Parker S. Huntington

Just as I expected, he turned our home into a library. Every inch of wall space is covered in floor-to-ceiling shelves. The living room. The halls. The theater room. Even his study. My legs carry me from room to room at the speed of light. Though I hurry about it, my eyes don’t miss a thing. How he catalogued everything by genre, by spines, exactly the way I envisioned it. Horror and mystery in the study. Travel and cooking in the kitchen. Romance and erotica in the bedroom

Men are more basic than a little black dress.

“While I’m not a fan of your personality, I’d pay good money to watch you sit and breathe,” he admitted, his voice roughening.

“I would let him ruin me as thoroughly and impressively as Elon Musk destroyed Twitter.”

“I know what your daughter’s pussy feels like, sir.

“If you sit on my face and let me eat you out through your nightgown, I’ll buy you the Astor Opera House.”

Hurry up.” I lifted my watch, noting the long arm’s dangerous proximity to twelve. “I’ll purchase the bookstore. You can return after the charity gala and choose whatever you like. The entire store, if you must.”

“You’re rich. We get it.” She yawned. “The only billionaires I like are fictional.”

“Yet, the only people who can afford your existence are billionaires. And even then, just barely.” I made eye contact with the frizzy-haired manager, directing him toward us with a glare. “Is your boss here?”

“Yeah.” His hair bobbed with his nod. “Think so.”

“Find him, then call him out.”

He spoke into his employee radio, shifting from foot to foot. “He’s in the stockroom. He’ll be out in a sec, sir.”

I retrieved my Centurion card from my wallet when my stubborn wife breezed past me toward the exit. Not for the first time, I found myself following her.

“You’re not purchasing anything?”

She deposited herself in my passenger seat, a frown touching her full lips. “Now that you intend to purchase this place, I can no longer shop here. I don’t want to give you any business.”

Unbelievable.

Every dream is worthy. Even if it is tiny and insignificant to one person, it may be impossible to another.

You’re rich. We get it.” She yawned. “The only billionaires I like are fictional.”

Love always wins. After every war, there’s a baby boom. After every storm, spring sweeps in and everything blooms. It’s always darkest before the dawn. Love is an effortlessly potent fuel. It is easier to maintain than hate. It doesn’t consume—it fuels. You’re running on the wrong energy,