LAWSON (A Standalone Billionaire Romance Novel)

by Kristina Weaver

  Of course I can. I can do just about anything I want to right now, considering how crappy I’ve felt the last month.

  “Chris, you know I love you, and that being my best friend gives you a lot more liberty into my life than anyone else, but give it a goddamned rest already.”

  I’m scanning the classifieds and plotting the best detergent to scrub the toilet with as she hovers at my elbow, her red hair swirling when she twists in a circle before throwing her hands up with a growl.

  “You can’t keep hiding out in here when you’re not going to that crappy job or getting Nana to her doctor’s appointment. Geez, Han, the last time I saw you go this mental…wait, scratch that, I’ve always known you were a little weird, but this…”

  I know what she’s looking at, and I refrain from replying, not wanting the monumental argument that always ensues. She’s pissed at me for becoming a hermit in the month since I’d broken off the affair and left my job.

  Okay, so I have to admit that despite being functional enough to find a receptionist job in a dentist’s office and looking after Nana, I’ve become slightly worse about my OCD control issues than I had previously been.

  I know it’s weird and wrong and unhealthy, but at the moment, with my heart still feeling like bloody ground beef, all I want is to establish a bit of the control I’d lost with Greg.

  To that end, I’ve deep cleaned the apartment — seven times — and rearranged the sofa — only four times — and, okay, maybe I’d gone Texas Chainsaw Massacre on the bathroom. In my defense, it wasn’t as white as I’d wanted it, and the bleach was doing me a disservice.

  “Chris, I’ve been single for like two point five seconds here. Just give me a little breathing room, and when I feel up to it, I swear, I will start going out a little more,” I beg.

  It’s hard getting over a man when he drives past your apartment every night and has some beefy, wrestler-looking type follow you everywhere.

  It’s especially hard when he calls at bedtime to say goodnight and asks me to come back to work with every call.

  I don’t answer the phone — home or cell — at night anymore because I’m still on that shaky ground where I know that if he coaxes just a little harder, I’ll give in and go running back for whatever scraps he’ll give me. Pathetic, but true.

  Now I let the machine get it and jump in the shower so I don’t hear the messages he leaves. Nana, however, plays them back for me at the oddest times and glowers at me.

  She, of course, doesn’t know why I left ‘dearest Gregory’ to begin with, so I forgive her the traitorous attitude and just try not to bleed too much when I hear his husky voice telling me I still have options.

  A knock at the door brings me out of my thoughts, and I realize Chris has been standing there the whole time, waiting…a sly and altogether frightening smile curving her lips.

  “You better get dressed, unless you want your date to see you in toilet-scrubbing gear. Oh, and I put your dress on the bed.”

  “What! Chris—”

  “Look, Han, I am not letting you off the hook here,” she says stonily, pointing at my bedroom as she waits at the door, her hand pausing on the knob. “Taylor is a really nice guy, and I’ve set up a date for you. He’ll take you to dinner and…just try to look like you’re still a live human.”

  My heart is beating a mile a minute at the thought of going out with another man and talking to him, maybe laughing, when all I want is for Gregory to show up at my door with an apology and an assurance that he’s not getting married and maybe…possibly the engagement ring I’ve been dreaming of lately.

  Yeah, I’ve officially lost my mind and am now weaving dreams of happily ever after in my soupy skull.

  “Chris—”

  “I’m calling in my favor, Hannah. Remember? I gave you the dress, you promised me an IOU? This is me calling it. Go get your ass dressed.”

  Shit.

  As I bolt into the room and frantically throw my sweaty, bleach-scented clothes off, I freeze in my tracks, dumbfounded. That bitch has laid out my dress, the special one I’d worn on my first date with Greg…

  Not wanting anything we shared involved in tonight, I walk over to my closet and groan when I open the door. Empty but for a lacy thong and a pair of heels.

  Fifteen minutes later I’m dressed, made up, and have my hair in a messy bun that makes me look sex tousled and more sexy than I’d intended, but with my hair a little less than perfectly clean I don’t have another choice.

  Taylor Barret is a very nice-looking man in his early thirties with chocolate brown hair just a shade darker than mine and eyes the color of sapphires. He’s easy on the eyes and polite, and despite the nervous dread coursing through me, I like him on sight.

  “Well, hey there, beautiful,” he says, taking my hand to lay a quick peck on the back.

  When his lips touch me I feel my skin shrink back, and it’s all I can do not to shudder and bolt back to the bedroom. This, this obsession, this ache that I’ve been holding inside for a month, is not healthy, and I make up my mind to put my all into this date, if only to push myself that extra step further away from the hopeless longing I’m nursing.

  Greg is gone, out of my life by my own choice, and sitting at home moping or crying myself to sleep every night isn’t going to change that. God, I can’t even masturbate without crying, which makes me weirder than ever because I end up sobbing, unfulfilled, and disgusted. With myself.

  “Hi, you must be Taylor,” I say brightly, forcing my lips to curve. “So what have you got planned?” I ask as I grab my clutch and a light wrap, following him out the door.

  Chris slaps my ass on the way out and wiggles her brows, giving me the green light to do more if the urge strikes. As if.

  “I thought we could go to this Greek place for dinner. The octopus is amazing, and then I got tickets to the theater. The Man Jackal got great reviews.”

  I listen to him drone on and on about some play I’ve never heard of and nod and hmm my way through, wondering why going on a date, with a normal guy, doing normal things that don’t include sex or anything leading to sex, is so hard for me.

  Taylor is great and good-looking, and I know that if I gave him half a chance he’d be great relationship material. Much better than the pseudo-relationship I’d had with a taken man.

  When we get to a little restaurant that is lit up brighter than a stadium and sit down to order, I feel slightly steadier, and I give myself over, determined to enjoy this night for the easy company and zero expectation that it is.

  Taylor orders his hallowed octopus, laughing at my scrunched nose when he urges me to do the same. I choose fish instead and smile at his hangdog look.

  See, easy, I tell myself, sipping gingerly at my gin and tonic.

  “So, Hannah Newman, tell me about yourself. Every sordid detail,” he says mischievously, leaning his elbows on the table and giving me his undivided attention.

  I giggle and lean back, tapping my chin, considering as I get into the spirit. This is simple and relaxed and free of the tension and angst I’m used to. I like it.

  “Hmm, let’s see. When I was three I pulled off a two-man heist with my dog Rufus. We went in guns blazing and cleaned the place out.”

  He gasps and folds a hand over his heart.

  “All that gold and you’re not living in Manhattan?”

  “Gold?” I snort, chuckling at his expression. “We raided the cookie jar and were caught with the crumbs on our chins to prove it. I got five to life for that stunt and spent five minutes in time out while Rufus licked his balls.”

  It’s the ice breaker we need, and by the time our meals arrive we’re chatting like best friends.

  “So, Chris says you just came out of a bad relationship. I’m damned sorry to hear that, Hannah. You’re a treasure, and I just can’t see why any guy would let you go so easily.”

  I snort at that, doing my level best not to think of Greg — too much — and nod slightly.

  “Yup
. It was brief, and…we just didn’t have the same goals,” I aver, not wanting to give too much away.

  That would really make him like me. Oh, yeah, I was with this guy, but he’s engaged and I decided to cut my losses before he went through with the wedding. No one likes a mistress, and I like Taylor enough not to want him to not like me. Does that make any sense?

  “Ah, he cheated on you,” he murmurs, and I wince.

  Nope, we cheated on his fiancée. Both of us. Repeatedly.

  “Um, no, nothing that drastic,” I say, defending him. “We just wanted different things, I guess.”

  “Like what? As far as I can tell, you’re smart, sexy, funny, and you’re polite enough not to gag when a guy eats octopus, even though I can tell it grosses you out.”

  I change the subject, shining the spotlight on him, and by the time we leave for the theater I feel as light as a feather and strangely grateful. This could work. I could throw myself into, if not a relationship, a friendship with a man as easy-going and attentive as Taylor Barret, and if I do it right I could be over Gregory by this time next year.

  I hope so, I really do, because according to this morning’s paper, Gregory and Selena Jeffries have set their weeding date.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  The theatre, while not my cup of tea, turned out to be a good first date, and four weeks later, as I’m hotfooting it to the subway, I’m actually looking forward to going out.

  I’ve seen or spoken to Taylor almost every day since we met, and while I’ve told him I want us to take things slow and get to know each other, I have faith that we’ll end up in some sort of relationship in the future.

  No, he’s not at all my type, and if I were a nicer woman I’d tell him that instead of using him to distract myself in my mission to forget Gregory. It works, most days, and to tell the truth I’m just glad I have enough of a life right now not to think about the wed— see, there I go again.

  Nana hates Taylor and refuses to do anything with us. She’s a die-hard Gregory fangirl, and she still plays his messages every night when he calls.

  He’s still calling.

  He doesn’t beg me to come back or even say anything at all besides assuring me my job’s still open and whispering a husky goodnight.

  So yeah, I’m doing relatively okay.

  Taylor has been very forthcoming about his previous relationship, and I know his ex had cheated with his best friend, and taken his dog when she moved out.

  This conversation had made me open up about me and Greg. Oh no, of course I didn’t tell him everything. Not about my duplicity or any names or anything really relevant, just that I’d fallen in love with a man who is engaged and that I’d broken it off.

  Taylor assumes that part came when I found out about his engagement, and I’d chickened out and not disabused him of that notion. I am a liar, by omission, and I know it, but I’ve felt so…sane being with him that I couldn’t bring myself to confess my own crimes and risk losing him.

  It’s Friday, exactly four weeks after our first date, and I’m thinking that maybe, if I can bring myself to, I could get the first kiss out of the way. Sort of like a trial run to see if I’m capable of being turned on by any other man.

  By the time he arrives I’m ready, thanks to Chris and the shopping spree we’d gone on after Amber begrudgingly paid me back. Seems Greg had turned her business around quickly, and instead of sinking into debt or just breaking even she’d actually made a profit. Small, but better than nothing, I guess.

  “Hey there, beautiful,” he says, planting a quick peck on my cheek.

  “Hi, Tay, how’s the world of investment banking?”

  He grimaces and shrugs, as he usually does, something that annoys me a lot, since he seems to expect a lot of answers from me and gets downright weird when I deflect. I’ve chalked it up to his need for honesty and some residual fear of sharing too much of himself too soon, but truthfully, it irritates the crap out of me.

  Gregory had told me everything about his businesses, even when I didn’t want to know, so I’m not used to this level of aloofness from a guy who’d been so open at the start.

  Oh, stop it. You’re not sabotaging this because you’re afraid of giving Gregory up completely.

  I have to concede the point, since I still listen to the messages every night. Sometimes three times before I force myself to go to bed.

  “Where we going?” I ask as we exit my building and hail a cab.

  “A little party uptown,” he says distractedly, scrolling through his messages.

  He’s being weird. Usually he’s attentive to the point of clinginess and he talks enough that I’m considering ear plugs.

  “A party?” I prompt.

  He finally shoves his phone in his pocket and turns to me, his smile a little off from the open gleam he usually blinds me with.

  “Cocktails, nothing heavy,” he assures me, and I relax, smiling back.

  When the cab stops he pulls me out, and I look up at the swanky apartment building, surprised when I see a lobby and a doorman. I can’t say why it surprises me that Tay schmoozes with rich people, he’s in banking after all, so I shrug off the niggling irritation and follow him, breathing deeply the whole way up.

  “I have a few contacts to talk to tonight, so we’ll just grab a drink and then I’ll leave you to socialize a little while I get some things squared away,” he says when the doors open and we step into an apartment that is obviously a penthouse and not what I’d been expecting at all.

  See what happens when you don’t pay attention to where you’re going?

  “Taylor,” I protest, accepting a glass of champagne. “Please don’t leave me alone. I don’t know anyone here,” I hiss, grabbing hold of his jacket sleeve.

  He shrugs me off with a reassuring smile and rubs at the bare skin of my shoulders.

  “Don’t worry, Hannah, I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” he murmurs, shocking me by planting a quick, hard kiss directly on my mouth.

  Well, that answers my earlier question. Not even the barest tingle from our lips meeting.

  Shit.

  He’s gone a second later, and I watch his retreating back with annoyance before turning back to the packed room and getting a good look at the guests. Rich, rich, rich.

  Everywhere I turn shows me that this is not a place I should be, not by a long shot, and I need to get my ass out of here before someone—

  “So quick to replace me,” I hear from behind me, and I whip around to see Gregory standing behind me, a dark look searing into my skin. “You look very cozy together.”

  “Gregory.” It’s a breathy whisper, all I can get out as my eyes drink him in like I’ve been wandering the desert and he’s an oasis.

  My reaction floors me, steals my breath and good senses, and I want nothing more than to throw myself at him and never let go. I’ve missed him unbearably and—

  “Good to know our relationship meant so much to you that you’re already fucking another man. But then, what should I really expect from a woman like you?” he sneers, his look so scornful I’m snapped out of my love bubble with a crash.

  “What?” I ask, looking around frantically for Taylor.

  I need to leave, get out of this place now. Before his words break through the shell I’ve built and I end up humiliating myself. On the heels of the hurt comes anger. How dare he stand there and insult me when he’s no better than a—

  “Tell me, Hannah, do you cry out and claw at him when he fucks you? Have you whored yourself to another rich man as you did with me?”

  “What? No!” I hiss, very conscious of the roomful of eyes and ears on us as he looks down at me and quirks a sardonic brow.

  To everyone else he’s just a handsome man, talking to a woman. What I see is his disgust and the deep spark of anger he’s trying, and for once, failing, to conceal.

  Strangely, I’m not that upset by his words. I just want to explain and—

  “So, how does he measure up, Hannah? Does he
eat you as well as I did? Does he—”

  “Stop it! Stop it, Gregory. This is not the place—”

  “Where, then?” he interrupts icily, and I see the ruthless light I recognize so well fill his eyes. “Should I call and say this to the machine for Nana to hear? Should I take an ad in the paper? Oh, I know! Perhaps I should hire you for a night and take advantage of your services,” he snarls in a deadly whisper. “I suppose I should have known you were nothing more than a—”

  My temper ignites, and I slap him so hard the sound rings through the room, turning my hand and heart as numb and cold as stone.

  “Whore? Is that what you think of me? Let me tell you something, Gregory Lucas, I am and never will be a whore.”

  It’s taken a month for me to understand that, but now that I have I won’t allow him to call me one. Especially not after what he’s done.

  “The mistake I made with you was nothing more than a foolish love that you are not worthy of in the first place. You’re a cold-hearted cheat, and I thank God I came to my senses before I let you destroy me. I hope you get everything you deserve, and I hope Selena figures you out before she makes the biggest mistake of her life.”

  When I’m done I realize I’m shouting the words and that the room has gone deathly quiet, quiet enough that I’ve not only made a spectacle of myself, but also just told the best of New York society that I’ve been sleeping with him.

  “Hannah.”

  “You stay the hell away from me,” I hiss before turning tail and dashing to the elevator.

  By the time I’ve hailed a cab and am halfway home, I’ve calmed down enough that the rage is only a simmering bubble beneath my skin. I’m raw and hurt instead, and horribly embarrassed by my behavior.

  There’s no way this won’t hit the papers, or even just Selena’s ears.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  “You were having an affair with Gregory Lucas.”

  Taylor isn’t asking, he’s stating a fact, and I have the good grace to blush as I force myself to meet his eyes and nod silently. We’re meeting at a little coffee place down the street from my building, something I’d tried and failed to avoid when he’d just shown up on my doorstep this morning.