EXES - A Second Chance Billionaire Romance Novel

by Aria Hawthorne

  Jacques slapped the official city documents onto the counter in front of Enrique.

  Alma winced at the “magnificent” news. Only two days ago, she was prepared to help Jacques in any way possible to prevent Harvey from bulldozing his property. Now, she was less certain and more conflicted about the decision to pit herself directly against him. Harvey had already agreed to remove the windows and allow her father’s auction business to represent them. That concession would have allowed her the opportunity to determine if they had any value in the first place. It was a respectable compromise in the face of so much tension and conflict between them, and their time together today at Navy Pier reminded her of how nice it was not to harbor an undercurrent of resentment against him. In fact, it was better than nice. It was liberating.

  Enrique glanced at his daughter. She recognized the shock on her father’s face. It had been her expression, just hours earlier, when she received the news from Harvey.

  “We have permission to inspect the property tomorrow at 8 a.m.,” Jacques shrilled with glee. “Then you will turn in your written evaluation to the city’s Historical Preservation Department.”

  “What kind of written evaluation are you seeking?” Enrique questioned him, scanning the cease and desist notice on the counter.

  “That is your job to tell me, no?” Jacques said, angling his delicate profile toward Alma with a triumphant smile.

  Enrique read the summons. “I am not sure that the building on that parcel is a train depot, which is what you have stated here, nor am I certain that the building has significant historical value at all.”

  “C’est impossible!” Jacques squawked. “Your daughter has confirmed the windows are significant. Is that not true, mon chéri?” He slung his long cashmere scarf over one shoulder and twirled his body to face Alma, hiding out in her corner workspace.

  “I haven’t had a chance to confirm anything,” she said, resenting being turned into a pawn in his game. “Harvey was going to remove them and send them here for evaluation before you stopped him.”

  “Well, no need to wait. The permission is granted. You will see them tomorrow in their natural space and light.”

  Expecting praise for his achievement, he leaned over her workspace and sought out his reward. “Shall I take you out for dinner tonight to celebrate our victory?” He thickened his French accent, just in case it would help persuade her.

  Alma internally rolled her eyes. Jacques had been pursuing her since she had divorced Harvey, and although she had moments of admiring his love of architecture and his natural flair for confrontation against property owners, she couldn’t get past the way he called her mon chéri like she was his pet poodle.

  “I can’t tonight, Jacques. I already have plans.”

  He curled up his thin lips in disapproval. “I see… well, I hope you have not already forgotten about your agreement to accompanying me to the Anderson Gala tomorrow night.”

  A little part of her withered and died inside. Ugh, she had totally forgotten.

  “Meet you at the gala,” she corrected him, attempting to diplomatically weasel out of the egregious mistake of agreeing to it in the first place. “But I may not have time if I’m working on your summons tomorrow. It certainly should be my main priority.”

  “Tsk,” he clucked at her, as if she had just gnawed on his pant leg. “You will have the whole morning and afternoon, and there is no one who knows antique glass in the city better than you. You are an expert très superbe. And once the word spreads about what we have done with Monsieur Money Monster’s property, everyone will know how well we are working together.” He let the innuendo float off his lips like an invisible bubble over her workspace. She wanted to reach out with her finger to pop it.

  Opening the store’s front door for his departure, he sang out in harmony with its chiming bell. “Au revoir, mon chéri!”

  Alma cringed, waiting for the door’s thud to stamp his sprite voice out of her mind.

  “Harvey is not going to be happy about this,” Enrique finally said, as a long moment of silence passed between them.

  “He already knows.” She listlessly gazed out the window across the river, remembering the look on his face the day she told him she wanted a divorce. It was the same expression she had seen a few short hours ago. “His real estate lawyer texted him about it while we were at Navy Pier together.”

  Enrique whistled ominously. “And how did he take it?”

  “Like I was a traitor, of course. He was already planning to remove the windows, so I think he felt betrayed.”

  “No, I’m sure he does not blame you.”

  “How can he not? I still don’t think he should destroy the train depot and he knows it.”

  “Because you believe there is still something valuable there?”

  “Something more than just the windows?”

  She nodded. “If I say no, then I’m lying because I don’t want to be the one responsible for ruining Harvey’s business deal. But if I say, yes, then I’m choosing to believe in something that may not exist anymore, and Harvey might be the one who suffers for it.”

  “But you do realize, mi amor…if you refuse Jacques’ request to submit your written expert assessment to the city, then he will just find someone else,” he warned her.

  “There is no one else, Papi,”she replied, breathless, as if the weight of being trapped was crushing her. “No one better than us, and you and I both know it.”

  “Yes, that is true.” Her father sighed as if it pained him, too. “Then I suppose Harvey will either be very fortunate or very unfortunate to have us.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Her phone had been silent since this afternoon.

  It was a momentary observation followed by a fleeting whisper of insecurity as she studied her appearance in the mirror and applied the finishing touches of her makeup.

  It wasn’t like him to remain so silent.

  She glanced down again at her phone, its screen dark and idle.

  She considered pinging him with something…suggestive. But it was different now. A sexy text no longer seemed enough. Last night, he had tempted her to breach the barrier of their relationship in the most intimate of ways, surrendering herself completely to him for the sake of carnal pleasure—his and her own. It had been an exploration of the mysterious and undefinable fantasy they had built between them, and forcing her to stay blindfolded was exactly what she needed to go through with it. And she loved that he knew it. She had not met him—officially. But she had felt him, every masculine part of his body, and it was enough to quench her aching thirst while promising to satiate her with more...even more tonight.

  Was it all just about the sex? Yes, initially…it had been. She enjoyed their sexual banter and appreciated the easy way he obliged her need to hide behind her temptress persona. But now, there was no more hiding behind her texts or even her own voice. He had lured her beyond all that, disposing of everything she had used as concealment, exposing her—bare and vulnerable—to his domineering lead. Last night had sealed her bond to the mysterious man she didn’t even know by name, and the sacred intimacy shared between them proved there was nothing worth hiding anymore. There was only the necessity of one final revelation—meeting face-to-face.

  Brushing the final strokes of powder across her cheeks, she puckered her lips, tossed her dark strands of hair over her shoulders, and leaned over the sink to see how much cleavage her slinky indigo cocktail dress actually revealed. Too much, she thought, considering how its dramatic V-plunge neckline mirrored its thigh-high slit skirt. Then she considered the last time she wore that dress—New Year’s Eve with Harvey. It had been a gift—one of many new designer dresses packed within an overnight bag for their impromptu visit to Paris. Despite the fact that she always preferred casual and comfortable over formal and fancy, Harvey had learned early on in their relationship that if he did it just right, she would go along with anything he planned. Like a gemcutter seeking out her most brillia
nt facets hidden beneath the security of her rougher surfaces, it had become his special talent—discovering all the complex layers of her femininity. It was one of the many reasons she had fallen so hard for him; he was the only man bold enough to explore every sparkle of her diamond, and the only man daring enough to love every unexpected inclusion that he uncovered.

  When she finally took off her glasses and squinted into the mirror, she released a tense sigh, comforted that she now looked almost nothing like herself. She strove to be completely unrecognizable. She wanted to separate herself from everything that defined Alma Castillo and escape into the new world that he had created with her: a sanctuary where they were united on their own terms without any personal background or baggage. It was a welcome distraction from her real life in which marriage, divorce, and heartbreak had marred her entire existence for the past year. And with Jacques’ plan to stall Harvey’s demolition of the train depot based on her own official evaluation of it tomorrow, there was no end to the stress and conflict that plagued her life—no reprieve but the charade of new persona evoked by his presence.

  It was all a charade…Lost in thought, she gazed out the window of her taxi, watching the lights and sounds of downtown Chicago streaking by below her. Reliving every word and touch she had experienced with him last night, she closed her eyes, preparing her mind and body for the possibility that it could all come to an end. Perhaps even tonight. She didn’t want it to end, but she also knew the chance of everything staying the same was against them. Meeting him tonight would likely destroy every illusion she had been willing to believe about him, and yet, she was still willing to take the risk. Perhaps it would prove to be more than just a masquerade, or perhaps it would simply initiate the beginning of the end.

  As she paid the fare and stepped out of the taxi in front of the Palmer House Hotel, the merciless Chicago wind whipped through the slit of her dress and punished her bare legs. She clenched the lapels of her faux fox fur coat and accepted the guiding hand of the bellman who escorted her through the bedazzling art nouveau entrance, embellished with lavish ornamental peacocks, hand-wrought in bronze by Louis Comfort Tiffany. She absorbed the surreal reality of being there. It was one of her favorite historic hotels in Chicago and she never grew tired of descending its regal white marble staircase, flanked by two winged angles—two of Tiffany’s largest bronze statues in his collection—and entering into its world-famous lobby, illuminated by lustrous Tiffany candelabras, gilded in twenty-four-karat gold, and topped with an decadent ceiling of Grecian frescos.

  It always made her feel like a queen, she thought as she strode across the polished granite floors toward the gleaming nineteenth century mahogany bar. She inconspicuously glanced around her. No one was in the lobby except the attentive bartender.

  “What can I get for you this evening, miss?”

  Slipping onto the plush maroon velvet bar stools, she considered ordering one of her favorite cocktails, just to take the edge off. But then she thought better of it.

  “Just a glass of Riesling, please.”

  “I apologize…but our available white wines by the glass are Chardonnay, Sauvigon Blanc or Pinot Grigio.”

  “Then just a glass of Chardonnay, thank you.”

  He nodded and turned away to fulfill her order. Setting her clutch on the bar, she slowly removed her coat and glanced into the backsplash mirror to catch the reflection of anyone in the room who might be watching her. Her heart sank a little in her chest when she saw no one. He would likely make her wait again. She avoided the temptation of opening her purse and checking her phone. She had just checked it before exiting the cab; he had been silent since this afternoon and it was killing her.

  Trying to maintain her composure, she decided to patiently wait, feigning poise and confidence, for at least three more minutes. One hundred and eighty seconds. She started counting, certain she would never make it to the end of her goal without caving in to peek at her phone, but at least she had invented a distraction to keep her there for the longest three minutes of her life.

  One hundred and eleven, one hundred and twelve, one hundred and thirteen…

  The bartender arrived with her wine glass and set it in front of her. Against her better judgment, she reached into her purse again and scanned her messages. Nothing. Her eyes darted across the mirror, searching for any face that might be looking back at her until she suddenly recognized the distinguished man at the top of the white marble staircase.

  “Unbelievable,” she uttered, lifting her clutch to obscure her face and downing a gulp of her Chardonnay.

  Casually shoving one hand in his pocket, he flashed her a confident smile, knowing he could do anything he wanted, whenever he wanted to, and get away with it. He was dressed in one of his finest suits—a sharkskin grey wool suit with a tailored fit that accentuated his athletic build and innate swagger—and his gelled hair and freshly shaven jawline reminded her how naturally handsome he looked after a shower. And his pale pink shirt and chocolate brown tie gave him a modern flair in a room filled with dark hues and gilded antiques. Pink, she thought, noting how well it complimented his strong cheekbones and rugged face. He was the only man she knew who was masculine enough to get away with wearing pink.

  But he wasn’t there to impress her; he was there to punish her, clearly. She slouched in her chair and rotated her shoulder away from the direction of his approach. Whatever form of mockery or shame he intended to bestow upon her, she was determined to keep her cool and assert her disinterest in engaging with him.

  Without warning, his firm hand pressed against the small of her back before he whispered in her ear. “You have no idea how hard it is to be divorced from the most stunning woman in the room.”

  She closed her eyes and silently sighed, trying not to notice how much she still enjoyed his touch. But his presence was a complication, which was exactly what he enjoyed being in her life—an unpredictable complication.

  Sliding atop of the bar stool beside her, he fixed his gaze on her reflection in the mirror. “I always loved that dress on you.”

  She pretended not to hear him, irked by the fact that he was doing it again—crashing her date.

  He ignored the fact that she was ignoring him. “He’s late again, isn’t he?” he noted, glancing down at his gleaming wristwatch.

  She crossed her legs away from him. If she was being watched, she wanted to send a message that she needed to be rescued. “Please, Harvey…don’t embarrass me.” She sat straighter in her seat and invented some reason to dig through her purse. She found her lipstick and quickly applied another coat.

  “Embarrass you? How could I possibly do that?”

  “I could think of a thousand different ways,” she retorted, slapping shut her compact and returning it into her clutch. “Especially since I’m here to meet someone else and you’re here…coincidentally?”

  Her comment stopped him cold. He smiled like he had been caught in the act of devious scheming and leaned over the bar with his hands folded in penance.

  “Definitely not a coincidence,” he said slowly, fidgeting with his cuff links. They were silver inlaid with mother of pearl, an antique pair that she had bought him for the first closing that he had decided to attend in a suit rather than jeans.

  “Then why are you here?” she confronted him.

  Again, he fell silent, as if he wasn’t prepared for her adult challenge to his juvenile games. “Because you’re here, all dolled up in one of my favorite dresses that I bought you, waiting for another man to enjoy it.”

  “So you’re jealous?” she said, hardly believing it.

  He smirked. “Maybe.”

  “Why?”

  His blue eyes sparkled behind his long eyelashes. “Because he’s my competition.”

  Alma heaved out her frustration and turned even farther away from him. Petty and impulsive. It wasn’t about her; it was about never losing at all costs.

  “Please, Harvey…go away. This isn’t college where th
e popular frat boy sleeps with the studious virgin girl to win the group bet.”

  “I’m pretty sure I impressed you with our mutual disdain for rich, entitled frat boys. And you didn’t sleep with me until I worked every morning on the Bell Tower renovation and dropped two hundred dollars on Puccini tickets at the Opera House.”

  “I wanted to be certain you weren’t just interested in getting into my bed.”

  “I was very interested in getting into your bed. Best two hundred dollars I ever spent, even though you still didn’t sleep with me afterwards.” He reclined his elbow against the edge of the bar and popped a handful of almonds into his mouth.

  She eyed the distinct way he chewed food. “Sometimes, I think it’s the only reason you keep bothering to pursue me. I’ve never given into you without a challenge.”

  He leaned his head on his hand and peered at her with amusement. “It’s true. I’ve never liked quickies, and I definitely preferred to take my time whenever I was with you.”

  He popped another handful of almonds into his mouth like he was commenting on the size of the room or the live music filtering in from the adjacent ballroom rather than the most sensual, intimate moments of their lives. She took up her clutch, realizing she needed to escape from him if she wanted to avoid the contradictory emotions that he produced within her heart.

  “Let me buy you a drink,” he suddenly offered, watching her rise from her stool.

  “I think it would be best if you didn’t.”

  “C’mon,” he protested. “You’re in one of your favorite hotels, surrounded by Tiffany treasures. How can you not feel like having a drink with your ex-husband?”

  “Because you’re my ex-husband.”

  “Technicality.”

  She anxiously glanced around the room. “And because I’m waiting for another man who shouldn’t know I have an ex-husband.”

  “You mean you haven’t told him about us?” Harvey feigned injury.

  “I know, Harvey. Shocking you aren’t the first topic of conversation with every new man that I manage to meet.”