The Bet: A Manhattan Nights novel

by Natalie Wrye

  His blue eyes and blond hair are a dead giveaway as he comes closer.

  “Hi, beautiful.”

  My heart drops at the sound of his voice. Fuck.

  I wrap my hair in a quick twisted top bun, circling the bar, running my fingers over my hips, I try to rub the nerves out, but they’re still singing by the time I make it to David’s stool, my skin still prickling as his blue eyes peruse my body, trailing all over my black shirt and skirt.

  I cross my arms over my chest and wait. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well,” he comments, spinning towards me. “Thought if you couldn’t come from work for fun, that I would bring the fun to your work.”

  I nod, feeling nothing. “I’m busy here, David.”

  His eyes scan the bar. “Doesn’t look that way. Looks like ‘Last Call.’ And if I’m not mistaken, you haven’t been around much lately.” He straightens his overpriced silk tie. “Didn’t want to not see you before Christmas.”

  “I’ve been around. Just got a lot of work to do.”

  He sniffs. “Does that work include Heath Sparrow?”

  I cut my eyes at him. “Why don’t you go home and rest? Looks like you’ve had your fun.” I sniff. “You reek of vodka and you need to clean up. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”

  He stands, shaking his head. “Ya see…that’s what you say.” He moves in closer, blowing his alcohol-soaked breath on me. “That’s what you always say.” My chest starts to heave. My breaths grow shallow as David closes in on me, his tall lean body brushing against mine as he barricades me against the isolated bar, his thin, lengthy arms locking down on the surface of the long counter behind me. He places his hands on either side of me, leaning in.

  He’s drunk out of his mind, that much I can tell. But it’s not his glassy eyes or stilted stumble that makes my heart pound. It’s his steady, stoned glare. He’s looking at me as if he doesn’t even see me anymore… Just a body. Two pairs of tits wrapped in a tight ensemble, open for his touch.

  His gaze scans slowly over my figure, but the first time since I met him, the wealthy, blue-blooded lawyer with the nice smile, I truly don’t want it. His leer isn’t just lewd… It’s enough to make my skin crawl. I try to back up and find my backside pressing flush against the lacquered bar, the smell of liquor wafting off of him in waves. And with Emily still in the cab and bartender busy with other customers, the conversation between David and I goes unnoticed—our little face-off way too off to the side to be seen, our exchange blocked by David’s long body.

  I can’t believe it. I’m fucking trapped.

  I put a hand against his chest, pushing. “You’re drunk. Sleep it off.”

  The corners of his mouth tug upward as he blinks slowly. “Why don’t you sleep it off with me?”

  “I can’t. I’ve got to go.”

  “Come on,” he urges, pressing his pelvis into mine. I can feel the beginnings of a hard-on beneath his wool pants, and the drunken lawyer grabs my wrists nearly bringing them to his grinding crotch. I snatch them back.

  “No,” I snap. “Move, David. Get out of my way.”

  “Stop playing so hard to get, and I will,” he starts to growl.

  I twist between his arms as he grabs at me. “No, I said fucking stop it…”

  “You stop teasing me first.”

  “David… David. David, I said fucking no!” I push again at his chest, backing him up. It gives me the space I need to move, and I bring my knee between his legs, jerking it upwards to slam into his half-chubbed cock. He yelps and back away, hissing out a few expletives before looking up at me. His normally handsome face is twisted…and furious.

  “You uptight bitch,” he spits. “Do you know how many women would kill to be with me?”

  I huff the words, breathing heavily as I glare at him. “My bet? Only the criminally insane, you piece of shit.”

  He cups his hands at his crotch, wincing. “I was the insane one, making a deal that lost me the fucking firm. All for the wet spot between the thighs of some damaged, frigid divorcee,” he throws my way.

  And then I watch him get hit, his head hurtling backwards as a fist lands over my shoulder, squarely in his face. My vision goes black.

  HEATH

  Don’t you do it, asshole. Don’t you fucking do it.

  I’m walking right up, clenching my fists against my hips as I watch the scene before me.

  Funny thing is… I can’t tell if I’m talking to him… or myself.

  I’m a barely contained maelstrom, ready to strike with bolts of fury.

  Inexplicable hot anger burns into my chest, and I am squeezing my fists so hard that my fingertips start to tingle. I am not prepared for what happens next. I black out.

  Somewhere in the blurry haze of my consciousness, I realize that I’ve actually made in time, punched David in the face. Past the other drinking patrons, over Violet’s silky strawberry red hair, I plant a fist.

  Right into the fucker’s nose.

  I don’t realize what’s happening until I’m standing directly in front of David, my hands wrapped around his collar, hoisting him eye-level with my six-three frame. His face turns as red as his collared shirt, his nose emitting a deep burgundy ooze. He tries to slink from my grasp.

  “Give me another fucking reason to knock your head clean off your fucking shoulders, King? Please. Give me another goddamned reason.”

  He spits in my face, a bloody spew that makes contact with my nose.

  I hit him again. My fist makes contact with mouth and teeth, scrapping my knuckles as they slam. He doubles over, going down, and I release the suit-covered jackass with as much force as I’ve grabbed him with, watching him stumble backward, as he barely catches his balance.

  He blinks rapidly as his kneecaps scrape the floor. He stumbles to his feet.

  “You stupid bastard,” he mumbles through a mouthful of blood. “She isn’t even worth it. When I made the bet for her, I thought there was no way I could lose. But then your fucking father wakes up…and the stock bounces back. Fuck you goddamned Sparrows.”

  My adrenaline is pumping. I’m almost sure I’ve misheard the bumbling prick until a set of fourth footsteps joins in. David glances over my shoulder, tucking his tail between his legs as he scampers out the back door.

  Violet’s own eyes swing towards the front. I plant a foot to turn.

  “What the hell is going on in here?!” a voice booms from behind me, the thunderous tone undeniable. It hits me with a brutal force that shocks me into immediate attention.

  And within three-point-three milliseconds, I have to come to grips with the fact that my father is here. Alive and well.

  Fitzgerald Sparrow has survived a miracle and walked out unscathed.

  I rotate on my heel towards the door. “Wha…what are you doing here?”

  My father is as physically imposing as his voice. His large, muscular frame takes up the entire doorway of the back room of the bar, and even his business attire cannot hide the immense muscles beneath. It’s all part of the power image of King & Sparrow.

  Powerful influence. Powerful minds. Powerful bodies.

  “What am I doing here?” he asks. “I own this goddamned building. This city block. Question is: hat are you doing here?”

  “I was actually here for something else,” I tell him. I motion off-handedly toward David’s blood on the floor. “I got sidetracked.”

  He looks behind me at the small red pool on the floor.

  “Huh. I see,” is all he says. He never was very sympathetic. To anyone. He doesn’t give a shit about King’s current state.

  “Never mind that,” he barks, the broken lawyer fumbling out the door of no consequence. “I came down to talk to you. I talked to Marilyn. She told me you might be here after I saw you weren’t at your penthouse.”

  My damned sister. She knew.

  “You woke up…” I throw at him.

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t tell me.”

&
nbsp; “Thought you’d take it better this way.”

  “Why?” I scoff. “Because you know me so well?” I walk forward, facing him. “Well, you know the fuck what, Dad? I’m not David King. I’m not your people. Maybe once, I was one of those people: a spoiled ass teen turned adult…with nothing but money and time to waste. I tried to follow in your footsteps. I tried, and I kept failing at it…because it’s not me. It never really was. But you did do something right with me, Dad. You instilled an appreciation to be great. To strive for something bigger and better. Well, now I’ve found it.” I think of Violet. “And that’s all I need. So, I’m done with the bullshit, Dad. I’m done with being your flunky. King & Sparrow is my fucking business now. We can build instead of destroy. And if you can’t agree to that, then the only thing I’m concerned with destroying…is you.”

  I stop talking and the room gets quiet—deadly quiet.

  I brace myself for impact. Dad always was a scrappy son-of-a-bitch. I can’t imagine how mad this must make him. I’ve seen him level a grown man or two in my day. This might make him mad enough to hit me.

  “Really?” he finally says. It’s not so much a question as it is an accusation. Putting his hands on his hips, he hangs his head. Exhaling loudly, he lifts it seconds later. “Well, it’s about damn time.”

  My mouth can barely move. “Wait…what?”

  “King & Sparrow was my business, my child. And you…you are my son, my flesh and blood. I knew that one day the sibling rivalry would be too much. There’d be no way for you and King & Sparrow to coexist in the same space. Life just doesn’t work that way.

  “You fought King & Sparrow—the family business—more than you fought your own sister. But let me tell you something. That boardroom full of pricks… That used to be my boardroom. My kingdom. I’m a no-good, arrogant, condescending bastard, and I know it…but I was still ruler.” He smirks. “Ruler of the dicks. And there really wasn’t enough space on the throne for two dicks anyway.

  “I’ve been waiting on you to realize your full potential. And I guess I always knew it wasn’t sniffing up my ass. Sure, I wanted you to take the reins of King & Sparrow once I was done, but that was before. When you were floating around, resting on your laurels” His gaze grow serious. “I have been keeping an eye on you, son, over the years. And you’ve changed. You went out into the world and wound up a man…” He snorts softly. “A better man than me.” He stares absently at the floor. “A man whose own business partners were trying to kill him…”

  “Jesus, Dad. What the hell are you talking about?” I try to step forward. But my dad stops me with his voice, glancing up at me, a rare quiver in his tone as he starts to talk.

  “In my hospital room, after I woke up.” His weathered face contorts from confusion. “A man named Steven Randall called. Said he wanted to confess. Said he was hired by Chris Jackson to stalk Violet Keats. Apparently, she was next on his ‘Hit-List’…after our firm decided not to represent him, leaving him with second-rate lawyers.”

  “And David King?” I ask.

  “Guilty of being nothing but a dick.”

  Recognition reaches inside the recesses of my mind, making me think. Of course Steven Randall’s face was familiar when he slinked into the break room with me and Jesse.

  I’d seen it on TV screens.

  He was the slimy bastard lurking in Chris Jackson’s personal entourage. In a delivery uniform and hat, he’d looked different than the deferring asshole that had followed Jackson like a shadow everywhere he went. It was even more confirmation of the man that Chris Jackson was.

  Abuser. Fiend. A fraud.

  I’m livid it didn’t occur to me until now. But my father breaks my stupor.

  “It’s not your worry, son,” he whispers, sending my skin into a flush. “Your priorities were in the right place. Keeping your woman. Now, you should get her back.”

  I don’t know what he’s talking about. Until I turn. And find Violet gone.

  The scent of her strawberry scent is still lingering. But with David King’s confession still ringing in my ears, I know that of all that I have gained—a firm, a family, maybe even a father—I’ve lost the most important person.

  And I may have lost her for good…

  Chapter 29

  VIOLET

  The lobby of the SparrowHead is a freaking madhouse. But then again…so is the inside of my mind.

  Christmas Day in Manhattan is one big oxymoron. In a city where business is always booming and the population never sleeps, the holidays aren’t a time for rest.

  If anything, the borough kicks up another billion notches, and I can’t reconcile the vision of snow-white winter with the darkness that’s just inside my head.

  But I’m trying my very fucking best.

  In the middle of a mild Tuesday afternoon, I stroll up to SparrowHead building, my resignation in hand.

  I prepare to flash my badge at Security Guard Sam when I realize that this will be the last time, and I reach over, suddenly needing to shake the black-coat wearing teddy bear’s hand. I smile.

  “Working on Christmas Day, Sam?”

  “Always working, Ms. Keats.”

  “Here,” I say, fishing out every last dollar from my wallet. I hand them to him. “Merry Christmas. You might not get the day off. But this might ensure that you take some time next week.” I wink. “It was nice meeting you, Sam.”

  He blinks slowly, thanking me. Confusion washes over his face, but I keep walking.

  “It was nice to meet you too!” He calls out.

  I open the elevator, strolling inside. Pressing the white button for the seventieth floor, I wait silently, my heart karate-chopping out of my chest.

  I hope I don’t have to see Heath. And I hope I do.

  In a simple red blouse, skirt and jacket, I swear I almost sweat the fabric through, my pulse racing a mile a minute as the lift stops, letting me out.

  I envision a lot of images when I step out onto the King & Sparrow floor. But the scene in front of me…is the last thing I thought I’d ever see.

  My mouth drops as a team of decorators props up a stream of glowing white lights. My jaw unhinges at the glittery sight of the office.

  I watch as people set up a slew of bobblehead Santas and enough snow globes to glitterize the southern half of New York. I stumble on shaky legs through the decked-out halls of the office, making note of the ten different types of tinsel hanging from each doorway.

  Christmas, indeed, came to town and exploded in King & Sparrow on its way out. The place is transformed.

  I can’t focus on any one item. There are too many.

  I can’t focus on the busy decorators adorning each door. I can’t focus on the inflatable Nutcrackers being placed in every corner.

  I can’t focus on any one item…but him.

  My brilliant boss. My Christmas partner-in-crime. My lover.

  My Adonis with irises the color of freshly brewed coffee, tall and tempting. The vision of his face is tap-dancing on my brain, and if it weren’t for that simple fact, I probably wouldn’t be in this mess at all, I’d have corralled the decorators right out of there, cancelled the Christmas Day surprise the second I looked up and saw the first person amble across the hallway in those frilly socks I picked from the department.

  I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing now…which is anything to distract myself from one inarguable, undeniable reality…

  Realizing that the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen wasn’t mine. And as I saunter past the gaudy decorations and an even gaudier decorators, that feeling of vulnerability, of being naked and exposed, follows me—much like it had done last night when that asshole David King tried to assault me, and the man I now know as the “the worst man on Earth” came in and saved me.

  I could call him. Could use any person’s phone in this holiday heaven to reach out, but shame, thick and inexplicable, stops me. The sickly sweet smell of candy cane and sugar-dipped pixie sticks floating through the stale air does no
thing to make my mix of emotions better and before I can head towards the exit, the apparent head honcho of the decorating team, a Mister Maximillian Major floats in my direction, waving an insistent finger in front of my face.

  I feel my patience starting to snap. I stare at his hand.

  “No, no, no, my dear,” he stops me. “Where do you think you are going? We need you here. Here to tell us what to do, how to set up, where the rest of these decorations go.”

  I look him in the eye. “In the trash, most likely.” I gaze around the room. “Excuse me, Max, but I shouldn’t be here.” I motion with my hands. “This… This is great.” My voice softens. “But I don’t work here anymore.”

  Max moves in closer. “It’s Maximillian, sweetheart,” he corrects me. “And if I remember correctly, Mr. Sparrow said no such thing on the phone. He said ‘Give her the holiday she always deserved. Make it fun and beautiful and Christmas-y. For the love of my life’.” He waves a hand towards the wall. “This is fun and beautiful and Christmas-y.”

  “Yeah…” I sigh. “I’m sure Mr. Sparrow did say that.” I rub my hairline.

  Resigning was my only endgame just minutes ago, my only thought. The only endgame I’ve managed to land since I’ve stepped foot in King & Sparrow is a headache, and I massage my temples, my neck aching, and bones creaking worse than a woman Betty White’s age.

  Probably from all the sex I’ve had recently.

  And all the while, my stomach churns. I still can’t believe I’m going to walk away from my job. I still can’t believe I’m going to walk away from the best—and worst—thing that’s ever happened to me.

  And I’m not talking about King & Sparrow.

  Nausea rolls in my gut, and I lean against the wall, feeling a wave of sickness roll over me. I raise my head, rasping the words. “I need to get out,” I whisper. “I’ve gotta get out.”

  Maximillian looks at my face. The man isn’t slow, I’ll give him that. With a clap of his hands, he crowds his employees together in the middle of the floor and out the door. Once it shuts, I sag against the wall, sliding down it. My head falls into my hands, and the tears I’ve held back for the past two weeks fall down my face with abandon.