Dirty Scandal

by Amelia Wilde

  He’ll never know how my hands tremble when I’m waiting for the elevator, or how my heart pounds when the doors slide open to let me out. In case he might be there.

  I hate him.

  There’s nothing wrong with wanting to avoid a man you hate.

  He could have chosen any building in New York City to move into, but….

  I lock the front door to the boutique with a vicious wrench of the key, then take in a deep breath of crisp evening air. I appreciated the silence of the apartment all weekend, but now I’m torn. I don’t want to go out, but I don’t want to stay in alone either…especially knowing that he is in my building, a few stories up…. No. I’m not going to think about it.

  On the walk back to my place, I pull my phone from my pocket and text Jess.

  Girls’ night in?

  She’s rarely in town now that she’s the Queen of Saintland—it sounds fake, but it’s so, so real—and I need to seize the opportunity to hang out with her when I can.

  If she’s free, that is. Between her husband and her daughter, she’s probably wrapped up in—

  Yes!!!! I’ll bring wine!

  That’s my girl.

  When she arrives at my apartment 40 minutes later, I’ve changed into a pair of black yoga pants and a matching hoodie. Jess, I’m glad to see, has left her formal queenly attire at her hotel suite and worn similar night-in attire, as well.

  “Love the outfit!” I say when I open the door, and she twirls around, holding two bottles of wine up above her head.

  “It’s like we planned it!” She glances at my hoodie and yoga pants. “You have no idea how much I need this. Every day in Saintland is jam-packed with appearances and formal meetings. I never get to wear yoga pants.”

  “Tonight’s your lucky night.” I lead the way into the kitchen to get the corkscrew, then—because why the hell not?—I open both bottles of wine.

  Jess claps her hands. “Go big or go home!”

  “Popcorn?”

  “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

  We chat about her daughter, Lillian, while I pop two enormous bowls of popcorn and drown each of them with the ideal amount of butter and special popcorn salt I bought in the Village. We each carry a bowl into the living room, the bottles of wine tucked into the crook of my arm. Jess goes back to the kitchen for the wine glasses. She sets them out on the coffee table, then lets herself fall back onto the sofa, pulling one of my microfleece blankets off the back of the couch and tossing it over our legs.

  “Feels like home,” she says, and reaches for the popcorn, stuffing a handful into her mouth.

  I lean against the backrest and sigh. “It’s a good place.”

  “Totally agree. I’d still live here if it wasn’t for Alec.” Her eyes glimmer when she says his name, and an icy flash stabs me in my chest. I swallow the jealousy with my next sip of wine and concentrate hard on the fact that my friend and former roommate is happy. That’s all that matters, not the fact that Ace Kingsley is an ass.

  Jess reaches for the remote like she never left, turns on the TV, and starts flicking through Netflix. We lived together long enough that she doesn’t ask me what I want to watch to relax—either a cheesy romantic comedy or an over-the-top action movie will do. She settles on action, some film I’ve never heard of, and turns the volume down low.

  For a while, we make dents in the popcorn bowls in relative silence, but then Jess sits up, a gleam in her eyes, and turns so she’s facing me.

  “Are you really not going to tell me what happened?”

  “What do you mean?” I set my wine glass onto the coffee table.

  “Ha!” she says, pointing an accusing finger at me. “Don’t you play dumb with me, missy. Ace Kingsley. You practically ran out of the Swan together the other night.”

  I roll my eyes. “Nothing happened.”

  “Lies…” She looks up and to the side, above the TV, and waits.

  “Fine. I went to his place.”

  “To his apartment?”

  “To the penthouse at the Four Seasons.”

  “Holy shit,” Jess breathes. “That place costs…it must cost…”

  “Fifty thousand a night.”

  “The country of Saintland wouldn’t pay for the king to stay there!”

  “Well, Ace Kingsley thinks of himself as royalty.” The joke comes out bitter, and Jess sends me a look.

  “What happened at his place, Carrie?”

  “Well…you know.”

  “Fine. Don’t give me all the details. So it ended badly?”

  “It ended with him acting like a total prick. The next morning, he started acting like a total douchebag. Said that we shouldn’t ‘do this’ again. And I know for a fact that I’m amazing in bed.”

  Jess dissolves into laughter, then straightens herself up, her face struggling to be serious. “So what’s his problem then?”

  “I don’t know. It wasn’t blue balls.” The wine is making me raunchy, but I don’t care. Jess is here, and that’s what matters.

  “No chance of that,” she says finally, getting control of herself.

  I sigh. “That’s not the worst thing.”

  Her hand pauses halfway to the bowl of popcorn. “What’s the worst thing? You’re not pregnant, are you?”

  It makes me laugh. “No. God no.” I take another sip of wine. “He…moved in.”

  Jess whips her head around toward the second bedroom, which is currently unoccupied and should probably become an office, since I don’t see any roommates on the horizon. “Here?”

  “Yes, Jess, after that wonderful night and kicking me out the following morning, I invited him to move in with me at my apartment. Are you drunk already?”

  “No,” she says with a giggle.

  “He moved into the building.” I point above us. “Two floors up. The penthouse.”

  Jess leans forward, eyes sparkling. “That. Is. Awesome.”

  “It’s terrible!” I wail. “And awkward.”

  “No, it’s the best,” she says. “Now you can show him what he’s missing…and maybe even seduce him again.”

  “Why on earth would I want to do that?”

  Jess gives a little shrug. “For the hell of it?”

  I purse my lips, remembering. “He was good in bed.”

  “Hey,” she says, reaching for more popcorn. “He’s the one who chose to move in. I say take him for all he’s worth.”

  14

  Ace

  I need to get this woman out of my head. I’m starting to lose sleep over it, which is insane. A meaningless one-night stand wouldn’t…shouldn’t….

  She wasn’t a meaningless one-night stand.

  I switch off my computer with a harsh movement. Whatever she was, she has to stop taking over my every waking moment. And most of my sleeping moments.

  Carolyn Banks has infiltrated my brain. I can’t stop replaying the curves of her body, the sound of her voice, how she moved against me in the dark, the perfect way we fit together….

  My cock rises against the fabric of my boxers, so I pull out a folder from the top drawer of my desk and pretend to review the papers inside. I already signed them.

  The first thing I did when I got back to the city was to tell my father I wanted a job. Well, not a job per se, but something to do. I’ve managed the funds from my trust exceptionally well and made many profitable investments, but there are only so many hours I can kill at the gym down the block from my new penthouse. Now that the furniture is all arranged, I need something to occupy my time.

  And keep my mind off Carolyn.

  So far, it’s been a disaster.

  My father made me the advisor for one of his company’s divisions in New York City, so I have a desk and an office and nothing to do but advise.

  It’s been three days since I last saw her. The fact that I have a running count gets more pathetic by the day.

  I text Noah to tell him to bring the car around. At the very least, I need to make plans for the
weekend. I can spend tonight at the gym. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll get in a workout, then I’ll order in, and then I’ll make plans for how to end my seclusion by the weekend.

  Eli Pierce should be a good place to start for figuring that out.

  I text him on the way back to the penthouse, and he tells me they’ll be going to the Swan, as usual, on Friday night.

  Fine by me.

  My fingers hover over the keyboard. I want to ask him if Carolyn will be invited.

  No. I’m not going to act like some schoolgirl who’s been slighted. I was the one who ended things with her, not the other way around. If she wants to act that way, on the other hand…

  I don’t send the text.

  But it’s still on my mind as I step out of the Bentley and enter the building. They’re still running the air conditioning against the fall heat that rises up from the pavement in late afternoon, and the cool is a welcome relief against my flushed skin. A day of thinking about Carolyn hasn’t improved my mood.

  I reach the elevator and my stomach plummets.

  Because there, in front of it, stands Carolyn Banks, in a black sheath dress that shows off her curves to perfection, her hair swept back into a flawless chignon, her purse slung over her shoulder, posture straight.

  The teenage boy version of me wants to turn around and walk straight back out, but the man I’ve become will have no part of that.

  It’s happening, like I knew it would.

  I step up next to her. She glances to her left, once, then again, then returns to facing the elevator.

  “I’m assuming you’ve called it already?”

  She takes in a deep breath at the sound of my voice, then answers in a tone equally level. “Yes. I have.”

  “Great.”

  I don’t want to show any weakness. I don’t want her to know that I’ve been thinking about her nonstop since she walked out of the Four Seasons on Saturday. I don’t want her to think that I’ve been lying awake, thinking of the little sounds she makes when she comes, or that I’ve been dreaming of her firm breasts pressed against my chest.

  The elevator door slides open smoothly, and we both step back to let an older woman step out and pass us as she walks into the lobby. A smile splits her wrinkled face as she moves past us. “Beautiful couple,” she murmurs, hooking one finger at the two of us.

  Carolyn’s mouth opens like she wants to correct the woman, but she’s already halfway through the lobby. She’s missed her opportunity.

  I step into the elevator and hold the door for her.

  Carolyn doesn’t hesitate. She steps in beside me like she owns every piece of this building, and her confidence takes my breath away.

  I shouldn’t be worried about awkwardness on her account. Only mine.

  “Six,” she says, her voice clipped, emotionless.

  “Got it.”

  I press the button for the sixth floor, and then the button for the penthouse. Her eyes flick over to see which are lighted, and then she looks back above the door at the floor indicator as the elevator rises.

  I swallow. Time is short.

  “That was terrible—how things ended on Saturday.” It’s not an apology. It’s not admitting I was wrong. And it’s the closest I’m going to come.

  Carolyn shrugs, a small movement. “It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before.”

  Pain cuts through my chest. I don’t want to be a man like all other men. I want to be someone incredible. For her. For Elisa. But I don’t know why, and I don’t know how, to describe it.

  “Well, it could have been better.”

  She glances across at me, then turns her head to look into my eyes. Her dark eyes are bottomless, deep, as she assesses me. “Yes, it could have.”

  The air between us is hot, charged. Does she feel it, too? Does she want to touch me as much as I want to get my hands on her? The elevator is too small by half.

  I take the leap.

  “Friday night, though…,” I let my voice trail off, an open door.

  A smile quirks Carolyn’s lips, and her eyes dance. She sucks in a breath, then lets her gaze travel slowly down the length of my body, then back up to my face.

  The elevator dings, and the door slides open. We’re at her floor.

  “You’re right,” she says as she steps off. “I’m damn good.”

  15

  Carolyn

  Nailed it.

  Of course, now my hands are trembling trying to unlock the door to my place. I’m glad for the solitude, for my current lack of a roommate, so there’s no need to explain why my cheeks are burning red, why there’s an odd smile on my face that I can’t seem to wipe off.

  What is it about Ace Kingsley that makes me feel this way?

  His handsome looks are part of it. I thought Eli Pierce was one of the hottest men I’d ever seen until I saw the grown-up version of Ace Kingsley. He’s exactly the kind of man I’ve always pictured in my fantasies. His body is muscular and cut like a Greek god. And he even has tattoos decorating one arm and across his chest—invisible when he’s in one of his tailored suits, but fully on display when we’re in bed together, doing….

  Oh, my God. I could have shut him down right then, but I didn’t.

  Why?

  Because I want him. That’s the only possible answer.

  I close my eyes and think of him taking off his suit jacket, unbuttoning his shirt, stripping off his pants and boxers….

  Then I shake my head before the fantasy overwhelms me. I still have some things to do before I can check out for the night, and one of those things is to see how Rainflower Blue is doing today.

  I log into the forum, and Ace is, once again, everywhere. There are debates about whether or not it was me he took home from the Swan last Friday, and I don’t bother to confirm or deny it—from everything I can tell, Ace is single.

  Yes, but what happened to him?

  The thought comes unbidden, but it makes me pause.

  Maybe he isn’t being a total asshole. Maybe something happened to him that made him regret sleeping with me…or made him feel guilty about it.

  Every man has secrets in his past.

  What I need to do is find out what secrets are haunting Ace.

  The pressure is on.

  But there’s nothing I can do about it right now, short of taking the elevator up to the penthouse and asking him to talk to me.

  It’s a waiting game.

  Sooner or later, someone will have information. Someone will post it on Rainflower Blue, and the forum will go wild. That’s how it always happens.

  Patience. I need patience.

  It’s hard, though, when I’m waiting on so many things. Waiting for rumors to surface, waiting for Ace to make up his mind, waiting for—

  There’s a knock on the door that makes me jump. My heart thuds against my rib cage. Is he here? Did I summon him here by the power of thought? If I open the door, is he going to kiss me? I want it. I want it so badly….

  I yank the door open….

  To reveal a man in a tuxedo, holding a large paper bag.

  “Carolyn Banks?”

  “Yes?”

  “Delivery from Sasabune.”

  Sasabune is a high-end sushi place I’ve been to a few times in the past year. “I didn’t order anything.”

  The guy consults the receipt. “A gift order from a Mr. Kingsley.” He holds out the bag. “There’s a note inside.”

  I take the bag, then step back into the entryway. “Hang on a second, and I’ll tip—”

  “No need, Ms. Banks,” the man says, and before I can say another word, he disappears down the hall.

  What the hell is Ace Kingsley doing now?

  I can’t help but smile.

  16

  Ace

  The second Carolyn is off the elevator, I call Sasabune and insist on being connected to the head chef. It’s one of my favorite restaurants in the city, and they’ll do whatever it takes to keep me a happy customer—something I�
��m more than willing to take advantage of, especially in times like these.

  Carolyn could have stepped into the hallway without another word, maybe with her middle finger raised, but she didn’t. She joked. She gave me a chance.

  And maybe I’m screwing myself over. Maybe I’m going to end up with a heart bleeding with a thousand razor cuts, but my gut says that I should seize this opportunity. So I’m going to do more than put my foot in the doorway. I’m going to kick down the door.

  The next call I place is to Noah.

  “I have an order at Sasabune. Pick it up and deliver it to Carolyn Banks on the sixth floor.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  He makes no other comment.

  He deserves a raise.

  My heart thuds against my rib cage while I make the walk from the elevator to my penthouse. If Noah performs up to his usual standards, he’ll be at Carolyn’s door inside half an hour. I don’t know how the hell he does it in New York traffic.

  This is the perfect way to show her that she hasn’t gotten the last word in on this, even if what she said to me on the way out of the elevator made heat flash through my chest.

  It was also accurate.

  She’s incredible in bed. Almost frighteningly so. I thought Elisa was my soul mate, my perfect match, but even Elisa never reached Carolyn’s level.

  The air in the room seems thin, now that I’m thinking of Elisa. Maybe she could have been on Carolyn’s level. Maybe we didn’t have enough time. Maybe if I had—

  No.

  There’s no point in dwelling on what happened in Italy. Bad things happen. The only thing I can do now is to move on. God knows her family never wants to see me again, even if ultimately it was their fault—

  Stop.

  I focus on the scene that’s about to play out a couple of floors below me. Noah will knock on the door. Will her heart race? Will she think it’s me? He might be waiting a few minutes—she could be in the shower, soaping up that gorgeous body after a day at work, and then—

  A text message comes into my phone.