Manhattan Mogul: A New York City Romance

by Tara Leigh

  “You’re just saying that. You’ll disappear again, I know it.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  We stare at each other for a long moment. Derrick’s eyes are bloodshot, but not as wild as when he first barged in. His expression more anguished than angry.

  Just then, my phone lights up on the floor, Nash’s name running across the screen. Derrick’s nostrils flare. “Who the fuck is Nash Knight?” he grinds out, taking an aggressive step toward me.

  Before I can say anything, Kismet launches herself at Derrick, her teeth sinking into his thigh and hanging on. He curses, shaking his leg and batting at the dog.

  “Stop it,” I scream, reaching for her.

  But I am too late. Derrick’s thick hand makes contact and Kismet flies across the room. The saddest yelp I’ve ever heard scissors through my eardrums, followed by a high-pitched, quivering whine. I sprint to her, picking up the trembling dog and holding her to my chest.

  Derrick is already backing away from us, his hands raised, palms facing out. “Noelle, I didn’t mean—”

  I turn fierce eyes on him. “Get out!”

  With a last, regretful look, he bolts through the door. I immediately grab my purse and follow him, though at a slower pace. The vet is just a few blocks away. Making soothing noises, I start down the stairs, Derrick’s heavy footsteps vibrating through the soles of my feet. A beam of light brightens the stairway as the front door opens, followed by a grunt and then a “Watch it, buddy.”

  I recognize the voice immediately. “Nash!”

  At my yell, Nash’s leather oxfords pound the treads. He is by my side in seconds, looking from the shaking dog to my reddened neck. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

  “There’s no time. You’re taking me and Kismet to the vet.”

  Nash

  Nixie won’t let go of the dog, so I sweep her up into my arms and carry both of them down the remaining stairs. Twin tides of relief and rage course through my veins as I put them gently into the back of the Navigator.

  “Jay, can you drive about two blocks up and then make a right? The vet’s office has a navy awning with a white dog on it.” Nixie speaks quickly, her voice high and trembling.

  Jay merges into traffic as I stroke the dog’s head. “The guy who came barreling down the stairs just as I was coming in—was he the one that hurt you?”

  Nixie gnaws at her lower lip, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glistening. “I don’t want to talk about Derrick right now.”

  Derrick. I tuck away the name for future use. “Fine. But we will talk about him.”

  From the very first time I laid eyes on Nixie, darting into that alley, it’s been obvious that she’s running from something. After my unsettling conversation with Eva, I convinced myself to let the matter drop, to let Nixie drop.

  I’m not exactly sure what Nixie and I are, if anything at all. What I do know is that Derrick hurt her, and the damned dog. And now he’s at the very top of my shit list.

  Once we arrive at the clinic, the receptionist looks from Nixie’s face to the trembling canine and immediately ushers us into a small examining room. Less than a minute later, the veterinarian rushes in. She takes Kismet from Nixie and sets her down on the examining table. “Can you tell me what happened?” she asks, running her fingers along the dog’s sides.

  Nixie’s wipes her eyes. “I was having an argument and I think Kismet thought I was in danger.” She pauses, gulping air like she’s just come up from the bottom of a deep pool. I reach out a hand to squeeze her shoulder and the doctor looks up at me, her eyes sliding back to Nixie and snagging on her reddened throat.

  Her face hardens, and I knew she’s connected me to Nixie’s injury. “Sir, I only allow one adult per dog. Would you mind stepping out into the waiting room?”

  Nixie frowns as she catches the lie. We walked past an exam room with an entire family jammed in around their Labrador. “He’s not the one I was having an argument with.”

  The doctor’s face looks unconvinced, but I only care about Nixie. “It’s fine. If you want me to go, I’ll—”

  “No.” Nixie shakes her head and reaches for my hand, her fingers slipping through mine as she looks at the vet. “It was my ex. Kismet thought he was going to hurt me, so she bit him. He slapped at her and she went flying.” Her voice cracks on the final word and I bite down so hard, if there’d been an atom of carbon in my molar I would have spit out a diamond.

  The vet relents, her scowl easing. “I can’t feel any broken bones, but I’d like to take her in the back for a quick X-ray. Is that okay?”

  Nixie nods. “Of course.”

  She picks the dog up carefully and eases through the door. “Be right back.”

  “So, your ex-boyfriend . . . Derrick.” The name leaves a foul taste in my mouth. “Has he done this before?” I gesture at her neck.

  Nixie pulls her hand away. “Nash, stop it.”

  “Me?” My jaw hinges open. “Tell me his last name. The bastard won’t ever touch a hair on your head again.”

  “You need to knock it off,” she grumbles, wrapping her arms across her chest and staring at me.

  I meet her aggravated expression with one of my own. “Knock what off?”

  “Stop saving me, all right? I can take care of myself.”

  “Really? Doesn’t look that way to me.” My hands ball into fists as I stare at the red marks—fucking fingerprints—around her neck.

  “That’s because you act first and look later. I’m not some damsel in distress that needs your protection.”

  I release a pent-up sigh. “Got it. Doesn’t change the fact that there’s some dickhead walking around out there that hurt you. He’s not going to get away with that.”

  She bristles, but has to swallow her response when the veterinarian comes back in. “Well, the good news is that there’s no lasting damage to Kismet as a result of her high-speed collision with the wall. She does have a loose tooth, which may or may not be a consequence, and there is bruising on her right side, especially at her shoulder and ribs. She’ll need to take it easy for a few days, but she should make a full recovery. If she’s having trouble eating, or still appears to be in pain by the end of the week, bring her back in and we’ll take another look.”

  Nixie reaches out for the dog, her expression relieved. “Thank you, doctor. I’ll keep a close eye on her.”

  I take care of the bill, quashing Nixie’s protests by pointing out that she’ll have to let go of Kismet to sign the receipt, and help her into the car. “So, my place or my place? Take your pick.”

  She sniffs. “No thanks, you can bring me back home.”

  “The apartment he grabbed you from? Not a smart idea.”

  “It was my fault. I opened the door, thinking it was Sam.”

  “Sam?”

  “The super. I told you, I asked him to look at the lock.”

  “And I told you—”

  “Yes. I know. And I already decided to call a locksmith myself. Take me home, Nash. I mean it.”

  “Now we know you need more than a locksmith. You need a doorman and proper security.” I shake my head, unwilling to back down even an inch. “You have exactly two choices. My apartment or my hotel suite. Pick.”

  “I don’t have any of my things with me, or Kismet’s either,” she says, exasperation pinching her features.

  “Details. I’ll have them taken care of.”

  “Are you using this situation to get what you’ve wanted all along?” Her eyes narrow. “I’m not your next fling.”

  “I didn’t ask you to be.”

  She cocks her head to the side, the arch of her ginger brow saying it all.

  “Fine.” I lift my hands in mock surrender. “I won’t ask you again. Satisfied?”

  “No. Not in the least.”

  “Good. That makes two of us. Now, apartment or hotel?”

  A minute passes, then two before an annoyed breath rattles from Nixie’s chest. “Since Greta wasn’t exactly pleased w
ith my visit last time, I’ll go with hotel.”

  “Good.” I catch Jay’s eye in the mirror and he nods. And then I pull a keycard out of my wallet and hand it to Nixie. “Fiftieth floor, suite A.”

  For the remainder of the ride, I send a flurry of texts and emails. By the time we pull up in front of the Holtsmann, my assistant is waiting for us at the curb, a shopping bag at her feet. I gesture at it to Nixie. “Leash and collar, dog food, bowls, and some toys and treats.”

  Deliberately ignoring me, Nixie turns her attention on Katherine. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful of you.”

  My eyes widen. “You know I—”

  Nixie rounds on me, anger bristling from every pore. “You’re not a hero, remember? Stop saving me!”

  Katherine presses her lips together as she watches Nixie stalk off into the hotel lobby. “I like her.”

  “Yeah,” I grumble. “That’s my problem too.”

  Chapter 11

  Nixie

  I carry Kismet and the shopping bag up to the Nash’s enormous hotel suite, waiting for him to join me. Mostly so that I can yell at him some more.

  As the minutes tick by, I pace the oversized living room. Who keeps one apartment in a hotel and one in a luxury skyscraper, just blocks from each other?

  Nash Knight.

  A man so infuriating, so cocky, so damn smug—I can barely stand to look at him.

  Okay, that isn’t true. I can barely stand to look at him because every glance sets my face on fire, and I’m sure he can see my racing thoughts. Including all those devoted to imagining what it would be like to have sex with him. Good? No. Great? No. Mind-blowingly amazing? Yeah. That one. At least if the other night at my apartment is anything to go on.

  My apartment. Crap. What am I going to do if my apartment isn’t safe?

  Wait—what am I thinking? Nash has me so scattered I haven’t focused on the most important thing of all.

  Derrick found me.

  I lift a hand to my throat, pressing fingertips against the tender skin as I bend to drop a kiss on the top of Kismet’s head. “Sorry, girl,” I whisper, filled with guilt that she put herself in harm’s way trying to protect me.

  I broke up with Derrick because he was controlling and obsessive, and I wasn’t in love with him anymore. I ran from him because I found out about his plan to marry me for my inheritance. But it wasn’t until the moment his hand wrapped around my throat that I truly feared him.

  Eventually, I stop frantically pacing and wander around the sterile apartment. I set out food and water for Kismet, open cupboards and closets, slam drawers. Words and arguments ping-pong inside my skull as I count the seconds until Nash comes upstairs so I can hurl them all his way. Five minutes pass, then ten. One hour edges into two. By the time I hear a knock, I’m practically steaming.

  Flinging open the door, eager to vent my outrage, the words clog in my throat when my eyes fall on Jay bearing two suitcases, Kismet’s crate and doggie bed, and the backpack I use for school. I step aside to let him in. “You went back to my apartment?”

  “Yes. Boss thought you would want some of your own things.”

  “How sweet of him,” I drawl, as Jay sets down my bags in the middle of the living room.

  “He’s good like that.” He either doesn’t catch my sarcasm or is choosing not to comment on it.

  I make a noncommittal sound and put a hand on my hip. “Speaking of, where exactly is this model of thoughtfulness?”

  Jay shrugs. “I’m not sure. Maybe home. Or maybe out.”

  “That’s helpful, thanks.”

  Jay keeps his expression neutral. “Unless he needs a ride, I don’t get the details on his social life.”

  It’s well past dinner time, and after showing Jay out, I realize I’m hungry. I could walk around the block, pick up takeout from somewhere nearby. But despite my I am woman, hear me roar rant, I’m in no hurry to go outside by myself. Instead, I call room service and change into pajamas.

  When I left Derrick, I had a simple goal: to stay off his radar until my next birthday. Then I could claim my inheritance and start fresh, somewhere far away. But now that I’ve seen the determination blazing from his dark eyes . . . I’m not sure I’ll ever be free of him.

  The day I left Long Island, I withdrew every dollar I kept at the bank where Derrick and Pappi also had accounts. I deposited it at a local branch of a smaller, regional bank.

  I sub-let an apartment off Craigslist (no application required), signed up for a few classes at Pratt (using my graphic design skills to change the name on my transcript to Nixie Hyde, and paying with a cashier’s check). I bought a new phone and suspended all of my social media. I’ve been cautious, and covered my tracks well. How did Derrick find me?

  More importantly—how am I going to stay away from him?

  I don’t want to run again. I’m tired of hiding, tired of always looking over my shoulder.

  My food comes and I sign the receipt. It galls me that Nash is the reason I’m here. That Nash jumped in, once again, to save me. I could have taken Kismet to the vet myself. Hired a locksmith myself.

  Someone else in my shoes might be grateful. But I’m not. I feel indebted, and resentful.

  I don’t want to depend on anyone but myself, especially Nash. As far as I can tell, he has two modes. Cocky, bossy, arrogant Clark Kent. And equally cocky, bossy, arrogant Superman.

  And both of them have shredded my last nerves.

  When Nash mentioned the idea of a fling over coffee at Lucia’s, I admit, I was intrigued.

  More than a one-night-stand, less serious than an affair. More romantic than friends-with-benefits, less involved than an actual relationship.

  Maybe a fling with a guy like Nash was exactly what I needed.

  But I was just fooling myself. I’m not capable of that kind of indifference. Whatever little piece of himself—who am I kidding, big piece of himself—Nash might let me have, it won’t be enough. And falling for him will just lead to heartbreak.

  Nash is a bigger threat to my heart than Derrick ever was. And I can’t exactly avoid him while I’m living under his roof.

  Which is why I can’t stay here.

  I change back into my jeans, grab Kismet and as much as I can fit inside my backpack, and take off. I’m not running away. I’m going back to my apartment. Nash will lose interest in me soon enough. I’m a novelty. Probably the only female who doesn’t drop her panties at the first glimmer of his sideways smile.

  As far as Derrick is concerned—if he found me once, he’ll find me again. Moving to a new apartment won’t do any good. I’ll have my lock changed and get another dead bolt. And I’ll come up with a new plan.

  Derrick isn’t getting his hands on my inheritance. And Nash isn’t getting his hands on me.

  Nash

  A flash of color catches my eye as I nurse a drink in the bar while working on my laptop. “Fucking hell,” I mutter, jumping to my feet and slipping my computer into a messenger bag before striding into the lobby.

  I pull up alongside Nixie just as she steps outside the hotel. “Going somewhere?”

  She doesn’t break stride. “Yeah, home.”

  “I told you, that’s not a good idea.”

  “And I told you, I don’t care.”

  “You realize if Derrick hurts you again, I’m going to have to kill him?”

  Nixie looks up sharply, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. I consider myself damn good at reading people and something in her expression immediately makes me dial back my inner thug. Nixie’s about a hair’s breadth from hating me right now. “And I’ll be the first one to testify against you at your trial.”

  “The guy slammed your dog into a wall.” I trace the red marks encircling her neck with my fingertips. “The guy choked you.”

  “It was a misunderstanding. He’s harmless.”

  “Doesn’t look harmless to me.”

  She swallows. “Stop looking.”

  “I don’t think I can d
o that.”

  “Try.” With her hands on her hips and one of her sneakers half untied, Nixie looks like a teenager arguing over her curfew.

  My eyes travel from the hair tumbling down her shoulders to the bright white tips of her red Chucks, then pull back up to her heart-shaped face. I’ve been trying to look away from Nixie since the first moment I set eyes on her. It didn’t work outside the alley, or since. And it sure as hell isn’t working now. I shake my head. “Not gonna happen.”

  Our gaze holds, pedestrians forced to skirt around us at they hurry past. She huffs a small sigh. “What do you want from me, Nash?”

  “Nothing you don’t want to give.”

  “Then it’s nothing.”

  “How about we compromise?” The word feels foreign in my mouth.

  “Compromise? On what?”

  “A movie night. Your choice.”

  She glances around. “Where?”

  I jerk my chin back toward the Holtsmann. “Upstairs.”

  “Porn?” she scoffs, her eyes narrowing.

  “Good choice.”

  “Very funny. What kind of a movie do you expect us to watch in your hotel room?”

  “No need to be ashamed, Nixie. If porn is the first thing you think of when I suggest watching a movie together, I’m all for it.”

  Bright pink patches bloom on her cheeks. Fucking adorable. “That’s it, I’m going home.”

  I ease the backpack from her shoulders and slip my around her waist, subtly guiding her back to the lobby. “Come on, the remote is all yours. Porn or the latest Channing Tatum. Whatever you want.”

  “I’m not having sex with you, you know.”

  “First porn, then sex. Nixie, I like the places your mind goes.”

  “I mean it, Nash, I’m different than the girls you usually bring here.”

  Don’t I know it. “Okay. So, let me see if I have it straight. No porn and no sex.”

  “And popcorn.”

  “No porn, no sex, and no popcorn? Now that’s going a little too far, don’t you think?”