Deal Breaker: Billionaire Bosses

by Tara Leigh

  I grinned. “Hope so. It’s the only thing I know how to make.” Turning the flame back on, I added more batter to the griddle. “Will you have some more?”

  She swallowed what was in her mouth and pushed the plate away. “No, thank you. I’m stuffed.”

  “Do I need to chase after Doc and get him to come back in here? He said you needed to eat.”

  “I won’t tell him I’m not a member of the clean-plate club if you don’t.”

  A long look passed between us. “You’re asking me to keep your secret?”

  Nixie raised a brow. “I’m not asking you to do anything for me.”

  Sensing that I’d hit a nerve, I decided to change tack. “So, are you from New York?”

  She took a sip of juice, shifting in her seat. “Yes and no.”

  I leaned forward, pressing my elbows into the unforgiving stone countertop. “Yes and no?”

  A shy smile slanted across her face, and she tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Yes if you mean from New York, the state. No if you mean New York, the city.”

  “Spoken like a true New Yorker.”

  “How about you?”

  “A city kid, born and bred. Didn’t even leave Manhattan until I was out of college.”

  “You’re kidding.” Surprise dripped from naturally pink lips. As far as I could tell, not a drop of makeup tarnished her skin. She gestured around us. “You seem like a guy that’s been around the world once or twice.”

  “Oh, I have. Now. But not until I could afford to buy my own ticket.”

  I watched as the realization dawned on her that everything I had, the car and driver, the luxury penthouse, the doctor on standby—I’d earned it all myself. I waited to see if it would affect her, make her bat her eyelashes and flirt with me. Manhattan is a town where money doesn’t just talk, it has the power to whisper sweetly or shriek like the apes at the Central Park Zoo. Old money was impressive, but in this town I knew from experience that nothing enticed a woman like a self-made man. Must be the lingering strains of Sinatra still coursing through the streets. If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere. New York was the Everest of ambitious entrepreneurs.

  Nixie remained unfazed. “Are you trotting out your bio to impress me? Or because you want me to return the favor?”

  I grinned. “Maybe a little of both.”

  Her buoyant laugh hovered between us, the air noticeably lighter than it had been a minute ago, when I heard footsteps. Damn it, we were just starting to get somewhere.

  “What did you do to my kitchen?” Greta’s sizable bulk was dwarfed by Jay’s height as the incongruous pair walked into the room.

  “Hey, Boss,” said Jay.

  Nodding at my driver, I faced Greta. I hired her because she seemed to appreciate order and routine as much as I did. Me, in the kitchen, a girl sitting at the island, eggs and flour and syrup littering the previously immaculate countertop, was definitely not routine. “I made pancakes,” I said, skipping over any attempt to explain Nixie’s presence.

  Surveying the unexpected mess, Greta huffed as she reached for the spatula in my hand. “I see.”

  Nixie and I shared a conspiratorial smile, and it hit my veins like a swallow of the finest wine.

  At least, until she slipped off her chair and stood. “I’d better get going.”

  Hiding my disappointment, I gave a stiff nod. “Jay will take you wherever you need to go.”

  That smile slid right off her face. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m perfectly capable of finding my own way home.”

  “I didn’t say you weren’t. But Jay can take you home, or he can follow you to make sure you arrive safely. Your choice.” As I watched, Nixie’s eyes narrowed, her mind clearly searching for an alternate possibility. “And before you decide to lead him on a merry chase, let me remind you that you’re supposed to be taking it easy. No need to pop a stitch just to prove a point I’ve already conceded.”

  Lips reversing direction into a frown, Nixie wasn’t thrilled with either option, or my warning. “Fine,” she bit out.

  Jay gave a last, longing look at the pancakes Greta was taking off the griddle and turned to Nixie. “Your chariot awaits.”

  Nixie

  Forcing down the all too familiar spiral of panic and anger threatening to spoil the delicious breakfast I’d just eaten, I kept my temper in check and agreed to be driven home. Given the throbbing in my side that increased with each step, I knew I should be thankful for the ride but Nash had done so much for me already, and I hated feeling indebted to him. I didn’t want to owe anything to anyone, ever again.

  Nash was making me feel too many things, all at once. I needed to get away from him, clear my head. Breathe.

  Trailing Jay to the elevator, I stopped short of following him in. “Thanks,” I said, turning to face Nash, the impact of his ruggedly perfect features and streamlined bulk slamming into me anew. Did he have this kind of effect on every girl, or was it just me?

  Jesus, Nixie. Keep it together. “I really do appreciate what you did for me back there, in the alley. And here, calling your doctor to tend to me instead of dumping me at an ER.” A chagrined attempt at a smile lifted the corners of my lips. “And for breakfast, too. Hopefully I didn’t get you into too much trouble with your housekeeper.”

  Nash broke eye contact, looking over my head to Jay. “Go see if you can convince Greta there’s a stack of pancakes with your name on it.”

  Jay was out of the elevator in a flash. “Don’t have to tell me twice,” he said, darting past us. The elevator door slid closed. I stood rooted in place, torn between the urge to make a run for it and a sudden reluctance to leave.

  Nash looked at me, although not the way I’m used to being looked at. His eyes didn’t just graze, they penetrated. They focused on my face, narrowing at the corners like they were uncovering every secret I’d ever hidden, and a few more besides. This wasn’t good. I didn’t want Nash looking at me this way. My secrets needed to stay hidden.

  I needed to stay hidden. For now, anyway.

  According to the terms of my parents’ will, I’ll come into their trust on my twenty-fifth birthday next year, which includes proceeds from the sale of their house, a small life insurance policy, and the settlement money from the 9/11 Victims Fund.

  My portion of what some accountant had decided my parent’s lives were worth was nearly ten million dollars as of my last statement balance. Maybe it sounds like a lot, but it falls far short. What is the cost of a childhood, after all?

  I tried to break up with Derrick after graduating college. He was too controlling, too possessive. At first, I’d chalked it up to love. Derrick simply loved me so much that he needed to know where I was at all times. He wanted to be with me so much, of course he was resentful if I hung out with other people. And he was just looking out for me when he scrolled through my emails and texts, never allowing me to install a password on my phone.

  I can’t remember exactly when Derrick’s love began to feel less like a warm blanket and more like a mouth gag. I tried to break up with him, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. The more I told Derrick I didn’t want to see him, the more often he showed up. Behind me in line at Starbucks. On the treadmill beside mine at the gym. Across the street as I walked home from work. Everywhere.

  Unfortunately, Derrick was ruled by two obsessions. Me, and gambling. At NYU he’d been introduced to the illegal gambling underworld that exists inside some of Manhattan’s glitziest skyscrapers. Poker, horse races, sports betting—he got hooked on the adrenaline rush of winning pointless, arbitrary games. Except when he lost.

  The constant pressure made him unstable, and I never knew which Derrick I would get. The almost maniacally happy man who would splash through puddles in the rain, holding my hand, laughing with the delight of a kindergartner. Or the one who was frighteningly on edge, his jaw clenched, hands fisted, ready to lash out at anyone, including me, for the slightest transgression.

  Derrick’s father, the man
who had treated me like a daughter since my parents died, didn’t know how to help. Pappi knew nothing of Derrick’s gambling, and I couldn’t bear to tell him. “Of course Derrick isn’t stalking you. Noelle, he loves you. I love you. Why are you acting like this?”

  I even tried to go back to Derrick, but it was no use. Where once I looked at him as if he’d hung the moon, by then every glance accused him of stealing it from me.

  But the final straw was overhearing Derrick on the phone, telling someone he obviously owed money to that “he would get it after he married the girl.” Meaning, after he’d gained control of my trust fund. That was why he wanted to keep me under his thumb. Maybe Derrick did love me, but it wasn’t a healthy kind of love. He wasn’t interested in wedded bliss with the woman of his dreams, he was only after my money.

  The last thing I needed was to get involved with anyone right now. Especially someone like Nash.

  He stepped closer, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over me as I sucked in a breath, tilting my head back. Nash didn’t touch me, and yet I could feel his energy zinging through every cell in my body. He smelled like Christmas trees and pine cones—festive, woodsy. Enticing. “I’d like to see you again.”

  Dangerous. The man was a panther pretending to be a kitten. He’d play with me for a while, lure me in. And then he’d pounce. Make a meal out of me until he’d had his fill. “I don’t think so,” I stammered. “I’m just coming out of a relationship. Not looking to get involved with anyone right now.”

  Slowly, Nash lifted his arm and placed his palm flat on the wall behind me. He leaned in slightly, a warm gust of maple syrup-sweetened breath tickling my ear. “I’m not just anyone.”

  A laugh gurgled up from my throat. No. Whoever Nash was, he was definitely a someone. “I can see that.”

  “Then it’s settled.”

  “W-what’s settled?”

  “Jay will pick you up tonight so I can take you out to a proper dinner.”

  I could barely swallow air, let alone food, when I was near this man. The only way I’d been able to eat his pancakes was when he’d left the room. And he wanted to have dinner? Too many meals with Nash and I’d starve to death. I shook my head. “Didn’t you hear what I said? This isn’t good timing for me.”

  “Oh, I heard you. I’m just choosing not to listen to you.”

  I stiffened. Was there something about me that made men think they could trample all over my wishes? I’d escaped Derrick, but obviously I would have to learn to stand my ground. And it was going to start right now. “Just who the hell do you think you are, Nash Knight? Just because you decided to save me from Manhattan’s underworld, doesn’t mean you have the right to—” Nash’s kiss swallowed the rest of my words.

  I was trapped between two walls, one made of plaster at my back and the equally solid plane of Nash’s body pressed to my front. I should have felt panicked, should have been jumping out of my skin. That’s the way I’d felt only moments ago, so now that I was even more confined, those feelings should have been amplified. They should have.

  But they weren’t.

  I felt alive.

  Blissfully, gloriously, unbelievably alive.

  The only man I’d ever kissed before was Derrick, and his kisses were always hard. Like he was proving a point. Nash’s kiss was the exact opposite. He was proving a point all right, but in a completely different way. Nash’s lips were full and soft against mine, his tongue licking and teasing inside my mouth, gliding along my teeth, sweeping into the corners, temping me to parry. And parry I did. Sucking at the fullness of his lower lip, I slid my tongue along his. My senses, all of them, were overloaded by everything that made up the man exploding my world. He tasted different than he smelled, sweeter—like sunshine and syrup, cloves and caramel. My hands rose between us, pressing against his flexing pec muscles.

  I moaned, tilting my head to the side and opening my mouth wider, my body relaxing into his embrace as his hand threaded into the hair at the nape of my neck, thumb lingering at the curve of my jaw.

  My pulse was jumping around, the beat completely erratic. Maybe that’s why I felt dizzy.

  I shouldn’t be feeling this way. Not with a man I barely knew. Not when everything about my life was so damn unsettled. I shouldn’t, but I was. Right now, being in Nash’s arms felt right.

  Wrong. So wrong. Was I insane? Sure, Nash was tempting. But being with him was just borrowing trouble. And god knew, I sure had enough.

  With a short gasp, I broke the kiss and gave his chest as much of a shove as I could manage. It gained me two inches. Not enough. Ducking from beneath his arm, I jabbed at the elevator button with one hand, wiping at the back of my mouth with the other. “I’m sorry. I—I can’t do this.”

  His sly stare burned away the top layer of my skin, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. “I think you just did.”

  “I shouldn’t have, then. We shouldn’t have. This was a mistake.”

  “I don’t believe in mistakes.”

  Where was the elevator? My eyes darted around for the entrance to a stairwell. “Oh no? What do you call acting on impulse and regretting it immediately afterward?”

  “Instinct. It’s the body’s way of telling you what your mind might not understand yet. And I believe in following my instincts.”

  A small chime announced my impending escape, relief flooding my veins. “Impulse, instinct,” I said, “call it whatever you want, but it’s never going to happen again.” I pressed the button for the lobby, desperately needing to sever the strange pull I felt toward a man I’d only known a few hours.

  Nash’s arm shot out just as the elevator door was about to close, his eyes drilling into me. “Never say never.” They maintained contact even as he angled his jaw toward the interior of his apartment. “Jay!” he yelled.

  His driver was already hurtling around the corner. “I’ve got her, sir.”

  “Only on loan, Jay. Handle with care.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Nash

  It took a minute for me to move after the elevator doors closed. I was still leaning against the wall, my hand itching for contact with something beyond lifeless plaster, as Nixie hurtled downward in a metal crate through an air-locked shaft. Away from me. I wanted curves instead of flat, warm instead of cool, bright rather than dull.

  I wanted Nixie Rowland—whoever that was.

  Even if the name on her ID was fake, the woman who had trembled in my arms for a mere two seconds before ducking out of them, her topaz eyes glittering with want, lips already swelling from our kiss, was nothing if not real.

  She may have called our kiss a mistake, but she was wrong.

  It was a beginning.

  Maybe.

  To Jay, I’d called Nixie a loan. But that would imply she was already mine—which she definitely wasn’t, or I never would have let her leave with only a kiss.

  Truth be told, I could probably use a new beginning. It had to be better than an ending, anyway. I’d had enough of those.

  After allowing myself a last few seconds to indulge in the image of Nixie that had somehow been tattooed on the back of my eyelids, I drew in a deep breath, opened my eyes, and pushed off the wall. Walking past the opening to the kitchen, I spared a glance inside. Greta already had it back to its pristine, sterile state. Not a single drop of syrup marred the sparkling surface, no plates or bowls to be seen. Greta looked up, a spray bottle of cleaner in the hand that had grabbed the spatula from me just a few minutes ago. “Do you need something, Mr. Knight?” she asked, her tone an uneven blend of concern and tolerance.

  Did I need something? Yeah. Something. Someone, actually. “No.” I spun on my heel and headed for my treadmill. What had gotten into me?

  But I knew. Twinkling behind the shards of sadness and anger littered within Nixie’s eyes—there was passion, too. And a story I wanted know. I could feel it, calling out to me. Crying out. There was something in her, something about her, that needed to be heard.

  A
nd I wanted to be the one listening.

  Pumping up the treadmill to a heavy incline and a pace that left me breathless, I gave myself over to the pure physical exertion of running. One mile slipped by, then two, then five. The only thing racing faster than my feet was my brain. At my core I’m an analyst. I take reams of numbers and data and crunch them so tightly that the only thing left is answers to my questions, bookended by dollar signs. Buy or sell? Dump or hold? How much?

  The data I grappled with this morning was simple. Nixie was gorgeous, in an understated, girl-next-door (if you lived in Ireland) kind of way. Not usually my type. I generally preferred women who walked into a room like an advertisement. Told me everything I needed to know in one appraising glance. But physically, Nixie appealed to me on a different level. One I never knew I had.

  Everything, and everyone, is available for the right price—and I don’t necessarily mean cash. Nixie kissed me like I was a sailor home from war . . . and then couldn’t get away fast enough. Whatever her price, it was going to be high.

  I wanted her, but how badly?

  Slamming my hand over the emergency stop button, I jumped off the machine and headed for the shower.

  I had my answer.

  But I didn’t like it.

  Was I really dumb enough to pursue a girl who required more than an expensive meal or a few glasses of champagne? Long ago, I had decided to live my life free from unnecessary complications—and Nixie was complicated - with - a - capital - C. Hadn’t I seen firsthand what could happen when you let your guard down and fell for the wrong person? Or fell at all.

  As of last week, I was the newest member of Wall Street’s Forty under Forty list. The company I’d built from nothing, Knight Ventures, was now one of the most respected and feared companies in Manhattan, but there was another list I wanted to crack—Billionaires under Forty—and I had about two hundred million reasons to avoid anything, or anyone, that would take my eyes off the prize.

  No matter how captivating her smile.

  No matter how sweet she tasted.