eye. “Your location said you were at the corner store but judging by the contents of your fridge, you didn’t buy anything.”
“I did.” Cigarettes. Oh, and a pregnancy test. But Claudia is under some crazy impression that I’ve given up smoking.
Probably when I lied and told her I gave up smoking.
Her brow creases like a police officer as she investigates my alibi. “What did you buy?”
“Gum,” I say.
“Good to see you’ve still given up that nasty habit.”
Guilt settles in for not quitting and for lying. I have quit. For the most part.
I make a mental note to trash the cigarettes. I sigh, feeling frustration churning. I know I’m going to tell Claudia about the girl. Don’t do it, Rockwell. She’s just going to give you grief and tell you you’re having a savior moment.
“Is that all that happened tonight?” She gives me a pensive stare.
“I met a girl from the store. Her debit card was declined. I told her I need a woman for the front desk down at the office. She turned down my job offer.”
Claudia raises an eyebrow along with her glass, her interest piqued. “A girl from the store? Is this another one of your charity cases, Rockwell?”
I shake my head at her teasing tone. “She seemed like she could use the help. But she was adamant about not taking the job.”
“Hmm, sounds intriguing,” Claudia muses, sipping her wine, her gaze thoughtful as she leans against the kitchen counter. “Maybe she’s just being cautious. You do have a bit of a reputation, big brother.”
I think of the girl’s wide, innocent eyes. “She had no idea who I was.”
“Really? Doubtful. You’re not only a Rockwell, but you’re also a Bachman too. Voted most eligible bachelor by New York’s Elite Magazine? Every single girl in this city has a picture of you on their phone.”
I bristle at her words, feeling a surge of defensiveness rise within me. “I’m not trying to be anything other than genuine with her. She looked like she needed the help, that’s all.”
Claudia gives me the knowing look of the big sister, her eyes softening with understanding. “I get it, Rock. You’ve always had a soft spot for those in need. Just be careful not to get invested too quickly. I’ve got everything covered at the office for now… and remember what happened last time.”
Her words strike a nerve, reminding me of the painful past that still lingers in the shadows of my heart. I take a deep breath, pushing away the memories that threaten to resurface.
“I know, Claudia. I’ll be cautious,” I assure her, my voice tinged with resignation. “But there’s something about her… something different.”
She shoots me another knowing glance. “There always is, big brother. There always is.”
“Well, don’t blame me for trying to get someone behind that desk. I need your brilliant mind back where it belongs, crunching numbers and analyzing data. Not answering phones.”
“So true,” she says, then gently adds, “But we’d best wait for the right person. Not the first girl in need that catches your eye.”
“Don’t worry about her,” I say, downing the last of my whiskey. “Eight million people in this city? I’ll never see her again.”
[divider]Chapter Three
Lily
After the strange night I had, I make the coffee extra strong to start my day, adding a second spoonful to my favorite yellow mug before pouring the hot water. What I wouldn’t give for one of those five-dollar fancy lattes from Perkies Café on Park Street. Instead, I sip the mug of instant coffee.
This will have to do.
Today, I find a job.
A real job. Not some made up pity work for a gorgeous mystery man who followed me all the way home after buying me a pregnancy test.
Looking in my closet, I find a clean black skirt, white button-down blouse, and a gray cardigan. Pulling my hair back and adding a pair of fake pearl earrings, I give myself a nod in the mirror.
I look like a Plain Jane, ready to report for clerical duty. No more pounding the pavements, a red scarf around my neck, interesting earrings dangling from my ears, searching for fancy art jobs that will feed my soul.
I was foolish to rely on my boyfriend in the first place, living off his salary while trying to find a dream job.
Today, I find a job, any job, that will feed my tummy and pay my rent.
Mystery man from the store last night did give me an idea.
Over summers in high school, I worked as a front desk clerk at Terrific Teeth, the only dentist’s office in my small hometown. The name was terrible, but I was good at the work. I kept bookings organized, and the patients seemed to like me.
I could do office work again. Sure, my hard-won art degree will silently cry tears behind my back, but for now, rent, utilities, and food are taking priority. I have to find something.
Anything.
Stepping out onto the bustling city street, I’m greeted by a crisp spring morning breeze that nips at my cheeks. The sound of traffic, car horns, and people chatting surrounds me, the chaotic energy of the city.
Amidst the suits and briefcases, the professional working world charging the pavements, I feel a fierce determination burning in my heart as I embark on my mission.
For hours, I walk from office building to office building, venturing further and further away from my apartment than I have ever ventured before on foot. Rejection after rejection weighs heavily on me, but I refuse to give up. With each step, my desire for stability and independence only grows stronger.
Thankfully, I had chosen to wear flats today, making it easier for me to explore the unfamiliar streets of Manhattan. As I walk past sturdy brownstone buildings, I come to one on the corner with an updated, modern-style glass façade. A sign catches my eye: ‘Rockwell Enterprises.’
My curiosity piqued, I hesitate for a moment before summoning my courage and walking through the revolving doors. Inside, the lobby is opulently decorated with marble floors, modern art adorning the walls. A beautiful woman sits behind a desk, her perfectly manicured nails clicking away on the keyboard.
“Excuse me,” I say tentatively, hoping this could be the opportunity I’ve been searching for. This side of town, this building, this lobby, it all breaths energy into me even if the job may not.
The woman eyes me from head to toe, her bright eyes filled with intelligence. “Hello. I’m Claudia.”
“Hi, Claudia. Nice to meet you. My name is Lily.” I stand there, trying to remain calm as she studies me. “I’m so sorry to bother you but I’m just wondering… are you hiring?”
“Actually,” she says, rising from her seat. “We are. Well, he is. My brother. This is his business. I’m just filling in for the time being. It’s this desk that needs manning, actually.”
“Oh.” Hope sparks within me. “Well, I’d love to be considered for the position.” I quickly pull a paper resume from my bag, my name, Lily Watkins, swirling across the top. “I have experience working a front desk back at home.”
She takes the resume from my hand, flipping through the pages with a critical eye. After a moment of silence, she looks up at me, a small smile playing on her lips.
“I’ll let him know you’re here. Just take a seat over there.” She gestures toward a plush waiting area. “I’ll go inform Mr. Rockwell of your interest in the position.”
I thank her with a grateful smile and make my way to the seating area, my heart pounding with anticipation. She disappears down a long hall, leaving the desk open. As I settle into one of the leather armchairs in the lobby, I can’t help but feel another surge of hope rising within me. Maybe this could be my chance to start fresh in this hard city.
I can’t help but stare at the big, beautiful black desk, picturing a nice potted plant, maybe an orchid on its shiny top.
Get the job. Sit behind that desk. Make it my own.
Minutes tick by slowly, each second feeling like an eternity as I wait for the man that must be both the boss and owner of this business. The soft hum of the air purifying system fills the silence, adding to the tension in the air. Finally, the woman returns, her eyes bright with excitement.
“Mr. Rockwell will see you now,” she announces.
As I follow her down the long hallway, my footsteps echoing on the polished marble floor, I feel a mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside me. The door to Mr. Rockwell’s office looms ahead, the frosted glass displaying his name in elegant gold lettering. With a deep breath, I push the heavy door open and step into the luxurious office space.
The room is bathed in warm light streaming in through large windows that offer a breathtaking view of the city skyline. A massive mahogany desk sits in the center of the room, adorned with a sleek computer and stacks of neatly organized papers. The walls are lined with bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes and intricate figurines from around the world.
And there he is, the mysterious Mr. Rockwell, standing by the window with his back to me. His tall frame is silhouetted against the golden light, his dark hair perfectly styled, bits of salt showing through the pepper. As he turns around, I catch a glimpse of those piercing blue eyes…
The ones that seem to see right through me.
[divider]Chapter Four
Rockwell
It’s her. The girl from the store. She looks different, her hair pulled back in a bun, her jeans traded for business attire, but it’s her.
I think of Claudia’s words, about how every single woman in the city knows who I am.
“So, you did know who I was,” I murmur.
She hovers in the doorway, half wanting to run. “I’m sorry?”
“You must have known who I was. Looked up my office address and came here to tell me you reconsidered my offer.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s not like that. This is all”—she glances around my office, her eyes lingering on the art on my wall, clearly impressed by my collection—“a coincidence.”
“It’s quite a coincidence,” I say.
“Yes,” she says, a firmness in her tone. “It is.”
I don’t know if I believe her, but she’s here now. And if I’m to get Claudia out of my hair, and my fridge, I need a front desk person as soon as possible.
“This is a family business,” I say. “And our family is quite well known.”
“Rockwell. Yes. I saw on the sign.” Her eyes widen. “You mean like the New York Rockwells?”
“Yes,” I say, claiming my family’s famous heritage. “But Rockwell is my first name, now.”
“I see,” she says, giving the wall to my right a nod.
She starts to giggle.
“What?” Glancing over my shoulder, I see what she’s laughing at.
I’m going to kill Claudia. Crossing the room in three strides, I remove the glossy plaque she had made of the cover of Elite Magazine, the one with me on the front, the massive font boasting ‘The City’s Most Eligible Bachelor!’
Taking it down, I shove it in the bottom drawer of my desk. I told my sister to stop hanging it on my wall, but somehow, she always finds a way to humiliate me with that thing.
Ignoring the plaque, I change the subject. “I’m also a member of the Bachman family. Have you heard of us?”
She gives a shake of her head and I believe her.
There’s so much to tell, the changing of my name, the commitments I’ve made to my chosen family, the Bachmans, but it’s too soon to tell if she can be trusted with the truth.
I start with the standard speech we give potential new employees of the family. “The Bachman family is a powerful collection of both relatives and close friends who have chosen to create a life together. We are high profile but prefer our lives to be as private as possible. There are a few rules we have in place to be sure everyone stays safe. And our inner workings stay secret.”
She eyes me. “Um… Okay.”
“If you think you can handle doing good work while keeping our business private,” I gesture toward the open chair across from my desk, “close the door and come take a seat.”
Glancing over her shoulder at the hallway, her only escape route, she tentatively closes the door. I watch her as she walks toward me, folding herself neatly into the black leather chair that’s across from my desk.
I buzz the front desk with my landline, telling Claudia she can go ahead and lock up. “We’re done for the day. I have personal business to take care of.”
“Jesus, Rock,” she hisses into the phone. “You’re not going to do what I think you’re going to do to that poor girl, are you?”
“Night, Claude.” And with that, I hang up the phone, turning my attention to the lovely woman in front of me.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“L-Lily.” She reaches in her bag with a shaky hand. “Do you want to see my resume?”
“My sister already shared it with me.”
“Oh. Right.” She hangs her bag on the back of the chair, waiting for me to speak.
I stand next to the desk, slowly removing my suit jacket. “Do you mind if I get a bit more comfortable?”
She eyes me, fearful but curious. She shakes her head. “No. I don’t mind.”
“Good.” I fold the jacket over the back of my desk chair. Perching my ass against the edge of the desk, I remove the cufflink from my left wrist, setting the blue and silver RB link in a small porcelain bowl on the desktop.
“Discretion,” I say, “is of utmost importance in this office. Anything you hear, see, or are told, has to stay absolutely confidential.”
She nods. “I understand.”
“I know how girls your age love to gossip,” I say.
She eyes me. “Not me. And I don’t really have anyone to gossip with,” she says.
Hmm… that pregnancy test. Is she not with the partner that was the potential father?
Sensing my questions, she says, “I was broken up with. And before that, my boyfriend—my ex—he kinda pushed all my friends away, you know?” She shakes her head, embarrassed. “You don’t need to know my life story. Just know, I’m discreet.”
“You’ll have to sign an NDA. Do you know what that is?”
She nods. “Sure. No problem. Lots of people in New York have them.”
I lean in, eager to make her cheeks go rosy with blush. “And the need for—discretion—well, it goes a bit deeper than that.”
“How so?” Her pretty brows knit together with curiosity.
“I don’t only demand your silence. I also demand your obedience.” I begin to roll the wrist of my shirt sleeve methodically over my forearm. “And there are consequences should you disobey.”
“Consequences? Disobey?”
“Yes,” I say, never taking my eyes from her face. “Punishments.”
“Punishments?” She glances around my office. “What kind of business is this?”
“Financial. We deal mostly with stocks and bonds. We’re not that far from Wall Street, but we do their work better.”
“Then why the consequences? If this isn’t some kind of…” Her words trail off, her innocence exposed as the flush I’ve been waiting for rises on her cheeks.
“Some kind of kinky sex operation?” I offer.
She shakes her head. “No. That’s not what I was going to say… but what kind of punishments are we talking about?”
My sleeve is now rolled all the way up past my elbow. “Spanking.”
The color drains from her face as she stares at me.
“And for your interview, I’d like to give you a taste.”
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