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

Chapter 4

FOUR

Jules

I nearly hit the ceiling as I jump in my seat at the sound of my office door opening. Partly, I’m not used to anyone being in the office at this hour—it’s only just seven. Also, I’m working on my strategy plan for The Mayfair, and even though it’s not office hours for Hart Developments, I still feel like I shouldn’t be working on my dream job when I’m at the desk of my actual job.

“Good morning,” I say as Leo walks in. I’ve taken my jacket off and I’m wearing a sleeveless white shirt, but I pull my jacket back on so I’m my most professional self in front of Leo. Dress for the job you want and all that.

I straighten my collar as he stops in front of my desk, his eyebrows knitted together as if he wasn’t expecting to see me. He looks ridiculously hot today. The shirt he’s wearing is my favorite. It’s a cool pink, which brings out the blond streaks in his brown hair. It’s a color most straight men wouldn’t be caught dead in, but I like that Leo doesn’t seem to give a shit and just wears what he wants .

I hate that I like it.

“Good morning,” he says. He starts to say something else, but decides against it.

“Can I get you a coffee?” I ask, trying to guess what it is he wants but doesn’t want to ask for.

He shakes his head. “I’m good. How long have you been in the office?”

I shrug. “An hour. There are a few things I wanted to get a head start on.”

He nods, like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. He’s freaking me out a little. “I have a few tasks for you,” he says.

“Fire away,” I say and spin my chair around to properly face him. I’m ready to take notes and be the world’s most competent, manager-material assistant.

He looks at me like he’s about to speak, but again, doesn’t say anything. “Let me get settled and I’ll be back.”

I shrug and turn back to my spreadsheet. I figure I’ve got another hour before I need to switch to Hart Developments stuff unless someone calls or Leo decides to hand over whatever it is he wants me to do.

This morning’s spreadsheet details immediate cost savings I’d make at The Mayfair over the first three months of my tenure as manager. Next, I’ll work on revisions to the proposed management structure. At the moment, there are far too many layers of management. I’m pretty sure it’s because Louis, the current manager, wants to make sure that no problem the hotel is grappling with actually comes to his attention.

I want to make the department heads my direct reports, with the new title of deputy hotel managers. That way, whenever there’s an issue that crops up with a guest, any of the department heads can identify themselves as a deputy manager and resolve it. At the moment, we have four deputy managers and another six shift managers, and on top of that, the department heads. I’m not sure who does what, but we don’t need that many people shielding the hotel manager. The hotel manager needs to be on the floor.

Leo’s door swings open and he appears in the doorway. “Right,” he says. “I have an unusual job for you.”

I groan inwardly. I don’t like the sound of unusual. It also means I can’t work on my plan anymore. Instead, I’m going to be plugging women’s numbers into a spreadsheet or stopping by his apartment to ask the woman he left in his bed to vacate the premises. Not that he’s ever asked me to do anything that isn’t strictly within my job description, but I can’t shake the prior knowledge I brought into this job. I can’t imagine how many women Leo sleeps with each week. I was only at that party for ten minutes after we finished our conversation, and he’d already gotten a second phone number. I bet nothing much has changed in the last two years.

I plaster on a smile and glance up at him, waiting for him to tell me what this unusual job is.

“This awards ceremony at the end of the month. I need a date for that. For business reasons.”

“Right,” I say, my tone a little guarded. “And by date, you mean a woman to go with you?”

“Exactly. I need someone who’s attractive, single, lives in the city and…” He winces.

Please, god, don’t be about to say that she needs to sleep with you at the end of the night . I might just vomit.

“She needs to pretend to be engaged. To me.”

“What?” I ask, my filter momentarily failing.

“I need you to find me a fake fiancée for the awards ceremony. Oh, and they can’t work for Hart Developments.”

I wait for my brain to make sense of what he’s saying, and then when it does, for him to correct himself.

But he doesn’t correct himself. Not even a little bit.

He’s serious.

“Can I ask why you’ve tasked me with this? Have you slept with every woman in New York City, so now I’m trolling the other boroughs trying to find you dates?”

He pauses, which is when I realize I should have been using my inside voice.

“Sorry, I just?—”

“No, it’s fine. I, I— This is a big night. I’m not looking for someone to… socialize with. I want someone who can play the part of my fiancée. Someone who can charm everyone, look beautiful, and believably be my fiancée. This is business.”

“Oh, you’re serious,” I say, and immediately put my fingers over my mouth so nothing else slips out. I need to shut the fuck up or I’m going to get myself fired.

“I’m always serious about business,” he says. “Please make sure your inquiries are discreet. Like I said, no one who works here, but maybe a friend. Or an acquaintance. Colleague from a previous job. Have a think.”

“You’re not looking for an… escort?” I ask him.

His eyes slice to mine and my stomach lifts like I’ve just tipped over the summit of the Cyclone on Coney Island.

“No, Jules, I’m not looking for an escort. I’m looking for a date—” He stops himself. “A date plus. A little more than a date. Like an Uber Premium.”

Is he serious? “You want me to find you a woman who’s like an Uber.”

“That’s not what I said,” he replies. “I think you know what I want, Jules.” His tone is measured and tight, like he’s about to bend me over the desk and show me who’s boss. And Jesus Christ, I’d probably let him because he’s exactly the kind of man my mother warned me about.

“Okay, let me see if I can come up with anything. Just… one thing. Why don’t you take one of the women on your roster?”

He narrows his eyes. “Who says I have a roster?”

Of course he has a roster. “Are you saying you don’t?”

He raises his eyebrows, lifts his chin, and I’ve never seen him look hotter. “I want someone who understands this is a job. This event is important to me. I want it to go smoothly. I want someone who will definitely show up and know what their role is: my devoted fiancée.”

“Okay, so you want me to find you a devoted fiancée? No problem.” I say it like he’s just asked me to buy him a new desk chair or order a pastrami on rye from Joey’s Deli.

How the hell am I going to find him a fiancée?

He shuts the door and I sit back in my chair, willing the heat between my legs to disappear. Why oh why oh why?

I knew taking this job was a risk. I thought I had enough self-control to handle it.

Maybe finding him a date for his awards dinner will help me get the ick. If only he could be even slightly less on-brand for me. Less of a… player.

I have no idea who I’m going to find, or how. I mean, Leo is objectively hot, there’s no doubt about that. And he’s rich. The combination of hot and rich means that any single woman in New York is likely to say yes to a date, especially to a swanky awards ceremony. But he wants Uber Premium . He wants a fake fiancée —a woman who’s going to play a role for the night. A woman who’s discreet.

My mind immediately goes to an actress. There must be a drama student in this town who needs some work. Is the woman supposed to provide her own dress for the event? Can I offer her some kind of incentive, and if so, what’s the budget?

I decide I have too many unanswered questions to be able to proceed.

I rarely go into Leo’s office. It smells of him and he looks too darn good behind that desk. Powerful or something. But I don’t have a choice.

I knock on the door and he shouts, “Come,” and for a second I wonder if that’s what he says when he’s in bed with a woman. And then I realize I’m an idiot because a man like Leo wouldn’t be interested in whether the woman beneath him has reached orgasm.

As I open the door, he looks up at me from his desk and my stomach tilts.

Vagina, you’re a traitorous bitch!

“I had a couple of questions about your date for the awards.”

He pulls in a breath and nods.

“Do you have a budget for a dress or is she expected to bring her own?”

He falls silent, which I’ve come to realize is Leo thinking. As much as I’d like to dismiss him as some brainless pretty boy, he’s actually smart. And strategic. That’s why I can’t quite understand why he’s letting The Mayfair trundle toward the drain. I guess it’s not a priority for him.

“I guess we’ll provide the dress, right?” he asks me. “That way we can ensure she has the right look.”

Does he want a date or a robot? “What would the ‘right look’ be?” I ask.

“Elegant. Sexy. Expensive. Socialite vibes.”

This guy thinks I’m a magician .

“And is there payment for this role you’re asking me to cast someone in?”

He shrugs. “If you think that will help.”

“What sort of budget were you thinking?” I ask.

“I want the right person. I’m prepared to pay whatever’s necessary.”

Whatever’s necessary? That hardly clarifies.

“This is important to you, huh?”

“Very,” he replies.

My mind is whirring, from possible candidates to the amount of money I would be able to offer them. To the complications of having a woman you just met pretend to be your fiancée.

And then I can’t stop thinking about how this seems to be the most important thing to Leo… and how the most important thing to me is managing The Mayfair… and how one could be swapped for the other.

I could pose as Leo’s fiancée in return for him agreeing to let me manage The Mayfair.

He looks at me, and I realize I’ve been staring at him, not saying anything.

“I’ll get right on it,” I say and turn back to the exit.

What a completely ridiculous idea. If I start pretending I’m in love with Leo Hart, it will only be a matter of time until I’m actually in love with him. And I refuse to let that happen.