Dirty Rumor: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance(2)

For the first time, I notice the hulking, suited men, their feet planted, standing outside the front window of the boutique. My own security is far more discreet. “You’re big-time.”

“I’m royalty, darling.” Jessica pats the side of my face, then dissolves into laughter again. I laugh along with her, but there’s a curious ache in my chest.

“Well, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Especially since my only other plans for the day were going home to my empty apartment, ordering takeout, and losing myself in Rainflower Blue, like the spinster I am.

“I knew you wouldn’t.” Jessica breezes past me, throws her purse onto the counter, and then turns around, eyes flying over the meticulously arranged racks. Then she’s scanning my outfit. It’s a black ensemble, high-quality but nothing flashy. Jess looks down at her watch.

“Quick, Carrie. We don’t have time to waste, and we both need to look way better than we do right now. The Swan awaits!”

She’s right. And you can’t deal in rumors unless you’re right in the epicenter.





Chapter 2

Ace





The sidewalk in front of my building on the Upper East Side is swarming with reporters.

Honest to God reporters, with telephoto lenses and phones clipped to their belts, squinting down at the LCD screens on the back of top-of-the-line equipment. Or maybe the f*cking paparazzi, although they’re not hiding in the bushes or lurking around pretending not to be watching for me.

“Who the hell do they work for?”

My driver, Noah, who also heads up my security team, shrugs. “Can’t be the newspapers.”

“No chance of that.”

The photographers mill around on the sidewalk for another five minutes.

Noah shifts in his seat. “What’s your call, boss?” He says it with a half grin on his face. Noah’s been a friend since before I went to Exeter. When I came back to New York after college, he was rising through the ranks at one of the top security firms in the city. With our current arrangement, there’s no firm taking a cut, and he’s never once complained about the extra money.

“I’m not dealing with that.”

He doesn’t wait for more instructions, just shifts the Bentley into drive and pulls away from the curb, back into the evening traffic.

The air conditioning has the interior of the car at the perfect temperature, but I’m overheating in my suit. I tug at the collar of my shirt and then loosen my tie. I’ve been traveling all goddamn day, and all I want is to be back in my penthouse.

Of course, the vultures have already swarmed.

I never had this kind of problem before Elisa.

The thought of her has my stomach tied up in knots, the air dry and scorching when I take in a breath. My hands clench into fists against my pant legs.

Fuck this.

I press one fist against the pain in my chest and clench my jaw, letting it crush me, roll me over, until it releases me for another hour.

I am never falling in love again.

The rumors are enough to drive anyone f*cking insane, but this recurring heart attack is more than I want to handle. Certainly more than I’m ever going to admit to another human.

They wouldn’t believe me anyway.

I work my jaw as the buildings we’re rushing past swim back into view. Noah will drive around for the rest of the evening, and all night, if I stay silent.

“The Four Seasons,” I rasp, then swallow, trying to make my voice sound normal. “Call ahead for the penthouse. Get yourself a room.” If I can’t be in my own penthouse, then I want to be at the top of the Four Seasons, as far away from the leeches on the street as possible.

Noah takes his cell out of his pocket without a second’s thought. He waits until we’re stopped at a light to swipe through his contacts and place the call. I tune him out after I’ve heard him drop the fake name that signals a priority client to the hotel reservations line.

My heart rate speeds up, panic and anxiety setting in again, and I stare out the window, forcing myself to read every marquee above the business to calm my racing thoughts.

Fuck this.

People can think what they want about me. They can say what they want about me. But I’m not going to let them run me out of town. I was here first.

Noah pulls up in front of the Four Seasons and hops out of the driver’s side. “I’ll be right back.” He reappears a few minutes later and opens the back door, a small cardboard envelope tucked in his hand. “Lobby’s clear. You ready, boss?”

I respond by climbing out of the backseat and rising onto the sidewalk, back ramrod straight, shoulders thrown back. Noah’s right, as usual. The lobby is deserted except for two receptionists, and gentle music drowns out the sound of our shoes as they echo against the gleaming tiles. I’m f*cking dying to be by myself.

There’s a private elevator leading directly up to the penthouse, accessed by one of the keys Noah pulls out of the envelope. Once we get above the fortieth floor, my stomach churns. Don’t think about her. Don’t.

I can’t stop myself. Elisa would have loved this place.

Both Noah and I step out of the elevator into the expansive suite. It’s quiet like a cathedral, everything in its interior shining and spotless.

He whistles. “Damn.”