Mogul (Manhattan #2)(29)

I already hope she stays with us for a while.

Now, while Bryn coordinates the deliveries of her clothing designs to the warehouse to get ready for her House of Sass launch, Becka and I are trying to cheer her up by night, and selling samples at fifty percent discount on Prince Street by day.

Everyone who’s stopped by our stand has loved Bryn’s new “confession” T-shirts. Some say “Chocolate Addict” and others have a cute little slogan and logo. On the front one reads, “I Kissed a Frog” and on the back it reads, “Or twenty.”

“Miss Davies?”

I’m startled to spot a man standing behind the last girl we rang up. He’s a little younger than me, and he seems to know who I am, but I have no idea who he is.

“My boss sent this.”

He extends a piece of paper, but this is New York, after all, and you just don’t trust people that easily. “I’m sorry; I think you may—”

“Sara Davies?” He shakes his head. “He was pretty intent on making sure I didn’t make a mistake.” He hands me back the piece of paper, which I now realize has a card inside, along with a check. I quickly read the name on the card: Ian Ford.

My stomach dips unexpectedly. What is he doing?

“I’m sorry but…”

“For the whole set. We’re buying everything you have left in stock.”

“But why?”

“He wanted you to free your afternoon and meet him tonight on Broadway. He’s got tickets for Hairspray.”

“Oh my gosh, really? But that show is sold out.”

He gathers all the remaining T-shirts and says, “He’s good for the check.”

I seem to have lost all power of speech.

Becka is equally speechless as we close shop.

“You’ve got to go,” she says.

“I’m not sure where this will lead. What exactly am I getting into?” I glance at the ticket as we head to the train station.

“It’s just a date—and if you want more, then it’ll be more.”

“But didn’t I tell you last night this guy is married?”

“He’s as good as divorced already. And he’s interested.”

“I’m confused. I never wanted to get it on with a divorced guy. I’m not going to go.” I shake my head, but Becka grabs my hand and squeezes.

“Sara. Do you want to wonder your whole life? Just go. Maybe getting to know him more will help you get over him. Or it’ll make it clearer that you really want this guy and are willing to wait for him.”

“Okay. You’re right.” I nod my head. “You need to help me pick my outfit.”

“Count on it.”

“Also, don’t tell Bryn. She’s got enough on her plate, and I don’t want her to worry about me.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t.”

One hour later, I walk into the theater wearing a killer red dress and look down at my ticket, biting my lip as the usher points out my seat. I scan the line of seats down the front, and I spot the back of his head. He seems to sense my presence and slowly stands, his onyx gaze trained on me, and my knees do a little knocking dance. Damn this man. He’s going to be the end of me.

Exhaling, I start heading down the steps as he comes to meet me halfway, the smile on his face a shade above gorgeous.

“Hey, stranger,” I say.

“Glad you came.” His eyes shine and I’m glad I came, too, if only because I’ve never met a guy I’ve responded to the way I do him. I said that when I found sparks I would light the match, and here I am. Stoking that same fire that began months ago in that ride back from the airport.

Ian stretches out his legs before us after we sit and I feel his knee touch mine.

I gulp and tense, wanting more.

We start to watch the show, and it’s torture to be caught between my two loves, both of which I can’t have. Dancing… and my Suit. It becomes more and more painful as the show progresses and the dancers twirl on the stage in ways that make my legs itch so that I can barely watch without wanting to move to the music. I feel him eyeing my profile and I don’t know what to do, what to say, why I’m here, or why I’m doing this to myself.

My whole body aches. I want to dance so much my arms feel heavy from the urge to move. I want to dance up on that stage. Hell, anywhere.

“They’re looking for dancers,” he tells me.

My eyes widen.

“I wanted you to see it first, in case you wanted to audition.”

He remembered?

I lean over to his ear. “I could suck you off ten times right here,” I whisper by way of gratitude.

He smiles then, his gaze wolfish.

“Let’s go. It may not have been such a good idea to bring you here,” he says, motioning to my moving legs.

I stand and as he leads me out, he asks, in my ear, “Where to?”

“Anywhere I can move,” I beg.



*



Ian summons an Uber to drive us to the Upper East Side. I have no idea where we’re going. I don’t care; somehow I trust him to take me somewhere I will like.

Half an hour later, we hop out in front of a burnt-red brownstone. I’m surprised to see Ian has the keys. He opens the gate for me and leads me up the steps to the front door.