Dirty Rumor: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance(46)
I take in a deep breath. “He—he found out what I do for a living.”
She shakes her head. “The boutique? That’s not a state secret.”
It takes everything I have to meet her eyes. “No.” How do I even admit this without sounding like a terrible person? “I run…I run a gossip website for the wealthiest people in New York. And I make a lot of money from it.”
Jess cocks her head, considering. “Like…a blog?”
“Like a forum. People post on it, and when the rumors seem…when they seem like they could really affect people’s lives, I either confirm or deny them.”
Jess’s eyes light up. “You’re a private investigator?”
I laugh bitterly. “No, but I hire them on occasion. I hired one to find out what Ace’s deal was.”
“Oh, shit.” Jess leans toward me. “And he found out?”
“Long story short, yeah. And he was pissed. Really pissed.” More tears come to my eyes when I think about it, and I wipe them away with a napkin, taking in another big, shuddering breath.
“You were really into him, weren’t you?” Jess’s voice is soft.
“I love him.” I can hardly choke out the words, but there it is. There’s the truth. “I just wanted to be—to be sure that he wasn’t what people were saying.”
“I heard something at the Swan. Murdering his wife?”
“He didn’t do it,” I say as I pick up the second breakfast sandwich and, putting it down, add, “It was a smear campaign by her father. But it’s been all over the website. I wanted to deny it so we could move on. And I could be sure.” The last word comes out pleading, like I’m begging for her to understand.
But I don’t have to beg her. She knows how things have been with the men in my life.
Jess picks up her second sandwich and unwraps it. “He could come around.”
“I don’t think he will.”
“Then he’s not good enough for you, Care.”
“That’s the thing. I’m not good enough for him.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.” I can’t look at her. It matters so much.
“You want to be with him?”
“More than all of that. More than…more than anything.”
I look back at her to see her reaction. She gives a little shrug. “So maybe you should have told him. Maybe you went a little too far.” She looks right into my eyes. “If he loves you, he’ll put it behind him. There’s only one way to find out.”
Chapter 42
Ace
I’m so anxious to be out of my f*cking apartment that I go down to the lobby fifteen minutes early, only to realize instantly that it’s a goddamn mistake to leave myself so exposed. Carolyn could show up at any minute, and then what?
It’s the billion-dollar question.
I haven’t been able to sleep since Tuesday. Not really. I toss and turn all f*cking night, and when I do slip into a dream, it stars Carolyn. Sometimes I dream of turning my back on her. Sometimes I dream of f*cking her. It all hurts just the same.
But I’m determined not to let this pin me down in the apartment and lose myself in shitty TV. I don’t know what makes me feel so damn certain of it, but….
It’s Carolyn, the voice in the back of my head says, with a tinge of sadness. You saw her resilience after the boutique was robbed. You saw her kindness even when it meant that she wouldn’t get to spend time with you. If she can keep moving forward, so can you.
I swallow hard and stare out the lobby windows to the street outside.
The moments crawl by, until at last I see Eli’s driver emerge from a town car at the curb. I shove open the door to the outside and take a deep breath of the crisp fall air. At least the darkness gives me some cover if she’s out here walking down the sidewalk or something.
I slide into the back next to Eli, who puts his hand out to shake it with a familiar grin. “What’s up?”
“Starving.”
“Let’s go.”
His driver shuts the door behind me and comes back around to the front of the car, and soon he’s guiding it smoothly into traffic. I should have brought Noah along so this guy can get some dinner, too. Uh—no. Where the hell is that coming from? It’s not on my agenda to do matchmaking for people’s personal assistants and drivers.
Ten minutes later, he lets us out in front of the Pearl, a club that I’ve been to more than once in the past. They have the best steaks in New York City. When we step out onto the sidewalk, I get a big whiff of perfectly seared steak and my stomach growls.
Which reminds me—I haven’t been eating well, either.
No surprises there.
Eli has reserved us a private booth near the back, which is fine with me. The fewer people I see, the better. I do want to ask him if he knows any available women, but I’m not going to take the chance of running into the next Carolyn by sitting right in the middle of what is still a very fine establishment.
The uniformed waiter flits by the table, pouring water, delivering drinks, and we chat about nothing at all until our plates are set before us.
My mouth waters.
There are two filets in front of me, prime beef and absurdly expensive. They’re exquisitely plated near mashed potatoes that are light as a cloud and seasonal vegetables dripping with butter.