Own Me (The Wolf Hotel, #5)

Yes, much of it with me standing in my bra and panties for countless measurements while Margo and the pint-size designer circled me, slipping in and out of their native tongue as they discussed past runway events and flirted with each other.

I tried canceling. By the time we put Violet in Henry’s car so Victor could drive her home to Philly and we walked back to the penthouse, it was already time to go. I wanted to sleep. But Margo would have none of it, and Henry ushered me out, telling me he’d be busy with the guys, anyway.

“Fine. I’m trusting you.”

“As you always should.” She winks playfully.

My attention wanders around the interior of Lux, the Wolf Tower’s restaurant and lounge, located on the fiftieth floor where the building changes shape, narrowing above us as it continues its climb to the clouds. One side opens to a terrace that’s closed for the winter.

Given it bears the same name as the Lux fine dining restaurant at Wolf Cove, I expected a similar vibe—silky linens and a killer view—but, while New York City’s skyline is incredible, everything else here feels different. It’s dark and moody, and far more lounge-like, with a mix of tables and cozy seating areas. Heavy velvets and leathers drape the walls and cover the furniture, and pendant chandeliers cast almost too little light. In the center is an enormous fireplace.

Henry and I have ordered dinner from this restaurant several times, but I’ve never stepped foot here in person. Now that I have, I think I’ll be dragging Henry down more often.

Joel is perched on a stool at the far end of a full bar. He wandered over there fifteen minutes ago to peruse the extensive high-end liquor along the wall, and now he’s in deep conversation with two women that he may or may not be trying to line up for a tryst. The way he strokes an auburn curl off one’s cheek tells me he likely is. The way she leans into his touch tells me he’ll likely succeed.

“How serious are you about Joel?” I ask suddenly. I’ve never broached the subject with Margo. But after last night, I feel like I know him differently, better.

She shrugs. “He is good for me. He cares for me, and yet he allows me to do as I please with whomever I please. He does not try to dominate me.”

“Do you think you’ll ever get married?”

“To him?” She shakes her head. “But maybe one day, when someone comes along that I fall madly in love with and do not wish to share. Like Henry, with you. I could never be with a man such as your Henry, though. He does not give up control easily.”

He did last night, for me. I smile into my drink. “You know Joel’s at the bar, hitting on two women, right?”

“Is he?” Margo glances over her shoulder at him. “Oh, he won’t fuck them. They’re not his type. I’m sure he will ask to photograph them together, though.” She says it so nonchalantly.

“And that doesn’t bother you at all?”

“Why?” She waggles her perfectly drawn eyebrows. “I will watch.”

I know she is one hundred percent serious. Her very open and carefree sexual lifestyle no longer fazes me as it once did. We’ve spent most of the late afternoon and early evening together. There’s been no mention of our House of Mirrors escapades, but no awkwardness either. Not that Margo would ever feel any shame or embarrassment, but oddly enough, I don’t either. Maybe it’s because I was with Henry. Or maybe it’s because we have our own history and, through it, a bond some might consider unconventional.

I take a deep breath, suddenly nervous. “Margo, will you be my maid of honor?”

She claps with glee. “But of course I will!”

An odd wave of relief washes over me that she didn’t laugh or dismiss my request. That I didn’t otherwise misread the depth of this unlikely friendship I’ve forged with the supermodel who once slept with Henry.

“Can I tell you a secret?” She leans in, her eyes sparkling with humor. “I already assumed I was.”

I laugh at her admission. “Why doesn’t that surprise me.” It’s so very Margo.

“This is going to be so much fun.” She claps again and I sense her genuine excitement. “Who else have you asked to join us?”

“My friend Autumn, who you met in Alaska. The concierge.” I called her last week to ask and she squealed into the phone.

“Oui. She is a doll.”

I smile sheepishly at my next choice. “And I want to ask Ronan, but Henry’s not totally on board.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Ask him, anyway. It is your bridal party, not Henry’s.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not? Ronan is important to you, non?”

“He is.”

“And he helped save Henry from almost certain death?”

“He did.”

“And just because he is in love with you does not mean he cannot—”

“Whoa.” I giggle. “Ronan is not in love with me.”

“Oh, of course not. I am entirely wrong in my observation. I don’t know what I’m talking about.” She’s grinning as if she knows better. “Either way, Henry can be difficult. He likes control and he always has it. But there are times when you must ask his permission, and then there are times you must tell him what you want and how it will be. He is a smart man, and he wants to make you happy. He will bend when he knows it is essential to you.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am. But just in case, tell him while you’re on your knees for him. He will give you anything you want.” Her wicked cackle draws curious glances. “Maintenant, to more important things. Where should we have your … how do you Americans call it”—she snaps her fingers as she frowns—“bachelorette party?”





A warm, drunken buzz courses through my veins by the time Henry steps through the doorway of Lux. My pulse races at the sight of him. He looks delicious tonight in a tailored, all black outfit, the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened, his cuffs rolled up to show off his forearms.

Trailing in after him are Merrick, Warner, and Preston, dressed equally sharp. All of them ooze wealth and confidence.

My heart pounds as I think of all that I saw of these men last night. Henry was right, the costume party was not the right venue to meet his friends, but it was certainly the place to move past polite “get to know you” conversation. I’ve seen all of them with their pants down. Literally. By now, that doesn’t shock me. Still, I’m happy for my boozy glow as I face them again. Maybe it’ll help squash any awkwardness on my part when I face Merrick.

But how have Henry and Merrick been around each other? Could last night have damaged their friendship?

“Have you ever seen a more attractive bunch?” Margo watches the four men as they stroll toward us. She’s not the only one. They draw interest from all corners.

“Good evening, ladies.” Henry lifts the half-empty bottle of champagne from its bucket, checking the label. “What are we celebrating?”

“Your beautiful bride asked me to be her maid of honor.” Margo beams.

“Isn’t that brilliant.” Preston flops into the seat next to Margo. “Wolf just roped us all in. Guess we should celebrate too.” It sounds like they’ve already been celebrating. Preston is louder than he was last night.