Mogul (Manhattan #2)(36)

“She needed to be alone. I’m staying until the guests leave.”

I purse my lips and shoot him another dark look, then spin around and stomp away. I want to punch him for hurting Bryn, but I slow my steps and consider the expression on his face. He looked, and sounded, miserable. For the first time, I suspect he’s as messed up about things as she is.

I text Bryn to give her an update. For her to leave the way she did, something must have gone really wrong. I ask her if she’s okay.

I’m okay, she texts back.

I know she’s not.

But this isn’t the moment to discuss it. We can do that later. Right now I want things to run smoothly.

Becka is on her fourth glass of champagne, and she’s acting as bubbly as the alcohol she’s imbibing. “He loves her. Why is he marrying that bimbo?” She signals to Miranda, who looks restless as she leaves with Christos’s brother.

“I don’t know. Responsibility, I guess.”

She shrugs and lets out a small hiccup.

I decide I’m going to have to carry both of our weight the rest of the evening and leave her to get back to work.

When the last guest leaves and Jensen bids us good night, Christos closes shop. “Do you want a ride?” he asks us.

We both shake our heads. “No, thanks, and we don’t want you near Bryn, either.” I smile acidly and walk away, aware of him laughing sardonically, almost sounding frustrated, behind us.

We’re not yet around the curb when we see him hop into a black car. “Where’s he going in such a rush?” Becka asks.

“I don’t know.” I sigh.

“I can’t feel my toes. I’m exhausted.”

“You’re drunk, momma,” I tell her fondly, and she giggles.

I groan and tell her how much I want a nice, hot bath when we get home as I drag her to the train. Thinking of baths makes me think of Ian, and I let myself fantasize about taking a bath with him someday. I begin to ache.

The look Christos had when he mentioned Bryn pops back in my head, and suddenly I’m aching in places other than between my legs.

Why does that look make me think of Ian?

Why do I see him in every man, even when I’m out in the streets? As if there’s only one guy in the world and parts of him are walking around all over the place. But only one man has all those Ian Ford parts, and that’s Ian Ford himself.

Sigh.

I like him. He was such a gentleman when I got drunk at his place. He spooned me and warmed me with his body. He’d been really hard—I felt it even through my drunkenness—but he never left my side and never overstepped. He’s a little alpha, but damn it, doesn’t that hit all my buttons too?

He sparks my sparks, all of them. Damn him.

When we reach our apartment, I open the door, kick off my heels, and stare around in confusion along with Becka.

“Where’s Bryn?” we both ask the empty apartment.

As if in response to our question, my phone rings. “I’m with Christos,” Bryn says. “I didn’t want you two to worry. Thanks for staying until the end. It was a long… crazy night.”

“We were happy to do it. But are you all right?” I ask.

“We’re back together.” She sounds like she’s been crying, but I can hear the happiness in her voice.

I almost stumble back from the unexpectedness of it. Becka stops massaging her feet and blinks at me when she notices the expression on my face.

“Bryn, I’m so happy for you!” I burst out.

“Tell Becka. I’ll stop by a little later to pick up some stuff, but if I don’t see you then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“She’s back with Christos,” I inform Becka when I hang up.

Becka’s eyes go wide and we celebrate by diving into chocolates.

After a piece too many, I push them away. “Okay, no more chocolates. I want my Dirty Workaholic to still get hard when he looks at me.”

I toss the wrappings aside and curl up on the couch while Becka hops onto Bryn’s Match.com account.

“Does this mean I should delete this thing?”

I shrug. “I don’t think a guy like Christos will want his girlfriend’s profile up on a dating site.”

Becka laughs as she clicks the few buttons to cancel Bryn’s account. “All right, that’s done. I’m going to sleep now. Good night,” she says, and she heads to bed while I remain restless on the couch.

After several minutes of tossing and turning, I pull myself up and drag myself to bed too. I lie down under the covers and close my eyes, but guess whose dark, fathomless eyes I see when I close mine.

Guess who causes my body to tingle, remembering his touch.

Guess who still—even now that I know his name and a whole lot more about him—makes me want him more and more.

I type out a text:



What are you doing? Do you still want to see me?



I pause and reread my message, biting my lower lip.

Shaking my head, I erase my text, power off my phone, and connect it to my charger. It was a crazy night. I need my head on straight before I get carried away like I usually do with my Dirty Workaholic.





CAUTIOUSLY


Sara



I tossed and turned all night. Now it’s very early for me to be up on a Saturday, and I peer through my eyelids, watching the sunlight pouring in through my blinds. I squeeze my eyes shut and flip to my other side. Thinking of Ian and wanting to kiss his gorgeous lips again. Of course my Hot Workaholic merits a full day of lying in bed dreaming about him. Wondering if he meant everything he said. If he’s as obsessed with our connection as I am. If maybe we can one day have something that’s more than casual.