New York Billionaires Series

Victor’s voice is husky. “Good choice.”

“Thank you. I like you in your tux.”

He stops, eyes dropping to my lips. I tip my head back in welcome. The kiss is perfect. Warm and strong and filled with the promise of what’s to come. He trails his lips to my ear afterwards, heedless of who’s watching.

“It’s a beautiful dress,” he murmurs. “But it’ll look even better on your bedroom floor.”

A shiver runs over my skin. I catch sight of a few men in tuxedos watching us across the lobby and I laugh, breathless.

“Something funny, Myers?”

“I just realized that we won’t have to work so hard to seem like a couple in love tonight.” The second the words are out, I hear how they sound. “I mean, because of… well. Not that we’re actually in love. You get what I mean.”

Victor nods and pulls me along. His gaze is locked on the same group of men. “Indeed.”

I want to press my hands against the warm flush in my cheeks, but if he hasn’t noticed how flustered my own words made me, I won’t bring it to his attention.

Victor networks like he does all things. Intensely. Idle chitchat is brief and to the point, despite my efforts to string it out. I aim smiles at people to soften the bluntness of him.

“What was that?” he asks me as we step away from a couple. I’d asked the two of them where they honeymooned, because we never had a chance to go on one ourselves, and it had launched a refreshing ten-minute conversation about different Caribbean islands.

“That,” I tell him, “was networking.”

“Not any kind I do.”

“No, I’m aware of that.”

“What does that mean?”

“That you’re prickly and to the point. And that works great in meetings-I’ve seen it work!-but not at events like this.”

“You’re criticizing me,” he says.

I meet his gaze, and it’s not fear that unfurls inside of me at the challenge in them. It’s something else entirely, but it scares me just as much.

“I’m giving you advice. Not the same thing.”

“You’re talking semantics, now.”

“Talking about shared interests outside of business is the most important part of networking. If we were a proper married couple, and if you really wanted them to remember you, we’d take their advice seriously. You’d call them in a few weeks’ time and thank them for their input. You’d tell them we’ve booked a trip to one of the islands they suggested. Bermuda, say.”

“Barbados,” he says. “Better beaches, they said.”

I smile. “Right. Barbados. When we’d eventually go on our delayed honeymoon, we’d email them a picture or send them a postcard.”

“That’s too much.”

“No, it shows that we think they did us a favor. They feel helpful and included. People like to help, Victor. They also love the chance to look knowledgeable in front of others.”

His mouth is a frown. But it’s his thinking frown. “A lot of work,” he says.

I shrug. “Not necessarily. Just requires some forethought. And you’d really prefer we have our fake honeymoon in Barbados? I wouldn’t have guessed you were a surfer.”

Victor’s eyes meet mine. “No?”

“I would have thought you didn’t vacation at all.”

“Not regularly, no.”

“Surfing would not have been what I thought swayed you.”

“You claim to know me,” he says, “and yet sometimes I wonder if you do at all.”

“Mmm. I know for a fact you don’t know me.”

“I’m starting to learn.”

I don’t think he’s talking about my honeymoon preferences anymore. I run my fingers down his sleeve, finding a sliver of skin along his wrist. “What are we doing?”

“Whatever we want,” he says, eyes darkening. “I told you that already.”

It sounds so simple when he says it. It probably is, for him. I’ve spent a year watching him do as he pleases and take what he likes. And the world bows at his feet because of it.

What could be more convenient for him than sleeping with the woman he lives with? Who he’s already married to?

But convenience cuts both ways. I’d once said I’d try to be more like him and his ilk. Going after what I want.

“Look,” he says. I follow his gaze to a podium across the lobby. A small half-circle has formed around a well-dressed couple. He’s tall and auburn-haired, in a suit. The dark-haired woman next to him is gorgeous, and despite barely reaching his shoulder, they look well-matched.

“Who are they?”

“The architects who designed this opera house.”

“Really?”

“Are they a team, then? An architect duo?”NôvelDrama.Org owns © this.

“They’re a team, all right,” Victor says. “They’re married.”

“Ooh,” I breathe. “Imagine working that close and also coming home together at the end of the night.”

“An absolute nightmare,” Victor says.

I laugh. “You would think that.”

“I’m not a team player. It’s worked out.”

“Businesswise, yes,” I say, and ignore the look he shoots my way. I’d spent a year making observations about him and never once did I think I’d get the chance to share them with him. Doing it now is heady.