Bound To You

Millionaire's Row - 1

Vanessa Booke

Acknowledgments

Mom, thank you for being my number one cheerleader and for being the source of why I love Romantic Fiction so much. Thank you for everything you’ve done and will do for me. I can never say that enough. Melinda and NJ, thank you for encouraging me to keep going and for your feedback on all of my writing. I’m proud to call you my friends. I wish you both the best in your careers. To my editor, Carolyn, thank you for working with me on such short notice. I really appreciate the work you did for this book. I’m glad I found a gem like you. To my readers, thank you for buying this book and for taking a chance on me. I’ve often found that people who have potential sometimes need a chance or opportunity to let themselves shine. So thank you for giving me this chance. Dear husband, thank you for putting up with me. Seriously, thank you. I know I can be moody when I’m writing or when I’m trying to explain my ideas. Thank you for always being encouraging, funny, uplifting, and the only thing that keeps me anchored in this crazy and sometimes fucked up world. You’re the moon of my life. My sun and stars. My Mr. Darcy. I’m so lucky to have found you. Remember, when you read this I get extra brownie points that I can cash in for you doing the dishes. ;)

Prologue

He’s cheating on me with her? My hand burns as I slug the tall blonde in front of me right across her collagen-injected face. A smile of satisfaction spreads across mine as blood gushes from her nose like a busted faucet. She leaps back, falling, as she clutches for the bed behind her. Her almost too symmetrical tits bounce as she lands with a loud thud on her ass. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as she leans against the bed, clutching her nose. I’m shaking, but I’m ready for more. A furnace of rage burns through me as she sneers at me and mutters the word bitch under her breath. I’m usually not in the habit of punching people I don’t know, but I’m ready to do it again.

“Rebecca, stop!” Miles scrambles toward me as he pulls his pants up like the floor is on fire. His honey colored eyes stare back at me in disbelief as he assesses the carnage that’s ensued. It was only an hour ago that I was on my way to his apartment to celebrate our anniversary together. The last thing I expected was to find him here with another woman.

“Who is she?” I snap. I can’t stand to look at him, and at the same time I can’t look away. His usually silky brown hair is disheveled into a messy flop of fuck-me hair. The overpowering amount of evidence sends a wave of nausea right through me. You’re disgusting.

“She’s my co-worker on the show.” The realization of who she is hits me as I look down at her petite frame leaning against the bed. She plays his love interest on the show Future Outlaw. It’s the TV series Miles has been working on. He’s described it as a fictional reimagining of Jesse James with time traveling cowboys fighting off the Italian Mafia. I’ve only been able to watch a couple of episodes because I’ve been so busy filling out grad school applications, but I’m shocked I didn’t immediately recognize her. Apparently, the lines of reality and make believe have been blurred, because a minute ago I walked in on the two of them fucking like cats in heat.

“Becca, are you okay?” His voice is full of concern but it’s meaningless.

Miles steps closer, snapping me back to reality. I don’t want him anywhere near me. The truth of his betrayal confounds me. It didn’t take me long to realize something was terribly and utterly wrong from the moment I stepped into the apartment. There were rose petals meshed against the carpet leading to the bedroom, a bottle of wine sitting on the dining room table, and a note sitting on the stand in the hallway. I was surprised by Miles’ overly romantic gesture. It’s not his style. He’s simplistic and so unromantic. He’s never bought me flowers and I’ve always been stupid enough to tell him that I don’t care for them, when the truth is I love them. I was enjoying my ignorant bliss up until the point where I heard a sensual giggle echo behind the double doors of Miles’ bedroom.

“Rebecca, it just happened,” Miles starts to say. Just happened?

“So your dick just happened to fall into her?” I ask.

“He’s been fucking me for a while,” Scarlett says, standing back up. “He said he was tired of fucking you. Too much baggage.” She smirks as she gives me a once over. “ You’re a lot bigger than I imagined. He said you were curvy,” she says with a smile. “But I think he was just trying to be nice…”

Rebecca

It’s been three weeks, 21 days and 504 hours since I last saw and spoke with my cheating ex-fiancé, Miles. Since the brutal encounter with Scarlett and him, I’ve been seeing two new men in my life. The first is Ben and the second is Jerry. They’re sweet, dependable, and they know just the right spots to hit. The sad part is, they’re not real. Nope, I’ve been having a three-week affair with several different pints of ice cream. I know, the scandal! Everything from Americone Dream to Milk and Cookies. The only thing to break me out of this endless loop of misery is an e-mail that I received yesterday.

To: Rebecca Gellar

From: HR@SHPublishing.com

Subject: Interview Invitation

“Ms. Gellar,

It is with great pleasure that we invite you to come in for an interview for a position at StoneHaven Publishing Co…”

I re-read the email over and over, letting reality set in a little more each time. The obsessive part of me has compulsively checked my inbox every five minutes, deathly afraid that the email will magically disappear. I’ve even forwarded it to two different emails, just to make sure I’m not dreaming it up. Everything is going exactly how I hoped for. I’m moving to New York and now I have an interview for my dream job. This is really happening. The past four years of working my ass off has finally paid off.

StoneHaven Publishing Co. is one of New York's oldest and most respected independent publishers. They’re well known for their debut authors and I haven’t seen one that hasn’t become a bestseller on any of the major lists - NY Times, USA Today, and Publisher’s Weekly. The thought of potentially working with one of them sends a warm rush of excitement through me. I have to admit I love the written word. There’s just something about reading a story that makes me happier than anything else in the world. Even chocolate. And for me that says a lot, because I love my chocolate. My hips even agree.

The timing of this email literally couldn’t be any more perfect. In less than two days, I’ll be on my way to the Big Apple. Carol Livingston, my best friend and college roommate, whom I haven’t seen in over two years, will be picking me up at the airport, and then my new life begins.

“You know, you don’t really have to move all the way to New York City,” Mom says, slowly unzipping my hideous pink suitcase covered in glittered Hello Kitty stickers. As much as I want to, I can’t get rid of the bag – my grandmother gave it to me. She has a thing for cats and the color pink, and the fusion of them together equaled my college graduation gift.

My mother isn’t the sort of woman to be in her pajamas all day. She’s always quick to get dolled up, even if it’s just her and me in the house, so I’m pretty sure this current choice of outfit is an open protest to me going to New York. It’s 1 o’clock in the afternoon and she’s still wearing her overnight pajamas, fluffy pink slippers, and her baby blue curlers. It’s the 21st century, but I still can’t convince her to use an actual curling iron for her hair.

I’ve been trying to avoid the “goodbye” conversation for the past week. I sort of sprang moving across the country on mom and she’s still upset with me. Despite the fact that I’m 24, she still acts like an overprotective mother bear. I’m pretty sure the only reason she hasn’t locked me in my room is because my father convinced her to be civil with me while he’s away. He’s a truck driver, and most weeks he’s driving up to Northern California, delivering barrels of wine to local restaurants.

For the past week, my mother’s been trying to convince me not to leave Los Angeles. She’s told, asked, and even pleaded with me to stay. There’s no convincing her that this is the right move, and there’s no convincing me that it isn’t. Dad always tells me that I got my stubbornness from her. I think he might be right. We’re both relentless in our nature.

“I know you’re worried,” I say, grabbing the last pile of outfits off my bed and stuffing my phone back into my pocket. There isn’t enough time in the world to try to explain to her why I needed to leave California ASAP.

“Of course I am. I don’t understand why you’re moving across the world?”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“I’m not, I think you should stay and find work here. You won’t like it in New York.”

“This is a great opportunity. I’m surprised you’re against it, you always told me to go for my dreams,” I say. “And you were always the one saying how living in New York was such a big deal for you when you were my age.”

“I think it’s great you’re going after your dreams, Rebecca, but I just wish that meant you living in Los Angeles. How do you know if you’ll even like New York?”

It’s true. I’ve never been to New York City. I’ve only seen it in pictures, movies, my mother’s old postcards, and reruns of Sex and the City. But the thought of going somewhere new is exciting. I need it. Staying in California means facing reality, and my reality is I’m recently single, because my boyfriend of three years cheated on me with his TV co-star. I’ve permanently set Miles’ ringtone to Puddle of Mudd’s She Hates Me.

It doesn’t help that every inch of this state reminds me of him; from the concert at the Roxy in West Hollywood where we had our first date, to the Getty Museum where he asked me to be his girlfriend, to Malibu Beach where he proposed. There’s no getting around him. And the worst part is – I miss him.

“Carol is offering me a couch to crash on until I find work. Her cousin Ken gave me a great reference at StoneHaven Publishing. He’s an Associate Editor there.”

“Carol Livingston?” she asks.

“Yes, you remember her, right? She was my college roommate at UCLA.”

“What is she doing in New York?”

“She does freelance public relations. She works with a lot of big name clients.”

Carol graduated two years before me and she moved to New York right away. It didn’t take long for her to find her niche. She’s great at what she does, and now she’s making the big bucks. After she left, we never lost touch. She kept inviting me to come to New York, but I could never make it because of school. Despite the thousands of miles between us, we stayed best friends. I called her for advice on moving to NY. She didn’t hesitate for a second. Within a few minutes I received a text confirming a booking for a flight from LAX to the JFK airport. She had paid for my airfare.

“What about graduate school?” my mother says, pulling out my acceptance letter from my dresser.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” I grab the letter from her and stuff it back inside. “I don’t know if I’m still going.”

“Is this because of Miles?”

Just hearing his name sends my heart flip-flopping. It’s hard keeping things from my mother. She’s good at reading me – too good. I hadn’t explained my fiancé’s absence, but there’s never a good way of telling someone that the person you were planning to marry cheated on you – get ready for the fire and pitchforks.

The sound of buzzing echoes from the front door all the way to the back of the house. I’m not expecting anyone... I look up at my mother, and the slight smirk on her face gives me the feeling that she is.

“I wonder who that is,” she says nonchalantly.

“Mother, who did you invite over?”

“Just a friend,” she says as she quickly slips away.

I watch her hurry down the stairs, halfway running. She hates keeping visitors waiting. As I step down the stairs, I spot a headful of brown hair peeking through the side of the doorway. The voice at the door is low, almost a whisper. Who the hell is my mother talking to?

“I’m so glad you came,” my mother gushes. “Rebecca will be so happy to see you. I haven’t seen you around very much.”

My heart stops at the sight of Miles standing on our front porch. From the look of his outfit, he must be on his way to the set for Future Outlaw. He’s wearing jeans, cowboy boots, and a green plaid shirt.

What the hell is he doing here?

He looks good, too good. It’s hard not to take notice of his tan skin and hazel eyes. They remind me of honey. Deep down inside I was hoping he looked as shitty as I feel, but I’m SOL. His eyes catch mine as I make my way down the stairs.

“Becca, it’s good to see you.” The warmth in his voice sends chills down my skin as it washes over me. My heart hammers in my chest with a chaotic beat. It’s hard to pretend like everything’s okay. The scent of cedar and aftershave tickles my nose as he steps closer.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” my mother says, scurrying off into the kitchen.

“Mrs. Gellar, it was nice to see you,” he says, taking his hat off and bowing. It’s like I’m transported back in time. I hate the way he charms women – even my mother isn’t immune to his ways. Miles takes my hand and pulls me to the door. The gesture sends a shock through me and I pull back instantaneously. We haven’t touched since the day I found him in bed with Scarlett Jones, Hollywood’s sexiest starlet. On my way home the other day I saw that she had made this month’s cover of Maxim. It took every amount of strength I had not to fling the stack of magazines off the grocery rack. I was so close.

“What do you want, Miles?” I try my best to sound apathetic. I don’t want him to know I care. I want him to think I’ve moved on because I have. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

“Becca, can we talk? Alone?” he says with pleading eyes. I hate when uses his sad-puppy-dog-eyes on me. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t so good looking. Not that looks are everything, but Miles is blessed with abundance. It’s like God puts men like him on this earth to taunt me.

“I really don’t think there’s anything for you to say.” Miles smirks as I put my hand on my hip. He used to say that I was sexy when I was mad.

“Would you just give me a chance to at least talk to you?” I step back as he tries to close the space between us. His presence is overwhelming. I hold back tears as a rush of sadness washes over me. We’ve known each other for so many years. How do you just cut someone like that from your life? Being alone with my ex-fiancé is probably not a good idea, but my curiosity always gets the best of me.

“Are you going to tell me how you didn’t mean to fuck her?” I can taste the bitterness of my words, but I don’t care if I hurt him. I want him to hurt.

“Becca…”

“Fine, let’s go outside. My mom doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“You still haven’t told her?” he says in a hopeful tone.

Miles and I sit inside his red Ford pickup truck staring out over the view of downtown Los Angeles. The sky is surprisingly clear of smog. It’s a rarity out here. My parents’ house is situated on a hill that has a beautiful view of the city. It reminds me of the view from Mulholland Drive. We used to love going up there. We’d drive up, pull off on the side of the road, and mess around. The few times I’ve driven up since we broke up have been heartbreaking. The scenery no longer brings me happy memories. Only tears.

“I heard you were leaving,” Miles says, frowning.

I reposition my body against the door, trying to distance myself from him. There isn’t much room between us, and each time he moves his hand, it brushes my leg.

“I am.”

“Why? Because of what happened?”

He makes it sound like “what happened” isn’t a big deal. I don't need to explain myself to him. Apparently, I haven’t made it clear enough that I’m not his anymore.

“Not everything revolves around you.”

“Then why?” Miles says, putting his arm around the top of my seat. “Why haven’t you returned my calls, Becca?”

The past few weeks have been difficult to say the least. I miss him – as much as I don’t want to. I know it would be so much easier to just slip back into his arms. To pretend like nothing happened, but my pride won’t let me.

“Miles, I can’t forgive you for sleeping with her.”

“It isn’t what you think.”

“Oh really, tell me then…”

“Becca, we’re co-stars. We’re doing the TV show together. That’s it.”

“I caught you two together in our bed! You’re just sorry you got caught.” Be. Strong. My voice nearly breaks. “You’re lucky my mother doesn’t watch cable or she would’ve thrown you out of the house the moment you tried stepping inside.”

“Scarlett doesn’t mean anything to me.”

Scarlett. Just hearing the name makes my head want to explode. She’s some famous Australian blonde beauty that has everything going for her – including huge assets.

“There’s only you,” he says, nuzzling his nose into my hair. “I’ve missed you.”

“Stop,” I whisper.

“I know you still love me,” he says, brushing back a strand of hair.

“I do, I mean, I did.”

He traces his finger down my arm. He’s too close. I can’t trust myself around him. He doesn’t wait for my response. It happens so fast, there isn’t enough time to react. He crushes his lips against mine, pulling me to him. I used to love the way Miles would kiss me. It was gentle, slow, and sensual, but this was different. His hand creeps up my shirt, finding its way to my nipple and pinching it slightly.

“Miles… no.”

“Becca, it’s not my fault. My agent said I would get more camera time if I started seeing Scarlett. It’s for the show! She doesn’t mean anything to me. He didn’t think it would be a good idea for me to be seen…”

“Seen with what? A normal woman? Or do you mean someone my size?” I have to admit I threw in that last part just for the hell of it. I can’t help but feel a little self-conscious when Miles went from sleeping with someone like me to sleeping with Ms. Double Ds.

“It’s not like that, Becca, please let me show you how much I’ve missed you.” His hand slides up my dress, pushing apart my legs. “I’ve thought about this every night.”

“No,” I say, slapping his hand away. “You can’t just pretend like we’re okay and go back to how it used to be.”

“Becca, please. Let’s try again.”

“I gave you everything, Miles, but you ripped it all away. You chose her instead of me.” You chose someone you barely know over me.

“But I love you.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t. The words I want to say are on the tip of my tongue, and just knowing that tears my insides. I love you, too. I can’t show him any weakness. I need to go. Miles stares at me in confusion as I open the car and jump out of the truck.

“At least let me walk you inside,” he says, calling after me.

I don’t stop walking until I’m in the house. I don’t bother telling my mother that Miles is gone. She would only start an inquisition if she saw me crying. At this moment, nothing else matters – only the pain.

Rebecca

“Can I get you anything else, miss?” the dainty brunette stewardess asks as she hands me a glass of champagne and napkin.

“No, thank you. The champagne is lovely.” My nerves are on high alert. I can feel a knot forming in my shoulders every time we hit a bump of turbulence. I grasp the arms of my chair with my clammy hands and fight back the building need to spew all over the seat in front of me. The older man sitting next to me leans back, eyeing me with caution. There isn’t much room between us. I’m sure he’s kicking himself for getting seated next to this train wreck. If I throw up, he’s definitely in the splash zone. My stomach turns again as the plane rattles. Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t puke. I pinch my nose and silently count to ten, hoping that it will calm me. The last thing I need right now is to show up in a new city with vomit all over me.

God, I hate flying.

When I called Carol to let her know my flight was leaving, she offered to upgrade my ticket to first class so I wouldn’t be sausaged beside someone for the next four hours. As tempting as the offer was, she’s already done enough for me. I even thought about booking a train from California to New York, but it would’ve taken too long. My interview with StoneHaven Publishing is on Monday – only three days away. I need time to prepare for it. As confident as I am that I would make a great fit, there’s still the possibility of not getting the job. I’m sure my mother would love to hear that I’m coming back home. She wants me to follow my dreams, but only if that includes catching a husband and staying in California.

Saying goodbye to my mother was painful. Each time I carried one of my luggage bags outside, she made a face like I had just killed one of her non-existent grandbabies. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Miles is a really big douche and that we’re done. I may have told her a little white lie. She asked me if we we’re on a break, and I kind of nodded my head yes. I’m not sure if lying to her about it is any better, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear her complain that I’m never going to get married. She loves to remind me that I’ll probably die a spinster. At the current moment, that doesn’t sound too bad. I can almost see my name in the papers. Rebecca Gellar, spinster with five cats, dies after Hollywood breakup. Speaking of Hollywood, I definitely need a welcomed distraction from this plane ride, so catching up on my latest celebrity gossip sounds like heaven. Reading the celebrity magazine STARS is my newest guilty pleasure.

I flip through the latest issue and cringe at the sight of a paparazzi photo of Miles and Scarlett cuddling close together at our favorite pastry & coffee shop on Melrose. They seem to be Hollywood’s latest IT couple. I know I’m better off without Miles’ cheating ass, but it still hurts to see them together. As I scan down to the picture of Scarlett and Miles to read the article beside it, my heart jolts at the bolded word: ENGAGED. We’re nearly 40,000 feet in the air, but I can still feel my whole world plummet as I read over the details of the article: “Hollywood TV star Miles Storm and co-star Scarlett Jones are engaged.” My eyes begin to water at the zoomed in picture of Scarlett’s ring.

The real zinger is the fact that Miles gave her a ring. We were engaged almost six months and he had been dragging his feet to buy me an engagement ring. I guess our relationship was never really meant to last. I can’t believe he tried to feed me his bullshit about how Scarlett didn’t mean anything to him. Apparently, she meant a lot more than I did.

The voice of the airplane’s captain comes in muffled over the intercom, drawing me from my thoughts. I strain to hear him over the general noise of the plane and only manage to catch three words: STORM and STRONG WINDS. My hand immediately goes to my seatbelt just in time to fasten it as the plane is hits a major gust of wind. The whole body of the airplane shakes, causing my glass of champagne to teeter and spill over. The dip of the plane sends a familiar but strange sensation through my stomach. It’s like free-falling on a rollercoaster decline.

The fasten seatbelt sign lights up as I spot the stewardesses coming down the rows checking each seat. I push up my tray, down what’s left of spilled glass, and grab ahold of my purse. I need to calm my nerves and my stomach. My imagination starts to drift and I can feel the cold sliver of anxiety creep into my chest. I need to get off. This is the last way I want to die. God, if it wasn’t for Miles, I wouldn’t even be on this stupid plane, flying in this disastrous weather. I’ve never hated him as much as I do right now! I fight my every desire to run down the aisle like a raving mad woman. We hit another air pocket and my body goes flying up, along with my purse. My bag flips over, sliding into first class, along with my wallet and motion sickness pills inside. Shit. I should just leave it there until the storm settles. I’ll be fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. The plane jostles us again. Oh, god, I’m not fine. I start to hyperventilate in my seat. I need a bag. I pull out the brown paper bag wedged between the seat pockets in front of me.

Everything I’ve seen on TV tells me that this will help, but as soon as I slip the brown bag over my nose and mouth, I feel worse. I need my pills. I need to take some more. I click off my seatbelt and scramble down the row, running into seats as the airplane sways. A shrill voice of a flight attendant stops me as I make it to the curtain dividing first class from economy. I know I don’t have much time to run and grab my purse.

“Ma’am! Please get back to your seat immediately.”

I turn slightly, my body shaking from anxiety and dread. I don’t wait for her to stop me from entering first class. The first thing I notice is the stark contrast between the seat spacing. In economy, you’re cramped with little-to-no legroom. For the past two hours, I’ve been fighting with the gentleman next to me over the armrest. I can’t help but frown at the disparity between first class and economy. Each row has enough space to recline back and fall asleep. The lights are dimmed throughout the section, and the general atmosphere seems a lot more relaxed. In fact, many of the passengers seem to be sleeping – all but one, a beautiful blonde stranger staring at the bright screen of his tablet. The luminous light gives his face an almost angelic appearance with the exception of his brows, which seem shrouded in deep thought. The plane sways to the side, tossing me against the chair of a nearby female passenger. She stirs and looks up at me with a mixture of annoyance and sleep.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

The beautiful stranger a few rows ahead seems undisturbed by my presence. The leather seat chairs to his right and left are completely empty, and it takes me a moment to realize that he probably purchased all of them. I can only imagine how much it is to buy one first class seat, not to mention six. I know Carol spent way too much money on my ticket and I’m not even up here.

I scan the floor for my belongings and notice my purse clinging for life only a few feet away from the stranger’s seat. Before I have a chance to move, I notice the prissy flight attendant staring me down from the opening of the curtain divider. Geez, lady.

“Ma’am, please return to your seat. Coach passengers are not allowed up here.” Despite her calmness, I sense a thread of disdain in her voice. Perhaps this isn’t the first time a passenger made their way up here. She probably thinks I’m trying to switch my seat. As much as I would love not to be stuck in a seat with barely any legroom, I’m more worried about puking everywhere. I need my purse. A wave of nausea flows over me. I can feel beads of sweat breaking out on my neck and forehead.

“I’m just getting my purse...” I manage to squeak.

“Ma’am, the fasten seatbelt sign is still on,” she says, pointing to the drawing of two hands buckling a seatbelt. “We cannot have anyone walking around at this time.”

I shrug off her awkward stare and scramble over to my purse. The blonde stranger doesn’t notice me at first as I kneel to search beneath his seat. It isn’t until I pull the strap of my purse that he senses my presence. I yank hard to release my purse, but my wallet goes flying, along with my pills. Fuck. A sigh of frustration escapes me as I grab for them. A flash of light cascades over me as a warm hand encloses around my wrist, stopping me midway.

“Excuse me, miss, what are you doing down there?” I’m immediately taken aback by the closeness of his face. Two blue eyes stare at me impassively. They somehow perfectly match his nose and striking cheekbones. If it weren’t for the slight smirk on his lips, you’d think he’s angry. But it’s worse. He’s laughing at me. He must find this all so very amusing. A streak of anger rushes to my cheeks, setting them on fire.

“Are you laughing at me?” I ask, clenching back my irritation.

He eyes me with curiosity as he slowly studies me. He’s a playboy, I’m sure. Handsome men like him are trouble. I’m sure he’s used to women throwing themselves at his feet. I silently admire the light beard he sports. It makes him look like a bit of a rogue in his grey tailored suit. His facial hair reminds me of the way Miles used to wear his. He used to run his chin across my bare skin in the morning. It was his way of waking me up. I loved the way it felt on me when we made love. The way it used to feel before he went and smashed my whole world into tiny little pieces.

My eyes stray to his hand and a mixture of lustful emotions cling to me, warming my insides. I’m strangely relieved to see no ring on his finger. That doesn’t mean he’s not married. He totally could be. I find myself unknowingly leaning into him and his alluring scent of spicy cinnamon and fresh mint leaves. It reminds me of my favorite homemade tea back in Cali.

“Can I help you find something?” he asks, grazing over my comment.

“I dropped my purse.” His hand never leaves my wrist as he gently helps me up. My legs are unstable. I wobble to a stand.

“Let me help,” he says with another smile.

“It’s caught on your chair,” I say.

The stewardess lingering in the back clears her throat, directing our attention back toward her. She waits in front of our aisle looking extremely nervous. “I apologize, sir, would you like me to escort this young lady back to her seat?” I turn, glancing from him to her. I’ve never seen anyone so worried. Who is this guy? Maybe he’s some rich hot shot. It doesn’t matter. I should mind my own business and get back to my seat.

“Melissa, it’s fine. She isn’t bothering me,” he says without looking up. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone address a stewardess by their first name, not unless they were purposely trying to be snarky, but reading his tone, it’s more irritation than anything else. He seems like someone who’s used to bossing people around. Or maybe he just flies this airline often.

“I apologize, Mr. St –“

“That will be all, thank you.” He waves her off like an annoying fly. She scurries off back to the back of the plane without looking back. Part of me feels sorry for her. She was just doing her job even if she was kind of bitchy. I’m sure I would’ve done the same thing.

“Is this it?” he says, handing me my purse and wallet. Somehow even my gigantic bag seems so small in his hands. His hand grazes mine, sending a tingling vibration up my arm. I try my best not to stare at his fingers, but I can’t stop myself. I have a thing for hands and his are the type you don’t mind wrapping around you or inside of you.

I blush instantly as he clears his throat, indicating that I’ve lingered in his presence for much too long. Ironically, my motion sickness pills are still under his chair, but I don’t even bother mentioning it. I need to get out of here. The same out-of-breath feeling I felt a moment ago in my seat has returned. I don’t need to be embarrassed more than once this week.

“Yes, thank you. Excuse me.” I try to go, but the warmth of his touch returns as he captures my hand.

“Your name, you didn’t tell me it.” He’s smiling again. I blush as his touch sends goose bumps up my skin. The air grows warmer by the minute as his fingers rub circular motions across the skin of my wrist. I’ve never felt anything quite as erotic as this, and my clothes aren’t even off. I’m almost too willing to jump into his lap. My blush deepens at the thought of what he might feel like on top of me. Since when did I become so horny? I have to admit, sex has been the last thing on my mind since the disaster with Miles. I haven’t had the urge to be with anyone. Yet, right now, I can almost feel the sexual energy radiating off of him. There are just some men who scream sex, and he’s definitely one of them.

“My name is Rebecca,” I respond, nearly breathless.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Becca,” he says, kissing my hand. “I’m Nicholas.” His lips feel cool like ice water against my skin and I smile at the way he’s shortened my name. I don’t typically let anyone call me Becca, but I’m inclined to let this handsome stranger call me whatever he wants as long as he keeps touching me.

I cling to his chair as a sudden shift in the plane throws me off balance. The cabin rings signaling the plane’s stewardesses to check each passenger’s seatbelt. I should’ve gone back to my seat. I sway backwards almost losing my balance, but Nicholas grips my hand, pulling me back. I’m almost steady until the plane dips, pushing me straight into his lap. The sudden force of my body colliding into his sends his tablet flying onto the floor with a thud. He catches me by the waist, his fingers sliding down to my bottom. I know it isn’t intentional, but his touch is undeniably sensual.

“Are you all right?” he asks. A quiet concern shrouds his face. He doesn’t immediately let me go. He simply moves his hand to brush back a loose tendril from my face. The touch of his fingertips heats my skin like liquid fire. It spreads in a rapid rush of heat down my body, exposing me beneath his unrelenting stare. His grasp tightens around my waist, and for a moment I feel something hard poking me beneath my jeans. Is that? Oh my.

“I should get back to my seat before that stewardess has a heart attack,” I whisper. The sentence sounds more like a question than a statement.

“Stay.” His husky voice draws me in. There’s a slight accent to his voice, but I can’t quite place it. I’ve never been a snob about the guys I’ve dated, but there’s something about an accent that just makes women’s panties drop. It’s probably not the only thing about him that would turn me on. His eyes linger over me, watching me closely. If I knew I was going to meet the living Adonis on an airplane, I probably wouldn’t have been so afraid to fly. No, that’s probably a lie. I still would’ve been scared, but I definitely would’ve picked a cuter outfit.

Now, this beautiful Greek god has his hands on me and I can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to have them inside me. I reach up and stroke the hair that trails below his bottom lip. I want to know what it feels like to kiss him. It isn’t until I hear almost a low growl in his throat that I realize what I’m doing. Jesus, Rebecca. You’re fondling a complete stranger. I pull back my hand, but he immediately brings it back to his lips. He takes my fingers and slowly kisses them. I inhale sharply as he runs his beard on the inside of my wrist. For some reason, it feels unexpectedly intimate, as if we’re old lovers, and despite the cloistered space around us, it feels like the whole world is watching.

He stops and looks up at me before leaning in. His mouth captures mine in a heated kiss. I’m hesitant, as he starts to slowly nibble my bottom lip, gently making his way to the top one. The sensation of his hands grazing my breast causes me to moan. He traces his thumb along my neckline and I give in to his kiss. A whirlwind of lust passes through my body and I instantly grow wet. He pulls me closer, and soon I’m so enraptured by the feeling of his mouth on me that I forget what it feels like to breathe. A strange electric charge dissipates as we pull apart. I smile inwardly at the realization that he’s panting almost as much as me.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, staring down at me.

His question makes me uneasy. Not because it’s too personal, but because what I’m thinking about involves him undressing me. He’s a stranger. Someone I’ll never see again, and right now I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. Maybe part of moving on means doing things you wouldn’t normally do. Like hooking up with handsome strangers 40,000 feet in the air, or maybe I’m just trying to numb my pain. It’s time to stop living in a fantasy.

“It was nice meeting you, but I do need to get back to my seat,” I whisper, unwinding myself from him.

“If you insist,” he says with a polite smile. I want to tell him thank you, but telling him thank you for the kiss sounds way too awkward in my head. I can only imagine what it would sound like if I actually said it.

“I hope to see you around,” he says.

“Me too.”

I’ll never see him again, and while I really wish I could spend the rest of the plane ride with him up here, it would be a mistake. It’s been less than a month since Miles. I don’t need to go chasing someone else. I just need to be alone. I don’t want to be one of those girls who always need a guy on her arm to feel complete. I don’t want prince charming to come save me and fix everything. I want to save myself.

I leave without asking for his number and he doesn’t stop me to ask for mine. Disappointment creeps into the back of my mind. I’m not sure what I was hoping for. This isn’t some romantic comedy where the gorgeous playboy falls in love with the shy curvy girl. My grandmother used to have a saying. What’s yours, no one else can take. I guess if it’s meant to be maybe I’ll meet him again one day, but for now I’m happy with the calmness that he’s enveloped me in. I hold onto it as I make my way back to my seat and fall asleep for the rest of the trip.

I don’t wake again until I hear the sound of the captain announcing that we will be landing at the JFK airport in less than 15 minutes. After flying over 3,000 miles in a cramped, overbooked airplane, I’m more than anxious to be on the ground again. Four hours of flying is exhausting and I am definitely mentally drained. I keep reminding myself that it’s all worth it. Soon I’ll be in the big city and thus begins my journey of trying to land a job at StoneHaven Publishing. With a little luck, by this time next month, I’ll be working and living in my own apartment. New York, here I come.

Rebecca

The airport is buzzing as I make my way over to the baggage claim area. I’m glad I didn’t listen to my mom when she suggested that I take a later flight. With the unpredictable East Coast weather, I’ve already lost more than a day stuck at the Dallas airport in Texas. To my dismay, I did not see Mr. Tall, Blonde, and Sexy as I exited the plane, but that’s actually probably a good thing.

“Rebecca!”

I spot Carol standing near the drop-off section just outside of the JFK airport. Her short, blonde pixie cut from college is replaced with long strands of brown hair pulled into a perfectly set bun. I smile as she pushes up her stylish glasses and heads my way. I have to admit she looks stunning. She makes wearing a bun look like fashion chic. I think I’ve always been jealous of the way confidence just seems to ooze out of her. I peek down at my raggedy jeans, Chuck Taylors, and my $10 T-shirt, slightly embarrassed at just how plain I look.

Finding fancy clothes is difficult with my size. I hate the term “plus size”, yet that’s what the world insists on labeling me as. If I’ve gained weight since college, Carol doesn’t mention it. I grab my suitcase and haul it across the sidewalk trying my best not to get run over as I make my way toward Carol. “Oh, my god. Becca, it’s so amazing to see you!” She hugs me, and the memories of our late night study sessions, frat parties, and college heartaches come rushing back to me. I didn’t even realize how much I’ve really missed her until right now. Carol is like the sister I never had. Sometimes being an only child sucks. Not to mention I don’t have any younger or older sisters for my mother to marry off.

“You look great, Carol. New York has done you good.”

“Thanks, girly, it’s a crazy world over here, but you’re going to love it! I can’t wait to get back to my apartment. I have so many plans for tonight!”

“I’m excited to be here. Thanks for letting me crash with you.” Excited wasn’t even close to how I really felt. Scared. Anxious. Ecstatic. Pumped. I feel invincible – ready to take on the world.

“It’s not a problem, really. I would’ve been terribly offended if you hadn’t have asked.”

She hooks her arm through mine as she tugs me toward a sleek, black Lexus. It’s like we’re teenagers again, off on an adventure. Taxicabs flood the airport, pulling in and out every few seconds. It’s a miracle anyone can get out of here. My attention is drawn to a handsome older man stepping out of Carol’s car.

“Ms. Gellar,” he says, quickly bending down to grab my suitcase. His movements are so swift that my suitcase is settled into the trunk of the car in what seems like a blur. He walks over and opens the back passenger side of the Lexus. If he didn’t look at least 20 years my senior, I would say he’s pretty sexy.

“Oh, I almost forgot, this is my driver, Steven,” Carol says, grinning. Whoa, she has a chauffeur?

“He’s fantastic, if you need anything – he’ll get it. Even tampons and stuff.” The thought of Stephen, who coincidentally reminds me of Liam Neeson from Taken, picking up tampons for me makes my cheeks burn.

“That’s okay, I’ll be good.”

Steven chuckles, obviously amused at my shyness. “It would be my pleasure picking up anything you may require, Ms. Gellar.”

“Please, call me Rebecca.” The only people who call me by my last name are my professors and the occasional telemarketer. Gosh, I hate telemarketers. I always feel bad when they call because you know half the time they're just as miserable as you.

“Steven, on our way home let’s stop by Cheri’s place.” Carol’s PR business must be skyrocketing if she can afford her own butler. I can only wish to have half the success Carol’s had.

“Who’s Cheri?” I ask.

“She’s one of my clients. She runs her own fashion line, Retro Thrift. She does a lot of affordable pinup styles and some great formal dresses that look like they’re from the 30s,” Carol says, digging through her black leather purse and pulling out her phone. “Here, check it out.” Carol pulls up Cheri’s online web store. It’s like looking at old photographs. The dresses on Cheri’s site are absolutely gorgeous. I have no idea how she’s managed to make them affordable. Unless thrift is a new word for overpriced vintage clothes.

“Wow, I wish I could wear all of them.” I’m such a nerd for vintage fashion. My mother is always rolling her eyes at me when I find vintage outfits at the Salvation Army. She can’t understand why people want to dress like they’re from the past.

“Yeah, I just need to pick up a few outfits for a photo shoot we’re doing tomorrow,” Carol says, throwing her phone back inside her purse. A loud buzzing sound draws her attention back to her phone as she scoops it out of her bag. Carol bursts into laughter, shoving her cell in my hands.

Carol,

Take care of Becca. Please.

Love,

Mrs. G

I am mortified that my mother has Carol’s cellphone. I didn’t give it to her, which means she probably copied it out of my phone contacts. She’s too sneaky for her own good.

“Becca, I have to warn you, this isn’t the first time your mom has called me. She called before I came to pick you up.” I turn to Carol, covering the red blazing on my cheeks. “And she called again about an hour ago.”

“Oh, god.” It was like I was back in freshmen year of college spending my first night away from home. I can still remember the way the other college girls in our dorm stared at me when my RA came in, saying that my mother had called to ask if I was doing all right on my first night away from home. Can you say utterly embarrassing? Yup. That’s her.

“She said she’s worried about you.” Carol eyes me with curiosity. Yeah, she would be, but I actually think she’s more concerned that I’ve totally blown it with Miles.

Not that I would count that as a bad thing.

“I think she’s worried that I might’ve ruined her shot at grandbabies.”

“What?” Carol laughs, playfully shoving me. “Are you pregnant?”

“Gosh, no!” That would be a serious problem. Not just because I’m totally not ready for babies, but if I was, Miles would definitely be the wrong guy.

“Miles came to see me before I left,” I admit, avoiding Carol’s stare. She can see through anything. It’s like she has x-ray vision of the mind.

“What? Seriously?”

“Yeah, he wants to get back together.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“No, definitely not.”

“You know, you never really explained what he did to mess up. You promised to explain it to me in person. Are you ready to tell me now?”

Somehow when I really think about it, Miles’ betrayal feels partly my fault. Maybe I wasn’t a good enough girlfriend. Maybe I made him stray. Our physical relationship seemed a lot more important to him than anything else. It’s not that I’m a prude about sex, it’s the fact that Miles made me feel incompetent on the subject. He has a nasty habit of trying to tell me what he wanted by bringing up what old girlfriends used to do. From there the chemistry between us sort of flickered out. I wanted to work on “us,” but unfortunately, Miles didn’t seem to share the same sentiment. I guess it was easier to go fuck someone else.

“He cheated on me with his co-star.”

“Ew, you mean the blonde in Future Outlaw?”

“Yeah, she’s the one who plays his love interest on the show.”

“Lovely,” Carol huffs. “The little slut.”

“She is lovely. She has legs for miles and she’s thin. According to the latest gossip, Miles had dumped his no-name girlfriend, me, for his thinner, with an emphasis on thinner, girlfriend. What’s worse is I just found out through STARS magazine that they’re engaged.”

“What. A. Douche. He doesn’t deserve you.” Carol grabs my hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “He really doesn’t. And please don’t listen to the stupid TV or any of those gossip magazines. You’re beautiful. Who wouldn’t want you? I mean, I do and I’m not even into girls,” she says.

“Thanks, girly.”

Carol playfully nudges me with her shoulder. “I know you’ll be okay, but is there anything that I can do? I mean I do know some people,” she says, giving me a knowing look.

I miss having someone to talk to, at least someone other than my mother. It feels great knowing that Carol has my back. It makes this trip out here a little easier. I hope the transition is just as smooth.

“I’m okay, a little shaky, but okay,” I smile.

“Well fuck him.”

“I just wish I could forget we were ever together.”

“Cheri has just the thing for that!” Carol says, excitement coursing through her. “C’mon, let’s pick up the outfits I need from her, an extra something for you, and get back to my pad. We have to get ready for your date tonight,” Carol says, winking.

“Date? How the hell do I have a date?” I really hope Carol doesn’t plan on hooking me up with a friend of hers. I hate blind dates.

“It’s complicated. In short, I’m meeting Tristan Knight, another client of mine at a club opening. It’s tonight. He wants to talk over some plans for getting publicity for the new art gallery he’s thinking of opening. I only agreed to meet tonight because he said he didn’t mind if I brought a friend along who just moved here. He actually said that he would bring a friend too.”

“Oh gosh, Carol. I’m really not up to meeting anyone tonight. I need to catch up on sleep. I have jetlag.” I think I’ve filled my quota for meeting beautiful men today. After Nicholas, I don’t think I can handle another. It’s like sensory overload waiting to happen.

“Sweetheart, nobody gets jetlag from California to New York. It’s only four hours, tops.”

Part of me wants to whine and complain that I don’t want meet some rich, stuffy guy, but Carol is definitely what I would consider wealthy, and she isn’t stuffy. Not one bit.

Carol’s apartment is on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I remember reading about the area online. Or rather drooling about it. The neighborhood is known for its history of artistic workers and its wealthy community. I’m not surprised that she wanted to live in an artsy neighborhood. Even when we were living in Los Angeles, Carol always talked about moving near the art center of Los Angeles. But I have to say, LA doesn’t have anything on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

The inside of Carol’s apartment is just as extravagant as the outside. Wood flooring leads to a kitchen with marble floors and granite countertops. The kitchen is probably as big Gordon Ramsay’s Hell's Kitchen. I wonder if she has a pantry with every ingredient you could ever think of too? This must be what heaven looks like for foodies, aka food lovers.

Carol leads me into the bedroom where she sets the five outfits for tomorrow’s photo shoot down on the bed, plus one little black dress for me. Apparently, the wondrous fashion designer, Cheri Coy, has plenty of dresses in my size. I was afraid she only made supermodel sizes, but her line actually caters to curvy women. The dress she graciously lent me isn’t just any ordinary cocktail dress. It hugs my waist in just the right way, giving me an hourglass figure, instead of a muffin top. The back slits up, almost like a pencil skirt, and the front dips low in heart shapes on my breasts. If it weren’t for my $15 dress shoes, I’d say I could pass for someone in the VIP lounge.

“Whoa, look at you!” Carol takes a turn around me to get the full effect of the dress. “You… look… amazing.”

“Thank you,” I blush. It’s always been hard taking compliments. Being the center of attention usually isn’t my style, but tonight it is.

“Seriously, you’d give Joan Holloway a run for her money,” she says, grinning. Carol knows exactly what to say to make me feel like a million bucks. Joan Holloway is my favorite character from the period drama Mad Men.

“I think you should borrow some of my shoes. I have some great Mary Janes that would complete your look.” Carol walks over to her closet and pulls out a pair of sleek, black shoes with white accents. I stand in awe at the monstrosity she calls a closet. The thing is bigger than my bedroom back home.

“You like that?” Carol asks, winking. “You should see my view.” She pulls me toward the living room just as Steven pulls back the curtains from the panoramic windows. My breath catches at sight of the New York City skyline. The best part about the apartment is definitely the view. I stare out the window at the beautiful chaos of the city below us. How the hell does anyone afford this?

“Do you have a sugar daddy or something?” I blurt. Carol winces slightly.

“Hey, I’m not someone’s baby girl,” she says.

“Sorry, it’s just… I don’t know how people afford to live in extravagant apartments like this,” I confess.

“The apartment is on loan to me,” Carol gushes. “One of my clients offered me the apartment in exchange for some help on a publicity campaign.”

“Wow! That’s amazing. I’m sort of jealous,” I confess.

“Well, you get to enjoy this AMAZING place with me,” she says, smiling. “Are you ready to live it up?”

I laugh in spite of the nerves eating away at me. “So ready.”

“Let’s get you looking drop dead gorgeous for tonight.”

“So do you even know who your client’s friend is? He could be a creeper.”

“I’m not sure, but he’s not a creeper. Mr. Knight is a reputable person, and knowing the people he keeps company with, I’m sure his friend is a big fish.”

“I’m not looking to catch anyone,” I say, laughing.

“You never know, maybe you’ll meet Mr. Right," Carol says, winking. Hah. I'm starting to think Mr. Right is either trapped in another dimension or he just doesn't exist; either way, I'm single for life.

The memory of Nicholas’ kiss still sears my thoughts. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again?

Nicholas

This weekend would’ve been hell if it weren’t for the redhead I met on the plane. My cock stirs at the thought of her round little ass pressed up against me. It doesn’t matter that she was wearing jeans. I knew she could feel me growing hard underneath her. It took all of my strength not to take her into one of the lavatories and fuck her until she begged me to stop. Her lips were a tease for something even more delicious. I bet she tastes like peaches.

“Good morning, Mr. StoneHaven.” Mary, our building receptionist breaks me from my thoughts as she hands me a manila envelope. Mary Striver has been with our company for over thirty years. I feel strangely close to her, although she doesn’t usually say any more than hello or goodbye to me. I do have to admit, she has a quirky character. Sometimes I refer to her as Mona Lisa because she always seems like she’s hiding something funny.

“Good morning, Mary. What’s this?”

“It’s the folder of resumes your father wanted you to look over before Monday. He’s looking to hire a new personal assistant for you.”

“This has to be the fifth assistant this year.” PAs don’t seem to last too long with me. It’s partly my fault. Most of them end up in my bed and they don’t stay there long, which means they don’t stay here long.

“Yes, it is,” Mary says, half smiling to herself. “Your father is expecting you upstairs.”

“Thank you, Mary. Don’t go home too late.”

“Of course, sir. Goodnight.”

I swallow the irritation nipping at my heels as I make my way up the elevator to the thirtieth floor. The sight of the familiar marble flooring and gunmetal windows eases my nerves somewhat. I’m home. StoneHaven Publishing has been my home for as long as I can remember. It’s filled with countless memories of summers spent helping my father as he built this company piece by piece. Every summer I watched him labor over it for hours upon hours. I’m pretty sure this company is and will always be my father’s baby. No, I’m damn sure.

After a four-hour flight, and two hours spent trying to get through the city, I’m exhausted. This past week has been grueling. I thought Los Angeles would be a nice break from the hectic New York scenery, but LA was just one of my father’s distractions. He had me meeting with potential investors almost every day. I thought he was looking to expand and open up an office in California. I should’ve known better. He agreed too easily to send me to California. While I was working, he was planning an engagement.

As of this morning, I am supposed to announce my engagement to Alison Price, the daughter of one of my father’s investors. It isn’t as if I actually asked Alison to marry me. No, my father bartered with Grayson Price and this is the deal they came to. This is the 21st century, and yet somehow this feels archaic. The roles have reversed over these past centuries. Now, I’m being put up for auction. My father has a new mission for me – marriage. Just the thought of it sends my stomach turning. Married to one woman for the rest of my life is insanity. And it isn’t even one I particularly like.

I thought we settled this argument before I flew to Los Angeles, but apparently our conversation was moot because I received a text message from a fellow colleague congratulating me on my upcoming nuptials. The part that had me confused was why I was supposedly getting married in the first place. I thought it was some cruel joke. But I was so wrong.

My father’s office sits in the furthest corner of the floor. Much like his egotistical self, he demanded the office with the best view overlooking the city below. I’m not sure why he wonders who I get my traits from. It’s obvious. The floor is clear of employees, with the exception of security doing their nightly rounds of each floor. Sometimes I wonder if we need so many people clearing all of the floors.

I find father sitting at his desk reading over a slew of documents. He doesn’t bother looking up as I enter the room. He’s wearing his bifocal glasses again. Emily, my little sister, is always teasing him by telling him that he looks like Benjamin Franklin with them on. If only she could see him right now. Father mutters something, which as far as I can guess, is him telling me to sit down.

“Good evening, I’m glad to see you finally made it in,” he says, taking his glasses off and rubbing the dark circles under his eyes.

“Father, I need to speak with you about this impending marriage you seem to think is happening.”

He looks up with a smirk of amusement. I know all too well that he’s up to no good. If I could stare daggers at him right now, I would. I don’t understand why he wants to micromanage everything, including my life. He places the stack of documents in his desk and leans back in his chair. His composure reminds me of when I was in high school and we would talk about the importance of studying. Father hated that I wanted to play sports in school. He’d rather me read all day. He finds greater value in the mind than in the body. I beg to differ. I think there’s plenty of value in the body, especially when it comes to women.

“Yes, I think now is a good time to discuss your upcoming marriage, but first I would like to discuss this issue of getting you a new personal assistant. I went ahead and had HR post a temporary position up on the site. We have several candidates lined up. Interviews will be held Monday morning. If you’d like you can be there, but if not I think I can manage on my own.”

"Father, I don't need another assistant,” I say with annoyance.

"You're right, son." he says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "What you really need is a babysitter."

"What?" A babysitter? “I’m 28, not ten.”

“You haven’t proved that to me yet.”

“I spend this past weekend speaking with investors under the impression that we were looking to open another office in California.”

“I’m just glad to see you finally taking an interest in the family business,” father says.

It’s difficult to appreciate something that’s nearly destroyed our family. But I’ve learned to love this business.

“I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.” I begin to stand, but my father’s words stop me.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says, turning in his chair. “You forget your income comes from this company. You were born into wealth. You haven’t really worked a day in your life. I’ve been trying to teach you to be responsible, because one day you’re going to inherit this company and with that comes certain expectations.”

“Yes, and marrying me off to one of your investors’ daughters isn’t enough to show my commitment to this company, and to this family?”

“No, Alison Price’s money may save this company, but if you don’t handle things properly, you can still run it straight into the ground.”

“I refuse to marry someone I don’t even like.”

“When I married your mother I wasn’t in love with her. The love came later on. Sometimes it’s better that way.”

“Yes, because you and mom are a perfect example of a lasting relationship.” The words come out more bitter than I intend, but I can’t help the anger rising in my chest. My mother isn’t an easy topic for either of us. She married my father because of his wealth and she left us when we were at our lowest. She was everything to my father, to my brother, to me, and my sister Emily. Was being the keyword.

"You understand you’re making my life a living hell, right?" I ask.

Father chuckles softly. "Since when is living in luxury hell?”

"You know I'm not going to make this easy,” I warn.

"Of course not," he says, smiling. “I wouldn’t expect any less. Nicholas, just give Alison Price a chance. I need you to behave while we're in negotiations with her father. You’ll see; at the end of all of this, you’ll understand why I’m doing what I’m doing."

I highly doubt it.

"Keep her happy,” he says, eyeing me. "Our relationship with her family is critical. At this time, they're one of our biggest investors. I hope I don't have to remind you that any ties you have with other women need to end. Now."

“Like I have a choice,” I mutter. My father looks up at me with a smirk. He doesn’t have to say it. I know the answer.

"Perfect, I understand."

“I want you to know that this was all Alison’s father’s idea. Apparently, she has a strong attachment to you. With good reason I’m assuming.”

It was one night. One big mistake. I should’ve known Alison couldn’t see it as a one-time thing.

“It meant nothing.”

“I was afraid you might say that. I think you should seriously consider spending more time with Alison. You may find that she grows on you.” Father drums his fingers at my silence. "Perhaps, at some point, you may find the idea of her becoming your wife a pleasant thing. She’ll make you a great wife."

Yes, like mother? The idea of having a wife gives me a headache.

“Are we done here?” I ask, bored.

“One more thing. You will have a personal assistant. He or she will be here to keep an eye on you and keep you out of trouble. You're a public figure for this company, and I can't have your face splashed all over the tabloids because of your 'extracurricular activities.'"

His words sting with each emphasis. We couldn’t be more different. My father doesn’t seem to remember the importance of mingling at social events or parties with other New York powerhouses. He thinks all I do is sleep around, while he spends his time buried away in his office. He wasn’t always so cold or hard with me. He changed when my mother left. The memory of her still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

“I guess there’s nothing else to discuss.”

“Good, then will I see you Monday for the interviews?”

“Yes.”

I leave my father’s office without another word. Although I’m fuming inside, can’t but hope that this mess will somehow fix itself. Maybe if I speak with Alison I can make her understand how marrying me would be a mistake – for both of us.

On my way home, I get a call from Tristan Knight, my childhood best friend. I haven’t heard from his mug for several weeks now. He’s been working on some top-secret project and he’s pretty much kept me out of the loop. All I know is it has something to do with his art.

“Nick! How have you been, buddy?” From the blaring sound of the music blasting from the other end, I know Tristan’s out somewhere, probably starting his weekend early.

“Tired, I just flew back in town,” I grumble.

“Aw, but not too tired for drinks with some lovely ladies, right?”

“Tristan, I refuse to get pulled into one of your double date fiascos again. Plus, there’s probably something I should tell you.”

“Look, just get down here. I have some big news and it sounds like you do too. I want you to be here.”

Big news? Tristan doesn’t throw around those two words lightly, so I’m genuinely intrigued. I guess I won’t be staying home and catching up on some much needed sleep. I do need to stop by my apartment to change. I can still smell the sweat from sitting for four hours on the plane.

“Alright, where do I meet you?”

“You’re going to like this place. It’s called Riptide. It’s over in Chelsea.”

Rebecca

The city of New York is a fearsome thing to behold. The city lights shine down on the club, lighting it up like a Hollywood stage. My body hums with excitement as Carol and I step out of her black Escalade and onto a red carpet swarming with paparazzi. Apparently, this is the place to be. Carol warned me about the press being at club openings, but I don’t think I’m ready for this many people.

“Just follow me, the doorman knows we’re on the list,” she says, straightening her wistful strands of mocha brown.

I pull at the hem of my dress, conscious of the way it slips up, revealing a little too much of my thunder thighs, as we make our way down the red carpet. A few cameramen snap pictures of us, whistling as we walk up. I wonder if we’ll be in tomorrow’s paper? I’m suddenly grateful that I’m wearing a black cocktail dress. At least with the black, my unwanted love handles are hidden. I hope if my picture somehow finds it way on the Internet, Miles sees it. Nothing right now would give me more satisfaction than for him to know I’m doing wonderfully without him.

Hundreds of people gawk at us as they wait in line to go into the club. I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to walk to the front of a club line, drop a name, and then be escorted inside. Usually, I’m the one waiting in line, watching the bouncer admit all of the supermodel twigs inside.

“You’re going to love this place,” Carol says, grinning.

The front doorman to the club looks up with a smirk as he spots us. The mischievous look behind his eyes tells me he knows Carol well. He reminds me of a sexier version of Russell Crowe. Silvery grey hairs run through his short, brown hair and goatee, and his eyes crinkle slightly when he smiles.

“Ms. Livingston, it’s nice to see you again.” His British accent is thick. I can almost see him in some 19th century gothic story, walking across the moors of Northern England in his riding coat, searching for his long lost love. His eyes wash over the both of us with interest. Carol must be a lot bigger of a name in NYC than she let on.

“Hi, Derrick,” she says, winking. “We’re finally here, sorry to hold up the party,” she says, smiling.

What a flirt.

Something tells me Carol has a lot of confessing to do later. His eyes dip to Carol’s neckline. There’s intensity behind them as they trail back up to her almost-innocent smile.

She knows the effect she has on him.

I can’t help but laugh.

“Right this way,” he says, holding open front door of the club and never taking his eyes off her backside. “Welcome to Riptide.”

“Carol, what the hell was that?”

“What was what?” she says coyly.

“The doorman and you. You guys were eye-fucking each other.”

“Oh that,” she says dismissively. “We just made out once in his car.”

“Just made out?”

“Well, it started as just making out.”

“Unbelievable,” I say, laughing.

The inside of the Riptide is phenomenal. The club’s beach theme is present within each detail of the décor, from the blue lights spinning across the dance floor engulfing the room with rippling waves, to the faint scent of citrus and the ocean breeze wafting in the air. Even though it makes me miss the weather in California, it’s nice to have a piece of it here in New York.

“They really like giving you the whole experience here, “ Carol says, squeezing my hand. “Do you mind getting us a drink? I’m going to run to the ladies’ room.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“We’ll look for my client as soon as I get back.”

Nicholas

“I think you’re being much too harsh, Nicholas. Alison Price can’t be the worst woman to marry,” Tristan says, giving me an incredulous look. Somehow, Tristan convinced me that coming down to Chelsea wasn’t going to be a waste of my time. For the past hour we’ve been talking nonstop about my father’s overbearing expectations for my life, which eventually led to talking about Alison Price. My future wife.

“You have absolutely no idea how annoying she is.”

“Annoying enough to not have sex with?” Tristan asks. I can almost see the sarcasm dripping from his lips.

“It was one time.” I toss back my glass of whiskey. The liquid burns down my throat, creating a warm pool in the pit of my stomach.

“When is it not?”

It’s true, even my closest friends know that I pick up women for sex, but most of these women know my reputation. It’s no secret around town – the tabloids do their hardest to keep it that way too. I don’t romance women; I fuck them. The problem is I fucked the wrong one. Alison had other ideas about us when I met her this past summer.

“How did you meet her again?”

“We were at the black tie event at the museum. Remember, you donated the painting I told you I wanted.”

“Ah, now I remember.”

The night started like most, guests were getting drunk on champagne and having fun, throwing away thousands of dollars in the live auction. As for me, well, I appreciated a more discreet way of spending my money – the silent auction table. Alison and I got into a bidding war over one of Tristan’s paintings. She kept watching the auction table, waiting to pounce as I left. We went back forth for most of the night, trying to outbid the other. I wasn’t about to lose. I wanted the painting. After a while, I had a feeling she wasn’t interested in the painting any longer. I tested my theory, and she finally gave in when I wrote my cell number next to my bid. I guess I can technically blame Tristan for all of this. At the time, I had no idea she was the daughter of any of my father’s friends.

“C’mon, let’s have another drink and get you out of this funk. There’s plenty of beautiful women here to take your mind off things,” Tristan says, grinning as he raises his glass of wine.

Funk isn’t even close to how I would describe my mood; more like steaming mad. I can’t shake the irritation from earlier in the day. My father has managed to ruin everything. I’m being forced to get engaged to an insufferable woman, and now there's also plans for a wedding. A club is the last place I need to be, no matter how beautiful the women are, but I can’t back out on a promise to a friend.

“Speaking of women, did you meet any beauties in Los Angeles?” Tristan inquires. “Is it true that most of them have plastic tits?”

“I met a few. Some had plastic tits, but not all of them.” I laugh. “There was one in particular that I can’t get off my mind.”

“Wait, what did you say? Nicholas StoneHaven is smitten with a woman?”

“Smitten? No.”

“So tell me about her. She must be something to behold if you can’t get her off your mind.”

“She’s different than most of the women I date. Younger, curvy, fiery hair, and lips that made me want to fuck her 40,000 feet up in the air.”

“Ah, so you met her on the plane?”

“Yes.”

“So what happened?”

“Nothing. We kissed. That was all.”

“How very old school of you.”

“I’m surprised, Nicholas.”

“Believe me, I wanted to fuck her. But being arrested by a U.S. Air Marshal wasn’t an option. My face would’ve been splashed all over the papers.”

Meeting Rebecca was definitely the highlight of my trip. I could kick myself for not getting her number. Having her body meshed against me while I kissed her pouty lips made me feel like a high school boy going through puberty. I was pretty sure at one point I almost came just having her brush up against me.

“So when are you going to tell me about the big news you mentioned over the phone?” I ask, pushing away my lust driven thoughts. The crowded room around us is stifling with plastic smiles and glazed eyes.

“Well, I wanted to wait until she got here…”

“She? Are you dating someone I don’t know about?”

Tristan breaks out into laughter. “No, of course not.”

“Good.”

“Am I really that horrible that I shouldn’t even be in a relationship?”

“No, I’m merely saving you from having to make the same horrible mistake I’m being forced to make.”

“I’m meeting a prospective PR specialist who I’d like to hire for the opening of my new art exhibit, Trinity. She’s the one who put together this event,” Tristan says with a contagious grin.

“Art exhibit? You mean you’re actually taking my advice and selling your art instead of giving it all away?”

“Alright, you can’t take credit for the whole idea, but yes. I think it’s time.” Art was Tristan Knight's baby. As a connoisseur of it, opening a new art gallery was a pretty damn big deal.

“Congratulations, I don’t know what to say, other than I know it’ll be amazing. You work is amazing.”

“Thanks, Nick, you know that means a lot to me.”

“If I didn’t have enough trouble with Emily as a sister, I would claim you as my adoptive brother.”

Tristan tenses slightly at the mention of my sister’s name.

“How is Em?” he asks hesitantly. Something tells me that there’s been something going on between my sister and my best friend lately. While it grinds my gears to know that any guy is looking at my twenty-two-year-old sister in that way. Who better to take care of her than Tristan Knight? At least for now, that’s all he better be doing.

“She’s fine. She should be back any day now. She was vacationing in Florida with a few friends.”

The awkwardness between them started this past summer when we vacationed in Southampton for Emily’s birthday. She stormed off the beach when she saw Tristan and me speaking with some models vacationing a few houses down. At first, I thought she was mad because we were ignoring her. Now, I’m starting to get the feeling that she was mad because Tristan was ignoring her. Funny enough, Tristan didn’t take either of the two models back to his room, but I did.

“Right, well, I’m going to make a call and grab another drink from the bar,” he says, walking away. Yeah, something is definitely going on with him. I’ll have to squeeze it out of Emily when I see her tomorrow.

My leg vibrates, telling me I must be receiving a call. When I pull it out, a single name flashes across the screen that sends my mood plummeting. Alison Price. I debate on whether to pick it up, but a tiny voice inside me reminds me that I have specific obligations now. Whether I want to or not, I’m stuck with her. So it’s probably in my best interest if I make an effort to try and have a functional relationship with her. Then again, this is my night to relax. I pocket the phone and take another swig of my brandy. I need to avoid Alison as long as possible.

When Tristan returns with an extra drink, he has a sour look of irritation on his face. I don’t often see him upset. He has the wonderful gift of always being able to muster a friendly smile. Whereas, I’ve been often told that I scowl.

“Is everything all right?” I ask.

“Yes, fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Good. When did this PR specialist say she would be here?”

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”

“Nicholas!” I recognize the voice before I even turn. Alison Price walks toward me wearing a short nude dress. Her hair looks different from the way she usually wears it. Now, instead of limp strands of blonde, her hair curls in tight ringlets. The look on her face is predatory. Most people wouldn’t notice it, but I do. It’s the same look I have when I see something I want. It’s animalistic, I know, but it’s also a natural part of me. She wants me. It should turn me on, but when it comes to Alison, I’m just the shiny new toy, for now.

“Sweetheart, I tried calling you. Your father said you were down here, so I thought I would join you.”

The translation of that is my father called her father and struck a deal. No doubt my father told Alison I would be down here. He doesn’t want to give me time to acclimate to the idea of being forced to marry someone. He just wants me to do what I’m told.

“I’m sorry, it’s hard to hear anything in here,” I say, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Tristan, it’s wonderful to see you again,” Alison says, turning to give Tristan a once over as she extends her hand.

“Thank you, Alison. I’m glad you could make it out.”

“Would you like a drink?” I need to get away from this woman.

“I would love one. A Long Island Iced Tea would be great.” Alison slips her hand over my arm, squeezing it possessively.

“I’ll be back.”

The bar is overcrowded with groups of people waiting to order drinks, but I manage to find an all too willing waitress to take my order. She slips me her number, along with my receipt. I turn back to where Tristan and Alison are standing and spot a tall, slender brunette extending her hand to Tristan. This must be the PR woman he wants to hire. She looks sharp in her short, grey dress with black sequins. From her body language I can tell she’s an astute woman. She must know her stuff if she was able to pull off this party.

A flash of red catches my attention as a curvy young woman walks up to her and Tristan. The girl standing in front of them is young, and in her early twenties. I watch as Tristan greets her with a handshake. His eyes quickly trail over her with interest. Among the sea of bodies, she sticks out like a sore thumb in her black dress and red heels. I watch, mesmerized by her hair, long legs, and sun-kissed skin. She’s doesn’t look like your average New Yorker visiting a club, but there’s something familiar about her. My breath hitches as she turns toward my direction. Her green eyes crowned by long black eyelashes widen at me. The expression on her angelic face reminds me of the porcelain dolls my sister used to collect when she was little. It’s a mixed look of wonder and amazement. Her lips part just enough to send a streak of desire through me. Fuck, I know her. She’s the young woman from the airplane.

Rebecca

The sight of him sends my heart into palpitations. It’s him. I’m not sure how someone can be so good looking without a flock of women surrounding him. I’m pretty sure the gods put men like him on this earth to taunt me. His stormy blue eyes narrow in on the dip of my black dress. Thanks to Carol, my tits are on display like a Christmas light show, and if I knew any better, I would say he’s unwrapping me with his mind. A slow smile slides across his mouth. Part of me wants to go to him and throw myself at his mercy. And by mercy I mean his Greek god-like rock hard body. It’s been several hours since I last saw him, but I can still taste him on my lips.

He slowly moves through the crowd of people brushing up against him. What I wouldn’t give to be the fabric on clothes rubbing against his skin. He’s shaved since I last saw him on the plane. While a 5 o’clock shadow looks good on him, I love the way his bare skin accentuates his strong chin and cheekbones. He’s in front of me before I can turn back to clue Carol in.

“Hello, it’s wonderful to see you again.” His voice is like warm liquid pouring over me. It’s refreshing and yet, it sends my nerves spinning.

“Do you know him?” Carol whispers over her shoulder.

“Nicholas, you’re back. Wonderful. I would like you to meet Ms. Livingston and her friend...”

“Rebecca,” I offer. “Rebecca Gellar.”

A ghost of a smile passes between us. Carol eyes me with curiosity. I know she’ll be asking questions later. There isn’t much to tell, sadly. I met a gorgeous man on an airplane. We kissed, touched, but we never exchanged any kind of contact information, and yet somehow, here he is. I’m not sure if fate is trying to tell me something, or it’s just in my cards to meet gorgeous men who aren’t for me.

The woman standing near Tristan takes a step forward, and wraps her hand through Nicholas’ arm. She tugs on it, drawing his attention to her. His smile immediately vanishes. My heart squeezes as she leans into him. There’s no mistaking it. The woman who I assumed was with Tristan is actually with my beautiful stranger.

“This is my fiancé, Nicholas,” she purrs. I watch him hand her a drink. Anger pulsates through my veins at the realization of what this means. He was engaged when he kissed me on the plane. How stupid can I be? I watch the two stand side by side. Physically they make the ideal couple. Why didn’t I see this coming? Alison is beautiful, but her expression is cold. She stands silently assessing me. Her long legs are effortlessly toned. What I wouldn’t give to have her legs.

Nicholas doesn’t lean into Alison or even look at her as she slides her hand down his back. No, he keeps his eyes directly on me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but I honestly wish I knew. The situation is more than awkward. I have to pretend like this is our first time meeting. Images of his thumb grazing against my neck sends chills down my back. I shiver. The impression of his lips on mine still hasn’t left me.

“Are you cold?” Carol asks.

“I’m fine,” I squeak.

He’s not yours. His expression tightens as he shakes my hand and then Carol’s. He probably thinks I’m going to rat him out.

“Tristan, why don’t we discuss some of your ideas for opening?” Carol says, piping in. I have no doubt she’ll get this account. She can be very convincing.

“I was thinking of keeping it to a very intimate setting. Nowhere near this many people,” he says, scanning the crowd.

“Perfect, do you have a date in mind?”

“I was actually thinking about having the opening on New Year’s Eve.”

“Oh, that’s very short notice…”

“Can you pull it off?” he asks, as if testing her.

Carol smirks. “Mr. Knight, I pulled together Riptide’s opening in the same amount of time. What do you think?”

I smile at Carol’s sassy but confident attitude. Despite how much I just want to escape, I can’t. God, I hope this night doesn’t turn into a disaster. Carol mentioned that the meeting wouldn’t last too long. Maybe stepping outside for some air might be nice. I excuse myself from the group and head toward the back of the building. I sense Nicholas still watching me as I leave, but I dismiss the thoughts of him that filter through my mind. I can’t stop myself from being attracted to him, but I sure as hell can control the filth in my head.

The back of the club is almost as crowded as the front. I spot a door that leads to an outside patio for guests who want to smoke. As tempting as it is to be outside, I can’t stand the smell of the heavy smoke. I linger just in front of the door hoping to catch a passing breeze, but the night air is still. This isn’t helping. Maybe I should just go back to Carol’s loft.

On my way back from the women’s restroom, a pair of hands thrust me back against a dark corner. I nearly scream, but stop myself as Nicholas steps forward out of the shadows. The look he gives me melts away the words I have. He doesn’t wait for me to question him. He simply takes. His lips crush into mine with full force, almost knocking me backwards. The wall is the only thing that stops us from crashing. A million things race through my head, but the one thing that hits home is the knowledge that somewhere, his fiancée is waiting for him. I don’t want to be like Scarlett. I’m not someone who goes around taking someone else’s man.

“What are you doing?” I ask. It’s more of an accusation than a question.

“Doing what I should’ve done 40,000 feet in the air.” He crosses my wrists and pushes them above me. I fight the urge to grab a fistful of his hair and kiss him.

“No, I can’t.”

The phrase resistance is futile has a whole new meaning. He pushes open my legs and strokes his hand up and down my center. As much as I want him to stop, I can’t seem to verbalize my plea. My hips meet his hand and he continues the friction of fingers. He pauses to slide up my dress baring the bottom of me. I’ve never been the type to want to have sex in public, but god does he make me want to. He skims his tongue across my neck and the act nearly sends my body into spasms. He finds his way inside my lace underwear.

“I want you.” His words set my nerves on fire. He slowly parts me, slipping his fingers inside me. His fingers rock back and forth against me as he delves deeper inside. I’m lost in oblivion. Falling farther and farther down the rabbit hole and I can’t seem to stop myself. He presses against my clit and I nearly lose it. He growls lightly against my ear as he plants his lips below it. The sensation sends my head spinning. I need to stop.

Nicholas loosens his grip of my wrists and reaches down toward my breasts with his free hand. His thumb circles my right nipple and it grows hard beneath his finger. He leans forward and places it in his mouth, leaving a damp warm spot on my dress.

“I want you to come for me, baby.”

The words aren’t said with a silent plea. No, the way he says it is more of a command. I honestly haven’t felt wanted like this since Miles. He wasn’t always a caring lover. A lot of the times he was just selfish. The thought of him sends a pang to my chest. Cheating on me was the most selfish thing he ever did. But how am I any better? Here I am, letting Nicholas touch me.

“Where’d you go, sweetheart?” Nicholas asks, breathing heavily. He caresses my cheek drawing my attention back to him.

“Stop,” I whisper. I can’t give myself up like this. He doesn’t get to see that part of me. He doesn’t get to unravel me just to watch me break. It frightens me to want him. It frightens me that someone like him could make me forget everything. Including myself.

“Wait,” he says, grabbing my waist, but I don’t. I push his hands off and yank my dress down. I don’t look back. I just push past him and run out of there as fast as I can. In the distance I can hear him calling after me. I don’t think anyone’s ever told him no, but he’ll get over it. I’m just another girl to him. Someone he thinks he can have without any conditions.

I find Carol at the bar ordering a drink. The distress on my face must be obvious because she immediately asks me what’s wrong. I don’t tell her about Nicholas. I can’t. Part of me is ashamed that it went so far. She doesn’t poke or prod me to explain my sudden need to leave. She simply gives me a hug and calls Steven to pick me up.

“Steven is coming to take you home. Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you though?”

“No, Carol. Stay and mingle. You need this account.” I smile, trying my best to reassure her that I mean it.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s in the bag,” she says, winking

“Thank you for taking me out.”

“No problem, make yourself at home back at my place.”

“Thanks, I will.”

It doesn’t take long for Steven to arrive, and it takes even less time for us to get back to Carol’s apartment. Somehow, Steven knows just what streets to avoid on our way back. He walks me all the way to Carol’s door and shows me where to find the spare key.

As much as I want to sleep, I wait up for Carol to get home. She doesn’t get back to the apartment until 4 AM.

“Hey, you waited up?” she asks, whispering as she crawls into bed next to me. “And made yourself at home in my bed?”

“Yeah, I wanted to wait up and you said to make myself comfortable.” I giggle as Carol swats me with her pillow. It’s like we’re in junior high having a sleepover. She slips off her shoes and jumps into bed.

“You totally didn’t have to wait up, but thank you. I had to stay late to make sure the clean up and break down crews were doing their jobs.”

“It’s a lot of work being a mega PR person.”

“Yeah, but a lot of the time I end up being more of an event planner. By the way, I got the account with Tristan Knight,” she squeals.

“That’s fantastic! I’m so happy for you,” I say, hugging her.

“Thanks. Oh yeah, I wanted to tell you, I think your blue-eyed friend was looking for you.” She doesn’t have to mention his name. I know she means Nicholas.

“He’s not my friend.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?” Carol says with a motherly tone. “Is he the reason why you left so early?”

“I’ll explain tomorrow,” I say, forcing a smile.

“Promise?”

“Sure.”

Carol turns and shuts off the lamp beside her nightstand. The room is quickly engulfed in darkness, with the exception of the glittering city outside our window. It sits shining beneath the moonlight and the stars.

“By the way…” Carol starts to say. “He was totally looking for you. He didn’t say your name, but when I came back without you… the look on his face was like someone had killed his puppy.”

As I close my eyes and let the darkness overtake my senses, the last thing I see is the image of Nicholas’ stark blue eyes staring down at me, burning with need and desire.

Nicholas

Monday morning arrives far too quickly. The weekend was anything but restful. It was more like a painful and arduous process of replaying Friday’s events over and over in my mind. To make things worse, I’ve been daydreaming about her for the past two hours. Her, as in Rebecca Gellar, the vivacious redhead I met on my flight back home, with her sharp green eyes that sized me up from the get-go. It’s stupid of me to let her get inside my head, but I can’t stop the chain reaction she’s started. I want her.

The events of the Friday night seem so serendipitous, that it’s hard to believe it actually happened. Out of all of the clubs in this city, she was at Riptide. When I saw her, I wanted to peel off her dress and kiss every inch of her. I can still taste those sweet lips on mine. One minute she was unraveling in my arms, moaning beneath my touch, and the next she was gone. I haven’t stopped thinking about the way she felt. God, she was so wet. I remember my fingers sliding inside her with ease… my cock still twitches at the memory of her soft gasps. She shifted my world upside down, turning it on its axis with one simple kiss. Unfortunately, Alison ruined everything when she decided to just show up unannounced.

Rebecca’s eyes opened up like saucers when she heard her introduce herself as my fiancée. I can only imagine what thoughts were going through Rebecca’s head. From the tightlipped grimace on her face, she was pissed. She had every right to blurt out about our kiss on the airplane, but she didn’t, and while I would’ve been more than happy to get rid of Alison, it would’ve royally fucked things up for the company.

I didn’t want to chase Rebecca away, but it’s probably better that I did. I’m engaged. Engaged… I’m still trying to sort out the ramifications of this reality in my head. I don’t even do long-term relationships, but this is as permanent as one can get. Rebecca’s face flashes in my mind. She must think the worse of me. I know she shouldn’t mean anything. She’s just another number in a city that’s overflowing with women begging to be fucked, but all I can think about is finding her and punishing her for leaving me with blue balls.

I’ve been stroking myself for the past 30 minutes, but each time I get close to peaking, I lose the image of fucking her mouth. It’s like she’s cursed me. That fiery siren is my impending death by no release. Perhaps I should’ve taken Alison’s offer for sex last night. She was all too willing. I’m surprised she didn’t cup me in public by the way she was marking her territory. It didn’t take much to notice the angry and jealous glances at Rebecca. Rebecca. Her name will forever be ingrained in my mind.

I begin stroking myself again, trying to imagine her face as I touched her soft folds. I grab a towel as I get closer and closer to my release. I’m almost there.

“I’m home!” a familiar voice shouts from across my living room, instantly stopping me. Before I have time to throw my towel on the floor, Emily, my little sister, walks straight into my bedroom. Her eyes widen as she spots the towel in one hand, and my other hand underneath the sheets. Her cheeks flame bright red against her fair skin. This is awkward.

“Whoa! God, what are you, 12?” she screams in disgust. “You should’ve locked your door if you’re doing stuff like that.”

“Why the hell don’t you knock like a normal person?” I yell, irritated as fuck. How the hell did she get into my apartment anyway?

“I didn’t think I would walk in on you yanking your chain.”

“Just get out! I need to get dressed.” Frustration is how I will sum up today, and it’s just gotten started.

As I exit my room, dressed in a fresh suit, I find Emily sitting on the couch, holding a sign that reads: “CONGRATULATIONS!” Written underneath are Alison’s and my names. It seems news of my engagement has traveled fast.

“I’m so excited for you! When is the wedding?” she asks, pushing back a black wisp of hair from her face. She reminds me so much of our mother that it’s painful at times. It’s like looking at an old photograph. She has the same fair skin and long, black hair. My brother and I were the ones who came out more like our father.

“Hopefully never,” I mutter.

Her face drops. “I thought this was happy news?” She eyes me suspiciously as I begin to set my tie in place.

“It’s not. I’m being forced into marriage.”

“How medieval,” she says, smirking. “I guess I should’ve known better.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, pretending to be offended.

“Nothing, you just don’t keep your girlfriends around for very long.”

It’s because most of them are gold diggers, like our mother. “You better watch out, you’re next,” I tease. “You know father. If it’s for the good of the family, he’ll ship you off.” Emily follows me as I walk to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of orange juice. She’s dressed in a light yellow dress and red heels. Something tells me she’s still on vacation. That or she’s ditching class.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at school?” I ask. “Isn’t New York University back in session yet?”

“Not today, I go back tomorrow,” she says with a mischievous grin. Although almost six years her senior, I’ve often wondered whether Emily isn’t the older of us two. It’s only when she grins that I’m reminded she’s only twenty-two. Something about her smile screams youthful innocence.

“So, I thought you liked Alison?” she asks. “You dated her for a while, right?”

“You could call it that.”

“Yuck, please don’t tell me any more.”

I chuckle. The alarm on my phone starts to go off, reminding me that it’s 7:00 AM. Time to go. My apartment is far enough from the office that it doesn’t feel like I live at work, but close enough that it takes less than 20 minutes to get there. It’s convenient and easy, but it also means that I have no excuses for being late.

“Can we talk about this later? I’m already running late,” I say.

“Okay, are we still planning on taking a trip to the French Riviera this January?”

“Of course,” I say, kissing the top of her head as I grab my work case. “I gotta jet. Let yourself out, okay?”

“Will do,” she says, grabbing the remote control and turning on my flat screen. Something tells me she’s going to be here for a while. As I head out the door, I’m reminded of Tristan’s odd behavior at the mere mention of Emily’s name.

“Hey, you need to let me know what’s going on between you and Tristan. Not right now, but later,” I say.

Emily turns to me with a blank look. Her face flushes pink as she stutters to make a coherent sentence. “Um, I…”

“I can’t help but get the feeling that you two are mad at each other,” I say, cutting her off. “Which is weird because you grew up together and I know he loves you like his little sister. I really hope whatever it is, you both will stop fighting.”

“Okay,” she manages to whisper.

“Great, we’ll talk later.”

By the time I reach StoneHaven Publishing, the lobby is busy with employees and visitors bustling about. Mary is tending to our festive holiday decorations as she places a wreath in front of the reception area. I always found it interesting that we tend to get a lot of tourists coming around the holidays. Everyone seems to want to be in New York during Thanksgiving, and it’s less than a month away.

“Good morning, Mr. StoneHaven,” Mary says, greeting me with a meek smile.

“Good morning, Mary.”

“Mr. StoneHaven, your father has called you multiple times. He said to tell you to go straight to his office when you got here.”

“I’m sure he did. He probably can’t wait to hire my new assistant.”

Mary smiles as she hands me a note with my missed calls for the morning.

“I don’t suppose you saw this woman? Is she old? Young?” I ask.

“She’s young,” Mary says, divulging nothing more. “Your father wanted me to print her resume for you.” She hands me a single sheet of paper, and as I gaze down, my jaw drops at the name printed in size 12 Times New Roman font.

Rebecca Gellar.

I’m cursed. There’s no better explanation as to why this is happening to me.

“Mary, are you sure this is who we’re interviewing?” I ask. My heart accelerates in a chaotic rhythm.

“Yes,” she says, smiling. “I’m positive.”

The smell of faint jasmine is the first thing that hits me as I enter my father’s office. It’s intoxicating to my senses, seductive even. I find myself openly staring at the short, curvy redhead in front of me wearing a fitted blue dress. Rebecca sits sideways in one of the chairs with her back facing me. My eyes are drawn to the soft curve of her neckline. The taste of her skin is still on my lips even after days. She’s wearing her hair up, and I can’t help but think she looks like a 1950s sexy librarian. I stop short as she turns and focuses her piercing green eyes on me. Her shock and annoyance is evident on her face. She wasn’t expecting to see me here. I wasn’t expecting to see her ever again. Not after Friday night.

From her tight-lipped expression I can tell she doesn’t want me openly staring at her, but I can’t stop. Her eyes glance everywhere but at me. I take a seat in the chair adjacent to hers. The air between us is electric. I can almost feel her disapproval for me. It’s probably pervish of me to say that it turns me on. It definitely turns me on.

“You? What are you doing here?” she says, barely above a whisper. I can sense the bitterness in her words.

“I work here.” I try my best to erase my emotions. A part of me is still angry that she left the club. I wanted her. No, I needed her. I know it’s shitty of me, but I didn’t care if Alison found out. I didn’t care if people saw us. I wanted to be reckless because of her. For her. At that moment, I didn’t even care if the paparazzi happened to see us. Nothing else mattered.

“Funny, you didn’t mention that the other night,” she remarks. “But I guess you have a lot of secrets.” Her insinuation sets off a trigger inside me.

“I don’t tell random women that I meet where I work. What are you doing here?” I retort. Father comes waltzing back into the room before Rebecca has a chance to say anything else. He takes a moment to look from me to Rebecca. Sometimes I swear he has a sixth sense. He has a way of picking up on unspoken conversations.

“Do you know each other?” he asks.

“No,” Rebecca says nervously as she turns back to me. “I was just introducing myself to your son.” Rebecca turns to me. “I’m your new assistant.” She flushes as I take her hand in mine, and even though the moment is brief, I can feel her tremble beneath my touch. As soon as father turns, she quickly breaks eye contact and snatches her hand away.

“I’m glad you could make it in, Nicholas. Although you’re well over an hour late,” father says.

“I apologize, I had some other business to tend to. I thought you received my message.”

“Well, since you missed most of the interview, you’ll be happy to know that we will be hiring Ms. Gellar. She will be your personal assistant for six months as a trial basis. From there, depending on her performance, she may be transferred as a full-time staff member.”

My father stands, turning to Rebecca. “Ms. Gellar, if you can take this paperwork with you and return it tomorrow morning to HR, that should be all we need.”

“Thank you, Mr. StoneHaven,” she says.

As she stands, the hem of her dress suit hikes up just above her knee. The mere sight of her naked leg stirs something inside me. She's stunning. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I still want her. I’ve wanted her since I first saw her. This is bad. I can’t have her working near me, let alone as my assistant.

"It was a pleasure meeting you,” she says to me, but her eyes say differently. I can still see the radiant flecks of gold in her green eyes. Green… like my mother’s. My chest tightens at the realization.

"Nicholas, please show Rebecca around the building. I need to finish drawing up some documents."

“Of course,” I say, gesturing for Rebecca to follow me out.

Father escorts us out of his office, and before I have a chance to speak, Rebecca heads for the elevator. She pushes the downstairs arrow over and over as if expecting it to pop right open. I’m sure she’s hoping it will get here faster. I’m starting to get the feeling she can’t stand to be around me. I follow her, standing a few inches away from her.

“You can’t work here,” I whisper.

She turns to me in shock. “I’m not any happier about this situation,” she says. “But you’re stuck with me for at least the next six months.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were applying to work here?” I ask.

“I had no idea that you were the owner’s son. You never mentioned your last name,” she says accusingly.

“I’m sorry about Friday night,” I blurt.

“Sorry? You mean you’re sorry for coming on to me even though you’re engaged?” Her tone is full of accusations.

“I wasn’t engaged when I first met you.”

“Oh sure,” she says, obviously not amused.

“I wasn’t. I came back and found out about my engagement. I don’t even want to marry her.”

“How romantic,” she says, unconvinced. “That really doesn’t make it any better.”

“Rebecca, I’ll find you another position somewhere else,” I begin to say.

“If you think you’re going to scare me off, you’re wrong,” she says, whirling around on me.

The elevator pings open and Rebecca rushes in. The elevator isn’t fast enough for her to lock me out, although it doesn’t stop her from trying. The doors close behind us, leaving the two of us alone. Rebecca steps back against the wall, trying to keep her distance from me. It’s useless. The smell of her jasmine perfume only drives me crazy. I need to scare her off. I need to make her regret coming to StoneHaven Publishing. I can’t have her around my life if I can’t have her in my bed. I’d like to think I’m strong enough, but I’m not. Having her here would only make things more complicated.

"Is it true what they say about California girls?" I ask, leaning against the elevator wall. She looks up at me with interest.

"I don't know, what do they say?"

"That you're all just begging for a good fuck.” Her eyes widen. The crimson blush across her cheeks only encourages me. “Tell me, Rebecca, do the drapes match the carpet?”

"Your father warned me about you." Her voice is low, but her breathing is rapid. I trail a line with my finger down her arm, all the way to her waist.

"Did he?” I smile. “I think you came here for another reason.”

“And what would that be?” she asks innocently.

“I think you wanted me to finish what I started in the club.”

She doesn’t move as I slide my hands down her ass. I’m instantly aroused. She feels too good against me. I push up against her, but she doesn't back down. She moves closer. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination or what, but her hips grind into mine. It takes every part of my fiber to stop myself from pushing her skirt up and fucking her right there. I want to taste her and fuck her until she remembers only my name.

"You know what else they say about California girls," she whispers, running a hand up my chest. She’s a fucking minx. She wants me just as much as I want her.

"What?”

"We have good aim." Her knee makes contact with my groin.

"Fuck!" My stomach instantly feels like it’s ready to drop out of my body. Nausea hits me like a fucking tidal wave. I instinctively kneel to the ground, clutching myself.

"Don't worry, I'll find my own way around," she says over her shoulder. The elevator pings open, and in an instant she walks out, leaving me disabled and cradling my balls. Sorry, boys, today is just not your lucky day. I look up to see a group of StoneHaven employees waiting by the elevator doors, shocked as they watch the scene unravel before them. This is one hell of a way to teach me a lesson.

Deep inside I know it won't be the last time Rebecca gives me an erection, and a kick in the balls within the same five minutes.

"Crazy redhead.” I don’t stand a chance.

Rebecca

That’s it. I’m making a mental list.

The Run-Like-Hell List: I, Rebecca Gellar, vow that under no circumstances will I fuck sleep with any man especially Nicholas who falls under these:

1. Arrogant.

2. Dangerously handsome.

3. Brooding.

4. Domineering.

5. Possessive.

6. Playboy.

Meet the Author

Vanessa Booke is a lover of poetry, Rom-Coms, the combination of peanut butter and chocolate, and all things Jane Austen. She is an avid reader and graduate from Cal State University, San Bernardino where she received her Bachelor’s degree in English Literature. Vanessa lives in beautiful Southern California with her husband Ryan and their three dachshunds Zer0, Zoey, and Zelda. When she isn’t working on her novels, Vanessa spends most of her time window shopping and taking grand adventures with her partner in crime.

Vanessa loves getting emails from her readers. You can contact her at VanessaBooke@gmail.com.

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Content

Bound To You
Millionaire's Row - 1
Vanessa Booke

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Rebecca

Rebecca

Rebecca

Nicholas

Rebecca

Nicholas

Rebecca

Nicholas

Rebecca

Meet the Author