The Billionaire's Limited-Time Romance

The memory of the bonfire faded, replaced by the sleek, modern lines of Ansel's TriBeCa penthouse.

That week in the Hamptons had been a blur of performative affection and tense private negotiations, and he'd found her clinical composure utterly addictive.

The week in the Hamptons had ended.

Instead of following the expected protocol and putting her in a car back to Brooklyn, Ansel had brought her to the top floor of his Manhattan building.

Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire living room.

The glittering lights of the city spread out below them like a carpet of diamonds.

Ansel took off his suit jacket and threw it onto the white sofa.

He walked over to the black marble bar.

He poured two glasses of sparkling water over ice.

He walked back and handed one of the cold glasses to Ellie.

She stood by the glass wall, looking out at the city.

"We had a good week," Ansel said, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

"We should extend the arrangement here in the city."

Ellie took the glass.

The freezing condensation on the glass chilled her fingers, keeping her mind sharp.

She did not answer immediately.

Her brain ran through a rapid cost-benefit analysis.

Her uncle, Donovan, was trying to secure a massive investment through the Schultz family's network.

Bruising Ansel's ego now could jeopardize everything.

Plus, a small, curious part of her wanted to see how this elite world functioned from the inside.

Ellie turned her back to the window.

She looked directly into Ansel's confident face.

"New York is not the Hamptons, Ansel. There are no secrets here. The press watches everything you do."

Ansel let out a soft, dismissive laugh.

He thought she was worried about her reputation.

"I can protect you. I have private drivers. We can use the back entrances to restaurants. No one has to know."

The temperature in Ellie's eyes dropped to freezing.

She walked over to the bar.

She set the glass down on the marble with a loud, sharp crack.

She took two steps toward Ansel, closing the distance between them.

Her posture was perfectly straight.

"I will not be your hidden secret."

Each word was spoken slowly, a deliberate, percussive strike.

"If we do this, we walk through the front doors. We go to public dinners. I will not hide in the shadows like something you are ashamed of."

Ansel stared at her, completely stunned.

He had expected her to be grateful for his protection.

He expected her to accept whatever scraps of his time he offered.

Instead, she was dictating the terms of engagement.

He looked at the fierce, unyielding pride in her brown eyes.

Instead of anger, a thrill of genuine excitement shot down his spine.

She wasn't a toy. She was an opponent.

Ansel threw his head back and laughed.

It was a loud, joyous sound that echoed off the glass walls.

He reached out and grabbed her waist, pulling her flush against his chest.

He bowed his head until his forehead rested against hers.

"Fine," he whispered, his voice thick with possession. "I want to show you off to the whole damn city anyway."

The memory of his warm breath against her skin vanished instantly.

A jolt from the Maybach hitting a pothole shattered the memory, pulling Ellie back to the present.

The cold, tense air of the car surrounded her again.

Ansel was still sitting on his side of the seat, his jaw tight and angry.

Outside the tinted window, the familiar brownstone steps of her aunt's Brooklyn house came into view.

The car began to slow down.