Manhattan Mogul: A New York City Romance

by Tara Leigh

  As he pulls away, I breathe a relieved sigh and begin strolling up the street. My next appointment isn’t very far, and it’s the perfect opportunity to enjoy the elaborate holiday displays New York is famous for. Slipping into the stream of people gaping at the make-believe scenes, I can almost believe I’m just another tourist.

  Behind glass display windows, there is falling snow and moving mannequins, chugging trains weighed down with bulging velvet sacks and festively wrapped gifts. Santa Claus and snowmen, elves and reindeer. The magic of the season is certainly alive and well in Manhattan. Retail magic, anyway.

  As fake as my upcoming wedding.

  I sense Derrick’s presence even before I hear him say my name. My first impulse is to run, but I force myself to remain facing the glass. In broad daylight, surrounded by people, Derrick can’t hurt me. And if he tries, I’m fully prepared to break out some of those self-defense moves Nash taught me. “Back to stalking me, are you?”

  “You say stalking, I say protecting.” Derrick is calm, nonchalant.

  “Protecting me from what—tourists bearing selfie sticks?” I snap, ducking out of the way as a teenaged girl nearly decapitates me trying to get a picture of her and her boyfriend.

  He moves between me and the girl. “If that’s what you need.”

  “I don’t need anything from you. Leave me alone, Derrick.”

  “Heard about your engagement. Doesn’t seem like you want to be alone to me.”

  I knew Derrick would find out about Nash— that was the whole point of planning a lavish New York City wedding, after all. But hearing him acknowledge it is strangely discomfiting. “What I do isn’t any of your business anymore.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Noelle. Everything you do is my business.” He turns his head, looking down at me. “Does your new fiancé know that Nixie Hyde is really Noelle Kennedy?”

  His implied threat leaves a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Nash knows everything about me.” And now, I know everything about him. We might be lying to the world, but at least we’re not lying to each other.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “That’s your problem, not mine.” We follow the crowd to the next store, the next block of windows. I change the subject. “How’s your father?”

  “He’s been better. He misses you. A few postcards can’t make up for not visiting him in months.”

  I’ve sent more than postcards, starting with a long letter before I left. I didn’t mention Derrick, just that I needed some time and distance to figure things out on my own. And I’ve written every other week since, using a remailing service so that the postmark wouldn’t give away my location.

  But Derrick is right, it’s been too long since I’ve seen Pappi. I bite down on my lip, blinking rapidly to hold tears at bay. “Tell him I said hello. And that I miss him.”

  “Why don’t you tell him yourself? I can bring you back to the house right now. He’d love to see you.”

  “That’s not a good idea.” Not today, not with Derrick.

  “Why not? You afraid he’ll talk you out of making the biggest mistake of your life?” His tone is indignant, and just loud enough to be heard over the chatter of the crowd.

  “Derrick, we are over,” I hiss. “And not just because of what I overheard you say on the phone—”

  “I told you, that was a misunderstanding.”

  I shake my head, the ends of my hair catching in my lip gloss. I bat the strands away. “Even I’m not that naive. I won’t be the solution to your money problems.”

  Derrick’s hand shoots out, his fingers digging painfully into my upper arm. “You don’t understand, Noelle. I’m in trouble, and if I can’t come up with the cash—” He stops suddenly. “I have to pay. I have to.”

  I jerk away from his painful hold. “Hurting me isn’t the answer.”

  “But marrying you is.” The thick vein in his neck throbs, his dark eyes burning as fiercely as hot coals.

  “How much money have I given you over the years?” Derrick always seemed to know when the monthly stipend from my parent’s trust would arrive. And he took the check I received from my last gallery exhibition right out of the mailbox, forging my name and cashing it himself. “It’s never stopped you from getting into trouble again.”

  “I’ll give up gambling for good this time.”

  A lie I’ve heard so many times before, I almost laugh.

  “You’ve been saying that for as long as I can remember.”

  “But it’s different this time, I swear. I love you, I’ve always loved you. You and me, we can have a good life together.”

  I know Derrick loves me, in his own way. But only when times are good, when he’s winning. There’s been too many losses in recent years, though. Too many situations where he blamed me for failures that were no one’s fault but his own. The reasons varied—I was a distraction. Or I wore the wrong clothes, sat in the wrong place, said the wrong thing.

  Being with Derrick became unpredictable, and scary. His highs were too high, too intense. He wanted to drink and party and stay up all night. And the lows were downright awful. He would stomp around and yell until his face was a mottled red, then back me into a corner and yell some more.

  I step away from the crowd. “No, Derrick. I don’t love you anymore. You’ll have to figure things out, on your own this time. I’m sorry.”

  Nash

  “What do you mean, you left Nixie alone?” I bark into the phone clutched tightly to my ear, anxiously pacing back and forth along the perimeter of my office. The stunning view of New York Harbor is entirely wasted on me.

  Jay babbles an explanation that I interrupt mid-sentence. “Why didn’t you make her go with you? Or call me? Wait—what? An hour ago? Jesus.”

  Frustrated, and knowing that nothing useful will come of berating Jay, I hang up on him and call Nixie instead. And call. And call. She doesn’t answer, and I’m repeatedly directed to her voicemail.

  I also call the guy I hired to keep an eye on Derrick. Apparently Derrick spotted him this morning and he decided to hang back . . . a little too far.

  I yank at the tie knotted around my collar, unfastening the top two buttons of my starched shirt before I suffocate. Where the fuck is she?

  I glance at the papers covering my desk, the computer monitor detailing my daily schedule. I have back-to-back meetings for most of the day, finalizing our acquisition proposal for a company that, while not the same as NetworkTech, will serve a similar purpose—consolidate with my Hong Kong venture and allow entry into the Chinese market.

  A proposal that might be moot because, unbeknownst to me, Simmons sent Mack Duncan the press release announcing my engagement and he suggested we meet for dinner tonight . . . before reconsidering my offer to purchase his company.

  Reconsidering.

  I thought the deal was dead.

  I should be over the fucking moon right now. But I’m not. All I care about is Nixie. And not because I need her to prove to Duncan that I’m a serious, level-headed man capable of taking over NetworkTech.

  I swallow heavily. Until recently, I considered Duncan’s company to be a once in a lifetime unicorn deal. But I was wrong. I’ve been chasing the wrong dream. Nixie is the goddamn unicorn.

  “Simmons,” I bellow. “Have you heard from Nixie this afternoon?” Ever since my assistant took care of Kismet while we were in Bermuda, she and Nixie and have struck up something of a friendship.

  “Actually, yes. I called earlier, confirming her appointment with a personal shopper at Saks.” She glances at her watch. “Right about now.”

  A flare of hope breaks through my anxiety. “Call them. Find out if she’s there.”

  She pivots, concern streaking across her normally stoic mask, and heads back to her desk just outside my office. She returns a minute later. “Yes, she’s there. Should I have them pass along a message for you?”

  A tidal wave of relief crashes into me and I grab at the back of my chair for
support. Yeah, tell her to answer my damn calls. “No. No message. But call Jay and tell him to plant his ass right outside Nixie’s dressing room, and that further deviations from the plan will not be tolerated.”

  She offers a stiff nod. “Will do. Is there anything else you need?”

  “There’s something wrong with the climate control unit.”

  She turns to examine the thermostat on the wall. “It’s reading sixty-seven degrees, same as always.”

  “It’s a fucking sauna in here. Have someone check it.”

  “Right away,” she says, then glances at the clock hanging on my wall. “And you’re wanted in the conference room in five minutes.”

  “I’ll be there,” I say, pulling my chair away from my desk and dropping into it, the movement propelling me forward until I plant my elbows onto my knees, holding my head up with my palms. Fear for Nixie’s safety has shaken me to my core.

  I regret my promise to leave Derrick unharmed. He’s even more of a threat than I initially realized. Not only is he a gambler, he’s a terrible gambler. Apparently, most of his bookies refuse to take his bets anymore, and are cagey about how much he owes, which is a bad sign. These are not men who can be fobbed off with I’ll-pay-you-later promises. If Derrick can’t afford to cover his debts, he’s in trouble. And if he believes Nixie is his solution, she’s in trouble, too.

  I take a few deep breaths, calming my still frantic nerves. Nixie isn’t with Derrick. She’s safe at Saks Fifth Avenue, trying on outfits for our dinner tonight and a wardrobe befitting my fiancé.

  As fear for Nixie’s safety gives way to images of her undressing, I groan. Is this what being in a relationship is like—all these jumbled thoughts and feelings taking up space in my brain?

  It’s awful. I’m a fucking mess.

  My intercom buzzes. “I know, I know. I’ll be right there.”

  “Actually, there’s someone here to see you.”

  Frowning, I lift my head to glance at my packed schedule. “It’s not exactly a good day for drop-ins,” I comment wryly.

  “I know. But I think you’ll make an exception in this case.”

  I rub at my temples and sigh. “Who is it?”

  “Paul Attwood.”

  Chapter 19

  Nixie

  Walking through the vaulted lobby of the Holtsmann, a shopping bag in each of my hands and several more carried by Jay, who has clearly gotten a dressing down by Nash for leaving me alone, I feel like an imposter.

  Actually, no. I am an imposter.

  But at least now, I’ll be an imposter with camouflage.

  According to the stylist I worked with, she was instructed to not only find me an outfit for tonight’s dinner, but an entire wardrobe appropriate for the fiancé of Nash Knight, billionaire businessman.

  Wedding dress shopping with Eva. Encounter with Derrick. Living out my teenaged Pretty Woman fantasy at Saks Fifth Avenue. I’ve had quite the day already, and it still isn’t over. Nash is picking me up in less than an hour for what Katherine described as a business dinner. It seems odd, given that I’m not involved in Nash’s business, but what do I know?

  I just hope that whoever we’re meeting doesn’t mistake me for a mannequin. I haven’t seen Nash since the day we returned from Bermuda, and the man leaves me feeling topsy-turvy every time I lay eyes on him. I mean, sometimes I have to remind myself to breathe around Nash. The air itself feels different, thinner, when he’s near. As if Nash inhabits a higher altitude than the rest of us. My lungs aren’t programmed to thrive at his level.

  We’ve talked a lot lately, but it’s all been over the phone. He hasn’t been close enough to touch since . . . Well, since I was just as likely to slap him as kiss him.

  “Where do you want these?” Jay stops at the open doorway to my bedroom, half a dozen bags hanging from his wrists.

  I extend a finger toward the closet. “Just inside there would be great, thanks.”

  I don’t have time to put everything away before Nash arrives—which was supposed to be an hour ago so we could have some time together, just us, before heading to dinner. But shopping took a lot longer than I expected, as did my appointment at the in-store salon.

  After Jay settles himself in the living room, I close the bedroom door and quickly change. The elegant crepe de chine blouse and tailored skirt are so chic I can almost believe I belong with a man like Nash. A pair of leather Gucci boots with a dangerous-looking heel complete an outfit I never could have put together on my own.

  Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I’m grateful for the added boost of confidence from the designer pieces—so long as I don’t fall on my face, thrown off-balance by the perilous combination of Nash’s proximity and the four-inch heels that make walking a risky sport.

  The finishing touch is a Judith Leiber clutch that costs more than my rent. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever owned. I’m trying to squeeze my phone and a tube of gloss into it as I walk out of the room, straight into a wall.

  Except . . . this wall has hands that reach around to grab my arms. This wall smells like an evergreen forest. This wall has eyes as deep and alluring as a hidden lake on a hot summer day. “Nash,” I squeak.

  The corners of his lips push into an amused smile, hands sliding up my arms to rest on my shoulders, thumbs sweeping along the bare skin of my neck. “Hey there.”

  Desire bombs down my spine, pooling inside my stomach and sending a shower of sparks zinging along every nerve. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get back sooner.”

  His eyes drag over my body before returning to my face. “You look stunning.”

  I blush. “Thank you. I wasn’t really sure what to wear tonight but . . .”

  “You look beautiful, Nixie. Perfect.” He looks at my boots. “I sent Jay downstairs to pull the car out front. Doesn’t look like you should walk too far in those.”

  A strangled laugh bubbles from my throat. “Doesn’t look like I should walk much at all.”

  His smile widens. “Don’t tempt me. I’d love to go all caveman and sling you over my shoulder right about now. Not sure we’d actually make it out the front door, though.”

  My chest squeezes, forcing air from my lungs in a dizzying rush. I lift my chin at the same moment Nash’s fingers push into my hair, cradling my scalp. His lips find purchase on mine, the soft sweep of his tongue making me moan.

  I just about managed to convince myself that kissing Nash couldn’t feel as good as I remembered, but clearly I’ve only been lying to myself. It’s every bit as good as I remembered. Better, even.

  Maybe because it doesn’t feel fake. Everything about this kiss, this man, feels solid and true. Real.

  Nash kisses me until I’m breathless, only pulling away to trail his lips along my jaw, down the curve of my neck. Wherever his mouth goes, my pulse speeds up, beating harder, faster. My Judith Leiber falls from my grasp, and I wrap my arms around Nash, reveling in the tense, coiled muscles beneath my palms. He’s hard . . . everywhere. The bulge pressing against his trousers stokes the fire building inside of me. I claw at his shirt, bunching the fabric within my fists.

  The bed is just behind me. Instinctively, I take a few steps backward. Or maybe it’s Nash walking forward. Either way, we move as one until I feel the edge of the mattress pressing against the back of my calves. “Wait,” I gasp, somehow managing to wrench my face away from his. “Dinner. We’re going to be late.”

  “I don’t care.” Nash’s growl makes me want to fall back on the mattress and pull Nash on top of me.

  But instead I push against his shoulders, blinking up at him until his face swims into focus. Katherine didn’t give any specifics, but she left me with the distinct impression that tonight is a big deal. A bigger deal than Nash is letting on. “This is important to you.”

  “You’re important to me,” he shoots back.

  Somewhere inside my body, my heart is throwing a ticker tape parade. Balloons, confetti, a full-on marching band. I want to believe him, s
o damn much.

  And if he’s really telling the truth, if he really does care about me, I can’t let him sacrifice a critical business opportunity just for a frenzied bout of lovemaking.

  I duck out of his reach and take a few steps on wobbly legs, bending to retrieve my abandoned clutch. “Which is exactly why we’re not going to be rude and keep your associate waiting.”

  Nash takes a deep, shuddering breath, running both hands through his hair and then squeezing his neck as he directs an incredulous stare my way. “You’re really serious.” His words are rough, the frayed remnants of lust clinging to his vocal cords.

  I stay silent, not sure I can get another word out. Nash looks almost, dare I say it, vulnerable.

  Finally he lets go of the corded muscles at his neck, shoves his hands in his pockets, and gives a jerky nod. “Okay. Raincheck?”

  “Definitely,” I grin, walking out of the room.

  Nash catches up with me at the front door, his palm searing the small of my back as we step into the elevator and then the Navigator. I stare out at the crowded city sidewalks, gathering up the courage to tell him about my day. “So, in the interest of full disclosure, I need to tell you something. But I want you to promise you won’t get mad.”

  He makes a face. “After an opening like that?”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise I won’t get mad at you.”

  I sigh. “Derrick came to see me today.”

  Nash remains completely still except for a twitch in his jaw. “Where?”

  “After wedding dress shopping and before Saks.”

  “When you ditched Jay.” At my reluctant nod, he swears. “Christ, Nixie. I told you—”

  “You promised you wouldn’t get mad.”

  He rubs at his forehead. “Mad doesn’t come close to what I’m feeling right now.”

  Nash’s eyes are a turbulent storm of emotions. “What are you feeling?” As much as we’ve talked lately, with very few exceptions, it’s been entirely about people, places, things, events. Stories, not confessions.