New York Billionaires Series

Par for the course.

“I can’t sign,” I tell him. “My hands aren’t free.”

The delivery guy chuckles and takes them from me again. “I should have realized. Wait, let’s do it this way… here. Sign this.”

A few minutes later he takes off down the street, hurrying to where a delivery car is double-parked.

I shake my head and head upstairs. Greet Ace who has been home all day, his tail wagging so hard it nearly knocks a glass of water off the sofa table.

“I know, buddy. I couldn’t bring you in today.” I take him for a walk to the nearby dog park before finally allowing myself to open the parcels spread out on my bed. A glance at my watch tells me I only have a few hours before Anthony will be here to pick me up.

Nobody has ever picked me up in New York before. For a dazzling, daydreamy moment, I feel like I’m one of the women I regularly take on as clients. They date men like Anthony Winter. Men who run this city, or at least know the ones who do.

But I’m not one of those women.

I sit behind a desk and help them find love instead.

Tugging on the delicate wrapping paper, I open the first box. Run my fingers over the red, satin fabric beneath as if in a daze.

A certainty settles in my bones. He hasn’t picked these out personally. Can’t have, if this is something he does regularly for women.

The realization bolsters me. I open the others and pull out the three options. A red, spaghetti strap one. A black sheath that falls to my knees. And a dark green option with only one shoulder, narrow at the waist before it flares out.

My hands shake as I read the designer label.

Vivienne would absolutely adore this. It’s exactly the kind of grand, over-the-top gesture she’d love.

Would she love that it’s our new owner who sent them to me?

I flip the question over in my mind as I shower and straighten my hair, re-doing my makeup. Dark brown eyeliner, soft against my light coloring, and a touch of red lipstick. I stare at the three dress options on my bed.

Slipping into the dark green, one-shouldered dress, I find that it fits.

“Wish me luck,” I ask Ace. He rubs his head against my hand, the soft, silky fur sliding through my fingers. “You know how long it’s been since I went out with a man.”

His tail wags.

“Thanks for being here with me, too, by the way. I know Mom has a giant yard you could play in.”

He licks the back of my hand.

“You too, buddy,” I say. “You too.”

My phone chimes and I give him a farewell pat. The text is simple. I’m outside.

A dark Town Car idles by the curb and one of the passenger doors opens as I step outside. Nerves flutter in my stomach. Professional favor or not, he’s not an easy man to be around. It doesn’t help that I’m not even close to figuring him out.

But I paint a wide smile on my face as I get into the car. Anthony’s waiting in the backseat. The dark tux he’s wearing blends in with the dark leather seat. Dark hair. Dark clothes.

“Hello,” I say.

He inclines his head. “You live close to the Halycon Hotel. Both are in Soho.”

“Yes, I suppose I do.” I fasten my seat belt. “Was it still okay for you to pick me up? I hope it didn’t delay you.”

“Of course not.”

I open my mouth to tell him that I’m not used to this. Blurt something out about the dress. The car. The night.

“You wore the black,” he comments.

I glance down at the dark green fabric. In the dim lighting, I suppose it looks almost black. “The green one, actually. Thank you. Or should I thank a personal shopper?”

He turns away from me, jaw working. “You’re welcome.”

The ride to the hotel is quiet. I open and close my clutch twice to double-check I brought my phone, just to have something to do other than glancing over at Anthony.

Long fingers drum against his thigh when the car pulls up outside the hotel. Is he nervous? I am.

“We’re here,” I say.

He nods and gets out of the car, his jaw working again when he comes to my side and finds me already on the curb. He buttons his dinner jacket and extends an arm to me. “Let’s get this over with.”

I take his arm and make it my personal mission to get one smile out of him tonight. Just one.

“A charity auction,” I say. “Will guests be bidding on luxury items?”

“Do you have your eye on anything in particular? Oh, look, they have a brochure.”

His voice is dry as he hands me a glossy pamphlet. “I suppose I have to buy something, but I haven’t looked.”

“You have to buy something?”

“As one of the partners of Acture, I’m technically a co-owner of Exciteur.”

I swallow. “Right. The consulting firm throwing this party.”

“Yes.” Anthony steers us through the open double-doors and into a bustling ballroom. A string quartet plays from a podium, soft music permeating the air. Anthony’s tux blends right in, and thankfully, so does my dress. I’m glad I didn’t go for the red one.

“So?” I ask him. “What’s the charitable cause they’re raising money for?”

He’s quiet for a beat. “I don’t remember.”This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org: ©.

Unable to help myself, I laugh. “You were really involved with the planning for this, weren’t you?”

“I had my hands full with all of your dates,” he says.

“Two measly dates took up that much of your time?”