Deal Breaker: Billionaire Bosses

by Tara Leigh

No matter how much I wanted to know if her name really was Nixie.

  My phone rang, the image of my niece and nephew lighting up the screen and sending an automatic pang to my chest. I wrapped a towel around my hips and answered. I kept my life free from unnecessary complications because I already had a few very necessary ones. “Hey.”

  “Are you in town?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I haven’t seen you in nearly a week and you were supposed to come over last night. The kids miss you.” Eva and my brother had never had the chance to marry, but I thought of her as my sister-in-law.

  I scrubbed a palm over my face, guilt welling up inside my gut. I had completely forgotten. “Shit, sorry. I got caught up.”

  “I thought you said family was everything, Nash. We don’t deserve to be last on your list.” Disappointment, not anger, suffused her words.

  A regretful sigh huffed from my lungs. “I did. And you’re not. Last night was . . .” I tried to think of a word that could possibly encapsulate why I’d blown off my obligations in favor of a stranger I literally picked up off the street, finally settling on “unexpected.”

  “I know September 11 is hard for you. You shouldn’t spend it alone.”

  I hadn’t been alone. “You’re right, and I should have thought to call. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “How about this afternoon?”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear and glanced through the calendar my assistant kept updated in fifteen minute increments. I was double-and triple-booked all day until a late business dinner. “Sure. Why don’t I pick up the kids this afternoon and give you a break. I’ll take them for an early dinner and ice cream and have them back before their bedtime.” My assistant was going to have to make adjustments.

  “That sounds—Oh, shoot. I forgot that they have a birthday party after school today. I’m afraid even their Uncle Nash isn’t enough to complete with two hours in a warehouse with a dozen oversized inflatables and all their friends.”

  “Turned down by two four-year-olds, huh? What happened to my boyish charm?”

  “A little rejection will do your ego some good, Nash,” she deadpanned.

  “Don’t worry, my ego has taken a few hits lately.”

  “Oh, really? From whom?”

  I wanted to take my words back. Telling Eva about Nixie was the last thing I wanted to do. “No one important,” I bluffed.

  Thankfully, she let it drop. “How about tomorrow?”

  My stomach sank. Tomorrow definitely wouldn’t work. A company had caught my eye recently, one that would be an unusual acquisition for me, and the owner had requested a face-to-face meeting. “Can’t. I’m flying to Nebraska in the morning, and then on to Hong Kong for due diligence on a product launch.”

  “Nebraska and Hong Kong. Quite the travel itinerary.”

  I shrugged. “In my business, you follow the money. How about this weekend? Saturday?”

  “Yep, that works.” A smile crept into Eva’s voice. “But I don’t need a break from my own kids. Mind if I come too?”

  Did I? Not exactly. I enjoyed having them all to myself sometimes. And things with Eva had been a little tense lately. But she was Madison and Parker’s mother, and would always be a part of my life. “Of course not. See you at five.”

  I hung up the phone and reached for the nearest suit in my closet. Seven minutes later, I was walking out of my apartment. Jay wasn’t back yet, and I was grateful for the fresh air. My office was only about a mile from my apartment building and I made quick work of the distance, Eva’s words biting at my heels the entire way.

  You were supposed to come over last night.

  The kids miss you.

  We don’t deserve to be last on your list.

  True, true, true. All true.

  And all the more reason to stay away from Nixie. Fuck data. I needed to keep my priorities straight. Madison and Parker were what mattered. Them, and my business. So what if I wanted Nixie? My wants, my needs—they didn’t matter anymore. I couldn’t have her. End of story. Move the fuck on.

  “Simmons,” I bellowed, blowing by my assistant’s desk. At seven thirty, I was late, and my office was already buzzing with activity. “Move the dinner in Hong Kong from Saturday to Friday. I have to be back in New York.”

  Katherine Simmons could have been Greta’s sister. Over the years, I’d realized it wasn’t a good idea to work closely with attractive women. They usually wanted to be the future Mrs. Knight much more than a current colleague. They were a distraction, and inefficient. Like Greta, Katherine consistently focused on the task at hand, and kept my life at work running as smoothly as Greta did at home. Except when I fucked with all her plans.

  She didn’t blink an eye when I told her about my dinner date with Eva and the kids, though. “Should I have Jay run out and pick up a few gifts for you to bring them?”

  I looked up from my Bloomberg terminal. “You want to let Jay loose in a toy store? I’ll wind up bringing them a drum set and a ride-on SUV. Eva would have a heart attack and I’d never be allowed to see them again.”

  Katherine allowed a brief smile. She had a soft spot for Madison and Parker. Everyone did. “I’ll research the most popular educational toys that aren’t loud or large or dangerous, and pre-order them online. Jay will just have to pick them up.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.” Those kids deserved all the presents in the damn store, but I loved them too much to turn them into entitled, spoiled brats. They were my world, and the only people I dared to love.

  Nixie

  Jay didn’t say much on the ride from Manhattan to Brooklyn, not that he didn’t try. But it’s hard to carry on a conversation with someone who would barely string two words together.

  Because I couldn’t. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely buckle my damn seatbelt.

  Somehow I managed to thank him for the ride and scoot out of the ridiculously high living-room-on-wheels without twisting my ankle or pulling a stitch.

  I lived on the fourth floor of a five-floor walk-up. Most days, I wished I had one of the fifth floor apartments so that at least I wouldn’t hear the footsteps of my upstairs neighbor, an octogenarian who’d lived in the same apartment since the building was completed. Mrs. Dwyer didn’t believe in carpeting, and she loved her kitten-heeled slippers.

  Click, clack. Click, clack. I leaned back against my closed door, winded and holding my side, staring at the ceiling.

  And I smiled.

  Mrs. Dwyer could clickety-clack the whole damn day for all I cared.

  I was home. Safe. Free.

  Just getting out of Manhattan was an improvement. Especially lower Manhattan, where the Freedom Tower was visible from just about every corner. The tallest gravestone in the world, its hulking shadow teeming with ghosts.

  I’d grown to appreciate Brooklyn’s gritty, artsy vibe, and it suited me much better than either Manhattan or the tony North Shore of Long Island where I’d grown up. There was an added bonus, too—Derrick wouldn’t be caught dead in Brooklyn. Last I knew, he and Pappi were still working together. At least, when Derrick wasn’t making up excuses for spending the day recovering from a hangover. Whether my ex was celebrating a big win or a night spent digging a bigger hole for himself, both seemed to require at least a fifth of vodka.

  And I was glad to be away from Nash. He’d awoken a part of me I only ever felt when painting or drawing. Except then, that openness was usually laced with peace.

  There was nothing peaceful about Nash. He was like an expertly designed explosion, burning so hot he singed my hair, seared my lungs.

  Not what I needed in my life right now.

  I couldn’t handle any drama or unnecessary complications. My plan was to go to school, go to work, come home, live quietly.

  By this time next year, I would be twenty-five. Once I had access to my inheritance, I could afford to erect my own damn Freedom Tower if I wanted to. Live behind thick walls that kept
men like Derrick and his father, maybe even Nash, out. Not in New York City, of course. A few million dollars wouldn’t make me the next Trump. But there had to be a place in this world that I could find refuge. Shielded from men with silver tongues and black hearts.

  Dropping my purse on the scratched wooden floor, warped from poor craftsmanship and a revolving door of inhabitants over too many years, I surveyed my home of the past few months. It was a rectangular box one quarter the size of Nash’s kitchen, with barely enough room for the twin bed I’d shoved up against a wall, and a length of plywood I’d laid across two old saw horses for my school work and art assignments. An easel was pushed close to the window, and a half-size refrigerator had been squeezed next to a sink and a stove, crooked cabinets hanging above.

  Home sweet home.

  I exhaled, letting oxygen shudder through my constricted lungs. Last night had been a reminder that I couldn’t afford to let my guard down, not even for a second.

  Out there.

  But inside my crappy hovel of an apartment, I felt safe. I’d rather live in a place like this than in a brick mansion with Derrick. Because here, at least I could breathe.

  For a few moments, I did just that. Closing my eyes and letting my lungs expand and contract, expand and contract, not even the slightest bit bothered by the clickety-clack of Mrs. Dwyer’s heels. My hair fell in a loose tangle down my back, softening the hardness of the door against my shoulder blades.

  This was what calm felt like. For me, it was a novelty.

  At least, until an echo of Nash’s touch caressed my skull and I jumped away from the door. Damn that man for invading even my most private moments as if he were here with me. The thought made me laugh. I barely knew him, but I had no doubt he would hate my place as much as Derrick would have, if he’d ever seen it. They were probably cut from the same cloth, it was good that I’d escaped him. Both of them, actually.

  Glancing at the clock, I realized I didn’t have much time. I had arranged my classes in the morning so that my afternoons were free to paint and work. Williamsburg might be a huge step down from Manhattan’s inflated real estate market, but even hovels didn’t come free when you were within commuting distance to the financial capital of the world.

  * * *

  I had just returned from class when I heard my cell ringing. Pulling it free of my bag, my eyes bugged out at the name flashing on my screen. Nash Knight. Son of a—“You didn’t just go through my wallet—you looked through my phone, too?”

  The voice on the other end of the line was calm and measured, completely unconcerned by my censure. “I didn’t look through your phone. I programmed my number into your contacts, and your number into mine.”

  “You had no right to do that,” I insisted, memories of Derrick’s snooping making my tone shrill.

  “I’m not good at respecting boundaries.”

  “No kidding.” I was about to hang up when his soft chuckle came through the line. How could I hang up on a sound like that? I wanted to record it, make it my ringtone. On second thought, my phone didn’t ring nearly enough these days to enjoy it much.

  “And besides, I wanted to check in on you.”

  “You don’t have to, I gave Dr. Carmichael my number.”

  “Has he called yet?”

  “It’s only been a few hours.”

  Nash gave a noncommittal grunt. “I don’t like to leave loose ends hanging.”

  “Last night I was a liability, today I’m a loose end. You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”

  “Sorry. This wasn’t planned.”

  “The call or your choice of words?”

  “Both, actually.”

  “Oh.” The straightforward honesty of his answer took me by surprise.

  “How about you?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. What are your boundaries?”

  Good question. “Well, I would have said going home with a stranger and spending the night in his bed was a boundary.”

  Another chuckle caressed my eardrum like the softest patch of velvet. “Probably a good one to have.”

  “How about you?”

  “Same as yours, apparently. I don’t bring strangers home to my bed, either.”

  Really? “Not a one-night stand kind of guy?” As soon as the casual question left my mouth, I wanted to chase after it and stuff every last word back down my throat. I didn’t want to know a single detail about Nash’s sex life.

  “Actually, I prefer them. Just not in my own bed.”

  Not fair. Now I needed to know more. “So, you only go back to their place? What if your one-night woman has a roommate?”

  “Oh, I don’t go back to their place either. Too personal.”

  I was stumped. “Where—? Ew. Please don’t tell me I was just driven home in your mobile bachelor pad.”

  This time Nash’s laugh was more like a bark. Nice, but I still preferred his throaty chuckle. “Of course not. I keep a suite at the Ritz-Carlton, downtown.”

  “That gorgeous apartment of yours and you rent a hotel room?”

  “It’s a suite. And it’s just as nice, I assure you. Would you like to see it? I can take you there tonight, after our dinner.”

  “We’re not having dinner. And I’m not going to be your next one-night stand, either.”

  “Why not?” Nash’s question was nonchalant, as if arranging for sex was no more important than meeting up for a quick cup of coffee.

  “Why don’t I want to be the next notch on your bedpost? Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

  “No notches, although I won’t judge if you want to make one.”

  I sighed. “Nash, why are you pushing this? I think it’s pretty obvious I’m not your type.” His silence spoke volumes. “Right?” I pressed, needing verbal confirmation.

  “How do you know that?” A stubborn edge underlined his question.

  “How many women have you slept with in the past year?”

  He laughed again, more of a chortle this time. I might have to start cataloguing all the different varieties he exhibited. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Okay then. In the past six months?”

  “Nixie, come on.”

  “Fine. New question. Can you name all the women you’ve slept with in the past month?”

  There was a part of me that was cheering Nash on, hoping he wasn’t as big of a manwhore as I thought he was. But as the silence stretched on, I was forced to put down my pom-poms. “See, that’s why. I might not be looking for a relationship right now, but I don’t fill my nights with disposable men, either.”

  To my surprise, he rebounded. “Fine, how about just dinner? Doc said you needed to eat.”

  “Is a tour of your hotel room on the menu?”

  “It could be.”

  “I think I’m good.”

  “I’m sure you are. But I promise, I’m better.”

  I had to sink my teeth into my lower lip to keep from laughing. “I think I have a boundary against men that are too confident and attractive for their own good.”

  “Boundaries only exist to be breached. But it’s nice to know you find me attractive. In case you were wondering, I think you’re pretty damn gorgeous.”

  I hated myself for preening at his compliment.

  “And I think we should spend the night together. In the same bed this time.”

  “But not yours.”

  There was a slight hesitation before Nash answered. “No. Not mine.”

  “Even though I was just there.”

  “Yes.”

  “Because it’s too personal?”

  “Yes. And because I got the side-eye from Greta every time I walked by the kitchen after you left. She guards her territory, even from me.”

  I relented. Greta was no joke. “Okay. Hypothetically, let’s assume our hot date coincides with one of Greta’s mornings off. Are you saying sex is fine, but inviting a girl back to your place crosses a line? I don’t get it.”

  “You don�
�t have to. I don’t do the whole ‘your place or mine?’ thing. I have a place, it just doesn’t happen to be my apartment.”

  “How many nights in your home-away-from-home hotel room—sorry, suite—does it take for you to ask a girl back to your place?”

  He blew out a sigh. “None. Doesn’t happen.”

  Dropping my purse on the floor, I slid down the wall until I was sitting beside it, stretching my feet out in front of me and crossing them at the ankles. “Why?”

  “Why?” Nash paused as if he hadn’t considered the question before, although I was sure he must have. “Because, like you, I don’t want to get seriously involved with anyone right now, or for the foreseeable future.”

  “Why not?”

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you ask a lot of questions?”

  I shrugged. “You called me.”

  “You’re right. I did.”

  Silence stretched out, and I pulled the phone away from my ear to see if the call was still connected. It was. “Nash?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What happens when you run into a woman you’ve . . .” my voice trailed off as a mental image I didn’t like barged its way into my mind.

  “Fucked?”

  I winced at the crass word. “Had sex with, and they want to hang out with you again?”

  “I guess it depends. Was it a while ago or just last night? And is being with them tempting enough to forgo spending the night with someone new?”

  Hang up the phone, Nixie. “You’re kind of an ass. No offense.”

  I could practically feel his wicked grin through the screen pressed to my ear. “None taken.”

  “What about love?”

  “What about it?”

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  Another pause, and then a sigh. “I thought I was. Once.”

  “What happened?”

  He cleared his throat. “Truth?”

  “Of course.”

  “She slept with my brother.”

  I sucked in a quick breath. “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Kind of turned love into a four-letter word for me.”

  “I guess that’s understandable.”

  “How about you? You said something about just getting out of a relationship.”

  “Yes. Childhood sweethearts . . . but it didn’t work out.”