Manhattan Mogul: A New York City Romance

by Tara Leigh

  “Either way, I don’t bring women here.”

  “You don’t strike me as the celibate type.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to chase after them and stuff every last one back down my throat. I don’t want to know a single detail about Nash’s sex life.

  “Celibate? No. I just prefer to keep things simple. My bed is for sleeping, not fucking.”

  I once read that cursing, particularly variations of fuck, unleashes a hormonal response in the brain. Whether used as a noun, a verb, an adjective—the mere taboo nature of those four letters triggers an automatic, involuntary reaction.

  That pang of desire I feel, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just the word Nash used. Not Nash himself. Yeah right.

  “The women you date don’t mind that you never bring them back to your place?”

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

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

  This time Nash’s laugh is more like a bark. Nice, though I think his throaty chuckle is my favorite. “Of course not. I keep a suite at the Holtsmann, 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 is nonchalant, as if arranging for sex is no more important than picking up his dry cleaning. And I bet someone else does that for him.

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

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

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

  He laughs again, more of a chortle this time. I might have to start cataloguing all the different versions. “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’s a part of me that’s cheering Nash on, hoping he isn’t as big of a manwhore as I think he is. But as the silence stretches on, I’m 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 intend to fill my nights with disposable men, either.”

  To my surprise, he rebounds. “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.” God help me, Nash is charming too. Not an old-fashioned, gallant kind of charm. His particular brand is as cocky as the rest of him. But it’s oddly endearing. And it’s growing on me.

  I 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. And we’ve already spent the night together. Might as well do it in the same bed this time.”

  “But not yours.”

  There’s a slight hesitation before Nash answers. “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 relent. Greta is 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.”

  “It’s not complicated, Nixie. 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 blows out a sigh. “None. Doesn’t happen.”

  I stretch my feet out in front of me and cross them at the ankles. “Why?”

  Nash pauses as if he hasn’t considered the question before. “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 shrug. “You called me.”

  Silence stretches out, and I pull the phone away from my ear to see if the call is still connected. It is. “Nash?”

  “Yeah?”

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

  “Fucked?”

  That automatic instinct sends another unwanted pulse of heat through me. “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 can practically feel his wicked grin through the screen pressed to my ear. “None taken.”

  The valve that seals off my vocal cords, keeping conversations like this from ever happening, is broken. Questions I shouldn’t be asking and answers I shouldn’t be giving are spilling out or me. I have no idea how to stop them. “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 clears his throat. “Truth?”

  “Of course.”

  “She slept with my brother.”

  I suck 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.”

  “Childhood, huh? Is he the only guy you’ve ever been with?”

  “This conversation is getting pretty personal. You sure you’re okay with this?” Am I okay with this?

  “Am I still on the phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I am. Go ahead. A truth for a truth. Although if you don’t want to answer, there’s another question I can ask instead.”

  “What is it?”

  “Are you going to answer?”

  “Ask, and I’ll decide.”

  “Who are you running from, Nixie?”

  A trickle of unease drips down my spine. “Yes, my ex-boyfriend is the only man I’ve ever been with.”

  “Not going to answer the other one, huh?” I clamp my mouth shut. The fewer people who know about my predicament, the better. “I could probably help, you know,” he adds.

  Nash’s offer is tempting, but it isn’t worth the risk. “Are you always so willing to help strangers?” I ask, shifting the focus away from me.

  “No. But you’ve spent the night in my bed, which is more than I can say for anyone else. Think that disqualifies you from being a stranger.”

  My voice lowers an octave. “So what am I?”

  “That’s a damn good question, Nixie. One I haven’t figured out yet.”

  “Well, either way. I don’t need your help.”

  “How about I help by taking your mind off your
ex?”

  Now this I need to hear. “Oh, really?”

  “A one-night stand.”

  I can’t help the smile tugging my lips upward. “With you?”

  “Of course. I’m the best.”

  “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

  “I’ll show you what else I am.”

  A blush spreads up my cheeks. Cocky charm. Nash should patent it. “You’re pretty full of yourself, too.”

  “Right now, I’d rather be filling you.”

  My face is seriously on fire. “You can’t always get what you want.”

  Nash doesn’t say anything for a minute, and when he finally does, the intensity of his voice takes me off guard. “No. You sure as hell can’t.” The tone of our conversation shifts away from the lighthearted banter I’ve been enjoying, although I haven’t the slightest idea why. “If you change your mind, Nixie, I’m only a phone call away.”

  And then he is gone.

  A groan of frustration bubbles up inside my throat. Nash Knight is crass and cocky, but he makes my heart race and my skin tingle. If I was the type of girl to have one night stands, I would jump at his offer in a hot minute.

  I stare down at my phone, tracing Nash’s name with my fingertip. Wondering if maybe I could be different.

  Just for one night.

  Nash Knight has a face I could get lost in, a voice that wraps around me like a silken cocoon.

  The slow burn that started in my stomach now extends outward to my veins. Just thinking about sex with Nash has me overheating. No way can I spend even a night with him. By the time morning comes, I’ll be nothing but a pile of ash smudging the sheets.

  Chapter 5

  Nash

  Wealth has its privileges, and I avail myself of them all.

  I live in a penthouse and travel in private planes. I drink the finest wine and the most expensive whiskey. My clothes are hand-stitched by the best tailors on London’s Savile Row, my shoes crafted by fifth-generation Italian cobblers.

  The women I bed are exceptional.

  But for me, nothing holds a candle to the thrill of my work. Analyzing floundering companies, pinpointing the key components worth saving. Stripping them down to their core, eliminating redundancies and nonessential components that distract from their fundamental objectives. It is precise and cerebral, with huge potential for profit.

  I’ve gotten so good at my job, I can almost do it in my sleep. Really. There are nights when I fall asleep mulling over a new company I want to invest in, and by the time I wake up a few hours later, my execution plan is fully formed. Quite frankly, it’s becoming a problem. Not for my company, which is stronger and more profitable than ever before, or for my employees, who are making more money than they could possibly have anticipated, even by lavish Wall Street standards. It is a problem for me. Because the challenge is waning. Sure, money buys some pretty great toys, don’t get me wrong. But the thrill . . . the thrill lays in the struggle itself, not in spending my profits acquiring sports franchises and exotic cars.

  I thought a joint venture with my friend Tristan, the hottest hedge fund manager in Manhattan, would hold my attention. And it did, for a little while. But now that the fund is up and running—and killing it—I’m right back where I started. Bored.

  Which is why I’m in Nebraska right now, sitting across from Mack Duncan, a pioneer in the field of complex, integrated networking systems, pre-dating the ascent of Silicon Valley as the hub of all things tech.

  Duncan’s wife recently passed away after a long illness and he wants to spend his remaining years with his children and grandchildren, none of whom are interested in taking over the company he built from the ground up.

  In most of the world, Duncan’s patented technology is integral to everything from cars and phones to defense operations and wireless routing systems.

  Most of the world . . . except China. Because of their stringent cyber-security requirements, introducing foreign products is difficult, if not impossible. It’s like a sealed box, containing the Holy Grail. Everyone wants to get their hands on it, but few can crack the lock. Although NetworkTech has tried to make inroads, they’ve been unsuccessful.

  However, I invested in a company last year that could change that. Based out of Hong Kong and registered in China, the impossible might just be possible. By acquiring NetworkTech and combining these two companies, the profit potential is enormous.

  In my industry, this kind of deal is known as a unicorn. With access to China’s market, NetworkTech would skyrocket north of a billion dollars—pushing Knight Ventures’ assets to tip the scales at two billion, or even more.

  I want this deal more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. The upside is enormous, the downside minimal. If things don’t work out, I can always sell NetworkTech. Likely for about the same amount, give or take, since without tapping the trillion-dollar Chinese economy, there isn’t much room for growth.

  I write down a number on a piece of paper and slide it across the table. Duncan barely glances at it. Instead he removes the thick glasses that have slid down his nose, rubbing at the grooves lining his forehead as he studies me over the width of his cluttered desk. “I’ve had no shortage of potential buyers for my company, you know.”

  I nod. “I’m sure.” NetworkTech is profitable and productive, and it’s growing at a decent, though not significant, pace.

  Duncan will have no shortage of buyers to choose from. Legitimate offers from other venture capitalists with whom, as a rule, I don’t swim in the same pool. I prefer to hunt for damaged goods, the runts of the litter. I destroy them and built them back up, stronger and more profitable than they’ve ever been before. Then I sell them for many multiples of my original investment and move on to my next target.

  “But I’m prepared to move fast. No protracted negotiations, no endless contract disputes between our lawyers. I’ve done my homework, and—”

  He releases a hearty guffaw. “In fact, I’d say you know this company nearly as well as I do.”

  Of course I do. If I go after something, I do it full throttle. “I don’t believe in wasting time, either mine or yours.”

  Duncan’s cheeks hollow out, his mouth turning down at the corners. “Then I’m afraid you’ve done both.”

  I blink, concealing my surprise and disappointment behind an impassive mask. “And why is that?”

  “I’ve done my homework, too. I don’t believe that you intend to treat my company differently than others you’ve acquired, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving NetworkTech in your hands.”

  “I’m not going to chop your company up and sell it for parts, if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t anticipate any layoffs. And I think you’ll agree that my offer is more than fair.”

  “Mr. Knight—”

  “Nash.”

  “Mr. Knight. I’m sorry to say it, but I don’t know you well enough to take you at your word. I can only base my decision off your reputation and my gut. And your reputation, frankly, isn’t encouraging. The Black Knight of Wall Street, a vulture capitalist rather a venture capitalist.”

  “And what does your gut tell you?”

  “I’m glad you asked. I was married to my Betty, God rest her soul, for nearly fifty years, and during that time, do you know what I’ve learned is the greatest predictor of promises becoming reality?”

  “Mr. Duncan, I’m prepared to sign—”

  He waves me off. “A good lawyer can get you out of anything, these days. No, what matters to me is the most important commitment of all. Marriage.”

  “Marriage,” I repeat, dumbfounded.

  He nods. “That, right. Marriage. I’m not selling my company to some Wall Street whiz kid who can’t make up his mind which woman to share his bed with. No, sir.” He stands, extending his hand. “Mr. Knight, you are one hell of a businessman, I’ll grant you that. But I’m not willing to trust my legacy, the company I built with blood, sweat, and tears, to a man that’s tomcatt
in’ around every night.”

  Yeah, not what I expected to hear when I strutted into NetworkTech’s bunker-like offices this morning, the watch encircling my wrist worth multiples of any car I’ve seen in the parking lot.

  The timepiece mocks me now. Mack Duncan turned me down in less than an hour—and not in an I’m saying no but help me get to yes kind of way.

  He wants to sell his company, that’s not in dispute. As long as it isn’t me.

  So now I’m back in the air. Fucking fuming.

  But, if I’m being honest with myself, I can’t blame him. I am notorious for taking companies like his apart limb from limb.

  But . . . marriage. I blow out a heavy breath. Eva and I were together before she met my brother. And since her, there hasn’t been a single woman who sparked more than just the briefest flare of interest. Except for Nixie. She sparked a hell of a lot more than that.

  The pilot announces that we’ve reached cruising altitude and I glance out the window, surprised to realize that we’re airborne. My head was in the clouds well before takeoff.

  The last words Nixie said on our call come back to me now. You can’t always get what you want. Well, she’s definitely right about that.

  I want NetworkTech, and getting my hands on it is proving to be a bitch.

  I want Nixie, but going after her would make me one hell of a son of a bitch.

  I turn away from the window and catch the attention of the stewardess. Not difficult to do, since her eyes are already on me. She looks familiar. Have I fucked her? I give a mental shrug. Probably. “Hello, Mr. Knight,” she says in a husky whisper that implies I have. “I didn’t want to interrupt you, you looked so serious. Can I get you something?” She adds a wink. “Anything at all?”

  “Tempting, Samantha,” I lie, her name coming to me suddenly. “But for now, I’ll just take a whiskey. Neat.”

  She covers her disappointment with the quick flash of a too-bright smile. “Coming right up.”

  I remember her now. A pre-dawn blow job over the Atlantic, mouth like a fucking Hoover. Normally there’s never a bad time to get head, but right now . . . no.