Without Warning: A Billionaire Romance (Playboys of New York Book 5)

by JA Low

  God, this man is a piece of work.

  “Is this your M.O.? Talking to women online, inviting them to your penthouse, fucking them, then humiliating them. Is this some kind of sick fucking kink?” I scream at him.

  “I don’t understand what you’re talking about?” He shakes his head.

  He’s good at playing the fucking victim.

  “Stay away from me, you piece of shit.” As I step into the elevator, I watch as the doors close in his face. I crumble as embarrassment hits me square in the chest. The tears I had been trying to keep at bay fall easily now. The doors open in the lobby, and I rush out of there as quickly as I can.

  The bellman tries to run after me, but I grab a cab outside that has just let some people out and ask the driver to take me home.

  7

  Rhys

  I stare at the metal doors closing in front of me. I’m so confused by what just happened. What did she mean that she’s been talking to me? I don’t online date. I haven’t spoken to any women in New York since being in London.

  I head back to my room and get dressed, then grab my phone and call Stirling. Where the hell did he find this woman?

  “Hey, man, you fucked-up yet?” Stirling asks when I call him.

  “What do you mean?” I mean, technically, I’m fucked-up with confusion.

  “Don’t tell me the cleaner swiped my gift from your home?” He groans. “The bottle of whiskey. Thought you’d need it coming home,” he explains to me.

  Wait a minute.

  His surprise was the whiskey, not the woman?

  “I need you to be honest with me right now,” I tell him seriously. “Did you also leave a gorgeous brunette in my apartment as well?”

  The line goes silent.

  My heart begins to rapidly beat out of my chest with anxiety.

  “Hang on. What did you say? A brunette. As in a woman?” he questions me.

  “Yes. A woman. Dressed in lingerie waiting for me,” I tell him slowly, knowing exactly the answer he’s about to tell me.

  “Um… no. You sure you haven’t been drinking the whiskey and are drunk? The jetlag must have hit you hard. I wouldn’t send a woman to your home.”

  “Fuck.” Running my hand through my hair, I ask, “Then who the hell was she?”

  “Rhys… back up a minute.” He halts my mini freak out. “I just want to make sure I understand what’s happening.” There’s concern in his voice. “There was a woman in your apartment when you came home from London?”

  “Yes. A very beautiful woman.” Not like that makes a scrap of difference.

  “So, a very beautiful woman in her underwear is waiting for you in your apartment. And you do what?” he asks.

  Silence falls between us.

  “Rhys… what did you do?”

  “She came on to me, and we fucked.” Now that I’m saying it out loud, oh shit! What the hell was I thinking.

  “You fucked her?” Stirling raises his voice.

  “Yes. Because I thought she was my surprise,” I reply.

  “You thought the woman was your surprise?” he reiterates.

  “Yes. You said you had a surprise for me. She was there waiting… I put two and two together.” Running my hand through my hair, my stomach tightens as I collapse onto my couch.

  “You think I would send you a woman.” His voice raises again.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” Closing my eyes, I wish this fucked-up mess would somehow disappear.

  “How the hell did she get into your home if she wasn’t from me?” Stirling asks.

  Sitting up abruptly.

  How the hell did she get inside my secure apartment?

  “I don’t know.” My stomach sinks even further.

  What the hell is going on?

  “Did she say who she works for? Maybe it was the wrong apartment,” Stirling advises.

  “See, that’s the thing…” letting out a long sigh, “… after we fucked, I tried to give her a tip.”

  “You did what?” Stirling raises his voice.

  “I’ve never been with an escort before. I don’t understand the rules.” The words rush out quickly, maybe too quickly.

  “And what did she do?” Stirling asks.

  “She threw the money back in my face and started to cuss me out. She said we had been speaking online.”

  Stirling goes quiet for a couple of moments.

  “And you haven’t been?” He double-checks with me.

  “No, I don’t online date.”

  “And you came home early, right?” The wheels are spinning in Stirling’s mind. “Who has access to your home?”

  “My cleaner and the bellmen.” And as I say the words, my interaction with Ricky on my way in filters through my mind. His surprise at seeing me home early. His face turning a strange shade of white.

  “Fuck.”

  “What?” Stirling answers with a question.

  “I think it might have been the bellman. He was acting weird tonight,” I explain.

  “Guess you’re going to have to pay him a little visit,” Stirling advises.

  “Sure as hell am.” Getting up off my couch, I head toward the elevator. “Hey, can you get security to check the surveillance of my apartment while I’m away? I want to catch this fucker red-handed.”

  Stirling agrees, and I hang up.

  My blood is boiling.

  This little fucker has been using my home as his own private fuck palace.

  How dare he.

  How fucking dare he.

  Did he even clean my home after?

  My stomach rolls at the thought.

  The doors open to the lobby, and as soon as Ricky sees who has walked out of the elevator, he looks like he’s going to shit himself.

  “You little fucker.” Pointing at him, I stride over to where he’s standing.

  “Mr. Davenport, I can explain.” He holds up his hands in front of him as if he thinks I’m going to punch him. I want to, but I’m also not fucking stupid.

  “You little fucking shit… have been using my place to fuck women?” His eyes widen as he realizes I’ve put two and two together.

  “I… I…” He has no words because he’s guilty as sin.

  “You’ve been pretending my home is yours? How many?” I ask.

  He just stares blankly at me.

  “She was the first.” His words come out in a barely-there whisper.

  Huh?

  “Ariana,” he states.

  If that’s her name, it’s nice. Pretty. It suits her.

  “She was the first woman I—” He doesn’t need to finish that sentence as I cut him off.

  “How fucking dare you.” Pointing at him, I am seething.

  “I know. I’m sorry, sir. My girl… she left me for some rich guy, and I was feeling lonely and just…” he trails off with his pitiful excuses.

  I don’t fucking care.

  “You know I’m going to have to tell the board about this.” Glaring at him, I continue, “You’ve violated my home.”

  “I know, sir. I… I just … she was so pretty, and I never thought a woman like her would ever look at me if I was me,” he tells me pathetically. “So, I pretended to be you online, and she loved it. Fell for it, and—”

  Wait, what did he say?

  “You pretended to be me?”

  Ricky’s eyes widen when he realizes he’s fucked-up by blurting out that last piece of information I didn’t know.

  “I used your photo and first name,” Ricky tells me.

  “Are you fucking serious?” Raking my hands through my hair, I just can’t with this idiot. “I’m in the middle of a fucking acrimonious divorce. Do you have any idea how something like this could fuck me over?” He shakes his head. “Of course not, because you’re a selfish prick. Your girlfriend probably left you because you didn’t know how to fucking satisfy her… because it’s all about you.” My hurtful words tumble out of my mouth before I even have a chance to work out what the hell I am
saying.

  “And yet you didn’t kick Ariana out of your apartment straight away.” Ricky glares back at me. The jelly-like spine that was there before is now gone, and his words still me. “She was up there for a really long time.” His eyes narrow in on me. “Never thought you would be the kind of guy to fuck strange women in your apartment, sir.”

  This little fucking shit.

  “Least I didn’t have to pretend to be someone else when I did.” Turning on my heel, I stomp back to the elevator and head back to my apartment.

  Welcome-fucking-home, Rhys.

  8

  Ariana

  My phone doesn’t stop ringing all morning. I roll over and bury my head underneath my pillow. Last night was singlehandedly the most embarrassing moment of my life. Does Rhys Bailey seriously think because he’s rich and hot that women will happily take his money once he’s fucked them? Is that his way of never seeing a woman again? Urgh. Just thinking of what happened last night makes me feel physically ill all over again.

  Moments later, there’s a thumping on my door.

  “Ari,” Stella’s voice echoes through the door. Then the sound of keys jangling and the squeak of my front door opening. “Ari, are you in here?” Stella calls out. I can hear the uncertainty in her voice. “EJ, I’m worried.”

  “I’m in bed,” I call out.

  “Oh, thank God.” Stella rushes around the corner and sees me a mess in my bed. I can see on her face she’s been worried about me. Then EJ pops his head around, checks to see if I’m okay, then leaves. “You haven’t been picking up your phone,” Stella scolds me. “We thought you were kidnapped or murdered.”

  My friends are overly dramatic sometimes.

  “I’m fine. I didn’t want to talk about what a mess it was,” I confess.

  “Oh, babe. What happened?” Stella takes a seat beside me on my bed.

  My stomach sinks thinking about what happened.

  I explain to her everything that went down last night. She is a little shocked over the entire situation.

  “And he seriously doesn’t remember talking to you?” Stella asks.

  “No. That’s what I don’t get.” I fold my arms angrily over my chest.

  “Knock, knock.” EJ is at my bedroom door with a tray full of goodies. “I’ve made chocolate pancakes. They’re Stell’s fave. Sounds like you might need them.”

  Damn you, EJ, that’s so sweet.

  He walks over and places the fluffy stack of pancakes on the side of the bed. There’s cream, chocolate syrup, strawberries, everything. “I might leave you two to it.” EJ bends over and kisses Stella’s forehead, then he’s gone. I watch Stella stare after him with hearts in her eyes, and I have a pang of jealousy. Something I’ve never experienced before.

  “EJ’s a good guy underneath all that ego.” I nudge her shoulder, bringing her back to reality.

  “He really is.” She grins. “Plus, the guy can cook.” We both laugh. “So, what do you think you’re going to do?” Stella asks, shoving a fluffy pancake into her mouth.

  “Forget about it. Delete all my dating apps. Maybe get a cat.”

  Stella giggles. “Don’t think we are in cat-lady territory just yet.”

  “Honestly, last night has put me off dating.” Shoving delicious pancakes into my mouth seems to be helping.

  “You can’t give up on love, Ari,” Stella tells me with her rose-colored glasses firmly on her face.

  “I don’t need a man, Stell, to be happy,” I reply.

  “I know,” she agrees. “Then what are you doing about launching your own business? About what Emma offered you Friday night?” She pushes the subject.

  Emma did give me a lot to think about with her generous offer, and not having to pay rent would help significantly to my savings budget. But in all honesty, I’m scared. What happens if I suck?

  Stella gives me a look as if she can read my mind and then doubles the look until I cave.

  “Okay. I’m going to take up her offer.”

  “Yes,” Stella squeals and hugs me tightly. “I knew you would. You’re going to be the best fucking architect in the city,” she reassures me.

  I wish I felt as confident as she does.

  “You know, EJ and I want to work with you on our place in Montana,” she tells me. “Whenever you’re ready, we are, too.”

  My heart feels full with Stella and EJ’s faith in me. If they think I can do it, then maybe I need to have a little more faith in myself too.

  “I’d love to design your home.” Finally, I give in. Fuck everyone! I need to start living the life I want to live and stop hiding behind excuses.

  “You’re serious?” Stella double-checks.

  “Yeah… one hundred percent,” I reply.

  Stella screams again, nearly piercing my eardrums, then she hugs me tightly.

  Monday morning, and the weekly dread of going to work begins again. I’ve decided that today I’m going to be handing in my two weeks’ notice. I need to be in charge of my own destiny, and after the humiliation of Saturday night, I need something else to focus my mind on, and my own business is the best way to do that.

  I grab a coffee from the café downstairs and make my way through the glass doors into the marbled foyer of Davenport Architects. I give Linda at reception a wave as I enter the office. She gives me a small smile in return, then busies herself with work. I step into my office, which is practically a windowless shoebox, and sit at my desk. I fire up my computer and listen to the beeps of the numerous emails that come through while I sip my coffee.

  “Morning, Ariana.” Stanford Davenport stands at my door, his blue eyes assessing me. He’s the boss’s son and fits every single stereotype that would bring. His ego is through the roof. He believes he’s a brilliant architect. He’s not. The interns fix up his mistakes. Stanford is a creep to most of the women in the office. He’s never done anything. It’s just the way he looks you over that makes you feel dirty. He’s asked me out several times since I’ve started at the firm, and every single time I’ve declined his advances.

  One—he’s technically my boss.

  Two—he’s a creep.

  Three—he’s a creep.

  Do I need to continue?

  But the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree with senior Davenport either. Bruce is your typical rich, older man who thinks he’s more important than he really is. He may be a brilliant architect, but all of that is forgotten because of his demeanor, or maybe it’s just the way he treats the women in the office. He is happy to invite the boys in the office for Friday afternoon drinks at the local strip club. Women are obviously to be seen for pleasure and not heard from in the office unless it’s to get his fucking coffee. The man knocked up his assistant, for fuck’s sake.

  I don’t understand what she ever saw in him. Yes, he is distinguished- looking for an older man, but his personality is the pits. Maybe some women can put up with that when it leads to a payday like it did for Elisabeth. She lives in some fancy apartment in Manhattan, has a large allowance, and doesn’t have to work.

  “Did you have a good weekend? Get up to any mischief?” he asks.

  Ew.

  “No. I didn’t do much at all, actually.” Not giving him anything. I hope the conversation will be over and done with.

  “That’s a shame. You should have come ‘round to my penthouse. I hosted an awesome party. It turned into something crazy. You would have loved it.”

  Yeah, there is no way in hell I would have enjoyed going to his place. I’d probably be the only person invited, and before I knew it, I would be locked down in some creepy sex dungeon of his. Stanford’s eyes dip down to my breasts and stay there. Yeah, I’d definitely be locked in some dungeon.

  “Sandy,” a deep voice calls out down the hallway.

  Stanford stills at the nickname.

  Sandy? Oh, I want to use that. It’s perfect for him.

  His face pales as a hand grips him on the shoulder. Then it’s my turn to pale when I
realize who’s voice it is as I see him standing in the doorway to my office. Rhys.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  How the hell does he know Standford?

  Of course, he knows Standford. They are probably related. Let’s face it, they are equally as disgusting as each other.

  I need to hide.

  He can’t see me.

  But I think it will look rather suspicious if I dive under my desk right about now.

  “No, means, no. You know that, don’t you, Sandy?” Rhys jokes with Stanford calling him out on his creepiness. Rhys turns to see who Stanford has been talking to and stills. His eyes flare ever so slightly in recognition, all the while keeping a perfect poker face. He then looks back to Stanford, and his face darkens.

  “Ariana, this is my brother, Rhys,” Stanford introduces us through gritted teeth.

  Rhys is his brother?

  He’s a Davenport?

  What in the hell. I thought his surname was Bailey?

  Of course, he would use a fake name.

  Oh, fuck! I’m a little lightheaded.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you were in London.” Standford glares at Rhys.

  I don’t think there’s any love lost between these two brothers.

  Brothers. Realizing what they are, I look them over and would never have guessed the two men are even related. They both have the same blue eyes, but Rhys has darker hair, is taller, broader, and a hell of a lot more handsome. Stanford has blond hair and looks, well, douche-ier. Is that even a word!

  “Dad wanted a meeting,” Rhys tells him, ignoring my presence, which is fine with me.

  “Oh, that’s right.” Stanford nods, pretending like he always knew the plan.

  “Ariana, why don’t you go downstairs and grab us some coffee.” Stanford turns and looks at me.

  Go get your own fucking coffee! That’s not my job.

  Rhys looks between Stanford and me, then frowns.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s not her job to fetch coffee, Sandy,” Rhys tells him.

  I’m stunned no one stands up to Stanford in this office, even me. I grin and take the bullshit because of their reputation in the architectural world.