New York Nights (A Heart of the City romance Book 2)

by C. J. Duggan

  My spirits had well and truly lifted by the time I passed a giant red sculpture on the sidewalk, the letters L and O stacked on top of V and E, a young couple in front of it manoeuvring their selfie stick to capture the moment. I would have offered to help, but the last time I tried to be of assistance to a couple of Korean tourists with a selfie stick I accidentally dropped and smashed their phone. Incidentally, it turns out that ‘shibal’ means ‘fuck’ in Korean.

  Immersing myself in the New York experience, I picked up a hot dog from a corner vendor and made my way merrily along Seventh Avenue, the crowds thickening into a shuffle the closer I came to the elevated seating area. I turned the corner to find myself in the heart of Times Square, a place designed to make your pupils dilate and your heartbeat race. I took in all the Broadway theatres, the cinemas, the electronic billboards, the superheroes in costumes posing with tourists for tips and the endless queues for show tickets.

  I positioned myself to get the best backdrop of Times Square, streets peeling off behind me, the most famous billboard in the centre. I didn’t have a selfie stick, or a well-meaning tourist to help me, but with my camera in selfie-mode there was enough to make out exactly where I was. It was my first official blatant tourist snap I would be texting directly home.

  Got the job!! xx

  The bedside phone was ringing, and a way-too-cheery, American-accented concierge was bidding me a good morning. Ugh.

  I stood under the hot shower, gargling the water that streamed over my face and willing it to wake me. Death by New York cheesecake. Worth it. But for my first day on the job, I had to be on my game. From now on it would be nutritious, healthy, wholesome living. New job, new start, new boss. As much as I had considered it a bit of a win that after everything, Ben Worthington was the one who had made the decision, there was one minor technicality: Mrs Ben Worthington, who I was sure I was going to meet today. I had meant to ask Nikki yesterday, but like her, I’d been in shock about landing the job.

  I dragged my bags down to reception to check out, allowing myself a good ten minutes to linger out the front of the hotel. But Dave was there sooner than I expected, exiting the car and coming around to open the door for me.

  ‘Morning, Miss Williams,’ he said.

  ‘Morning, Dave.’

  Dave was a solid man, not much taller than me, with a cheery, professional disposition; you couldn’t help but immediately like him. He was a welcome sight on a morning I wasn’t feeling at my most certain.

  ‘Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other,’ he said, sliding behind the wheel.

  ‘I guess so,’ I said.

  ‘Well, welcome to New York City. It’s probably gonna take us a bit to bust through this traffic, but I took it upon myself to program the trip for you, musically-speaking.’ He laughed in a high-pitched hick-hick-hick that made me giggle.

  ‘Well, crank it up, Dave,’ I ordered.

  I don’t know if this was a signature move of Dave’s to welcome newcomers, but as he pressed play on his stereo and Alicia Keys started blaring through the speakers, singing about New York, I couldn’t think of a more poetic way to cruise through the bustling, congested streets. It was damn near perfection as I lowered the window and let the morning sunlight and sounds of the jackhammers and distinct subway smells assault my senses.

  I don’t know at what point I lost my bearings, it was difficult to decipher what was what with the crisscrossed grid of avenues and one-way streets. I wasn’t sure which way it was to the penthouse or how much longer it would take this time of the morning. So I held my tongue as the neighborhoods became leafy and quieter. Dave stopped kerbside in a quiet street lined with towering terraces. Without a word, he got out of the car and moved to the boot to collect my luggage.

  ‘Ah, Dave …’ I scrambled for the door, almost falling onto the pavement, I was so panicked. Oh, my God. I’m about to get traded on the black market. ‘Um, this is not Lafayette Street,’ I said, hoping he would look at the buildings in front of us, slap his head and say, ‘My bad, let’s go.’

  Dave only looked at me, confused. ‘Ain’t nobody told you?’

  I knew it – I was going to be an au pair for Emily Mayfair; there was a secret baby and I had been lulled into a false sense of security.

  ‘Mr Worthington’s work residence is Lafayette; his home is here, in the Village.’

  ‘He lives here?’

  ‘Some of the time.’

  ‘In the Village?’

  ‘Greenwich Village.’ He nodded. Dave looked at me as though afraid I might run off or something. It was just taking some time to get my head around the location change. All of last night I had pictured what my life might be like in a penthouse apartment. How that would work, what it would be like to make a place with sharp modern corners safe for what would eventually be a toddler. I had analysed every detail and now the rug had been pulled out from under me. Again.

  I sighed. ‘Is there anything else I should know before walking through one of these front doors?’

  Dave laughed, lifting my suitcase out from the boot and setting it on the pavement. ‘Yeah, it’s number sixty-five.’

  Chapter Six

  The house was a classic federal-style building on a quiet block in the heart of the historic Greenwich Village, a far cry from Lafayette Street. A house that belonged to Ben Worthington – apparently.

  Certain I would be greeted by a staff member, I was surprised when the door was pulled open by Ben himself. Gone was the classic-cut suit – he wore a thick-knit navy V-neck jumper and tan trousers. His hair was damp and, if the nick on his chin and the smell of aftershave were anything to go by, he was freshly shaved. He seemed on edge, like my presence was an inconvenience to him.

  ‘You’re late,’ he said, stepping aside and allowing me to enter.

  I wanted to argue traffic, or remind him I wasn’t the driver, but I said nothing; something told me there was no use. I dare say few people disagreed with him.

  Ben waved me into a parlour where long, graceful windows looked out onto Washington Street. A gas fireplace with handsome marble detailing anchored the room that was, thankfully, not completely white, like Penny Worthington’s cold home. This felt warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the owner, who stood next to me with his hands in his pockets, as if he didn’t know what to do with me.

  ‘Your house is lovely,’ I managed to say, inwardly cringing at myself. Really, Sarah? You’ve seen one room.

  ‘Well, I’ll give you the tour. You can leave your bags here if you want.’

  Ben led me down the hall in silence. At the back of the long, narrow house light from the garden filled an elegant, double-height living room and spacious kitchen, which featured every modern convenience known to man. My gaze drifted up the crisp white walls to the ceiling. Wow.

  My new home was a four-bedroom, two-and-a-half bathroom townhouse, with a lower-level media room; Ben merely pointed to the descending staircase, so I guessed that was his man cave and out of bounds to me. A beautifully intricate oak staircase led to the third floor, which was dedicated to the master suite. An entire bloody floor – talk about luxury. This was also obviously a no-go zone as we continued to the fourth floor, where two large bedrooms and a bathroom were located. One bedroom was a plain, sparse area with a queen bed and next to it was a gorgeously decorated nursery, all in soft pinks and whites, a plush chair near the window overlooking the garden. The only thing noticeably absent was a baby, a question that Ben read on my blank face when I looked at him.

  He shifted a little, seemingly uncomfortable about having to talk. ‘We thought we would give you a chance to settle in, get your bearings, before Grace comes home.’

  We? As in his wife?

  ‘That’s very thoughtful, thank you.’

  If he was pleased by my gratefulness he didn’t show it and, when my gaze roamed past him to the doorway of the spare bedroom, his eyes followed.

  ‘So this is my room?’ I asked.

 
‘Ah, not exactly.’

  I turned to him, my interest piqued, and he pointed to the ceiling.

  ‘One up.’

  A smaller, poky staircase led to the fifth and final level, to a room that was smaller than the fourth-floor bedroom, but filled with light coming through large bi-fold doors that led out onto a roof terrace.

  ‘This is my home office, I guess, but I think it will probably serve you better, give you some extra space.’

  ‘It’s beautiful. Can I take a look out here?’ I asked, indicating the terrace door.

  Ben shrugged. ‘It’s technically yours.’

  Stepping out onto the roof terrace was like entering a hidden urban oasis. I could already picture myself lounging out here on the built-in seating among the potted foliage, drinking coffee and snacking on a bagel as I read leisurely in the New York sunshine. I resisted the urge to bounce.

  ‘Are you sure? I mean, if it’s your office, I don’t want to —’

  ‘I’m sure. I can set up anywhere, and I don’t want to be traipsing through the fourth level and disturbing Grace, so it’s yours.’

  I turned from Ben, smiling as I looked over the neighbouring buildings that sliced into the skyline. I didn’t know how much downtime I would be afforded, or how demanding this baby would be, but surely it couldn’t have been any worse than the time Oscar was a baby, and I had a two-year-old to contend with then as well. Still, that was at home, where support was only a phone call away. Here I was on my own, with a family I didn’t know. But if I was going to make a go of it and get everything I could out of this amazing opportunity, I would have to put on my big-girl pants and do all the things that were expected of me, even if it didn’t come naturally. And even though we hadn’t gotten off on the greatest foot, I would give Ben Worthington the benefit of the doubt; giving me this amazing room was a great place to start. To think how happy I’d been when the Liebenbergs allowed me to put cheese on the grocery list that one time. Now here I was with my own little piece of New York paradise.

  ‘Well, I better show you how the security system works before I go.’

  ‘You’re leaving?’ I said, perhaps a bit too high-pitched.

  ‘As I mentioned yesterday, I have to go out of town for work.’

  ‘Oh, okay, but you’ll be here when Grace arrives – wait, when is she arriving?’

  ‘Emily will bring her home in the morning. I won’t be here, but she’ll give you the rundown.’

  Was he serious? His sister was about to hand over the responsibility of his baby daughter to me and he was acting as if she was about to teach me how to use a television remote.

  ‘But you’ll be back? Or will Mrs Worthington be here?’

  I regretted it the moment Ben’s stare locked with mine. A sudden chill swept over us on the rooftop and it was more than just the morning sun moving behind a cloud. This was bitter cold. Penny Worthington had stated, rather firmly, that there were to be no questions. This was clearly one of them.

  ‘No,’ was all he said, as he stepped back through the doorway and went inside.

  I followed him down the stairs, watching his straight spine as he led me down the hall. I could tell he didn’t know what to do with me, that he hadn’t planned out the part where this creature would be residing in his house. Not that he knew what to do with himself. This was his home, but he seemed just as much a stranger in it as I was. The home had no photos, no bills magnetised to the fridge, let alone an indentation on the couch. It was a show home, and at a guess, I’d say he lived mostly on Lafayette Street – that was where he belonged.

  ‘Have you lived here long?’ I asked, thinking it more a matter of small talk than prying into his affairs.

  ‘Not long,’ he said, standing at the kitchen bench, tapping on his iPad, not even lifting his attention to me.

  Turned out Ben didn’t do small talk either.

  ‘Did you renovate it yourself or …’

  He sighed. ‘What?’ Only then did he look at me. He was clearly annoyed, but I continued regardless.

  ‘I said, did you renovate?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s what I do,’ he said bluntly.

  ‘Oh, you’re an interior designer?’

  His brows lowered as if I had somehow insulted him. ‘No, I’m an architect.’

  Okay, so I was getting the picture, slowly. I couldn’t imagine him dealing with clients and collaborating with others. He practically screamed hermit, like a best-selling novelist or something. Maybe he was a real dreamboat at work and just abrasive with strangers who asked questions in his home.

  I figured there must be a broken home situation, that would explain his mood, and why he didn’t stay here: bachelor penthouse on Lafayette, and a family home in the Village. As long as there wasn’t a Jane Eyre situation with a crazed wife locked away in a secret room somewhere, I was sure everything would be fine.

  Ben passed the iPad to me. ‘Okay, this operates everything you need in the house: lighting, heating, cooling, alarm system, television. Food delivery and home maintenance services are there too, and they’re linked to my credit card should you need to buy anything, which you will.’

  My eyes widened at the apps before me; long gone was the good old list of emergency numbers on the fridge.

  He touched a button. ‘Here are the contacts for emergencies,’ as if he had read my mind. ‘This is mine. Don’t call it unless it’s absolutely life or death, do you understand?’

  ‘Okay.’

  It was unbelievable; I had the world at my fingertips. Penny’s and Emily’s contacts were there as well, which I sure as hell would not be calling, but Nikki’s was there too, which made me feel a little more at ease. There was also ambulance, police and fire department, which I prayed I would not need.

  ‘And if I should want to go out, and do some physical food shopping? How do I —’

  ‘I’ve programed the local area in maps, so you can get an idea of what’s nearby.’ He pulled out his wallet, thumbing through an impressive collection of hundred-dollar bills. He handed me a couple.

  ‘Use this for incidentals until I link you with a credit card. I don’t have a full-time maid, but the cleaners come once a week. Just take care of the house and I’ll let you know if I’m going to be in for dinner.’

  Okay, chief cook, maid and dishwasher as well as babysitter; I could deal. ‘And Grace?’

  ‘I’ll email you,’ he said, pointing to the envelope icon at the bottom of the screen.

  I felt like I was checking into a high-end hotel; everything was in transactions and buttons. It felt so impersonal. Maybe the reality would seem less cold once Grace arrived.

  ‘So if I need to ask you anything, would it be better to email you?’

  Irritation passed over Ben’s face. Something he hadn’t thought of? ‘If you really need to know something, yes.’

  Okay, that was something. ‘And will you be home tonight? Did you want me to organise dinner for a certain time?’

  ‘No, I won’t be home tonight,’ he said, stepping away from the counter. ‘I’m going to get ready to head to the office, just make yourself at home.’ He probably thought he was being welcoming, but he wasn’t, it was more like ‘do what you gotta do’.

  ‘Okay.’ I sighed, swiping through the iPad, thinking to do a test run of the lighting and gadgets in the lounge area, just to see if there were teething problems before Ben left.

  ‘Lounge light on, and dim,’ I said to myself, dragging my finger along the screen, and sure enough, the lighting dimmed. ‘Beautiful.’

  I tested the TV and stereo system without drama. I tapped into the email, thinking that maybe there might be a nice welcome message. There wasn’t.

  Okay, so I could unpack, go for a walk maybe. I pulled the fridge door open; wow, he wasn’t kidding, he really didn’t stay here much. The fridge was absolutely bare. I’d do a food shop too.

  I tapped into the note section on the iPad and started to make a list. I was a great lover of lists and if the iP
ad was going to be my Holy Grail of information then I might as well use it.

  I returned the iPad to the charging dock, thinking that would be the most important note to self: keep it bloody charged. I headed down the hall to the formal parlour to grab my suitcase, but as I veered into the lounge, I saw my things were gone. I did a bit of a double take, wondering if I had left them there, but I knew had.

  Well, what do you know, he’s a gentleman after all, I thought, turning to make my way up the stairs, only to pause as I heard the sound of footsteps coming down. Ben glanced at me, making him slow his descent as he affixed his cufflinks to his expensive shirt.

  ‘Thanks for taking up my stuff,’ I blurted, trying to seem like I wasn’t just openly staring at him in the navy suit that fitted in all the right places.

  ‘All right, I’m off,’ he said, stopping next to me. Even though we shared the same step, he towered over me, looking down at me with a speak-now-or-forever-hold-your-peace expression.

  My mind was whirling at a million miles an hour; everything was happening so fast that no questions sprang to mind. But I just knew there had to be something and I knew that, once he walked out that door, I would think of something and it would be too late. With no clear indication of when I would see him again, I felt a ball of anxiety lodge in the pit of my stomach.

  Instead of using the opportunity to ask one last question, I only managed, ‘Have a great day.’

  Ben’s mouth twitched slightly, seemingly suggesting I was a bit lame. Rather than returning the same pathetic parting words, he nodded once and continued down the stairs, slamming the door behind him without a backward glance.

  Chapter Seven

  I resisted the temptation to pump up the stereo and slide sideways in my socks and undies, Tom Cruise style, simply because it wouldn’t have surprised me if Ben Worthington had a state-of-the-art nanny-cam system. So I stayed fully clothed and above board, opting to take my time to unpack my suitcase. I’d have all day to myself and I didn’t know if that was going to be something that happened often, so I was going to savour it. There was a certain part of me, not too deep down, that was terrified of being responsible for a tiny human being, which is stupid – I mean, hello, au pair? But this was all so different to the Liebenbergs, and the standards thus far were so incredibly high. I wanted to wrap Grace in cotton wool and never leave the house, which was entirely possible as everything was only an app away. Zombie apocalypse? No problem.