Dirty Rumor: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance(11)

Which means she’s absolutely, positively wrong for me.

The end game is always a sucker punch, and one more minute with her will mean I’m in over my head.

It’s not worth the inevitable gut-wrenching loss.

I’m short with her. And then, when she’s leaving, her face flaming red, shoulders tensed up toward her ears, I drive home the final blow.

“Carolyn?”

She turns back toward me, and there’s a glimmer of hope in her face.

So what do I do?

I crush it underneath my foot like one of the expensive baubles on the bookshelves.

“We—” Fuck. I don’t want to be saying this, but it’ll be better for her in the long run if I say it now and spare her the fallout. I wave my hand in the air between us, dismissing the intensity of what happened last night. “We probably shouldn’t do this again.”

Her chin quivers, just for a split second, and then her mouth curves downward into a semblance of a sneer that doesn’t quite convince me. “No shit.”

Then she turns and jams her thumb into the call button for the elevator. The doors slide open, and Carolyn Banks doesn’t look back as she steps inside and presses the button for the lobby, with delicate care this time. Her dark eyes are blazing, but she doesn’t meet my gaze. She doesn’t have to tell me to f*ck off. It’s clear as day.

As soon as the doors hide her from view, I f*cking lose it.

Silently, my fists clenched in front of my mouth, I double over.

What the f*ck was I thinking, letting her get to me like that?

What am I, some kind of glutton for pain?

Is that really what I want out of life, loss after loss because I can’t resist a gorgeous woman at a dining club?

She’s not just any woman, the little voice in the back of my mind says, insistently, repeatedly, until I drown it out with another shitty movie that I watch but don’t see.

She’s not.

What happened between us last night wasn’t just a one-night stand, as much as I wanted it to be meaningless and casual. There’s no denying it.

So I won’t deny it.

But I will move on.

I have no other choice.

I dig my phone out of my pocket. I don’t know when I put on this pair of sweatpants—expensive as f*ck and not worth the price—but I look like shit, I look like a mess.

I can’t go on like this.

Change of plans.

Noah responds like he’s been hovering over his phone, waiting for me to summon him. Probably he has. God knows I pay him enough.

What can I do, boss?

Call the realtor. Have her list my penthouse for sale immediately. And have her send over a list of her top three available properties. I want to be moving on this by tomorrow.

It’s the weekend, but she’s not going to care. With enough money at your disposal, business hours have no meaning.

Consider it done.

I’d call her myself, but before I call anyone, I need to get a f*cking grip.

I’m not the kind of man to sit around, holed up in the world’s most expensive hideout. I’m not the kind of man who’s going to let his chewed-up-and-spit-out heart make him into some * who can’t face the world.

Everything from my past life here, the life before Elisa, has to go.

There’s a thrum of electricity in my chest. A clean slate. A new life. Those f*cking paparazzi will find me. The news will break. But this time, I’m going to be in control of what happens to me. I’m not going to sneak past them into my old apartment. I’m going to walk with my head high into my new place, and let the chips fall where they may.

And I’m not, under any circumstances, going to think about Carolyn Banks, and her perfect ass, and her unbelievable breasts, and the way her dark hair curled down against my chest, and the way she moaned when I stroked her, and the way she shuddered and shook against me when she came….

I’m not going to think about her for another goddamn second.

Last night was a mistake. A f*cking sexy mistake, for sure, but a mistake nonetheless. And it’s over now. It’s going to stay over.

I stand up from the couch, turn the TV off, and stride into the master bathroom, stripping off the rumpled clothes.

I’m going to take a shower. I’m going to shave. I’m going to get dressed.

And then I’m going to take the rest of my life in my fists, and I’m going to make it mine.





Chapter 11

Carolyn





All I want is for Ace Kingsley to disappear from my life, to go back to wherever it is that he dropped in from.

On Saturday, when I get back to my apartment, the silence reminds me of a cathedral. Instead of empty and depressing, the absence of sound—except the low hum of my refrigerator in the kitchen, the blowing air from the air conditioning unit as it cycles on and off—it wraps itself around me like a blanket. After the thundering noise of the Swan and the serrated daggers of Ace’s voice this morning, I can’t even bear to put my iPhone in its dock and play background music to work.

I take another shower, stripping myself of all the scents from the Four Seasons. My hair is heavy and wet, but I don’t bother drying it. I towel it off and then brush it back, hard, into a tight bun.

I could use a trim, and it’ll be nice to have someone wash my hair and massage my temples. My favorite salon in the city is three blocks away, so before I do anything else, I text my hairdresser, Janine. She normally doesn’t do weekend appointments, but today is my lucky day.