Manhattan Mogul: A New York City Romance

by Tara Leigh

  I can’t help rolling my eyes.“That’s because your ego wouldn’t fit through the door.”

  “Try saying that when I carry you over the threshold.”

  And this time, with this man, I fight against my old insecurities and make the choice to cloak myself in Nash’s love instead. To believe in him. To believe in us.

  Convenience is vastly overrated.

  I entwine my arms around his neck, our lips merging together, breaths commingling, tongues tenderly dancing. This man is mine. “You’d better not drop me.”

  “Never.”

  Epilogue

  Nash

  I’ve walked past St. Paul’s Chapel nearly every day of my life, but today isn’t like any other day.

  Today I am inside, standing in the sanctuary.

  Waiting for my bride.

  A low hum of anticipation thrums inside my chest as the heavy doors at the back of the church open. Three hundred people are packed into the elegant Georgian hall, and there is a collective gasp as Nixie comes into view. My first glimpse of her sends a bolt of electricity shooting through the soles of my shoes and charging every cell in my body. Breathless, I can only stare as Paul escorts my bride down a white satin aisle strewn with red rose petals.

  Tomorrow is Christmas, but my gift has arrived.

  Radiant prisms of light shoot from Nixie’s glittering headpiece, streaking through the nave and infusing the 250-year-old house of worship with a palpable energy. We’re only a few blocks from the alley where I first got a glimpse of her. A few blocks and a world away. She sparkled as much then as she does now.

  Finally, Nixie and Paul stand before me. The buoyant notes of the choir reach a crescendo as I lift the veil over Nixie’s head, revealing gleaming copper hair cascading down her bare shoulders.

  A riot of emotions trek across Nixie’s flawless face—love, passion, excitement—and in her eyes I see everything I never knew I wanted but now can’t live without. My throat turns to dust as I realize how close I came to losing the best thing that has ever happened to me. Before Nixie, I never knew what it was like to smile for no reason at all, just because . . . I’m happy. Nixie makes me believe I can conquer the universe with one hand, so long as I hold onto her with my other.

  It physically hurts to tear my gaze from my beautiful bride, but I do, shaking hands with Paul and mouthing a silent thank you for the precious woman he’s entrusting to me.

  I crook an elbow and Nixie threads her arm though mine. Together, we climb the final steps to the altar.

  The service itself is a blur until it’s Nixie’s turn to speak her vows. A single tear slides down her cheek as she promises to love, honor, and cherish me. I lift a hand to brush it away, then echo her words. This fighter will spend the rest of his days fighting to be worthy of my bride.

  Parker comes forward, solemnly carrying a green velvet pillow, two rings held in place with red ribbon.

  And now you may kiss your—

  I pull Nixie to me and claim her lips as if they’re mine, as if they have always been mine. Through a dense, love-sick fog, I vaguely hear the reverend announce us as man and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Nash Knight. There is a rumble of applause and I pull away, just slightly. “Well, Mrs. Knight, would you like to take a walk with me?”

  “I’d love to, Mr. Knight.”

  Together we turn to face our guests, and take our first steps down what will be a long path toward forever. I see my parents in the front row, looking so happy. Behind them sit Reggie and Lucia, Tripp and Jolie, Reina and Tristan, Holt and Celeste and Lance, and several friends Nixie hasn’t even met yet. There is Katherine and Greta and Jay and so many others from Knight Ventures. Across the aisle, Mack Duncan and Mrs. Dwyer sit beside Paul Attwood, who is smiling even as he wipes at his eyes. I even thought I saw a glimpse of Damon King. Every pew is full.

  There are people missing, too. (Besides Bryce, who is at the Hospital for Special Surgery on the Upper East Side, recovering from shoulder surgery.)

  My brothers.

  Nixie’s parents.

  But here, in this church, I can feel their presence, their approval. Their love.

  Eva stands to the side, between Madison and Parker, our flower girl and ring bearer. I’m not sure if she still believes our relationship is merely temporary, but it doesn’t matter. Nixie and I are meant for each other, and Eva is sure to realize it soon enough. In the meantime, I’ll be what I have been to Eva for years now, a good friend.

  Last night, in lieu of a bachelor party—the past decade has been one long bachelor party as far as I’m concerned—I asked for an intimate family dinner. Me and Nixie, my parents, Paul Attwood, and of course Eva and the twins. Rather than book a table at a formal restaurant, I called up a local Italian place well known for family-style dining, and ordered heaping platters of food for delivery. It was casual and festive, and my previously sterile bachelor pad was filled with delicious smells and happy laughter. And so much joy.

  My parents and I sat down together and had a long-overdue talk. It turns out that I’ve been so wrong, about so many things. The heartbreak I saw on their faces wasn’t only because they lost Scott and Wyatt, it was because they believed they’d lost me, too.

  I’ve been living as if I have a finite amount of love in my heart, and doling it out like a miser. But if Scrooge can change his ways, so can I. Through her tears, my mother whispered, “Tomorrow I won’t just gain a daughter, I’m going to get my son back, too.”

  I thought I was so strong, so invincible, because of my financial success and the time I spent training and fighting. I wasn’t.

  Terrified of loss, I never risked more than money or a few bruises.

  What I really needed to fight was my own fear. There are no guarantees in life, but I still have to get in the ring. My bride came into my life against all odds, and spending the rest of my life without her is unthinkable

  One day, hopefully soon, Nixie and I will fill our home with children of our own. The twins will always be my family, and I trust Eva enough to know that whomever she brings into our lives will be family too.

  Sometimes love is ugly, like Nixie said. It’s messy and unwieldy and downright exhausting. But hard truths are so much better than beautiful lies.

  Who the hell needs easy, anyway?

  Not when I have Nixie.

  Nixie

  It’s a strange thing to be standing up, to be walking, when the bones in my body feel so flimsy and fragile. I have never been this happy, this buoyant with joy, that I am weightless. Floating.

  And yet somehow I put one foot in front of the other, my quick steps keeping pace with Nash’s steady stride. Nash Knight, my husband.

  I’m not sure if I’m smiling or not, because my face is numb. Really, the only thing I feel is my heart. So full, it’s a wonder it hasn’t burst.

  We are in St. Paul’s Chapel—The Little Chapel That Stood. There is no place on earth I’d rather be.

  It can’t be mere coincidence that both Nash and I had our lives irrevocably altered by the same tragedy, and that we met on its anniversary. Too much of a coincidence to believe that my parents and Nash’s brothers didn’t have a hand in our relationship from day one.

  Thinking back, that day was the one time I couldn’t bear to enter the doors of this church. Instead I found Nash Knight. My very own sanctuary.

  I glance around, absorbing every detail so I can relive these sacred moments again and again. The gleaming panes of glass cut into the clerestory arches, the crystal chandeliers suspended above the soaring nave, the angelic voices of a choir that could have come from heaven itself. As a nod to the season, the handsome wooden pews are festooned with evergreen garlands, and wreaths decorated with sprigs of holly and festive silver bows hang along the aisle.

  Our guests were offered mugs of mulled wine as they came in from the cold, infusing the air inside the church with the scent of cinnamon and cloves. Outside, a dusting of snow covers the city, just enough to make the gritty urban jung
le look like a scene from a Charles Dickens novel.

  My happily ever after ending is as perfect as a storybook—but the beauty of it is knowing that it’s just the beginning. Nash and I are writing our own story.

  After we make it back down the aisle, Nash leads me into a small room in the narthex of the church, so that we can have a few moments of privacy before heading to the reception.

  He closes the door and for a moment I drink him in, every vibrant, volatile inch of the man I’ve grown to love. My White Knight. My Prince Charming. My impossibly sexy, outrageously stubborn, undeniably indomitable Nash.

  He is all those things and so much more. The first night we met, Nash said he was no hero. But this is our story. He’s my hero, and I’m his heroine.

  Nash saved me from two street punks, but I rescued him from an empty life. Of course, I didn’t realize then that I was saving myself from the same fate, too.

  But I don’t need a castle surrounded by a moat, or my own tower to hide behind.

  All I need is Nash.

  He’s swept away all those tenacious feelings of being unwanted and unworthy, leaving behind a sense of wonder at the endless possibilities of our future together.

  As if he can read my thoughts, Nash’s expression is reverent, his eyes piercing mine as I stand in the center of the room. A flush breaks above the beaded bodice of my wedding dress, heating my cheeks. The air between us is thin, and I take a quick breath as Nash leans against the door, staring at me. Staring into me. Loving me.

  “We did it,” he says simply.

  I glance down at the thick band of diamonds encircling my left finger, the same color as the center stone that now sits on my right. A surge of euphoria pulses through my bloodstream. Now I can’t lift a hand without being reminded of Nash. “Looks that way.”

  He crosses the room in two strides, his arms wrapping around my waist and holding me tight, twin flames of love and desire shining from eyes that have cleaved through my heart. I raise my hands, curving my palms against Nash’s chiseled jaw. “I can’t believe you’re my husband.”

  “Believe it. Because you, Nixie Knight, are my whole world.”

  Thank you for reading MANHATTAN MOGUL! I hope you fell in love with Nash and Nixie just as I have.

  Remember Damon King, who rules Manhattan’s underground with an iron fist? You can read his story now!

  One-click CRUEL SANCTUARY now

  He is the monarch of Manhattan. She is a political princess.

  This is enemies-to-lovers romance at its most ruthless.

  Sign up for my Newsletter to find out when new books release!

  www.taraleighbooks.com/newsletter-signup

  Fair warning: CRUEL SANCTUARY is an angsty, thrilling dark romance that will burn up your pages!

  One-click CRUEL SANCTUARY now

  New York City isn’t the devil’s playground—it’s mine. You might think it’s the politicians and police that control just about everything that goes on in this city, but you’d be wrong. To bring a pail and shovel into Manhattan’s sandbox, my permission is required.

  I’m no trust fund brat. Nor was I born a Mafia prince.

  I’ve accumulated my power and fortune the only way they can truly be earned. I’ve worked hard. I’ve fought hard. I’ve taken risks no one else would dare.

  And tonight is my reward.

  My nerves fire when Aislinn’s doorknob twists, and it takes every ounce of restraint I possess not to reach for her creamy, and very naked, shoulder when I step inside.

  Wearing just a towel. Walking away.

  Fuck. The back of her is just as appealing as the front.

  My dick pulses in appreciation, my fingers twitching with the urge to grab hold of the wet tangle of golden strands hanging nearly to her waist, wrap it around my wrist, and reel her in like a prize catch.

  Of course, Aislinn Granville is already caught. All that remains to discover is how hard she fights the lure.

  I’m enjoying the anticipation.

  “Just have to get dressed.” Aislinn’s voice waves behind her like streamers at a parade.

  “Not on my account.”

  I sense the change in energy instantly, molecules breaking apart and rearranging themselves in a tense standoff. The air is suddenly sharp, biting.

  For a moment, there is nothing but silence. Then Aislinn spins to face me, clutching the towel to her chest even as she backs away. “Who the hell are you? Get out before I call the police.”

  If I was a weaker man, I would have stumbled backward from the force of her piercing blue stare. But I am not. Instead, I appreciate the view. In her bare feet, Aislinn is maybe five foot five, her figure is petite but curvy. Right now, with no makeup on, wet hair, and flushed skin that could pass for sunburned, Aislinn looks like a college kid on spring break.

  Except that her stare is swirling with terror, her full lips parting in shock.

  “You don’t need to do that,” I say slowly, not moving beyond her doorway.

  But my attempt at assurance falls on deaf ears. Aislinn disappears into her bedroom, the door slamming shut. “I mean it,” she yells from behind her closed door. “I’m calling nine-one-one right now!”

  I exhale a sigh and walk into her apartment, taking a seat in one of the chairs at the small table by her kitchen. My sightline is a straight shot to Aislinn’s closed bedroom door, and I’m well aware that the only landline in her apartment is connected to the phone sitting quietly on her kitchen counter.

  I pluck a dead leaf from the wilting arrangement in the center of the glass, just beside a rose gold iPhone.

  “We both know that’s not what you’re doing, so pull yourself together and get back out here. We have business to discuss.”

  A minute passes, then two as my fingers impatiently shred the dead leaf.

  “Who are you?” The question is muffled, her door still tightly shut.

  That’s a loaded question with several answers. Who am I? Hacker. Criminal. Murderer. A thug in a ten-thousand-dollar suit.

  I am all of those things. And I’m also the man who will keep Aislinn Granville alive.

  But I say none of this, remaining silent.

  Eventually, the knob twists. Aislinn’s head slowly emerges, the brief flare of hope doused when she sees that I’m still here. “Who are you?” she repeats.

  “You’re a smart girl. You haven’t figured it out yet?”

  “You’re Damon King,” she says with a kind of breathless trepidation.

  “I am indeed.” Only Aislinn’s face is visible, and those eyes of hers that gleam like star sapphires, each facet fierce and tempting. Her deep blue stare penetrates the thick layers of indifference I’ve acquired over the years. “If you come out here, we can get acquainted.”

  “Absolutely not,” she insists with a shake of her head. “I quit. I no longer work for my father.”

  I already know this. “Your employment status is irrelevant to me.”

  Finally, coming to terms with the fact that I’m not a would-be rapist primed to attack, her expression hardens into an icy mask of irritation. “You need to leave, Mr. King. If necessary, we can set up a meeting at a later date, on neutral ground.”

  I wonder if she’s gotten dressed yet.

  Dropping the last of the leaf, I flick an invisible piece of lint from my immaculate pant leg. Really, I’m just hiding a grin. Our first interaction is even more gratifying than I anticipated. “If you don’t get out here in the next few minutes, I’m going to join you in your bedroom.” I’ll even make the talking optional.

  One-click CRUEL SANCTUARY now!

  AUTHOR NOTE

  My husband (then boyfriend) and I watched the towers fall from my apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, while we were just starting our second year at Columbia Business School. I had just completed a summer internship at Deutsche Bank, in a skyscraper adjacent to the World Trade Center that was irreparably damaged by the collapse of the South Tower. We both lost mentors and f
riends that day, and mourned with those who lost loved ones.

  9/11 was a turning point in so many ways, especially for those of us living in or near Manhattan at the time. For me, Deal Breaker was a way of creating a Happily Ever After for two people who were still struggling, even after all these years. New Yorkers are a resilient lot, and it warms my heart to hear the many real life stories of redemption that were built from rubble. Never Forget.

  The dog in this book, Kismet, is based on my own rescue puppy, Pixie. (Yes, this is how Noelle became Nixie.) The wonderful rescue organization that brought Pixie into our lives is Goofy Foot Dog Rescue, and if you would like to welcome a dog into your family, or donate to their organization, please visit their website: www.goofyfootrescue.org.

  Also, the premise of Manhattan Mogul first appeared in Deal Breaker, a book I wrote that was published by St. Martin’s Press. Deal Breaker is no longer available for sale and the rights are mine.

  For Manhattan Mogul, I took the bare bones of a story I loved and rewrote just about every sentence. I added scenes and characters. I deleted scenes and characters. And, I hope, I made the story much more resonant and impactful.

  I hope you loved reading about Nixie and Nash (& Kismet!) as much as I loved writing about them.

  BOOKS by Tara Leigh

  New York City Romance series

  Throne of Lies

  Park Avenue Princess

  Penthouse Prince

  Manhattan Mogul

  Hamptons Heartbreak

  Trust Fund Titan

  Wages of Sin Duet (dark romance)

  Cruel Sanctuary

  Corrupt Savior

  Angsty, Emotional, Suspenseful Standalone

  We Are Us

  Nothing But Trouble series (rock star romance)