“This is beautiful.” She sighs blissfully, absorbed in the memory that we are making: one of many more to follow. I hope.
Nothing and no one can spoil it.
Pulling her close, I wrap my arm around what I think is her waist, as she looks like the marshmallow man, the comforter huge in comparison to her tiny frame.
I breathe in deeply, filling my nostrils with her shampoo that smells like berries, then kiss the top of her head that’s tucked under my chin. Her hair glows as rays of light hit her shiny pastel pink and lavender wavy hair that’s slightly frizzy and tousled, giving her that just-fucked look, because she is—freshly fucked, that is.
“If I lived here, I would sit out here every morning,” she mumbles, half asleep.
“It’s what I do every day before I hit the gym,” I confess.
“Where do you go to the gym?”
“Here.”
“Here?” she questions, sounding confused.
“I have a home gym.”
“You go all out.”
She’s cute. “Says the woman who lives in Pacific Heights.” The houses on the street Sapphire lives on cost several million. She’s self-made and is making sure she experiences the benefits of her hard work.
I boldly ask a question I’ve been eager to ask: “Did you decide to work your butt off, choose suits and corporate clients, and buy a house in the nicest part of town just to annoy your mom and dad?” I believe she did. After the third time we had sex, she told me all about her parents: their residence, how they sustain themselves off their land, and how they sleep on a converted British double-decker bus. She also mentioned the number of animals they have, including four alpacas they recently acquired, which they plan to breed and sell fleece from because it’s hypoallergenic. They sound like quite the characters.
“Part of me did, yeah.” She gives a quiet laugh, her hand resting on my chest and playing with my chest hair. That motion alone could lull me to sleep.
“And the other part of you did it because…?” I allow her to fill in the blank space.
“All my life, my parents lived to reject the system: off-grid, anti-corporate, self-sufficient. I wanted the opposite. Stability. Predictability. A real career. Success not survival, so I targeted the biggest firms I could find, because those were the people I could actually make a difference for—the ones with five hundred people on payrolls and quarterly bonuses. They had the money to invest. But yeah… it also annoyed my parents. Maybe a small part of me did do it to piss them off.”
I admire her for going after what she wanted. “You’re a rebel.” As well as being strong-willed, strong-minded, and incredibly smart.
“A rebel with mommy and daddy issues.” Sapphire’s voice is less gravelly, as if she’s waking up, when she adds, “I hated watching them live hand to mouth, struggling to make ends meet, and eat ramen for dinner five days a week. I never wanted that to be my story for this one life I get to live. When I was ten, I would lie in bed at night, staring at the glow-in-the-dark moon and star stickers Mom put up for me on the ceiling of our trailer and imagine myself on stage giving talks to hundreds of people. I do that now, sometimes four times a week.”
Sapphire made her dreams come true. “I bet your parents secretly admire how successful you are.”
“Oh, they do, and they’ll brag about me to their friends, but they’ll also say I’m squeezing the cents out of the big rich guys, like I’m balancing the world or something equally absurd.”
“They sound like fun.” I don’t mean it; my tone is flat and even.
“Debates with them are never fun.” She yawns, tired from being up half the night.
My father won a college scholarship and started his business with only a few thousand dollars. He taught my brothers and me that hard work pays off.
I’ve worked my ass off, late nights, took shitty cases, small and big, to get to where I am today, and years later, I’m reaping the benefits and using them to help others who are less fortunate.
I don’t criticize or resent anyone for their life choices because I understand that it takes all kinds to make the world go round. While Sapphire’s parents may have an opinion and have made assumptions about men like me in suits, I admire Sapphire’s mom and dad for sticking to their beliefs and never wavering.
“I think they’d hate my penthouse.” I stab at a guess.
“They would, and they’d label it as obnoxious.” She rubs her tired eyes, then lets out a long yawn before continuing. “My dad thinks my mid-town terrace is unnecessary.” She lets out a pft.
My four-bedroom penthouse is unnecessary too, and much too big for me, but I like being thirty stories high up here, almost touching the clouds, away from the hustle and bustle below.
“I don’t think your mid-town terrace is obnoxious,” I tell her.
“Neither do I. And I love your penthouse, Elijah. It’s gorgeous, and Ghost has slept all night on the heated tiled floor in your en suite.” She sounds genuinely happy at how well Ghost has made himself at home.