Born To Be More

New York

Raine

I’m completely losing my s**t.

I didn’t want to leave Max at the airport. Every part of me screamed to stay beside him. I feel needy and clingy and like one of those tarts I usually want to slap. And twice now—I’ve heard a voice in my head. I mean, what the actual hell? Maybe it’s just stress. Jet lag. Adrenaline dump. I probably just need a decent night’s sleep.

Caine’s nice, though. He’s sitting beside me in the car, chatting away about his wife, Melissa, and their two-year-old daughter, China, who’s already excited about Christmas. Christmas? Oh God—I forgot that’s even a thing. It's in eight weeks. My first Christmas completely alone. I sigh.

Caine doesn’t notice. Or pretends not to.

He keeps jabbering on in that laid-back Kiwi way, telling corny dad jokes and pointing out random buildings like a tour guide on crack. He’s only a couple of years older than me, but he’s already living a whole different kind of life. A real one—with love, and family, and a toddler named after a country.

Meanwhile, I’m in a new country, new city, with nothing but a suitcase and a phone number from a man who might be the sexiest mistake of my life.

The traffic is wild—nothing like back home. Horns blare, people yell, someone zooms past on a scooter with zero regard for human life. It’s chaos, but it’s... alive. I sink into the seat and let New York swallow me whole—the smells, the sounds, the neon blur of it all. I’m not in Aotearoa anymore.

"Raine, everything’s going to be fine," Caine says with that casual confidence men have when they don’t know the full story. "You’ve already made friends in high places. Max Crawford isn’t just anyone—he’ll look after you. And now you’ve got me and Melissa too."

He chuckles to himself like he’s cracked a joke, but the warmth in his voice is real.

I smile faintly. He doesn’t know what happened in LA. He doesn’t know I was nearly assaulted in an airport hallway, that Max had to hold me while I sobbed, or that my body still aches in places I haven’t admitted out loud.

But I appreciate the sentiment.

"Thanks, Caine. How do you know Max?" I ask, genuinely curious now.

He shoots me a look like I just asked how doors work.

"Everyone knows Max Crawford."

My brow furrows. That’s the second time someone’s made a comment like that. I file the thought away for later.

We pull up outside a tall, beautiful building with a little awning stretched over the front—like something straight out of a New York rom-com. People are huddled underneath it, dodging the light rain as if they’re all waiting for their scene to start. It’s charming. And intimidating. And perfect.

This is where I’m staying?

"We’re here, Raine. Welcome to Belle Âme," Caine announces with a flourish.

I blink up at the building. Wow. It’s gorgeous. Polished limestone, dark glass, and elegant art deco detailing—like something out of an old movie.

"Is this where I’m staying?" I ask, still a little stunned.

"Yes, absolutely. And you are going to looooove it!" Caine grins.

His energy is ridiculously infectious, and despite myself, I let out a little giggle. Okay. Let’s do this.

I hop out of the car and head toward the trunk to grab my bags.

"What are you doing?" Caine asks, laughing as I tug at the trunk.

"Getting my bags?" I say, frowning at him like it’s obvious.

He lets out a full belly laugh.

"Oh, you are precious. Come on, someone will bring them up."

He’s already walking toward the entrance, waving me along, while I stand there like a dork staring at the trunk.

"Come on, Miss Marshall—do you want to see your apartment or keep trying to telepathically open my car?" he calls back, still chuckling.

God, I’ve been here three minutes and already I look like a d**k.

I rush to catch up, smoothing my hair like that’ll help my dignity. But then I step into the foyer—and all of that vanishes.

Wow.

It’s breathtaking. Marble floors, gold inlays, soft lighting, and the quiet hush of money and exclusivity. The kind of place where the concierge knows your name and your dog’s birthday.

"Raine, they’ve got security at the door and swipe-card access to the lifts," Caine says as we walk. "Reception’s open from six a.m. to eleven p.m. daily. Let’s check you in so they know who you are."

We approach a curved reception desk where a tall, elegant man with warm brown skin and salt-and-pepper hair greets us with a smile.

"Heya, Smith—this is Miss Marshall, moving into Suite 117," Caine says.

"Welcome to Belle Âme, Miss Marshall. If you need anything, don’t hesitate. I’m here until eleven most nights, and I know all the best places to eat, visit—and avoid," he adds with a sly wink.

"Smith’s been here for, what—twenty-six years?" Caine says with mock reverence. "Knows everyone in the building. And all the gossip."

Smith chuckles.

"Caine, boy, you flatter me. I don’t know everyone—we’ve got a lot of new faces lately. But yes..." he grins at me conspiratorially, "...I do know all the gossip."

I laugh—Smith seems great. He must be in his sixties, and by the looks of it, he’s charming as hell and really good at his job.

"Well, it was very nice to meet you, Smith, and I will definitely take you up on that offer for a good place to eat!" I say, flashing him a grateful smile.

"Here’s your card. It gives you access to your apartment, the spa, the gym, and the lifts after hours," he explains. "We also keep a spare locked away for emergencies—and yes, at least once, you will lock yourself out. It’s guaranteed."

I laugh, taking the card from him. "You say that like it’s a rite of passage."

"It is," he winks. "Welcome to New York, Miss Marshall."

We head toward the lift, and I spot my luggage already waiting on a trolley. Score. We push it in, I scan my new card, and we head up to the eleventh floor. Caine scans the door to 117, pushes it open, and wheels the trolley in.

And then—

“Holy s**t,” I whisper.

This place is amazing.

It’s modern and elegant, all white and soft grey tones, with huge windows that frame the skyline and a sliver of the park below. There’s a sleek kitchen with marble countertops, an open-plan living space with plush furniture, and a dining area that could fit six. It’s bright, clean, and way bigger than I expected.

I thought I’d be in shoebox accommodation—concrete walls, a flickering lightbulb, and a train line vibrating the floor every thirty minutes. But this? This is luxury. This is that I’ve-made-it s**t.

I walk across the room to one of the doors and open it.

Master bedroom.

En suite.

Walk-in wardrobe.

Soaking tub.

I let out a tiny squeal of pure delight. I’m not even embarrassed.

I am going to sink into that bath and pretend I’m in a perfume commercial.

"You okay in there, Raine?" Caine calls out.

I pop my head around the bedroom door. "Yup! This is amazing, Caine."

He laughs. "It sure is—and it’s all yours for the next two years."

I check out the other rooms and find a second bedroom and a separate guest bathroom.

"Do I have to share with anyone?" I ask cautiously.

Caine wiggles his eyebrows at me like a complete dork. "Only if you choose to, Raine."

The look I shoot him earns a roaring laugh. Yep—he’s the worst. And I can already tell we’re going to be good friends.

I shake my head at him and walk over to the windows. The view is absolutely gorgeous. I feel this quiet, full-body wave of gratitude wash over me. I made it. I’m here. Somehow, after the longest, craziest 48 hours of my life—I’m here.

"Okay, Miss Raine," Caine says, walking over to the kitchen counter. "I’ve left all the info about your apartment here. You’ve got today and tomorrow to settle in—then we hit the ground running. Take the time to unpack, rest, and enjoy all the building perks."

He gestures toward the fridge. "Melissa stocked you up with essentials, and she left some bathroom stuff she thought you might need. Also, my number’s on the fridge and in your itinerary—don’t hesitate to use it."

That was a lot. My head spins a little as I nod. "Thanks, Caine. I really appreciate it. Honestly, I can’t wait to unpack and crash."

"No worries, Kiwi. Catch ya Monday!" he laughs, heading toward the door.

I shake my head with a smile. "Bye, Caine."

The door clicks shut behind him, and I lock it before dragging my luggage into the bedroom.

Lacy is going to s**t a brick when she sees this place.

I kick off my shoes and unzip the first suitcase. Might as well get started—then I can run that bath and properly melt into this place. Unpacking makes it feel real. Makes it mine.

Once I’ve tucked away the first layer of clothes and set out a few keepsakes on the dresser, I wander into the kitchen to check out the fridge.

"Holy shit..." I blink.

Was Caine trying to feed an army? There's enough food in here for a family of six—or me, for about a month. I grab some cheese and grapes and poke around for a plate. Bingo. A whole stash of platters, bowls, and fancy dishes like I’m about to host Real Housewives of Belle âme.

I laugh out loud. This is so unreal.

I glance around, looking for a TV or stereo—anything to play some music. That’s when I spot a tablet resting on the counter beside what looks like a sleek instruction manual. I tap the power button and the screen lights up.

Apps galore: TV, speakers, Netflix, room temperature, alarms... even window coverings?

This should be fun.

I fiddle with it for a few minutes, playing with the blackout curtains like a five-year-old on a sugar high. Open, close. Dim, brighten. Then back to full drama. I snort to myself.

Right. Focus, Raine. Bath. Cheese. Peace.

I grab my fruit platter and head to the bathroom. The second I step in, my jaw drops. The tub is massive. Deep, wide, and clearly meant for two—or one very tired Kiwi looking to forget the last 48 hours. There are jets at both ends. My inner child squeals.

"Oh, yes. There better be bubbles."

I check the bag Melissa left for me. Spa bubbles? Check. Moisturizing scrub? Check. After-bath lotion in a dreamy scent I can’t pronounce but already love? Double check. I think I love this woman.

I pour in a generous glug of coconut and almond bubbles, set the water to steaming hot, and queue up some mellow tunes on the tablet. Then I bring over my phone and the fruit platter, and finally, finally, step into the bath.

The moment I sink in, I let out a long, satisfied groan.

"Oh. My. God."

This is next-level luxury. My whole body melts under the water. The jets hum to life and I close my eyes, letting the stress swirl away in a cloud of sweet-scented steam.

“Lacy, call me back girl—I need to talk to you. It’s juicy.”

I smirk. That'll get her attention. It's about 8 a.m. in New Zealand; she’ll be halfway through her coffee and gearing up for her commute into town.

My phone rings. I chuckle and answer with a grin.

"Hellllooooooo."

“b***h, you better have something juicy—I left a cute guy at the coffee shop for you.”

Her huffy tone is all drama, but I know she's joking.

"You missing me yet?" I tease.

“Girl, you only just left. Stop stalling and give me my gossip,” she yells.

So I launch into the whole saga—the surprise upgrade, meeting Max, my mid-flight vom-fest, and then feeling up Mr. s*x in my sleep. By the time I’m done, Lacy is in absolute hysterics.

“I’m sure he enjoyed it, Raine,” she gasps between laughs.

“Oh, I know he did. When he stood up to let me out, his package was tenting like a fuckin’ circus tent.”

That sets her off again.

“Wait—wait—I have to pull over. I’m going to crash this car if you keep talking!”

She’s howling, and I can’t help but laugh with her.

Then I quiet a little, the nerves creeping back in.

“Lacy, listen… it was full-on embarrassing. But it wasn’t just that. I’ve never wanted to jump into a guy’s lap and claim him like that. I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me. You know me. I don’t lust after guys like this—not in real life. But Max?”

I shake my head even though she can’t see me.

“One look from him and I’m one touch away from ripping off my own panties.”

She stops laughing. I hear her take a breath.

“Aww, honey… this is good. You deserve to feel like this.”

“Thanks, but it’s weird. It’s like there’s this… pull to him. Like a magnet. And I can’t stop it. It’s not normal, Lace.”

“So what?” she says. “You’re in a new city, starting fresh. Go with it. Live a little. Who knows? You may never even see him again.”

“Uh—yeah I will.” I tell her about the game, the bet, the exchanged numbers, the promised date.

There’s a pause.

“Well, damn,” she says, laughing again. “You will definitely see him again. And you know what?”

“What?”

“I think I like this guy, Raine.”

I tell her about the creep and how Max found me in the departure lounge.

She screams.

"What the f**k, Raine! You didn’t think to start with that? Are you okay? Are you safe?"

“Yeah, I’m safe now. Max stayed with me until I was picked up by Caine—he brought me to the apartment.”

“O.M.G. You should’ve led with this! Wait—hold up—there’s another guy? Who the hell is Caine?”

“Caine works for Chic. He was great—really. Super helpful, and he made settling in easy.”

She lets out a long sigh.

“Where’s the guy who attacked you? Were you hurt? Are you okay?”

“The police have him in custody. And yeah... I’m okay. Just a few scrapes. I think I might’ve bumped my head, though, ‘cause I’m hearing voices now,” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

She laughs too.

“You always were a little crazy, Raine.”

“Gee, thanks, bitch.”

We both giggle, and for a moment, it feels like I’m back home.

Then I get an idea.

“Hey—holidays are coming up. I’d love for you to come here for Christmas.”

“Really?” she squeals so loudly I yank the phone away from my ear.

“Yes! We’ll talk details later, but seriously—we’ll have a blast.”

We keep chatting a little longer, laughing over stupid things like usual, until she says she’s pulling into work and we say our goodbyes.

I set the phone down and sink deeper into the bath, letting the warmth and the scent of coconut and almond wrap around me like a blanket. The water kisses my skin, soft and comforting.

Maybe Lacy’s right.

Maybe I should just let go... and enjoy the adventure.