by Emily Bishop
Was that banter? I perked up. Women never bantered with me anymore. “Tell you what, how about you surprise me. Just nothing with pickles. Do me a favor, though. Just stay with me a few more minutes. I’ll pretend to study the menu so you don’t get in trouble.”
Chapter 2
Demi
“Oh, my god, did you see that guy I was just talking to?” I squealed to Mandy when I got back to the kitchen. Mandy’s flaming red hair hung like a curtain around her face from the way she leaned with her head on one of the gleaming countertops.
“No,” she grunted. Her voice was so low that I almost hadn’t heard her over the clanging of pots and food being dropped into deep fryers all around us.
When she lifted her head, I noticed that her forest green eyes were red-rimmed and watery. That must be why she had missed the entrance of what had to be the hottest customer Roy’s Diner had ever seen.
“So, that’s why your hot guy radar isn’t working. You did it again, didn’t you?” I laughed, crossing to the sink to get her some water.
Mandy nodded and managed a weak smile when she took the glass from me. “From now on, if I so much as say Club Tonixx, you have to physically restrain me or something.”
“You’d Hulk out of any restraints,” I said.
Mandy was what some might refer to as the quintessential New York City party girl, but her exploits never failed to produce hilarious results—which I was sure I was going to hear all about as soon as she got over the worst of her hangover.
“True,” she groaned, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Why do I do this to myself?”
Mandy continued to lament her sometimes questionable life choices in a bout of post-party guilt that would soon subside. My phone buzzed in my apron. I fished it out and sighed when my mom’s face smiled up at me from the display.
I declined the call without a second thought and stuffed my phone into my apron. I was so not dealing with that drama right now. I had just met the first guy to pique my interest in ages, and my family was not going to ruin that for me, too.
I ordered an Old-Fashioned Brooklyn Burger for Mr. Hot Witty Stranger’s surprise lunch, and I turned my attention back to Mandy while I waited for my order to be called up.
“You know,” she said. “If I could just win the lottery, I could get out of this shithole, and I wouldn’t be subjected to the smell of grit and grease every time that I’m hungover. In fact, I would be so rich, I could probably pay someone to be hungover for me.”
“There are so many things wrong with that sentence.” I laughed, rolling my eyes. “First, you actually have to play the lottery to win it. Second, I’m not sure planning your life around hangovers is healthy. Last, we’re living the real life here, not staring down at it from gilded cages and ivory towers.”
“Well, thanks for the lecture, Mom.” Mandy grinned. “But I’ll happily take the gilded cages and the ivory towers, thank you very much.”
“Fine,” I sighed. “Never say that I didn’t warn you.”
She gave me a sidelong look. “Do I even want to know what crawled up your ass and died there for you to say something like that?”
“Not today,” I said. There were things about my past that Mandy didn’t know, but it would take several hours and at least two bottles of wine to get through it. Besides, my past was staying firmly right where it was.
“Okay, when you’re ready to talk about it, I’m right here.” She clapped her hands together, some of her larger-than-life personality beating out the hangover. “Now, you mentioned something about a hot guy. Nothing like a little eye candy to cheer a girl up.”
“Or sober her up, in your case,” I joked.
Mandy stuck her tongue out at me. “Whatever. Show me to your hot guy.”
I led her to the serving window between the kitchen and the dining area, pointing at him surreptitiously.
“Holy mother of Carrie Bradshaw,” Mandy gasped, her Sex and the City addiction shining through. “My hot guy radar isn’t just broken if I missed that. I think I’ve lost it.”
She fanned herself with a laminated menu she grabbed from the counter. I wished that I could tell that she was just being her dramatic self, but in this instance, she had a point.
“I think I have to agree,” I said.
Even draped over the faded red vinyl of the booth and set against the backdrop of the slightly yellowing walls, the man was model hot.
His hair was dark and rich, like gleaming mahogany, and it was shaven at the sides while being kept longer on top. His dark eyes, though not clearly visible from this distance, were large and bold, framed with thick lashes. I knew them to be the color of milk chocolate, streaked with hues of forest green when the light caught them.
Everything about him was symmetrical, most obviously his cheekbones and strong jawline, but it extended to the way he smiled and held his body.
Though he was fully-clothed, the way the fabric stretched over his six-foot-something frame betrayed a body as chiseled as his jaw. I wouldn’t have minded carrying out an inspection just to be sure, though.
I’d never asked a guy out before, but I was seriously considering breaking that virginity for this guy when Mandy spoke up beside me.
“Wait, I recognize him,” she said suddenly, her voice becoming bubbly and excited. “Do you know who that is?”
“Uh, no?” I did my very best to block out the jet set socialites of Manhattan but Mandy followed their every move, so it was no surprise to me that she recognized someone that I didn’t.
Mandy reached for her purse and pulled out a copy of Talk New York, the biggest lifestyle magazine in the city at the moment. Right there on the cover, under cursive lettering that read Model CEO, was the face that I’d been inches away from not fifteen minutes before, the face of the man who smelled of pine needles and spice.
The same man I definitely wasn’t asking out now. My entire body went cold. He was one of them.
One of the only groups of people I held complete and utter disdain for—the rich. The ultra-wealthy who wielded their money like swords and didn’t hesitate to use said swords to cut off those they deemed lesser than them at the knees.
No, thank you. I’d had more than enough of that life while I was growing up. I had no desire to get involved with anyone like that.
I should have recognized the air of wealth surrounding him, but I’d been too distracted by his good looks to notice. His suit was perfectly tailored to his athletic figure, and the material didn’t look cheap. He probably paid more for that haircut than I earned in a week. The glittering watch peeking from his jacket cuff could buy a small country.
“I can’t believe the Barrett Hart is in Roy’s Diner,” Mandy breathed. “Excuse me while I melt into a puddle of lust.”
My snarky retort died on my lips when the clang of the countertop bell sounded. “Demi, order’s up.”
Great. Of course, it is. “Thanks, Rob.”
The elderly cook smiled kindly at me, then went back to his grill. I grabbed the plate he’d set down and tried to reconcile the witty guy with amusement shining in his eyes and an honest plea in his voice when he asked me stay, with the ruthlessness I knew to lie in the very heart of the elite.
The problem was, I couldn’t do it, especially not when his lips curled up into a genuine smile when he saw me crossing the busy diner with his food.
He’s just hungry, I sternly told myself and slid the plate onto the table. “It’s an Old-Fashioned Brooklyn Burger, our specialty. Hold the pickles.”
My voice sounded flat, even to myself. He glanced at me curiously, probably since I’d been so friendly and receptive earlier. Then, he turned his eyes to his burger. “This looks great.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d eat carbs,” I muttered under my breath.
Apparently, I hadn’t said it quietly enough, despite the din of the crowd around us. He shot me an incredulous look. His eyes crinkled at the corners as if he was trying to keep from laughing out l
oud.
“Carbs are life,” he said.
“True,” I agreed before I could stop myself.
“Really?” he asked, a note of disbelief in his voice. “But you’re a woman living in New York City.”
“Thanks for pointing that out,” I replied dryly. “I can’t believe I missed it.”
He threw his head back and laughed. It was a low, rumbling sound, like thunder rolling in from the distance. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“You don’t know me well enough to make that observation,” I told him.
“I’m a remarkably good judge of character,” he said, nipping at a fry.
I rolled my eyes. “Would you like a serving of humble pie for dessert?”
Barrett smirked. “I can be plenty humble when the situation calls for it. This one just doesn’t, because you really are something else. Will you sit down for a minute, please?”
“Can’t. Sorry, I have to get back to work.” With that in mind, I turned to leave. Warm fingers closed around my wrist, lightning fast. Sparks shot up my skin. I gasped and pulled away from him.
His gaze locked with mine, his eyes simmering in a way that made it obvious that he had felt whatever the hell that was, too.
Maybe it’s static electricity, the logical part of my brain tried arguing.
“Please,” he said. “I’m just asking for one minute of your time. I have a proposition for you, and you’ll want to hear it.” His voice was just slightly breathier than before.
It wasn’t static electricity, the realist in me countered. Unfortunately, I was afraid that the realist might be right. There was something magnetic about him, so despite my better judgment, I slid into the booth to listen to what he had to say.
“One minute,” I said, holding up my index finger.
“Okay, let’s cut to the chase, then. My name is Barrett Hart. I’m the CEO of BHA Models, and I want you to come work for me.” His voice was crystal clear but I was sure that I’d misheard him.
“Why do you need waitresses at a modeling agency?”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward. “I don’t.”
That’s what I thought. My jaw threatened to drop as I choked out my next words. “You want me to come work for you as a model?”
“You got it.” He flashed me smile so hot that if I kept staring at it, my panties would melt. They wouldn’t even need to be dropped.
That won’t do. I averted my eyes and focused on the random photographers milling about on the street, wondering what the heck they were doing there. Then it hit me. They must be there because they knew he was in the vicinity.
“I already have a job,” I told him, my resolve strengthened by the realization that there were actual photographers waiting for him. Who wanted that kind of life?
Not me. That was for damn sure.
“I can see that,” he said, still smirking. Almost like he thought he would win me over. “But I can offer you the dream.”
Barrett pulled out his wallet and slid a stark white business card from it, allowing me to catch sight of the stack of bills he was carrying around with him. My blood ran ice cold. The man might draw me in like a magnet but I wasn’t interested in a life with that kind of money involved. Not again.
Before handing the business card over to me, he scribbled something on the back of it with a pen that he pulled from his pocket and probably cost as much as a month’s rent on my apartment. “That’s my figure on the back. Look it over. Then give me a call. My personal cell’s on there, too.”
“Thank you,” I said politely, accepting the card but ignoring the figure he’d written onto it. “But as I’ve already told you, I have a job.”
“Just think about it?” he implored me.
It was time for me to get away from him before that magnetic force he projected sucked me in again. I pushed up from the booth and took a step back so he wouldn’t be able to touch me again.
“Enjoy your burger.”
With that, I turned on my heel and walked away from him.
The trashcan in the back beckoned to me as soon I pushed through the bright red door marked Staff Only. Without hesitating for so much as a second, I marched over to it and dropped the business card inside, still without having looked at the figure he was offering me.
It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t let money dominate my life. I wasn’t going back there. Not even for the hottest guy in all of Manhattan.
Chapter 3
Barrett
Here, have the dream of every woman in Manhattan on a silver platter, I said.
Enjoy your burger, she said.
It was ridiculous, really. But I wasn’t able to get the fucking waitress out of my mind. I slept like shit that night and was tossing and turning the whole time. She was exactly what I needed for the agency. She was beautiful in a way that didn’t scream “just another fake model,” with a wit that I was sure the camera would pick up on.
She was everything I didn’t know I needed. So much so that I made her a starting offer that rivaled what some of my best girls got paid. My phone should’ve been blowing up with calls from her but there wasn’t so much as a peep.
The waitress, whose name I could kick myself in the balls for not having gotten, still hadn’t called me. My gut was telling me that she wasn’t going to, and my gut was seldom wrong.
Instead of putting me off, her silence was only making her more tantalizing. The memory of those ice-blue eyes and the feel of her ass on my lap was enough to make me harder than the concrete surrounding the pool that I was looking out at. But I wasn’t going there.
I rolled over on my bed, folding my arms behind my head and staring out of my window as the sun started rising the next morning. The ocean lit up with orange hues beyond my expansive yard.
The commute to the north shore of Long Island, where my house sat in a gated community, was less than fun but once Nancie had come along, I didn’t feel like I had much of a choice.
I couldn’t give my niece her parents back but I could give her every damn other thing she could ever want or need. In this case, a home among the grand estates and magnificent mansions of the moguls and luminaries of New York City.
Ten years ago, when I bought my first property, I’d chosen it based on its proximity to the popular clubs and bars at the time. It had been kitted out to the max, with everything that a twenty-two-year-old bachelor’s heart could desire. What it hadn’t been designed for was the sudden arrival of a ten-year-old girl. But that was exactly what it got.
Once the shock of the accident and the fact that I’d been named the legal guardian to my younger sister’s daughter wore off, my priorities changed. I was suddenly looking at safety and schools and a backyard where Nancie could play, instead of how fast I could get my latest conquest home from a club.
Children had never been part of the plan for my life but life was what happened while I was busy making other plans. My sister, Rebecca, had been on her way home from a movie when her car skidded off the road on that fateful, rainy night. It rolled four times before it came to dead stop when it hit a traffic light.
I’d been drunk as a skunk and in the process of dropping more money in one night than most people made in a month when I received the phone call that would change my life forever and make me the father that I never expected to be. Well, uncle and father figure to the niece I loved but had no idea how to raise.
It was difficult enough when she was a kid who just wanted a pool, a lawn, and a pony. It was fucking impossible now that she was a teenager. The only thing I knew about teenage girls before Nancie was how to make sure they were eighteen before I charmed them into bed. Which was not fucking happening to Nancie on my watch.
She’d been acting out recently, no doubt taking advantage of having a guardian and uncle who was severely distracted by work but I’d set aside some time this weekend to figure out what had been going on with her. There was a time when I knew everything going on in her life. Now, not so much.
With that in mind, it was probably time to go find her. Nancie was an early riser, and even though it was Saturday, she’d probably already been for a swim and had to be around here somewhere.
Padding to the kitchen, I was surprised to find Nancie dirtying up the Caesarstone counters in an attempt at making breakfast. The early morning light was filtering through the windows and glass doors of the open living areas that combined our kitchen, living room, and dining areas. The light hit her hair in a way that shone with my exact shade. The shade I once shared with her mother.
Her mother, who, just like Nancie, only cooked breakfast when she wanted something.
“Good morning, pipsqueak.” I greeted her with the nickname I’d given her when she was still in utero. “What do you want?”
Nancie twirled to face me, pulling earbuds I hadn’t noticed from her ears and giving me a bright smile. “Whatever do you mean, dearest and best uncle?”
I groaned. I wasn’t going to like what was coming. “Other than covering our entire kitchen in flour, I know that there’s a purpose to your surprise attempt at breakfast.”
“Can’t a girl just want to cook breakfast for her favorite uncle?” She smiled, flipping what I think was meant to be a pancake in a pan on the gas stove.
“I’m your only uncle,” I pointed out. “And no, as you keep reminding me, I pay a chef precisely so we don’t have to cook.”
“I wanted Katy to have a break this morning,” she said, a coy smile on her face as she twirled a lock of mahogany hair through her fingers, fixing me with the emerald eyes that she inherited from her father.
“Well, if you’re suddenly in the business of giving people a break from what they get paid to do, I have a ton of stuff you can help me with after school on Monday.”
“Of course.” She smiled sweetly. “You’re so neurotic, though. I’d probably only be there ten minutes before you kicked me out.”
I stuck my tongue out at her, and she laughed, turning back to her blobs of batter. “What gives, Nance? Neurotic or not, I know that you haven’t suddenly become a humanitarian, and I know that Katy wouldn’t have surrendered her kitchen to your particular brand of fire hazard without good reason. Which brings me back to original question. What do you want?”