Romantic Secrets

by Monique DuBois

  It’s hard to believe that in just three short years, I’ve gone from a nearly homeless waitress looking to escort in the big city to a self-made woman worth as much, if not more, than some of those clients that I would have served. I’ve bought my mom a house in Podunkville (she refuses to leave that godforsaken town) and set her up for life. I’ve put aside enough money to retire nicely whenever the day comes. Things are good.

  Life has a strange way of working out when you least expect it. And it was all because of a chance meeting at my cousin’s funeral with a woman who changed my life. I owe Isabella everything, and someday I’ll show her how much I appreciate what she’s done for me. I’ve often joked I’ll be the best auntie she could ever want when she and Anthony have their first baby someday.

  As I walk up Fifth Avenue toward my favorite salon, I pass by a new little boutique that I’ve only recently discovered. I pop my head in and tell the shop owner to pull out some high-end sexy suits and dresses for me to try on after my salon visit. She gives me a wide grin and says she’ll have a whole rack ready when I return.

  After the salon visit, I emerge with my blonde hair blown out into a silky curtain. It’s still long, just past mid-back, with newly cut sideswept bangs and a small bit of layering through the front. Men stare as I pass, which is a good sign.

  After spending another hour in the dress store, I emerge wearing the sexiest, tightest black designer suit that I’ve ever seen. It fits my body perfectly, hugging every curve as if the dress was made just for me. Just enough cleavage pokes out of my low-cut silk tank top to give that alluring edge that the wealthy male clients so appreciate. I’ve got on my highest designer pumps, the ones that make me walk with an enticing ass-shake, and my black Birkin bag is slung over my arm. In my other hand, I carry the shopping bag with the clothes I’d worn into the shop. My briefcase is in my car, which is parked in the luxury parking garage beneath the Rehnquist building.

  I feel like a woman on top of the world. Men throw appreciative glances as I pass by, and women give me jealous studied once-overs. I know I’ve got it going on; I can feel it.

  When I reach the parking garage and open the shiny door to my Aston Martin, an ironic thought strikes me. Is this the kind of life I would have been leading if I’d become one of Ms. White’s top girls? Wining and dining rich men, dressing to kill, and closing lucrative deals? Probably…except I would have been doing it with my body. Not that there’s anything wrong with that in my view, because after all, survival is key. But I much prefer how things have worked out for me instead.

  I drive over to the high-rise penthouse that I’m going to be showing. It’s in one of the most expensive buildings in all of Manhattan, a recently listed property that takes up the entire top floor, has three-hundred-sixty-degree views, and a rooftop pool and garden. For three years I’ve been salivating over this property, knowing that the aging and ill starlet who owns the penthouse would eventually list it. And of course she did, and of course John Rehnquist got the listing and passed it on to me to show. From studying the literature, I already know this property inside and out, from its gold fixtures to its private elevator to its Sub-Zero fridge and high-end built-in appliances that would make any private chef swoon. If I sell this puppy, I’ll get a cool $500,000 commission in one pop. How’s that for success?

  Let’s just hope the client is in a buying mood.

  I show the doorman my card, and he nods and leads me to the private elevator. “Your client is already upstairs, waiting for you.”

  As I’m whisked to the top floor, I steal a glance at myself in the elevator mirror. I almost don’t recognize myself. Success has done me well. I look every bit the well-groomed, top-performing businesswoman. But there’s something else about me that begs a second look. My cheeks are pink and my eyes sparkle. I look positively…beautiful: Infused with excitement and anticipation. It’s pretty obvious that I get heady with the excitement of a big sale, and this one could be the biggest of my career. If I land this one, my name will be known in the society magazines. I’ll be the “it girl” in the real estate world. I’ve seen it happen with other top-selling agents. It would be fun to be the toast of the town. It would be nice to know I’ve finally “arrived.”

  Most of all, it would be fun to take a vacation, something I haven’t let myself do since I started working for John.

  I’ve just kept my nose to the grindstone all these years, driven by hunger and the burning desire to make something of myself. I knew I was being given a rare opportunity, and I wasn’t going to blow it. So I took it and ran with it, and I’m still running with it, to the point of exhaustion. But if I land this deal, I’m going to slow down, at least for a week or two, and give myself a nice tropical holiday in St. Bart’s or somewhere else equally glamorous.

  I only wish I had a man to bring with me…

  I shrug the thought away.

  I don’t need a man. All I need is a white-sand beach, a good book, and a sexy shirtless male resort worker to serve me cold drinks. Maybe another handsome stud to give me a massage. And that’s it. That would be enough.

  The elevator door slides open, and then I’m in a gorgeous foyer with cream-tiled floors and high ceilings. I round the corner and draw in a breath at the gorgeous view. It’s as though all of Manhattan is on display just for this apartment, sparkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A tall, well-built man is standing with his back to me, looking out the window. He’s in a charcoal-gray business suit. Even from the back, he looks like a man of immense wealth. It could be the way his thick hair is well-cut and styled and slightly gelled back, or the cufflinks and Rolex glinting at his wrists, or the line of his suit, obviously tailored to fit him just so. Or it could be the way he’s holding himself, the way he stands. Only wealthy men carry themselves like that. Or men with big…ahem, packages, although it’s not quite the same. I don’t know what it is, but there’s a subtle difference in the way a wealthy, powerful man carries himself from other men.

  I clear my throat. “Beautiful view, isn’t it?”

  The man turns.

  I draw in a sharp breath.

  It’s Liam Black, the man I’d tried to seduce (and woefully failed at). His eyes widen, and he looks equally surprised to see me. “You,” he says. Just that one word, but something about the way he says it sends tingles down my arms. There’s a long pause before he speaks again. “What are you doing here?”

  I square my shoulders. “I’m your real estate agent.”

  He exhales slowly as he takes me in. “Wow.” His eyes travel over my suit and briefcase. “I take it you’ve changed careers?”

  “Obviously,” I say, trying without success to hide the sharp edge to my voice. I can’t give away how off-balance I am, though, or how upset. I feel unnerved seeing him again after all this time, especially since the last time we saw each other ended in disaster.

  I need to play it cool. I need this sale. But my heart is traveling a slow descent. This is not good. This man will never buy an apartment from a former escort, especially a failed one. Okay, I was only an escort for a few hours, but still.

  This is not my lucky day.

  And worse, he’s still as handsome as he was three years ago. More handsome, in fact, if that’s even possible. It’s hard to think straight with him so close. It’s as if all the air has been sucked from the room. My cheeks are flushed with heat, and I can feel perspiration dampening the back of my neck.

  Damn, this isn’t good. Not good at all.

  Liam is looking at me appraisingly. His eyes travel from my face down my tight black dress and then up again. It’s as if he’s undressing me with his eyes, right here in the room. My heart rate picks up. Holy hell…

  “You look nice,” he says. His voice is gruffer than I remember, and both deep and low. “You make a very sexy businesswoman.”

  Some nerve. “Thanks,” I say in my most formal business voice despite my dry mouth and butterfly-filled stomach. I lean down and open my briefcase,
and then pull out a thick sheath of glossy papers. I hold them out to Liam. “Here are all the specs on the apartment. It has all of the amenities that one would expect in a property of this value, including a full-time doorman, private elevator, outdoor and indoor Jacuzzi, rooftop garden and terrace—”

  “Whoa.” Liam puts his hand up. “Slow down, Sarge. You’re talking so fast I can hardly understand a word you’re saying.” His lips curve up into a half smile, and his eyes bore into me. “Do I make you nervous or something?”

  I take a deep breath, a streak of annoyance racing through me. “No, you don’t make me nervous.” Just then, as if on cue, a small drop of perspiration runs down the tip of my nose. I wipe it away hurriedly. Damn it.

  He grins. “Are you sure?”

  I cross my arms and glare. “Do you want to see the property or not?”

  “Of course I want to see the property. It’s been on my watch list for a while. In fact, I think it might be perfect for me. But first, I need to know if you’re going to be my real estate agent.”

  “Yes,” I reply. “I thought I already said that.” Crap, is he going to ask for someone else? Conflict of interest and all that?

  “Good,” he says without hesitation. “Just wanted to make sure.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay with it,” I say, relief flooding me.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  I shrug, trying not to act as nervous as I feel. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe our last interaction or something?”

  “You mean our failed attempt at intercourse?”

  I choke on my spit. “Jesus!” I hiss, looking around. Not that there’s anyone here besides us. “Do you have to be so blunt?”

  “We might as well get it out of the way before we do business together,” he says matter-of-factly, “or it’s always going to be the elephant in the room. The big, blue-balled elephant.”

  “Not funny.”

  He crosses his arms and grins cockily, further igniting my ire. “So let’s cut right to it. Are there any specific questions you would like to ask me about that night?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Seriously?”

  “Why not? I’m sure you’ve wondered about it ever since. Probably never left your mind for a minute, right?”

  “You give yourself too much credit, Mr. Black.”

  “Call me Liam.” He smirks at me.

  “Of course. Liam.” I match his smirk with one of my own. “Okay, if you insist, I do have one question for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why weren’t you able to get it up with me? Was it something I did? Didn’t do? Wear or didn’t wear? Maybe my tits weren’t fake enough for you? Or fake at all?” I give him a bright smile. “Do tell.”

  He blinks. “Wow, I didn’t expect you to be so blunt. You sure don’t pull any punches, do you?”

  “Two can play this game, Mr. Black.” I hold his gaze. “We’re both clearly straightforward, no-nonsense people, people who cut through the bullshit. So why beat around the bush. Right?”

  He doesn’t answer but instead just gazes at me with an unreadable expression and an odd half smile.

  “Point is,” I continue on, “there’s no denying you weren’t turned on in the least by me. Zip, zilch, nada. I want to know why, as I’ve never had that happen before.”

  He gives me a chagrined look. “I’m sure.”

  I cross my arms. “So tell me the truth. Was I too intelligent for you? Too curvy? Had too much of a mind of my own? Spit it out. I can take it. I’m a big girl. Trust me, I’ve moved on since then. But I am curious and would like that itch scratched.”

  “I understand.” He gives me an enigmatic smile that infuriates me, and then says no more.

  “Why do you keep staring at me like that? You’re not answering my question.”

  “You’re quite the little bulldog, aren’t you?” He runs his hand through his hair, looking exasperated. “I guess I should go ahead and spill it, tell you the unvarnished truth. It’s not something I enjoy talking about, though.”

  “So there’s a specific reason for what happened?”

  “Yes.” He holds my gaze. “But it’s not what you think.”

  Our eyes lock for a long moment, and then he abruptly looks away. The moment feels different, as if all the humor and bantering have suddenly left. His jaw looks tense, as though he doesn’t know what to say. I guess I’ve put him on the spot without intending to. I’m left watching him, not knowing how to react.

  “Let me take you to lunch,” he suddenly blurts. “I’ll tell you the truth over a nice meal and a few cocktails. Make that many cocktails. I’ll need them. We can come back and look at the property after. What do you think? Maybe then we’ll both be more relaxed.”

  I give him a coy smile. “Are you nervous around me, Liam Black?”

  His direct answer surprises me. “Hell, yes,” he says, holding my gaze. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

  There’s a lengthy pause before he speaks again. What he says next is enough to suck the breath right out of my lungs.

  “And I was hoping I would.”

  “Why?” I whisper, tingles shooting up and down my arms. This can’t be happening. This…feeling between us. It’s been between us since that first night, and it’s as if it’s never left.

  His eyes look greener than usual in the afternoon light streaming through the windows. “I’ve thought of you often since that night. Call it chemistry. Call it something special about you. No matter what it is, you captivated me that night.”

  “But…how could that be?” I stammer. “You left. You obviously didn’t like me. You weren’t…attracted to me.”

  He steps toward me. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  My heart rate picks up at the look in his eyes. This is all too strange, and it’s happening too fast. I barely know him, and he confuses me. All I know for sure is that the same thing that happened to me three years ago is happening again.

  Trouble is, part of me likes it. And that’s what scares me.

  Truth be told, there’s something about him that makes me want to give myself over to him…even though I barely know him. It’s irrational and foolish but I can’t help it. Something about him captivates me, lures me…

  He reaches out and takes my hand. “Let’s go to lunch.” More tingles shoot over my skin. In his eyes, I see heat, curiosity, and something else I can’t quite put my finger on.

  I hesitate, struggling with myself. The logical side of me tells me to keep it all business, and to not fall into this trap. But the emotional side of me, the side I’ve kept buried for so long…well, it’s winning. There’s something about this man I want to know better, despite my better judgment. Something that I trust, even though I shouldn’t. Even though I don’t know why.

  He reaches out and slowly removes my briefcase from my hand. “Leave this here. We won’t be talking business at our business lunch.” His piercing green eyes are melting my insides like a glacier on a summer day.

  Damn. This isn’t good… This isn’t good at all.

  He continues to gaze at me with an enigmatic smile “Well? How about it?”

  I know what it means, and I know I should say no. My logic says to tell him that if we go to lunch, it needs to be about business. But every cell in my body is resisting my common sense, my logic. Every cell in my body wants to see what this man has in store for me.

  “Okay,” I finally say.

  He smiles. I let him lead me out of the room.

  I pause at the door. “On one condition.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “What’s that?”

  “I’m buying.”

  seven

  The restaurant Liam chooses is an old-world Italian joint in Little Italy. The place smells of garlic bread, basil, and wine. There are plaid tablecloths and small votive candles on the tables. Frank Sinatra plays in the background. As the waiter hands us our menus, I tell Liam that he could have chosen somewhere more expensive as I can affo
rd it. Or rather, John Rehnquist’s expense account can.

  He gives me a small smile. “Although money is clearly of no object, I preferred to take you to the best restaurant in New York. It just happens to be inexpensive. They could charge three times what they do. The quality is that good. Wait until you try their lasagna.”

  Just then, someone catches my eye. It’s Isabella, two tables over, sitting with Anthony. He’s paying the bill. She notices me and waves. They push back their chairs, and then head over to our table.

  I stand and give Isabella a hug. “What a coincidence seeing you here, of all the restaurants in town!”

  “It’s our favorite place,” she says, smiling. “We come here all the time. You should try the lasagna.”

  “So I’ve heard. This is Liam,” I say, introducing them. She pauses, raises an eyebrow, and gives me a look as if to say, “The Liam?” She must have a memory like a steel trap because it’s been three years since I’ve last spoken the man’s name to her. And yet, clearly, she remembers.

  Liam shakes her hand, and Anthony greets me with a warm hug, even though we’ve only met a few times before. He’s one heck of a handsome man, but even he can’t hold a candle to Liam’s smoldering good looks and air of confidence. But of course I’m biased.

  Anthony nods at Liam with a cool expression. “How ya doin’?”

  My jaw drops. “You two know each other?”

  Liam ignores me. He’s glaring at Anthony with a clenched jaw. “How have you been, my friend? Last time I saw you, you were in bed with my wife.”

  Isabella and I both gasp. I stare at Liam. “You’re married?”

  Liam keeps his eyes fixed on Anthony. “Yes, I was married once.” He glances at me. “I would warn your friend, if I were you. Valenta is the biggest player around.”

  Isabella stares at Anthony with her mouth open. “What is going on? How do you two know each other?”

  Anthony’s lips are a thin, white line. “Mutual friends, a long time ago.” He fixes a cold stare on Liam. “Why are you bringing shit up that happened more than ten years ago, buddy, and trying to cause trouble? Still holding a grudge?” He crosses his arms. “Seems I recall, she wasn’t your wife yet. It was only one night. In fact, from how I remember it, you two were on a break.”