Dirty Rumor: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance(3)
I hardly see any of it. The floor-to-ceiling windows frame a stunning view of the skyline, framing the sun as it sets brilliantly over the cityscape, its vibrant hues of oranges, reds and deep yellows coating the room with subtle warmth. I should feel relieved. I should feel at home.
Instead I feel numb, stiff, braced for the next wave of anxiety.
Noah turns to me and presses the envelope into my hand. “I’m on the forty-second floor, if you need anything.”
I give him a nod, my throat too tight to speak, and he claps me on the shoulder like he’s my grandfather. “Order some food at least, boss. Nobody wants you to starve to death.”
I give a bitter laugh. “Okay.”
Then he’s stepping back into the elevator, the door sliding shut soundlessly behind him, and I’m finally alone.
I wander through all nine rooms of the suite, staring out at the rapidly changing view as the sun sinks below the top lines of the buildings. Elisa’s laughter echoes in my memory. I can practically hear her exclaiming in glee about the enormous square tub in the master bathroom, at the master bedroom’s canopy bed with gold-threaded fabrics, at the views. My God, she would have loved the views.
I let out a deep sigh and rub at my chest.
Wallowing is not going to do me a damn bit of good.
I’ll have food sent up. I’ll eat. I’ll watch movies.
I’ll spend the weekend here, collecting myself, and when Monday comes, I’ll be able to make some decisions.
I’m in control of my life. Not the paparazzi camped out in front of my penthouse. Not the media. Not the Italian courts—at least not anymore. And not the ghost of the woman I loved and lost.
When Monday comes, I’ll go back to being Ace Kingsley, the man in charge, the man who takes what he wants, the man who never lets anything get to him.
When Monday comes, I’ll be invincible.
Chapter 3
Carolyn
Jess and I try on every dress at the boutique, finally settling on a lush emerald green one for her—it makes her look like a goddess—and a fitted fuchsia sheath for me. I don’t have Jess’s stunning blue eyes, but the bright pink next to my skin makes my dark orbs look more mysterious than boring.
She’s called in her prep team to the boutique, so at six o’clock I flip the elegantly calligraphed sign on the door to “closed” and lead the duo into a little setup I’ve got in the storage room—chair, vanity, lighted mirror.
“This is Candy and Harold,” Jess says, and Harold gives me a grin. His hair is styled to within an inch of its life.
I grin back. “Like what you see?”
“I like a beautiful brunette.” His accent is polished style, all poise and elegance. “Are you ready to be styled?”
I pull out my hair clip, letting my locks spill down over my shoulders. “Am I ever.”
We all laugh, and then the two stylists turn serious as they transform us into amped-up versions of ourselves.
“I didn’t expect to look like royalty when I woke up this morning.” Harold is doing something complicated and lovely to my hair. I can’t wait to see what it looks like when it’s done.
“Oh, you don’t look like royalty,” Jess jokes, sticking her nose up in the air. “For that, you’d need to wear a crown.”
“My, my, how high we have risen!”
The two of us laugh again, and it dispels some of the ache forming in my chest. Who cares if I don’t have a date? If, once again, I’m seated next to someone’s plus-one at the party? I’ve been lucky before. I could be lucky again.
And anyway, I remind myself, it’s better for Rainflower Blue if I’m…unattached. Men have a way of becoming distractions.
By the time Harold has turned my hair into an exquisite creation—half-up with curls doesn’t begin to do it justice—and he’s switched places with Candy, my skin is buzzing, electrified with jolts of anticipation.
An old friend is in town and hosting a massive party. There’s sure to be an uptick in site traffic as a result…but more than that, I can’t wait to be there.
The undercurrent in the room is obvious the moment we step inside the Purple Swan’s main dining room. It features a huge dance floor up at the front of it, a stage where a jazz quartet is playing—low-key for the beginning of the evening, but by the time the last people stagger out of this place, it will be anything but background noise.
Jess claps her hands when she sees Alec waving to her from the second tier of tables. It’s full of our friends, plus a couple other faces that seem familiar. Jax Hunter is there with his wife, Catherine—he leans down to whisper something in her ear, and her cheeks flush pink. On her other side is Chris—Eli, I tell myself sternly, Eli—with Quinn at his side, her hand wrapped around his bicep. My chest starts burning, but then we’re at the table, Eli has stood up and is coming around to kiss both of my cheeks, and I’m swept up in the conversation of the moment. Jess sits down beside me, Alec is next to her, and I accept the first glass of champagne that comes my way as all of my friends talk over one another.
But there seems to be another conversation happening. Am I making it up? All over the room, people are whispering to each other, nodding—a couple here, a couple there.