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

Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

Leo

It’s official: Jules Moore is trying to kill me. I’m doing my best not to stare at her legs while she sits next to me in the limo, but she’s hot AF tonight. I’ve managed to avoid her most of the week. I needed to take a step back after our evening together. She’d just been so… perfect in her role as my fiancée, so dazzling, so entirely attractive. Luckily, I’ve been busy at work and so has she. I was only in one night, when she happened to be out. So here we are. Dressed up and ready to go to the opening of Vault in SoHo.

“The woman says I can resell it and get more than I paid—or you paid for it, so long as I don’t ruin it,” she says.

“What?” I missed everything she just said as I’ve been running through all the reasons I shouldn’t find Jules attractive. It’s not a short list.

“My bag. It’s Chanel and cost a fortune. But it’s what everyone with money wears, so I thought it would be appropriate. I just don’t want you to think I’m not thinking about the money. I know it’s expensive, but if I can resell it and get more than you paid for it, I’m actually making you money.”

“You don’t need to return the bag,” I say, distracted.

“It was ten and a half thousand dollars, Leo,” she counters.

“Keep it. If we manage to pull this off, it’s worth far more to me than ten thousand dollars.”

“And a half. Don’t forget the half. It represents five hundred dollars. Anyway, I’m not keeping the bag. Changing the subject, are we expecting to meet anyone at this restaurant? Do you know the owner or something?”

“Not expecting to meet anyone, but Manhattan’s a small place.” In a city of over a million people, it should be easy to be anonymous, but gossip spreads quickly in this town. You never know who’s watching and whispering. My profile’s higher than ever in the business community. Even if I don’t know someone personally, they always know someone I know. “I would normally say no to this kind of thing.”

“Yeah, you rarely say yes to anything. It always surprised me about you when I was your assistant.”

“I like what I like. I have my favorite restaurants and bars. I have a small circle of friends who I trust… Everything else is just noise.”

She doesn’t answer right away. I turn from the window to find her staring at me. Our eyes lock.

“Is your family still in Brooklyn?”

“Moved down to Florida, although they have a place up here. Heading south started off as something they did in the winter and now… my dad’s golf handicap is seven.”

“That sounds like he’s really bad at golf.”

I chuckle. “It means he’s really good at golf. Much to my mother’s annoyance. Last time I was down there, she told me she won’t miss my father when he’s dead because he’s never around anyway.”

“Wow,” she replies, and I try not to focus on her pout as she speaks.

“Yeah, she’s brutal. But she also loves him. She’s a pretty good golfer too. She just doesn’t want to do it every day.”

“It’s nice that they’re still together.”

“It doesn’t sound like it, but they were made for each other.”

“They must be very proud of you.”

She looks at me with a softness I’m not used to. “They’re proud of me and my brother.”

“Oooh a brother,” she says.

A lick of jealousy crawls up my throat. “He’s married,” I reply. “Happily.”

She laughs. “I wasn’t asking for his number. You’ve just never mentioned him before.”

“We’re not close. He’s quite a bit younger than me. Went to college in state. My parents had a bit more money by that point. Met his high school sweetheart, settled down in Long Island. He has a good life.” I can feel her heavy gaze turn assessing. “What about you? Any siblings whose numbers I need?”

She grins. “Only child, I’m afraid.”

I nod. “And are your parents still together?”

“Absolutely not. My father…” She pulls in a breath like she’s steeling herself for something. “He wasn’t around much when I was growing up. He’d blow in and out of town. Not very reliable, to put it generously.”

Shit, that doesn’t sound good. “Sounds like a bit of an asshole.”

She shrugs and I want her to say more. Maybe now isn’t the time .

“New York is full of assholes. Hell, if the hotel manager thing doesn’t work out for me, I might try and develop a spray to keep them at bay.”

She deflects with humor. Noted. I’m going to go with it.

“I think they did that already? It’s called pepper spray.”

She smiles just as the car rolls to a stop outside the restaurant.

“Stay put and I’ll come around and open your door,” I say.

There are a couple of photographers outside, probably trying to grab a shot of some celebrity. Most of the journalists will be inside.

I open the car door and extend my hand. When she takes it, heat courses through me. She looks fucking fantastic and feels even better.

“So tonight is about letting the public see how happily engaged we are?” she whispers in my ear as she stands. “We’re not aiming to talk to anyone in particular?”

“No, let’s just focus on enjoying ourselves. You know, like an engaged couple.”

“That won’t be a problem,” she says, her tone warm and relaxed like we really are engaged and she’s looking forward to an evening out with the lucky bastard who’s her fiancé.

She’s right. Being with her feels good. She’s funny and smart and a lot goes on beneath her surface. More and more I just want to strip down and dive in—literally and figuratively.

Once we’re inside, we’re shown to a courtyard at the back of the restaurant, where people are enjoying drinks and canapes. There are a few high tables nestled among three olive trees growing out here.

“This is so pretty,” she says. “And although cobblestones would have looked nicer, no woman in New York wants to go to dinner somewhere with cobbled floors. The tiles really work. And the electric blue keeps it modern.”

“You sound like an interior designer.”

“I’ve just worked in hospitality a long time. I’ve seen a few things. This is smart,” she says, slipping her hand into mine. “It’s a real selling point of a restaurant in New York to have a space like this, but not everyone can get a table out here tonight. Better to serve canapes and drinks without worrying about seating anyone, then serve dinner inside.” Her gaze continues to roam around the space as if she’s trying to memorize every little detail. “I’d love to do something like this at The Mayfair with the roof deck. These tiles are such a clever choice.”

“Isn’t that a staff area?”

Her eyebrows lift. “Exactly. A total waste of lucrative space. You know better than anyone that fresh air is at a premium in New York, and there’s nowhere better to take it in than a rooftop. It could be a great bar space.”

I grin at her. She was right—I’m not going to regret hiring her. She’s so sharp.

“You’re probably right,” I say. “Just don’t ask me for more investment.”

“Honey, you just bought me a Chanel bag. It was ten and a half thousand dollars and I didn’t even kiss you. Maybe I should marry you for real and get some capital investment for my hotel.”

I chuckle, scanning the outdoor space again as I do. My gaze catches on something. Someone . I freeze. I’ve not seen her in a decade, but I’d know Caroline Hammond at a mile away. I know her laugh at ten miles away. It still echoes in my ears. My heart begins to rev like a race car engine on the starting line.

“Are you okay?” Jules asks, tugging on my hand .

“Sure,” I say, pulling in a breath and trying to block out the boom, boom, boom in my ears.

“You don’t look okay.”

“I just saw someone I was hoping to avoid…” Until the awards ceremony.

“Do I need to kill someone?”

I blink and try to focus on Jules. “What?”

“Oh wow, I offer to murder someone and you don’t turn me down flat. I need to know who we’re talking about.”

“It’s nothing.” The hostess has started to guide people inside for dinner. My mind spins ahead. If I can get to our table without running into Caroline, maybe our paths won’t cross. I’m not prepared to see her. I’m not in the right headspace.

“Well, it’s obviously something,” Jules says, sweeping her hand over my shoulder and stepping in close. My hand naturally rests at her waist. To the rest of the world, we look like a couple who can’t keep their hands off each other.

“I didn’t expect photographers inside the venue,” I say, nodding toward a man with a camera. She can probably tell it’s bullshit, but it’s some kind of response.

We’re interrupted by a hostess offering to show us to our table. Jules and I follow her hand in hand.

We’re seated in the corner of the room, where I take the seat facing the wall. It’s a nice, secluded spot. I don’t turn to see what’s going on to the side or behind me. The last thing I want is Caroline Hammond coming over to say hello like she’s a long-lost friend. I need to encounter her for the first time at the awards. I’ll be ready for her then.

Instead, I keep my attention on Jules.

“Do you want to share some apps?” Jules asks from across the table. She knows something’s off, but I appreciate her not pushing me to reveal what.

“Sure.” Her mouth is pulled into a smile. She looks worried. “I’m fine,” I say.

She reaches across the table and links her fingers into mine. I can’t tell if it’s for show or because she’s trying to provide comfort. Whatever the reason, I like it. Too much.

Our waitress comes over and we order, after I promise that Jules can have a taste of my potatoes.

“Why don’t I just get the kitchen to do you a separate order of potatoes?” I ask.

“Because it’s launch night and the chefs and waitstaff have got enough to do. I bet it’s chaos in the kitchen. I’d put money on someone getting killed by the end of the night.” She pauses and narrows her eyes. “Or at least punched.”

“What a happy thought. Behind the scenes in hospitality sounds brutal.”

Her eyes widen. “It’s like the Hunger Games, but worse, because you never get out. And the odds are never in your favor.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“And he’s back,” she says, grinning at me. “I thought I lost you for a minute back there.”

“Sorry, I just?—”

“You don’t need to explain,” she says brightly.

I should tell her. After all, the awards are coming up soon and she should know before then. If she was my real fiancée, I would have told her. “I just saw a woman from my past.”

She looks at me, her eyebrows raised like she’s waiting for a punchline.

“We were engaged for a minute there. I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

She swallows down the bread she was chewing. “You had a real fiancée? And she’s here tonight? ”

“It didn’t last long.” Her father had her enrolled at Berkeley ten days after she told him about the engagement. And then two weeks after that, she ended it. Officially. “I was eighteen, but yes, I asked to marry her. I was… I thought we were in love.” Looking back, Caroline was clearly never in love with me, but I was so besotted by her. I worshipped her. She seemed wise and sophisticated, and the fact that she’d picked me… I’d felt like the luckiest guy in New York.

“But you weren’t in love?” Jules asks.

“Can anyone be in love at eighteen?”

“Why not?” she says. “Is there an age threshold I don’t know about—you know, beyond the age of consent and stuff?”

“I was a very different man back then.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Really? I’m not sure I believe that.”

“I was still working for my dad, doing bread deliveries around the city starting at four in the morning. I had nothing.” I was nothing , I don’t add.

“But what you have doesn’t make you who you are,” she replies simply. “I imagine you are much the man you are now. Handsome. Kind. Hardworking. Not the slightest bit interested in owning a hotel.”

I grin at her. “Maybe you’re right on that last bit.”

“And this woman you were engaged to, what happened? Did she break your heart?”

“And soul and spirit.”

“Whoa. Dramatic much?” She laughs and the corners of my lips twitch despite the unanticipated stress of the evening. “What in the hell happened? Did she knock you out and sell one of your kidneys?” She narrows her eyes like she’s actually waiting for me to confirm she’s right.

I sit back. “Fuck. You heard about it?”

Her jaw goes slack and she covers her mouth with her hand.

I roll my eyes. “No, she didn’t sell my kidney. Are you for real?”

She starts to laugh. Tears are forming in her eyes. “You see? It’s not as bad as it could have been.”

I can’t argue with that.

“And she didn’t run off with your dad and become your stepmom, because your parents are still happily married, so… how bad could it be?”

“Holy shit, Jules, what’s in that brain of yours? I’m seriously concerned.”

“My mom thought I should write crime novels because my imagination is so much worse than the reality of the world.” She sighs as our apps are delivered. “But actually, I think I’m always expecting the worst, or trying to imagine what the worst-case scenario might be. Because…”

“Because?”

She shrugs, taking something involving an aubergine from one of the three plates in the middle of the table. “God, I love eggplant, don’t you?”

More deflection.

“Not a fan particularly, so knock yourself out.”

“Not a fan of eggplant? How is that possible?”

“Tell me about you always looking for the worst outcome.”

“I used to think everyone did it, until my roommate, Sophia, told me I was freaking her out. I’m just always one step ahead, trying to foretell the catastrophe that’s about to happen. Then I try to plan for that, strategize. If I go into a situation with a plan for the worst-case scenario, I know I’m going to be okay. ”

She says it in the light, breezy way she has, but what she’s saying is dark. It’s really sad.

“Why?” I ask.

She looks me right in the eye and moans. “God, it’s such good eggplant. With the parm.” She makes a chef’s kiss with her fingers, but I don’t respond.

I want an answer.

There’s a couple of beats of silence before she says, “I think because lots of bad things happened when I was a kid. I think I’m wired to expect the worst.” Her words feel like they’re winding around my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

“What kind of bad things?”

She rolls her eyes. “I still have my kidneys, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking.” I don’t want her to joke her way out of this. I want to hear about it.

“I guess now I’m the one being dramatic. It’s not that bad in the list of bad things that can happen to a kid. But my dad was an asshole, always coming and going, like I said. Even when I was really little, I don’t remember him being with us for long. I remember our neighbors in the next apartment would babysit me when my mom went to work in the mornings. I didn’t understand until years later that she took the job in the hotel because it finished at three, which meant she could pick me up from the bus and make me dinner and put me to bed.”

Her voice cracks on the last word. She swallows and pulls her shoulders back.

“Anyway, my dad would breeze into town like he’d been at work for the day, like I saw him that morning, even when he’d been gone for months at a time. When he’d arrive on our stoop, I’d be so happy to see him. He always brought me a toy or a book or something that was what I’d always wanted. I’d start to imagine the three of us as a family, hitting the beach, playing cards, moving to the country and picking apples from an orchard behind our house. We’d have all kinds of contests—tickling contests, copycat contests, smiling contests… I’d always be the happiest I’d ever been. And then he’d just disappear. He’d go out for milk or to get a paper or something, and he wouldn’t come back.” She pauses, and I know she’s picturing those times in her head. “I’d cry and cry and grieve him every time.”

Fuck.

This time, it’s me who reaches for her hand across the table, but she pulls it away and shakes her head.

I get it. She doesn’t want to lose it here. Maybe not ever, but definitely not in public.

“He sounds like a fucking ass hole,” I say, my voice tight, fists bunched. What a dick of dicks to do that to a little kid. “Do you see him now?”

She shakes her head again and I can see the tears welling in her eyes, despite her best efforts to keep them at bay. “No. I have no interest in seeing him. My mom is my family. And my aunt.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” I say. I want to make it better for her, but I don’t know how. We could leave. We don’t have to be here. Maybe some deflection is what she needs. “But at least you have your kidneys.”

She bursts into laughter, dabbing her napkin at the corner of her eyes, where tears had been threatening to fall. “Exactly,” she says. “Could have been a lot worse.”

Our appetizers are replaced with our entrees and there’s no aubergine to distract Jules now.

“So you still haven’t told me the story with your fiancée,” she says.

She spilled her heart out to me. It’s only fair that I tell her why she’s sitting opposite me with a huge diamond ring on her finger.

“You thought you were in love with her and she with you. And you proposed.”

“And then her dad found out and shipped her off to college on the other side of the country. She was due to go to NYU and ended up at Berkeley.”

“And that was it?” she asks.

Don’t I wish. “I told my dad I was leaving the bakery so I could follow her out west. It caused loads of rows. My mum told me I was throwing my life away. My dad didn’t speak to me for weeks. Anyway, two weeks later, I road-tripped to California. I’d told Caroline I was coming. I figured I’d get a job locally and she’d continue in college… apparently she didn’t see things the same way.”

“I’m taking it things didn’t end happily ever after.”

“No. She laughed and said she never expected me to actually follow her.” I haven’t told anyone this for years. In fact, I think only Bennett knows the whole story even now. But there’s something about Jules that makes me want to be my whole self with her. I don’t need to water things down. I have no doubt she’s on my team. Whatever I tell her won’t change what she thinks of me.

“But you told her you were coming to California.”

I shrug. “I guess she was seeing how far she could push me.”

“So she was—what, taunting you? Testing you?”

“She was trying to aggravate her father. I was caught in the crossfire. I just wish it hadn’t taken me so long to see it. Looking back with twenty-twenty hindsight, it was obvious.”

“There were signs?”

“My family saw it. Everyone but me apparently. We rarely spent any time with her friends. And she never wanted to hang out with mine. But I was in love. I just wanted to be with her. I happily dropped my friends like a burning log. She didn’t, which was fine. But there were evenings when she went out with her girlfriends, except the group that appeared on social media involved plenty of guys. And I was making a lot of the effort. But what did I know? I was eighteen and she was a total princess. I assumed that was how things were supposed to be. And I was happy to do it, you know. I just wanted her to be happy.”

She nods. “Because you were in love.”

“Right.” I pause, wondering if I thought I was in love with Nadia this summer, but no, I hadn’t even been close. She’d just been around. I think I’d gone along with what she wanted because the sex was good.

“So when you turned up in California, she broke off the engagement?”

“If you mean laughed in my face, then yes, she broke off the engagement.”

“What do you mean, laughed?”

“She said, ‘Oh, you really would do anything for me, wouldn’t you?’ Then she told me she’d just been trying to piss off her dad the entire time we were together. I think the last thing she said to me was, ‘You didn’t think I was actually going to marry you, did you?’ Then she reminded me of her last name.” Thoughts of her, of that day, churn in my gut, and I get the urge to run. To bail out of this restaurant, to tell Property International I’m not going to accept the award. I don’t want to see Caroline Hammond again. Not ever.

“Sounds like a keeper,” Jules says, and I can’t help but laugh .

“Right.”

“And she’s going to be at the awards.”

I freeze. I hadn’t said anything about the awards. “How did you guess?”

She pulls in a breath. “I never understood the whole ‘I need a fiancée for business reasons’ thing. But if she’s going to be there, it all makes sense.”

“Her father is the Hammond at the head of Hammonds. Caroline’s husband is taking over, and they’re sponsoring the awards to show how strong the company still is, I guess.”

“Urgh,” Jules says. “That’s so pathetic. So she’s not even taking over. Her husband is. Does she do anything beyond have her nails done and go to the spa?”

“The family has a lot of money. She doesn’t need to work.”

“You have a lot of money. You don’t have to work, but you work harder than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“You always beat me to the office.”

She winces.

“What?”

“I used to go in early to work on my plans for The Mayfair.”

“So? You were still working.”

“Yeah, I work hard,” she admits. “But I bet Caroline Hammond doesn’t. And so you want a fiancée on your arm when you meet her because, why? You’re a self-made billionaire, you’re handsome as all holy fuck. Any woman in American would want to marry you. What could you possibly have to prove to her?”

I push my hand back into my hair. “Yeah. I just…”

She looks at me, her gaze dipping to my mouth and then back up to my eyes. “What?”

“We never had much money growing up,” I say. “We had a roof over our heads and food on the table, but we never had anything spare. I was happy, don’t get me wrong. I never felt like… I never felt small in the way Caroline managed to make me feel. And you’re right, I have the money, but I want her to know that I share a life with someone who made the right choice.”

“No,” Jules says. “You want to prove to her that she didn’t crush your soul. That she didn’t break you.” She pauses. “And in order to be able to prove that, you need to lie, because there’s still a part of you that’s a little bit broken.”

I blink, and blink again. I wonder if I just imagined what Jules just said.

“I think it’s just… I don’t want any chinks in my armor when I see her. I don’t want her to be able to point to anything in my life and say, ‘I did better than you.’”

“I vote for my theory,” she says. “Either way, I’m right there by your side. And I’m going to Bergdorf’s this week to buy something that will make her look like she’s wearing the housekeeping uniform from The Mayfair.”

She sounds like she’s coaching me back into the boxing ring. The corner of my mouth turns up. Right here, right now, Jules Moore might be my favorite person on the planet.

“Whatever you wear, you’ll outshine her.”

“What about the pantsuit I wore when I was your assistant?”

“Oh, your asshole-repelling outfit?” I shrug. “Never worked on me.”

“It kinda did,” she says. “It’s not like you ever made a pass at me.”

“Because you worked for me, not because I didn’t find you attractive.”

She shrugs. She clearly thinks I’m lying. “If you say so.”

“I say so. I have a strict policy of not dating women I work with. So yes, I tuned out that side of you.”

She starts to laugh. “You tuned me out?” She wrinkles her nose and brings up her shoulders as if she’s hugging a teddy bear or something. “You say the cutest things to me.”

“What are fiancés for?” I ask. There’s no way I’m getting out of this hole. The only thing I can do is stop digging.

The fact is, I’m tuned all the way into Jules Moore, no matter how she’s dressed.