The Duke of New York_A Contemporary Bad Boy Royal Romance

by Lisa Lace

  —I guess there’s only one way I can prove myself once and for all, isn’t there? Let me take you to dinner.

  Ethan

  “This champagne is warm.”

  “What do you expect, Lorina? It’s being stored in a car.”

  “A limousine, Ethan. And what’s the point in paying for a luxury car if you don’t get the luxury of a cold drink?” She knocks pointedly against the window separating us from the driver, as though it’s his fault the champagne isn’t chilled.

  “I’m sure there’ll be plenty to drink inside.”

  “I’m trying to calm my nerves, Ethan. There are going to be cameras everywhere. This could turn into something big for me.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  She scowls and casts me a disdainful glare. “Oh yes, I forget. You don’t give a damn about my career.”

  “You’re my guest to a charity banquet. It’s hardly the cover of Vogue.”

  “You’re incredibly callous, Ethan. Everybody who’s anybody will be there tonight. I could get noticed.”

  Maybe someone will take you off my hands. “Let’s hope.”

  “What’s the charity again?”

  “Stepping Stones.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “They donate to kids from impoverished families to help them get an education and healthcare.”

  “Like anybody cares. I bet there’s going to be zero press coverage. It’s not even one of the major charities.”

  “That’s not the point of the night, Lorina. We’re raising money for a good cause.”

  “You tell yourself that, Ethan. This is just another PR move for you, too.”

  I clench my jaw and turn away from her. I don’t talk to Lorina about the donations I regularly make to similar charities. She’d be horrified that I was giving money away to children instead of investing in her “career.”

  We arrive at Belton Hall and step out of the limousine. Lorina moves frustratingly slow toward the front steps, soaking up every camera flash like a dying plant in need of sunlight.

  She looks the part, all right. She’s dressed to the nines in a slinky bodycon dress made of champagne lace. Her lips are a slash of red, her eyes thick with makeup, making her blinks slow. Every now and then, her eyelids stick together. I can almost hear the sound of them snapping apart again.

  It repulses me.

  I close my eyes to drown out my irritation, and the image of a freckled girl in a flowing white dress crosses my mind. I open them again, and I’m at the great entrance of Belton Hall, surrounded by women wearing gowns fancier than the prom-night garb that seemed so lavish eleven years ago.

  We are checked off the guest list and step inside.

  Lorina is right, everybody who is anybody is here. Politicians, celebrities, businessmen—events like these are for the one percent. If you don’t have a million in your bank account, don’t bother.

  I turn to Lorina. I almost start to tell her about how I used to sneak into places like this when I was young—I vividly remember a midnight swim at a golf course—but I hold my tongue. Those anecdotes are too precious to waste on a woman who doesn’t know me.

  She’s beaming now that she’s in her element.

  “If you hadn’t invited me tonight, I would have died, Ethan. I feel sorry for everyone who didn’t make the cut.” She looks back over her shoulder at me as she shrugs smugly. “Sucks to be poor and ugly.”

  A waiter offers me a glass of champagne, and I accept, making a point to hand a crystal glass to Lorina too. She takes it from me, and then stands with it slightly raised, dead still, as if someone was photographing her as the dazzling debutante at her first ball. I look around. Nobody is taking her picture. She’s hoping somebody will.

  “Ethan!”

  I turn and smile broadly. It’s Benjamin Harris, one of my first big clients. He shakes my hand warmly. “How are you, old friend?”

  “Benjamin! Very well, thank you. Have you met Miss Lorina Valencia?”

  He kisses her hand and plays at awe. “You are a vision, Miss Valencia. What a delight to have you with us this evening.”

  Lorina slowly turns to me, and a smug smile creeps onto her face. It vanishes when Benjamin withdraws his attention from her and turns it back to me.

  “Your old college friend is here tonight. Oswald. Yes, Vincent Oswald. You’re acquaintances, aren’t you?”

  I speak through gritted teeth and a forced smile. “Our paths have crossed before.”

  “He’s a good person to know in your industry. I understand he does very well.”

  “Yes, he does.”

  “It’s been a pleasure to see you again, Ethan. I believe my wife is waiting for me to enter the dining hall. Perhaps I’ll catch you again after the meal.”

  “Of course. Nice talking to you, Benjamin.”

  After he leaves, I turn back to Lorina, scowling. “That snake is here.”

  “Who?”

  “Vincent Oswald.”

  I see a spark of recollection in her eyes. Her finger traces the rim of her champagne flute. “Ah, yes. I’ve seen his picture. He smiles. He’s handsome.”

  “He dated Beverly Ritchie, you know.” I throw in the comment and enjoy seeing Lorina’s face grow jealous. Beverly Ritchie is the current “it-girl” in the fashion world.

  “Handsome, but an idiot, then.” She casts me a scathing glare. “Seems to be an occupational hazard.”

  I’m going to end things with Lorina. The thought gives me the strength to bite back a smart-ass response. She might be a public relations dream, but she’s my personal nightmare, and this farce of a relationship has exhausted me.

  “Enjoy it while it lasts.” I mutter under my breath so she can’t hear me.

  We head into the banquet hall, and I’m on high alert. Somewhere among the crowd is Vincent. I scan the faces around me, looking for his devious eyes and self-satisfied grin.

  I spot him on the other side of the hall. He seems to be here alone, but undeterred. He looks up and catches my eye. That smirk grows on his face, making my blood boil. He raises his glass in my direction tauntingly. I turn away.

  We eat a delicious, lavish meal, accompanied by a live string quartet. I make decisive, strategic small talk with the businessmen at my table. Lorina flirts shamelessly with every male who looks her way. I don’t care. I’m done with her antics and self-centered charade.

  Dinner ends, and we file out into another hall, as a different orchestra strikes up. “Ethan, shall we dance?”

  “Not right now.”

  Lorina scowls at me and picks herself up defiantly. Seconds later, she’s whirling across the dance floor with a stranger, staring daggers at me every time the music brings her toward my table. I ignore her.

  The next time I look up, it’s because I hear a chair being pulled out. It’s Vincent. He casually takes a seat beside me.

  “Vincent.”

  “Ethan.” He raises his eyebrows. “I’m surprised to see you here tonight. I’d have thought you’d be too busy trying to steal my clients. You’re usually so prompt with payback.”

  “I know you’re losing money on Bates. Take him. Waste your own time.”

  I lift my eyes to look at him. It’s been a while since Vincent and I have been face-to-face. He’s as enigmatic as I remember. All around, eyes are drawn to him. He’s hardly aged a day since we first met at Columbia.

  I drink the last of my champagne, and Vincent refills from the bottle at the center of the table. “Drink up, Ethan. It’s a celebration.”

  “What are we celebrating?”

  “I have Bates, and you have a new cell phone game. Congratulations, by the way. Destiny is a hit. Sad to see you’ve sold out, though. Seriously, online dating?” He shakes his head. “I thought you took yourself a bit more seriously than that, Ethan.”

  “I’m making money, Vincent. You’re poaching my clients because you know I’m about to fold you for the last time.” I lean forward on the table and fix him with a le
thal stare. “How long will your company last without the defense contract? I hear you’re on the rocks.”

  He laughs. “Don’t believe everything you hear. I have a few tricks left up my sleeve, and I’m going to win that contract.”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  One hand has curled into a fist under the table. Any other place, any other time, I would have taken a swing at him. Only Vincent Oswald would have the audacity to gloat about his dirty deeds to my face.

  Vincent casually pulls out his cell from his pocket. “You know, I actually quite like your little matchmaking toy. It’s given me something to occupy my time with while I’m back in Payson, anyway. Or should I say ‘someone’?” He turns his cell screen toward me. “Pretty little thing, isn’t she?”

  It’s Lily. I haven’t seen her in eleven years, but I could never forget those sky-blue eyes and the distinctive pattern of her freckles. She hasn’t dyed her hair; it’s the same length. No makeup, paint on her skin. She’s older, but she’s barely changed.

  I feel an instinctive protectiveness rise up within me that turns into a vicious growl. “You stay the fuck away from her.”

  Vincent looks at Lily’s picture with a pleased smile. “Oh, come on now, Ethan, she’s hardly yours anymore, is she? You left her behind in Payson while you were making it big at Columbia. Just abandoned her in that dead-end town. I’ve been talking to her.”

  My throat closes. The thought of Vincent talking with Lily sickens me, fills me with rage.

  “Since you left her, not much has changed for poor Lily. She’s still an impoverished artist, barely getting by. Tell me, Ethan, do you think about how she’s doing when you’re sipping your champagne?”

  “There’s no way Destiny matched you with her. She’s too good for you.”

  “What are you talking about? We’re both from Payson, appreciators of art. We’re both cat people. Nature lovers.”

  I hate the word “lovers” from his mouth. He’s talking about my Lily. I have to grip the edges of my seat to stop myself from throwing a punch.

  “How did you do it? Did you have your team hack her profile? Did you override the system?”

  Vincent laughs. “Sorry, Ethan. No tricks—I guess I’m just the right man for her. Shame, isn’t it? I got the feeling at college that you really liked her.”

  Once, when Vincent and I were close, I’d told him all about Lily. I’d told him everything. Now he was using it against me.

  “Don’t touch her, Vincent. You’re crossing a line.”

  Vincent leans in toward me, and his voice is a low, angry hiss. “Am I, Ethan? Or was it you who crossed a line when you picked apart my company and sold it for scrap? You didn’t want my company. You didn’t need it.”

  “You’d have gone bankrupt if someone didn’t buy.”

  “You did it for revenge.”

  “You sold me out after Columbia.”

  “I made a strategic career move.”

  “You stabbed me in the back.”

  “Not yet, I haven’t. But, I will. First, I’m going to take your girl. Next I’m taking the defense contract. You’re going to be sorry you ever came after me.”

  “You’d go all the way to Payson just to get to her?”

  Vincent sits back, shrugs. “There’s a technology convention in Arizona next week. I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone? Mix a bit of business with pleasure.”

  “She’ll never go for you, Vincent.”

  “It’s been eleven years, Ethan. Ever think there’s the slightest chance she’s over you? I’m going to Payson, and your little girlfriend and I have a dinner date. Maybe I can give her what you never could.”

  Lily

  We’re in the expensive part of town, a neighborhood I’ve only ever passed through on the way to meet clients.

  “Look, I’m right here, okay? If he’s not who he says he is, you jump in, and we drive.”

  I glance across the street, where Chloe is parked in her Jeep, lying low like a spy—until, that is, she spots me looking for her and waves like a maniac. I grin and make a gesture for her to play it cool, my cell still pressed against my ear.

  “Please don’t leave unless I text you. I’m still expecting this guy to be a complete con-artist.”

  “I thought you said he passed the banana test.”

  I giggle. “How else was I supposed to figure out if he was scamming me?”

  “Only you, Lily.” I hear her gasp. “Oh my God—is that a limo pulling up? Jesus, Lily, I think it’s him!”

  “It can’t be.” Breathing through clenched teeth, I look over.

  A sleek, luxurious black car arrives outside the award-winning Italian restaurant where “Vincent” has arranged to meet me. Sure enough, I can see a tall, dark figure stepping out in an expensive tailored suit. He looks around, expecting me.

  My heart races when he turns to peer down the street. He glances at his watch, and his face is illuminated by the restaurant’s bright lights. As handsome as every photo I’ve ever seen him in, it’s unmistakably Vincent Oswald.

  “Shit, Chloe. I think I have to go.”

  “Vincent fucking Oswald is waiting for you. Of course, you have to go!”

  “Wait five more minutes for me just in case.”

  “Get in there!”

  I hang up and linger a moment on the sidewalk opposite the restaurant. Inside, the restaurant is filled with people dressed to the nines, and in my plain A-line dress with hand-sewn sequins, I feel like a mess. Suddenly, the innocent scuff on the toe of my left high-heeled shoe seems incredibly conspicuous. Running a comb through my hair before darting out the door doesn’t seem good enough. I’ve made a half-hearted effort.

  Although the banana experiment was enough to make me wonder, in truth, I still expected to meet a con artist when I showed up. Now that I see a handsome billionaire waiting for me outside the most expensive restaurant in town, I regret being quick to assume that the Vincent Oswald would never be on a dating app.

  There he is.

  I take a nervous step in his direction. I’m halfway across the street when he spots me, and he smiles in recognition.

  Up close, he’s even more attractive. From here, I can make out the definition of his strong jaw, the line of his straight nose, the playfulness dancing in his dark eyes.

  He’s standing casually, one hand in the left pocket of his pants. His suit is gray silk, and it fits him flawlessly. He’s not wearing a tie and has left the top two buttons of his pristine white shirt undone.

  Vincent seems perfectly at ease. He stands there, completely nonchalant, as though he doesn’t notice that everyone who enters the restaurant stares at him and whispers excitedly as they pass. One or two snap a hurried photo and grin like they’ve scored the jackpot.

  And he’s waiting for me.

  As I get closer, I almost consider walking right past him and down the street, but I know he recognizes me from Destiny. Has science really matched me with this wealthy Adonis? It seems to me like someone’s algorithm is off.

  “Hello.” When I greet him, my voice is a breathless whisper.

  “Lily Miller.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s nice to meet you at last. I wasn’t sure if I’d done quite enough to pass your stringent filtering process.”

  I remind myself to keep my mouth closed and take a deep breath to hold back a nervous stammer. I feel like I’m in the presence of a god. “Sorry about that.”

  He smiles. He has a natural, endearing charm in his expression that makes him seem on the verge of mischief. In photographs, he always looks sharp and severe. It’s strange to see him grinning.

  Vincent extends an arm toward the restaurant door, inviting me to enter. “Shall we?”

  “Thank you.”

  I turn back over my shoulder to where Chloe is waiting and make a face like a deer in headlights. She gives me two thumbs up, and I hear her rev her engine, no message required before she leaves. It’s Vincent fucking
Oswald. I’m sure that when I get a chance to check, my phone will be inundated with texts. Chloe will want to know everything.

  When I pass him, the smell of Vincent’s cologne clings to my senses, oaky and fragrant. I can tell it’s expensive, but it’s manly, and the scent makes my blood run faster. I wonder if maybe Destiny can read my desires in a way that I can’t.

  Vincent doesn’t even need to check in with the host. As soon as he enters, half the staff trip over themselves to make him welcome, ushering us to a private alcove at the back of the restaurant, where a candlelit table awaits in view of the grand piano.

  A fourth server appears, trying to get Vincent’s attention. “Sparkling and spring water, sir. It’s all right here.”

  After the server scurries back to the kitchen, Vincent catches my expression and laughs. “What can I say? I’m a good tipper.”

  “They’re dropping everything for you.”

  “This is my go-to restaurant whenever I’m in town. I don’t come very often, but my parents give them quite a bit of business.”

  “I think they’re more interested in you.”

  Vincent pulls out my chair for me. I fold into it, hoping I look graceful, thankful to hide my scuffed shoe. I rest my purse on my lap, gripping it tightly.

  “You look nervous.” Vincent unbuttons his jacket and slowly takes a seat. His eyes don’t leave my face. He sits back comfortably like he owns the place and casually stretches out one leg under the table, an arm thrown over the back of his chair.

  I swallow. “I wasn’t expecting it to really be you.”

  “I couldn’t resist Destiny. The concept was too enticing. One perfect match? I had to test that claim.”

  “And?”

  There is a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. “I’m not disappointed.”

  “I’m sorry I’m underdressed. I don’t spend much time at restaurants like these.”

  “We can go somewhere else if you prefer.”

  I look around at a whole team of waiters and waitresses at attention, and all the excited guests, and I know we can’t walk out without causing a commotion.