Torn_An Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Tristan Vaughan

  Now, that would be slumming it in SoHo.

  “All right, if you insist. But at least let me add some pizazz.” Georgia drew a tube of lipstick out of her sparkly, silver clutch. “Some oomph.”

  “I want them to buy the art, not me. That’s hooker red.”

  “Ex-cah-use me, this is a very popular shade. Taylor Swift wears it.” Georgia inched forward, lipstick out and twiddling.

  “Keep that thing away from me,” I said and darted past her. I grabbed my handbag off the bedside table and ran for the door.

  “You’re doomed to be fashion impaired for the rest of your life.”

  “I’m wearing the dress,” I called back. “That counts for something, at least. Baby steps.”

  “Uh-huh. Baby steps in heels that don’t match the dress. Heaven help me. My eyes are bleeding.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” I said and walked my best friend to the door. She’d come to the art gallery to support me. I could use it. Georgia was great at talking things up to people – the joys of having an aspiring actress as a best friend.

  “That’s like telling water not to be wet.” Georgia shut the door behind us and we hurried down the stairs to the waiting car – my beat-up Honda. “Here we go,” G said. “Old clap trap to the rescue.”

  “It’s this or we take a taxi.”

  “A taxi? To an art gallery? Sacrilege.” Georgia slid into the passenger seat, and I got into the driver’s and turned on the engine.

  I sighed and clipped on my seatbelt. The afternoon had been weird, to say the least. First, the theft of my delicates and everything in between, then the appearance of my sister’s devilishly handsome husband and the box of memories he’d brought with him.

  Stuff that Jayne must’ve packed up and taken with her shortly after that first trip to Italy. The last time I’d seen her in person had been that morning when she’d rocked up to announce she’d only come back to grab her stuff and that she was engaged.

  I’d been shocked at the time. Too blown away to be happy for her.

  “Tick, tick, boom, time’s running out, sweetheart,” Georgia said. “We’re going to be late for your own showing.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I just can’t stop thinking about today. Not even about Jackson, but about Jayne’s husband.”

  “The guy who dropped off the box.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “He was – I don’t know how to put it.”

  “Old? Rich?”

  “Handsome. Intelligent. Not who I’d picture Jayne with.” She was more of a Kid Rock kinda gal.

  “And this bothers you,” Georgia said, checking the filigree watch on her arm. “Enough to lose potential buyers?”

  “I guess not. It was just weird is all.”

  “Anything to do with your sister is weird,” Georgia replied. “You’ve always been opposites. I never understood why you invited her to live with you in the first place.”

  That was a train of thought I didn’t want to follow. I flicked on my blinker instead, checked my mirrors and scooted out of the parking space, and into traffic. It was pretty busy on the roads at this time of the day but the gallery wasn’t far.

  It took us ten minutes of Georgia clamoring on about her latest audition – God knew I loved her but the woman could talk – before I pulled into another parking space, exited the vehicle and led the way up to the gallery’s front doors.

  Inside, the showing had already begun. Folks traipsed from painting to painting, stopping to admire or speculate about the art. They sipped from champagne flutes and wore fancy dresses and suits. Georgia’s instincts had been right on this one. If I’d turned up in my SpongeBob shirt, I might’ve died of embarrassment.

  Georgia and I circled the crowd and made for the art gallery owner near the counter at the back of the room. He spotted me and waved.

  “Good evening, Miss Heath. I’m glad to see you’re taking this seriously.”

  “As seriously as my livelihood,” I replied and brushed off the front of my dress. It didn’t feel right to wear this in front of all these people – I’d never been the glamorous type – but at least the owner was impressed.

  “I’ve got some good news for you,” Jerome said, flicking his long dark hair back from his wireframe glasses. “We’ve already sold three of your paintings. The largest pieces, in fact.”

  “Are you kidding?” I asked, and my stomach whooped. This was exactly what I needed. “But the showing started fifteen minutes ago. Didn’t it?”

  “That’s correct. The gentleman who bought them specifically requested your work by name. Handsome man, if I may be so bold.” Jerome nodded to a tall man in a tux, who stood in front of another of my paintings, a Tuscan-inspired landscape, at the other end of the room.

  “That’s him?” I asked.

  Jerome sniffed and nodded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to mingle. I suggest you do the same.” He sauntered off, wiggling his butt as he did.

  “Wow,” Georgia said. “Now, that is one tall, dark and handsome dude. Damn.”

  I focused on the purchaser. “I’d better go over and thank him. That’s my month’s full rent paid from this sale.” Man, this couldn’t have come at a better time.

  “Don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily.”

  Georgia trailed me over to the mystery buyer dude and my heart kept skipping beats for some reason. It couldn’t be because he was tall and broad shouldered; no, that was shallow. It was because those purchases had saved me a lot of pain. With the leftovers, I might be able to afford new art supplies.

  I tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me.”

  He turned, revealing his square jaw and – Oh, God. No, this couldn’t be for real.

  “Good evening, Veronica,” Carter said, flashing a smile at me. “You mentioned you had a showing tonight, and I thought I’d come take a look at what was on offer.”

  “On offer? It was on display,” I said. “And you bought it. Three of my – you bought –”

  “Yeah, you’re really talented,” he replied. “You capture light beautifully.”

  “Who is this guy?” Georgia asked, looking from my shocked expression to Carter’s smug grin and back again. “Why do I feel like the slow kid in the class? Knock, knock, Vee, who is this guy?”

  My mouth flapped open and shut. Why was he here? And why had he bought up my paintings? It wasn’t a big deal but it felt wrong. It felt weird. I hadn’t thought I’d see my sister’s husband again – they were separated, after all – and the fact that I’d checked him out made this downright awkward.

  “Okay, clearly Veronica has left the building,” Georgia said, extending her hand toward Carter. “I’m Georgia Meadows. You are?”

  “Carter Jones.” He shook once and released her.

  “Enchante,” Georgia purred, but cut off. Her eyes went round as dinner plates. “Wait a second, the Carter Jones. Forbes Top Ten Carter Jones? Billionaire Carter Jones?”

  “Well, if I wasn’t him, that mantra would probably summon Carter Jones out of thin air.”

  Georgia tittered a laugh, which faded into a dry wheeze. “Sorry, I just can’t believe it’s you.”

  “You knew he was my brother-in-law,” I managed, at last. Georgia’s awe bothered me, and I couldn’t put my finger on why.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t expect to ever meet him.”

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, focusing on Carter instead.

  “I – enjoying the show,” he replied and swished his champagne flute. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you by coming out. I enjoyed our chat this afternoon and you mentioned the gallery so I thought I’d check it out.”

  “Right,” I said. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here but I’m not going to stand for it.”

  “What?” Carter’s magnificent jaw dropped.

  “Uh, Veronica, you’re causing a scene,” Georgia advised.

  Maybe I was. Maybe the pressure of being robbed and realizing my sister was of
ficially AWOL and living it up somewhere in the world while I suffered and tried to make ends meet back home, in the apartment we supposedly shared, had finally built up and spilled over.

  “I’m not a charity case, Mr. Jones,” I said. “You might think I need your help but I don’t. Understand?”

  “That’s not what this is about,” he replied, but he radiated guilt. This was exactly what it was about.

  “You don’t owe me anything. We might be technically related by marital bonds or whatever the heck it’s called but –”

  Carter stepped closer and the scent of his cologne, Armani if I wasn’t mistaken, scoured words from my lips. “Stop,” he said, softly. “You’re not going to sell anymore art if you lose it in front of all these people.”

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do,” I hissed, even though he was absolutely right. I would lose sales and people would leave the gallery if I continued down this path.

  “You can think what you want about me,” Carter said. “I don’t know what Jayne has told you, but I’m not the kind of guy who tries to buy people or give charity where it’s not wanted. I came to enjoy the art and right now, you’re ruining that experience for me.”

  I glared up at him. “I’m ruining it for you?”

  “That’s right,” he whispered, breath grazing my skin. His gaze tracked down my body, over the clinging silk and curves.

  Heat radiated between us. I pictured wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling in close, melding my body to his. God, what the hell was wrong with me? This was Jayne’s husband. It didn’t matter that they were separated. Those thoughts were pure craziness. It had to be the pressure of everything.

  “People are staring,” Georgia hissed.

  “Fine,” I said. “If I’m ruining your view, I’d better get out of your way.” I marched off before he could get another word out and make me feel any worse.

  Georgia rushed after me, heels clacking on the hardwood floor. “Wow,” she said. “Wow, that was pretty hot.”

  “What?” I stopped dead in my tracks.

  “Oh, come on,” she said. “Don’t look at me like that. He’s into you. You’re into him. It’s plain as –”

  “G, stop it. Just stop.”

  “But he was looking at you like he –”

  “I don’t want to hear this right now,” I said. All I wanted was a flute of champagne to pass the time until I could head home and curl up in my bed with the only pillow my ex hadn’t stolen.

  Chapter 4

  Carter

  “Let’s try someplace new today,” I said and tapped my driver on the shoulder. “You decide, Mo.”

  “I got you, Mr. Jones,” he replied and started the engine of the Mercedes.

  Every day I went to the same coffee place, a Starbucks, for a hazelnut cappuccino to energize me with a sugar rush and a little too much caffeine. But today, I felt adventurous, like breaking routine.

  I’d felt the same way last night after I’d stared Veronica down in the gallery. I’d refused to go back on my purchases, I really did like the art, and that’d probably pissed her off more. Her vibe, that attitude, was addictive.

  I felt weirdly comfortable around her even though she’d been fuming last night at the thought of becoming a charity case. She was anything but. She intrigued me. She’d been on my mind nonstop since she’d opened her apartment door yesterday, and I couldn’t shake it no matter how hard I tried.

  It was bullshit. Jayne made me angry; what she’d done had broken my heart and my trust, so how was it possible I could be fascinated by another woman? Sure, six months had passed since I’d actually heard from my soon-to-be ex-wife, but that wasn’t long enough in my opinion.

  Yesterday, I’d sworn off women. Today, all I could think about was one woman in particular.

  “Take me somewhere in SoHo,” I said. “Somewhere independent.”

  “You got it,” Mo replied.

  Buildings flashed past, and my reflection stared at me from the window. What was I doing? This wasn’t me. I didn’t obsess over women; I obsessed over business deals and the new season of Game of Thrones. That was it.

  This was ridiculous. I should’ve just gone to my usual Starbucks and ignored the internal rhetoric revolving around Veronica. “Mo –”

  “Here we are, sir,” he said, pulling into a parking space.

  I nearly jumped clean out of my skin at the sight of Veronica’s apartment and the indie coffee shop beneath it. Serendipity couldn’t be blamed for this. There weren’t coincidences.

  I considered asking Mo to take me back to the office but what the hell. I was here now, I might as well get a cup of Joe before I rushed back. I got out and pushed open the glass plate door, silently praying that Veronica wouldn’t be in the store.

  She’d think I was the biggest creeper on earth if I started buying coffee from the store right beneath her apartment.

  The interior of the store reminded me of a barn, if coffee beans replaced the scent of animals. There was hay everywhere and wooden crates for seats. Two dudes with magnificent beards and chunky glasses sat on a pair of boxes in the corner, talking over chipped coffee mugs. Tre fashionable for the modern day.

  No doubt, the milk here was hand squeezed from the udders of a cow they’d tied out back and fed on non-GMO grass and spring water from the Appalachian Mountains.

  “Just a cappuccino to go.” A blond stood in front of the counter, curvy, short, wearing a pair of jeans, worn sneakers and a shirt.

  My insides squirmed. Fuck. “I’ll take one, too,” I said, a little too loudly.

  Veronica turned and blinked at me. “What the –? You’re everywhere,” she said, but there wasn’t anger in her tone this time.

  “I wanted to try something other than Starbucks. My driver brought me here. I swear to God, I’m not stalking you.”

  “I know,” she replied. “Trust me, I’m well acquainted with a stalker.” Her expression darkened. “Which reminds me, I’ve got to get upstairs and finish cleaning up.”

  The guy who had the fate of our cappuccinos in our hands stifled a yawn and fiddled with the knobs and buttons on the coffee machine.

  “Ugh, service in this place is super slow,” Veronica whispered. “I’d go to one of the bigger chains but yeah, this is right downstairs. Seems like a waste to drive all the way to Starbucks just because Mr. Wholegrain takes his time with the machine.”

  I grinned at her. She had a great sense of humor. “Yeah, I usually stop at Starbucks. I – listen, I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I realize how that must’ve seemed, but I assure you, it was totally innocent. I just wanted to check out some art. And I didn’t realize I’d bought three of your paintings until after I’d done it and the snooty owner dude told me the artist’s name.”

  “No,” Veronica said. “That was my fault. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that. I had no right. I guess, I was just stressed after everything that happened yesterday.”

  The door slapped open behind us and one of the bearded fellows in the corner jumped and spilled his coffee.

  “There you are!” The friend who’d been with Veronica the night before stormed into the store. She spotted me and did a double take. “And there you are. Good morning, Mr. Jones. How are you today?”

  “Fine, thanks, and yourself?”

  “I’d be better if my friend answered her cell phone,” Georgia replied and shot Veronica a hard look.

  “I left it upstairs,” Veronica replied and raised her hands. “I didn’t expect to be down here this long.”

  “Oh, the tortoise is making your coffee again?” Georgia asked and didn’t keep her voice down, either.

  The guy behind the coffee machine didn’t pay the insult any attention. He picked his nails and sat down on the stool while the coffee gurgled.

  “This place needs new management,” I said.

  “Good luck with that,” Veronica whispered. “He’s the manager.” She nodded to the guy. “I’ve complained twenty bajillion ti
mes but it’s like ramming your head into a brick wall. He doesn’t care.”

  “Hey,” Georgia said and tapped the side of her nose. “You could buy the place and fire him, right?”

  I chuckled. “I guess I could, yeah. Buy it, revamp it, turn it into a new coffee store chain. Then you’ll never have to worry about waiting for your morning cup again.”

  Veronica’s lips drew into a thin line. Shoot, had I gone too far again? Every time I brought up money or buying stuff, it seemed to piss her off, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. She had enough on her plate. Shit, so did I.

  “You could really do that?” Georgia asked. “I was just kidding, but wow, what must that be like? Being able to buy anything you want, whenever you want.”

  “There’s more to life than money,” I replied.

  “Easy for you to say.” Veronica pressed two fingers to her lips and silenced herself. “Sorry, that came out rude.”

  “That’s because it was rude,” Georgia said.

  “No, it’s all right. I get where you’re coming from. It’s easy for me to say that there’s more to money when I have so much of it,” I said. “But it’s true. Once you reach the level where you’re comfortable, you start to realize that all the stuff you thought you wanted is just an empty promise. And the stuff you really need is what you sacrificed along the way.”

  Both women stared at me.

  The barista took that moment, thank God, to deliver our cappuccinos. I whipped out my wallet and retrieved a couple bills. “Let me get this.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” Veronica bristled beside me and scrambled for her purse.

  “Seriously, I’ve already got my cash out.” I handed the money over, grabbed the coffees, then gave one to my wife’s sister. That’s right. My wife’s sister. I had to bear that in mind, no matter how pretty she was or how feisty.

  “Thanks,” Veronica said. “I guess I’ll see you around.”