New York Billionaires Series

“I wanted to see you,” I say. It’s the truth.

Freddie glances out the window. “I didn’t see you yesterday.”

So she’d gone to the Gilded Room.

She’d gone, and she’d looked for me.

“I couldn’t make it.” Can she hear the burning regret in my voice?

“I figured as much, yeah.”This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

I lean back in the plastic chair, my hand on the one next to me. “But you attended?”

“After you went through so much trouble to get me my own invite, how could I turn it down?”

My lips curve. “It wasn’t too much trouble.”

Her gaze returns to the can in front of her, and the question springs out of me, ill-advised and unstoppable. “Did you meet someone?”

“I met several someones,” she murmurs.

Jealousy has a tight grip around my insides, squeezing until I feel nauseous. “Several someones, Strait-laced?”

Her eyes flicker up, widening as she registers the look in mine. “Oh, not like that, silly. I spoke to a few people. The bartender, mostly.”

“You spoke to a few people.”

“Yes.” She crosses her arms. “Are you wondering if anything more happened? If I slept with someone?”

I meet her gaze baldly. “You know I am.”

“And you should know better than to ask. What happens at the Gilded Room stays there. You were the one who taught me that.”

“I know.” Speaking through gritted teeth is difficult, but I manage. “I also know I have no right to ask.”

“None,” she says. “If you’re so concerned, you should have showed up.”

“Something came up.”

“Yeah, you said that.” She braces her hands on the table and leans forward. “As you’ve demonstrated tonight, you have my number. You could have texted me at any point before the party to warn me you weren’t going to show.”

The thought hadn’t struck me. I’m not a texter, not to mention that we’ve never texted, her and I. But here she is, angry that I hadn’t let her know.

Which means she’d waited for me.

She’d sat at that club, and she’d waited for me. Hell, she’d even resorted to talking to the bartender. The idea that a woman had waited for me…

“You didn’t sleep with anyone,” I say, sure now that I’m right. Freddie rolls her eyes, but I keep going. “I’m sorry. You’re right, and I should have let you know.”

Her palms fall flat on the table between us, her soda can untouched between them. “I would have appreciated that, yes.”

“I never meant to leave you waiting. If anything, I spent the evening imagining all the things you were doing and growing more miserable by the minute.”

She snorts, looking down at my hand on the plastic table. It’s only inches away from her own. “That seems like a waste of energy.”

“It was.”

“Why didn’t you come?”

I admit what must sound like a remote problem for her, unattached and young as she is. It’s miles away from her own life. “My son was supposed to be at a sleepover, but it was cancelled. There was no time to get a sitter.”

Freddie’s eyes soften. “Oh. I understand.”

“Damn annoying, though.”

“There’ll be more parties,” she murmurs, and the acknowledgment makes my body tighten. The things I’d do to her, the things I’d let her do to me. My gaze strays to the dark red lipstick.

“What have you been up to today?”

Her gaze drifts back to the window, the whirling snow beyond. “I was out seeing the city with a friend.”

And just when I thought I was beyond jealousy, it comes roaring back, an unwelcome friend. It’s been years since I felt anything like this. “Where did you go?”

“The Met first, and then we had dinner at a place in Tribeca. There was a line. It’s apparently very popular.”

“Medusa?”

“That’s the one, yes.” In profile, her face is stunning. A nose that’s lightly turned up, like she’s judging everything around her, but with full lips that are quick to smile and laugh if you pass the test.

“I’m glad you’re making friends in the city.”

Her gaze returns to mine. There’s no animosity there now, her brown eyes soft. “Actually, I think it might have been a date.”

Is the woman trying to kill me? My scowl deepens without conscious thought. Of course she’s dating. The woman is a fucking twenty on a scale of ten.

“Oh?” I ask, making my voice casual. Behold, world, my acting abilities. “How did it go?”

“I’m not sure I wanted it to have been a date in the first place.” Shaking her head, she looks down at her hands. “I was a bit angry at you, and I was thinking about how you said I’m afraid of men. Of things I can’t control. So I said yes when he asked me.”

My eyes widen. I don’t think she realizes it, but her honesty is breathtaking, and just as beautiful as she is. “You wanted to test yourself?”

“I suppose so, yes. Not to mention I don’t know anyone in New York, and I want to make friends.”

“You know me,” I say. Her quirked eyebrow makes me smile, and I hold up a hand. “All right, all right. I suppose I don’t really count?”

“Not really,” she admits. “No offense, but I don’t see myself calling you for help if my heater breaks down and my super doesn’t respond.”

“You could, you know. I’m only a few blocks away.”