Marriage on Madison Avenue

by Lauren Layne

  He leaned forward, right hand extended. “Jarod Lanham.”

  “Ohhh,” Audrey couldn’t help but say, as the name confirmed why he looked so familiar.

  He flashed her a smile, white teeth gleaming, as she noted his face looked to have gotten a bit of color out on the slopes that morning. “I see the name rings a bell.”

  “The world’s most eligible billionaire? I’ve heard of you,” she teased lightly, then promptly felt a wave of dismay when she heard the flirtatious note in her voice.

  She and Clarke may not be actually engaged, or even on speaking terms, but she was still wearing his ring.

  But, to give herself credit, it was hard not to be at least a little bit dazzled to be talking to the Jarod Lanham. Growing up on the Upper East Side, Audrey was no stranger to extreme wealth, her own family included, but this man was on another level entirely. Self-made and richer than Audrey’s and Clarke’s families combined, Jarod was a bit of a legend in Manhattan social circles, especially since he had homes all over the world and spent a limited amount of time in the city.

  Despite being frequently photographed with gorgeous models and actresses, generally on a yacht or in glamorous mansions in Monaco, the man was famously elusive when it came to relationships. It was also hard to miss that he was better looking in person than he was on the magazine covers. In pictures, he was attractive enough, but in a generic stock-photo-of-a-businessman kind of way. In person, he had a sort of raw masculinity beneath all the polish. And then, of course, there was that smile…

  Realizing she was staring, Audrey felt herself blush and glanced down at her book, just as a waiter came over to ask if Jarod wanted anything to drink.

  “I’ll have an Irish coffee, extra hot, light on the whipped cream.”

  The server nodded, then turned to Audrey, who looked down at her empty hot chocolate mug and figured what the hell. “Same. Though don’t you dare go light on the whip.”

  Jarod surprised her by closing his laptop once the waiter left, even though he couldn’t have possibly done any work in the two minutes it had been open. “You left me hanging.”

  “What?”

  Another smile. “When someone introduces himself, it’s customary for the other to do the same.”

  “Ah,” she said with a laugh. “Forgive me, I was dazzled by your celebrity status.”

  “It happens.” He winked.

  Audrey smiled and extended her hand. “Audrey Tate.”

  They shook hands for a second time, and Audrey was a little surprised to realize that despite his attractiveness and appealing charm, she didn’t feel it. There was no electric current when their palms touched, no butterflies beyond the slight excitement of meeting someone who’d graced the cover of People.

  “So, who is Audrey Tate, other than a ski-indifferent whipped cream enthusiast? I’m guessing… a New Yorker.”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  “You’ve got the look.” The admiring glint in his gaze told her it was a look he approved of, though she appreciated that his flirting felt harmless rather than propositioning. After Brayden, she was extra appreciative of a man who respected a ring on the left hand.

  “Manhattan, born and raised. And actually, it’s my job to have the look.”

  “Model?”

  “Flattering, but not exactly. Instagram influencer.”

  He shook his head, and she explained. “It’s a newfangled fancy way of saying that I make money as a lifestyle blogger. Basically, I have a lot of Instagram followers, and companies pay me to utilize my reach, to attend their parties, and so on.”

  “Clever. Are you working now?”

  “Nope, this is purely a vacation,” she said. “Though once my friends get back, I’ll probably coax one of them into taking a picture of me. I try not to go more than a day without posting a photo to keep people engaged.”

  “I could do it. Take the picture, I mean.”

  Audrey lifted her eyebrows, “You want to take a photo of me?”

  “Sure, why not.” He set his laptop aside and held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

  “Um, all right.” She shrugged and picked up her phone from the side table near her elbow.

  “So how does this work. I just… point and shoot?”

  “Well, ideally I’d have had time to go back to my room for lipstick,” she said with a laugh.

  He took a picture.

  “Hey!” She laughed again as he took yet another picture.

  “That is not how this works,” she said, grinning as she leaned forward to grab the phone. “I have to pose. Maybe by the fire…”

  He took another photo, just as Audrey grabbed the phone, giving him a chiding look, then laughing even harder as she looked at the handful of photos.

  “These are terrible! My mouth is open in all of them!”

  “People like candid photos,” he said with an unrepentant grin.

  “Not when they can see my molars!”

  Still, she locked her phone instead of deleting them straightaway. He was Jarod Lanham after all.

  “So, Mr. Lanham—”

  “Jarod,” he corrected. “I’ve seen your molars, remember. I think we’re on a first-name basis.”

  “All right then, Jarod. Tell me—”

  “Dree.”

  Audrey jolted and looked up, surprised to see that in the time since Jarod had sat down, the lodge had grown crowded and noisy with skiers coming in for a midday lunch break, including her group of friends.

  And her fiancé.

  Clarke was hovering over her, looking both irritable and a little unsure of himself. She met his gaze and narrowed her eyes slightly in a silent challenge. Where’s Elizabeth?

  He narrowed his eyes back, then turned toward the man sitting across from her. “Hey. I’m Clarke. Audrey’s fiancé.”

  Audrey looked up in surprise at Clarke’s hard profile, startled by the possessive note in his voice, the emphasis on the word fiancé. Her surprise shifted quickly into irritation. Um, no. He did not get to come in here acting like a jealous jerk after the way he’d been behaving.

  Jarod seemed unperturbed by Clarke’s sharpness. He gave an easy grin and shook his hand. “Jarod Lanham.”

  Audrey saw from Clarke’s quick blink that he recognized the name. He looked back at her, his expression conflicted, but the question in his gaze was clear. Good-looking bachelor. Should I back off?

  It was a silent exchange they’d had a million times before, each taking care to know when they should make themselves scarce, or when they were needed to make the unwanted suitor scarce.

  This time, there was an extra something in his gaze. A vulnerability along with the question. And Audrey was surprised to realize that she didn’t have an answer for Clarke. Or for herself. The obvious answer, of course, was that now would be a really good time to announce the end of their fake engagement. She was clicking with a very eligible man, and Clarke was clearly enjoying Elizabeth’s company.

  And yet, no part of her was eager to take Clarke’s ring off her finger.

  For all their recent antagonism, Clarke still knew her better than anyone and read the indecision on her face. “Will you excuse us for a moment?” Clarke asked, glancing down at Jarod.

  “Of course,” the billionaire said with a polite smile, already reaching for his laptop.

  Clarke extended a hand to Audrey, and she hesitated only a moment before taking it and letting him pull her to her feet.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told the server with a smile as he approached with two Irish coffees.

  Clarke looked down at the matching drink order, his jaw tightening along with his fingers as he led her around the throng of boisterous skiers.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as they stepped into a quieter hallway outside the great room.

  He released her hand and turned to face her, arms crossing defensively across his chest. He must have left his jacket with their group because he was wearing only a dark green He
nley with his gray ski pants. His hair was wind tossed, his cheeks were slightly red from the cold, and his eyes were unreadable as he looked down at her.

  Audrey gave him a pretty, fake smile. “It’s good to see your nose didn’t sunburn. Good old SPF.”

  His gaze suddenly became very readable: wary.

  Good. He should be.

  “Where is Elizabeth?” Audrey asked, leaning forward and pretending to look around. “I’m surprised she let you out of her sight for more than thirty seconds. Wouldn’t want you running off to speak to your fiancée.”

  “Looks like my fiancée found someone else to chat up.”

  She gave an incredulous laugh. “Seriously? You’re going to give me crap for having a conversation when you ditched me to flirt with Elizabeth?”

  “I didn’t ditch you,” he snapped. “We were invited up here to ski, and that’s what I did. Not my fault you prefer to sit around the lodge in your tight pants and bat your eyelashes.”

  Stung, she could only stare at him before shaking her head. “I can’t figure out what you’re worse at these days, playing fiancé or actually being a friend.”

  He flinched, and she knew her jab had hit home. But she was glad about it. Something needed to wake him up from whatever was going on with him.

  “Look,” she said, gentling her voice, “if you want to publicly announce that we’ve ended it so you can get back together with Elizabeth, just say so. You’re my friend. I’ll be happy for you, no matter what.”

  “You’re the one who said you wanted to call it off. Just in time, too,” Clarke said, nodding in the direction of the main lodge area where they’d left Jarod Lanham.

  Audrey threw up her hands in exasperation. “All right, Clarke. I give up. I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, but you’re going to have to work through it without me. I don’t know who or what this version of Clarke is, but he’s not my best friend. Let me know when you want to have an actual conversation and go back to being Clarke and Audrey, because this”—she gestured between them—“isn’t working for me.”

  Audrey started to brush past him, but he reached out and grabbed her hand, the way he had outside Naomi and Oliver’s. She looked down in surprise at their joined hands, then glanced up at him. He was still scowling, but his expression had shifted into frustration.

  “What?” she asked when he said nothing to break the silence and didn’t release her hand. She tried to tug it away, but he tightened his grip.

  “Clarke, what—” His expression shifted again, into a look she’d never seen before. She didn’t have a chance to identify it before he pulled her slowly and purposefully toward him, his head dipping down, his lips brushing over hers.

  Audrey exhaled at the unexpected kiss, then gasped as his free hand came around to cup the nape of her neck, pulling her all the way against him as his mouth slanted over hers. She kept thinking she’d get used to the jolt at these faux kisses, but this was the third one and she felt a little more confused every time. Confused as to why he tasted so good, why his lips against hers felt like a piece of her life she hadn’t realized she was missing.

  Audrey’s hands lifted to his chest, her fingers instinctively gripping his shirt, pulling him closer. He went slightly still, as though surprised she was responding to the kiss, but when he moved again, it was to wrap an arm low across her back until they were pressed together hips to hips, belly to belly. Mouth to mouth.

  Her lips parted, and Clarke took full advantage, gliding his tongue forward to brush against hers as she felt the touch all the way down to her toes and everywhere in between. Clarke nudged her backward, pushing her against the wall, never breaking the kiss as he tilted her head back farther, demanding more. Demanding everything.

  Her hands slid further up his chest, her fingers tangling in his thick hair as she whispered his name. The second she did, Clarke’s head snapped back up, and his eyes locked on hers for a moment, smoldering before he abruptly stepped back.

  They were both breathing hard, but only Audrey seemed to be disoriented. Clarke seemed otherwise unaffected, as though it had been just another one of their playful, just-for-show kisses, as though everything hadn’t just changed.

  Slowly, he turned his head, glancing down the hallway. Audrey followed his gaze, her heart dropping into her stomach when she saw what he was looking at. Who he was looking at.

  Elizabeth stood in the middle of the hallway, staring at them with a stricken expression before turning on the heel of her ski boot and marching back into the lodge.

  Audrey closed her eyes, feeling slightly queasy as she realized that the kiss had been for show after all. He’d known Elizabeth was watching. He’d been kissing her as part of their game, while she’d been kissing him…

  She closed her eyes unable to even finish the thought.

  When she opened them, she forced a bright smile and gave a brief slow clap. “Well, congratulations, Clarke. Hell of a show you put on. I’m sure Elizabeth definitely got the message this time.”

  She started to walk away, then turned back around, angry now. “Actually, just so I’m clear, what is the message you’re trying to convey? What role am I playing here?”

  He pushed his thumbs against his eyes. “I don’t know, Dree. I don’t fucking know.”

  “Right, well,” she said in a light tone. “Let me know when you figure it out.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 14

  If a man had to eat an enormous slice of humble pie, Valentine’s Day was a good time to do it. Not that Clarke couldn’t find whatever he wanted in a place like New York on any day of the year, but the stores had made it especially easy for him to arrive at Audrey’s armed with groveling supplies.

  And Clarke most definitely had some groveling ahead of him.

  He paused on the sidewalk outside Audrey’s brownstone, tapping the bouquet of pink flowers against his hip, stalling for time as he tried to think through his game plan. Clarke knew he was good with words, skilled with charm, but groveling was one area he’d never mastered. Never really had to master, actually. He’d pissed off plenty of women over the years, to be sure, but usually the source of their ire was lack of attention, and the reason for the lack of attention was that he’d already had one foot out the door anyway. No point in groveling when you didn’t plan to see the woman again.

  If he were brutally honest, he’d never cared about a woman enough to grovel. Except for Audrey. And Audrey had never been mad at him.

  Until now. And justifiably so.

  He exhaled and rallied his courage. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have this conversation; it’s that he didn’t know where to start. The list of things they needed to discuss was long and hefty. For starters, he needed to tell her about his father’s ultimatum: that if they went through with the wedding, he’d get the company. That was a doozy.

  They also needed to talk about the fact that he hadn’t told his father to shove his ultimatum outright. That was a whopper. They needed to have a conversation about Elizabeth. About what had gone down with them years ago, and he had to apologize for his behavior on the ski trip, where he’d been an unpardonable ass for reasons he hadn’t even fully sorted out yet.

  Nor had he sorted out that damned kiss. Audrey had been wrong about his reasons for it. He hadn’t kissed her because Elizabeth was watching. In that moment, he hadn’t even remembered that Elizabeth existed. The only thing he’d been aware of was Audrey and the way he’d felt when he’d seen another man making her laugh.

  Clarke had never really understood the concept of jealousy, but he’d felt it twice now in the past couple weeks, and it was brutal. Audrey’s easy flirting with Scott had been mildly annoying. He’d been able to remind himself that Scott was happily married to Claire and that Audrey was merely being her usual charming self.

  But on Saturday, he’d known real jealousy. There was nothing gentle or subtle about the ache that came from his bones, from his very soul. The need to stak
e his claim, to remind the other guy and Audrey that she was his. Except she wasn’t. Not in the way he’d wanted her to be in that minute. The way he’d wanted her to be a lot, lately. He couldn’t remember the last day—the last hour—that he hadn’t grappled with the uncomfortable realization that the way he felt about Audrey was shifting with every kiss, with every smile, hell, with every glance.

  But that was for him to deal with, on his own. In the meantime, he had something more important to do than get over the fact that he couldn’t stop wondering what her skin would feel like if he slipped a hand beneath her shirt, wondering what sounds she’d make if he kissed her neck.

  None of that mattered as much as their friendship. That came first. Always.

  “Shit,” Clarke muttered, and tapped the bouquet against his thigh again, this time hard enough to lose a few petals. He forced himself to jog up the steps to her front door, and with his other hand, which was holding a fussy pink gift bag that cost him six dollars—not counting the sparkly tissue paper the saleswoman had insisted he needed—he knocked.

  Clarke sucked in his cheeks and waited. He was fairly certain she was home, since she’d posted an Instagram Story showing off her latest purchase in her closet less than an hour ago, but he was decidedly less certain she’d open the door once she realized it was him.

  He let out a breath of relief when the front door opened, only to have that same breath catch in his chest again at the sight of his best friend. She was clearly gearing up for an evening in, dressed in cropped sweatpants, a red T-shirt, and her long dark hair in a messy knot atop her head. She looked…

  She looked so damn good.

  Clarke was braced for the anger he knew he deserved, but instead he saw only curiosity on her face. No, not just curiosity. Audrey also looked a little wary at the sight of him, and that made his chest ache.

  Audrey was wary of him. Clarke had spent his entire life doing his best to never hurt Audrey, and he knew in this past week, he’d failed horribly. In some ill-gotten attempt to protect her, he’d done the exact opposite.