The Player + The Pact = I Do (New York City Billionaires #2)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Jules

When I’m on my deathbed, I wonder if I’ll look back on tonight as the most embarrassing night of my life. Turning up in costume to a party that your best friend-slash-roommate told you was a costume party shouldn’t be embarrassing. In fact, if this actually had been a costume party, I’m pretty sure I would have gotten a medal, or at least been crowned queen.

Because I’ve gone all out.

All. Out.

Sadly, this party is just a regular party and I’m the only one in a costume.

It isn’t slightly embarrassing. Unlike my roommate, I can’t take off my top hat and jacket and voila, I’m no longer a ringmaster from the circus, just someone who’s a little overdressed. Nope, that honor goes to Sophia. And I’m not in a costume that at least makes me look hot, a la Bridget Jones dressed up as a Playboy bunny. Nope. I’m dressed as Mystique from the X-Men. Not the hot-as-fuck movie Mystique, either. I’m the comic-book version: less hot but more authentic.

With my long white dress—slits to my thighs on either side, of course—long white gloves and a circle of small skulls as my belt, I might have been able to get away with, “This isn’t a costume, I’m just an eccentric dresser,” but I’m blue . Blue and overly proud of my belt. I made it myself. In a city where you can find almost anything, four-inch skulls proved difficult. But as the saying goes, Ask and you shall receive. Especially when you ask the Internet. I had to get the goddamn things shipped from the UK, but my skull belt does not disappoint.

All to say, I’m not just embarrassed—I’m pissed. So much of my effort has gone to waste. New York isn’t really a costume party place. In fact, this was supposed to be my first-ever adult costume party and call me pathetic, but I’ve been excited.

If it wasn’t for Sophia, I would have fled as soon as I realized it wasn’t a costume party. But she’s here to accidently bump into a guy she works with, who she’s convinced is the love of her life, so I have to stick around. I stand on my tiptoes to see if she’s heading back with our drinks or if I’ve been abandoned.

She owes me for this.

“You thought this was a fancy dress party?” a male British voice says from behind me.

I spin around and have to tilt back my head to see his face. The guy in front of me looks like he just woke up. His hair is a mess of disobedient brown curls that fall over his eyes. He’s got a sexy smile that makes me feel like we’re both in on a joke.

“Fancy what?” I ask .

He nods at me. “You’re dressed as Mystique. Comic-book Mystique though. I like the belt. Very authentic.”

I bite back a smile, but I’m secretly impressed that he knows who I’m supposed to be. “Comic-book nerd, huh?”

He shrugs. “I had a minor Mystique obsession when I was younger.”

I sigh. “Me too.”

“You’re the first girl I’ve met who’s into comics.”

“Woman. I’m the first woman you’ve ever met. And anyway, I’m not. Not anymore.” My dad left a few comics behind when he bailed on us for the last time. When I found them, I stashed them under my bed and pulled them out occasionally. Mystique was the only character who stuck in my brain. She was hot and fierce and powerful and everything I wanted to feel when I read those comics, wondering if my dad realized he’d left them behind. If he cared as little for those colorful stories as he did for me. “Are you one of those guys who spends all his disposable income tracking down and finding rare editions?”

He grins at me and there’s a corresponding clunk in my chest, like his smile just unbolted something in me. “I’m not. Although that sounds like fun.” Our gazes lock and I exhale, feeling a little more relaxed than I have since our arrival.

“If this had been a costume party, what would you have come as?” I ask him.

“Ahhh, good question.” His gaze doesn’t leave mine and it takes everything I have not to shiver. “Maybe Wolverine? He and Mystique were friends for a while, weren’t they?”

Friends for a while ? What does that mean? I shrug. “I can’t remember,” I say. But I know Wolverine and Mystique weren’t friends. Not in any of the comics my dad left. Mystique didn’t have any friends in the comics I had.

“Maybe Batman,” he says. “I can see some crossover potential.” He grins, and I focus on his teeth and how perfectly white and straight they are. His lips look pillowy soft. A Batman mask would frame his mouth beautifully.

Before I can stop it, a small laugh escapes. “Crossover potential?” I ask.

“I think Batman could tame Mystique,” he says.

I raise my eyebrows. “Tame her?”

“She just needs to be loved,” he says, and there’s that grin again.

“That’s how you see her?”

“That’s how she is,” he says, as one of his curls falls across his face. Just before I reach for it, he pushes it back. I’m mesmerized, completely under his spell. He could tell me anything right now and I’d believe him. I want to hear everything he has to say.

“You’re British,” I say.

“I like you,” he replies. An answering smile curls around my lips.

“You don’t know me,” I say, still grinning. I want him to like me.

“I want to know more,” he says, and his eyes do this sparkly, sexy, flirty thing. I find myself nodding.

“What do you want to know?”

“Your number,” he says, pulling out his phone.

I laugh. “I’ve known you five seconds. Why would I give you my number?”

“We’ve got the start of something beautiful here. I know you feel it. Why wouldn’t you give me your number?”

There’s definitely something in the air between us. A buzz of connection or attraction or chemistry. But he’s so handsome. So confident. How many numbers has this guy already gathered tonight? He’s probably in competition with his friends for who can get the most numbers .

“How’s life across the pond?”

“I was born there, but been stateside since I was fifteen. New York feels like home.” He freezes and frowns for the first time since we started speaking. “Not just home, but destiny.”

“Wow. Destiny? That’s a very un-New York kinda thing to say.”

He laughs, the sound reaching every molecule of his body. “Maybe New Yorkers don’t realize how lucky they are if they’re born into this city. Are you a native?”

“I grew up in Jersey,” I reply. “Still live there. Travel across for work. Tell me your top three favorite things about the city.”

He pulls in a breath and his chest lifts. I fight the urge to sweep my hand across it. “I don’t know where to start. I can only have three?”

“Start with three,” I say.

“Early mornings. There’s a different vibe and it feels like a secret city. People talk about New York at night—Broadway, clubs, the Empire State Building lit up in different colors. That’s cool and everything, but for me, New York is at its best in the early morning. I love to hear the clank of delivery trucks opening their back doors. I like to go on a run through Midtown when the streets are deserted and imagine the tens of thousands of tourists tucked up in their hotel bedrooms in the buildings around me. I love the fact I can hide from the sun entirely because the buildings dictate where it shines?—”

“Wait, you like that the buildings block out the sun?”

“They don’t block it, but the architecture and engineering protect people from the heat as much as they can. It’s a city that celebrates human innovation and progress. It tells you that even on a tiny island, great things can happen.”

“Huh. That’s an interesting take.”

“What about you? You like the city?”

“I’m not sure I’ve given it as much thought as you.”

He laughs. “Spoken like someone who was raised in Jersey. See, you’ve taken it for granted. It’s the best city on earth and you’ve always known it’s just across the river, tempting you with every opportunity you could ever wish for.”

This guy is so positive, it’s difficult to see an opposing point of view. Is this how cults start? If he asked me right now, I’d probably sign up to whatever he was selling.

“I like the idea of being tempted with possibility,” I say.

He grins at me like he’s just watched me unwrap a Christmas present. “I meant it when I said I like you. If you’re not going to give me your number, will you take mine? I’d really like to take you to dinner. See if this chemistry is…”

“Destiny?”

He laughs. “What a very un-New York thing that would be.”

I should walk away. He’s talking chemistry and destiny and I know it’s all bullshit. I know it in my head, but there’s a tiny piece of my heart that’s sucking it up like he’s pouring water into the mouth of a parched camel.

I hand him my phone.

He looks down to key in the number, and honestly, the shift of his gaze is like the sun passing behind the Empire State Building. The room has gone from spring to winter in the blink of an eye.

Did this guy slip something into my drink? It’s like I’m bewitched. I realize I don’t even know his name .

“Leo Hart,” he says as he types, as if he’s answering the question I just asked in my head. “By the end of the evening, I really hope I’ve convinced you to call me, Mystique.”

“You want me to call you Mystique?” I ask.

His eyes slice to mine. “I only ever want you to call me Leo.”

We talk as if we’re on a stopwatch and we have to learn everything about each other before Midnight or the spell floating between us will be broken.

“I have to go to the restroom,” I say eventually. I’ve been trying to avoid it for as long as possible, but I do not want to pee myself in front of this guy. I like him. I can’t remember ever feeling chemistry with a guy like I do with this one after just an hour or two getting to know them. Maybe I need a beat. I need to take a step back and see if I still like him after a five-minute time-out.

“Really?” he asks. “Shall I wait here? Or are you just being polite and you’re actually trying to get rid of me.”

I laugh. “Really.” I need a minute, but there’s something about this chemistry—about this potential destiny —that I want to come back to.

“Okay. Well, I’m only going to wait here in this exact spot for about four or five hours. So don’t take too long.”

I laugh again and head to the restroom. In line, I’m behind a guy who barely looks twelve. I know that he’s trying to figure out who I’m supposed to be. He keeps glancing at me, and I fiddle with my belt to give him a clue, which he clearly doesn’t decipher. Not like Leo Hart.

It takes me about ten minutes to get back to the spot where Leo and I were exploring our potential destiny. But he’s nowhere to be seen.

Damn .

I mean, of course he was joking about waiting for me for five or six hours, but I was hoping for ten minutes.

Part of me wonders if he took the opportunity to get another drink. Or if he went to use another restroom. I try and subtly glance around to see if I can spot him. It’s difficult for me to do anything without attracting attention. I spot Sophia in the corner with some guy. They look like they’re about to kiss, so I guess if that’s not the guy from work, she’s still having a great time.

And then I see Leo. He’s laughing, and I can’t help but smile. I glance at who he’s talking to. It’s a beautiful brunette woman—more Jean Grey than Mystique. She looks polished, with a slick bob and a red lip. She’s the type of woman who, even if I’d come as myself tonight, would still make me feel like a blue mutant.

He says something to her. She nods, and then he hands her his phone and she begins to type.

My stomach lurches. It’s like our conversation, which felt so light and exciting, has turned to lead inside me.

I’m an idiot.

Leo Hart is just some guy at a party trying to get laid by talking about destiny. And I fell for it. I bet he gets a dozen numbers tonight. He’s probably the type of guy who doesn’t need to commit to a lease because he’s in a different woman’s bed every night.

He’s exactly the kind of guy I’m absolutely determined won’t be part of my destiny.

I interrupt Sophia almost dry-humping her co-worker and tell her I’m not feeling well. She offers to leave with me, but I’d rather be alone. I need to go home and scrub off my blue skin and send it down the drain, together with any memories of my conversation with Leo Hart.

I’m done. Men always disappoint me, yet I still keep hoping one of them is going to be different. Tonight, I learned my lesson.

Again.

As I head for the door, I promise myself it will be the last time.