Mogul (Manhattan #2)(50)



I turn around. “Nope. Run off. I can handle myself.”

“Out here in the cold.”

“Oh, I don’t plan to be out here for long.”

He heads over, exasperated.

“She may be at the office. Or with her new boyfriend. I’ll take care of it,” I assure, sticking to my pride.

Ian glances up and blinks. “Leave you out here in negative-degree weather?” He ponders it and scowls at me. “Nope.”

My teeth are chattering. His hand comes to grip my arm.

“All right, sweetheart. Let’s get back in the car.”

“No. Really. Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you with me.”

“Where?”

“Change of plans. You can come.”

“What gave you the indication that I want to go to wherever it is you’re going?”

He pauses and looks at me. When he finally speaks, his voice is whisper soft. “Don’t do that.” He frowns and shakes his head.

“Do what?”

“You know what,” he growls under his breath.

I stare past his shoulder as the cold wind slaps us both. He’s frustrated. I’m frustrated. He spoke to his wife today, and I’m so jealous I can’t see straight.

I got the part of my dreams. And his wife is the producer.

It’s all messy and complicated and I’m confused and scared. This dating cautiously thing is not working for me. I cannot stop thinking about him. I’m happy. Too happy, when I’m with him. So happy that I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to tell me he still loves his wife. That he’s going back to his wife. Maybe his wife even hopes for that. I mean, look at my mom. Everything went to hell. She’d have done anything to get my dad back.

His wife knows more about him than I do. Like if he likes… to play Monopoly naked in the middle of the night or something crazy? She has an edge, an advantage over me. What if she cooked his favorite meal when they talked? Or wore his favorite color? And it makes me mad. Because I want this man all to myself and I don’t know if I could bear it if he let me go.

Will this end leaving me to spend the rest of my life comparing every other guy to him? Crushed and wanting a man who wanted someone else a little more?

But it’s not his fault that I’m bad at this whole casual thing. It’s not his fault that I… want more.

I sigh dejectedly. “Where are we going?”

“It’s Hilton’s birthday.”

“Hilton?”

“One of my friends. The one we bumped into at the hotel the other day.”

“Is it proper for me to be going?”

“I don’t care if it’s proper. You’re coming with me.”





CLUB


Sara



The club is sizzling when we arrive. It’s on the lower floor of a modern structure encased in glass, invitation only, with tons of classy cars parked outside. All the young and rich in the city are present, without a doubt. I force myself to hold my head high.

There are women in glittering white dresses, men in stunning black suits and black ties.

“I’m not dressed for the occasion.”

“And yet you’re easily the most stunning woman in the room,” he says with a glance that reminds me of the way he made love to me very, very recently. He introduces me to the friends that come to greet him. “This is Sara.”

His friends look at me in interest as they shake my hand and I shake theirs back. I can tell they’re not used to seeing Ian with someone. Or maybe, with someone else. Especially considering he’s not yet divorced.

I squirm uncomfortably, but Ian squeezes my hand and I exhale.

The only way to survive the walk deeper into the room is to hone every bit of my attention, my senses, on the connection of our hands. My legs follow him inside. When we get deeper into the crowded room, the walls enclosing us flash with shimmering waterfalls and lights, synced to the loud music. There are dancers in cages suspended from the ceiling, a fluorescent bar to the right, and a variety of lounge areas where tables greet you, leading into the massive dance floor where there’s hardly room to dance among the moving bodies. Beyond the dance floor, more tables spread out as far as the eye can see. The backdrop is a stunning pair of velvet curtains, which are partly open to reveal a terrace outside.

Ian talks to one of the guards and points toward the back. As he continues leading me through the crowd, he stops a waiter and orders us drinks. Ian greets a few friends on the way, and all the while, his hand holds mine, saying, I got you.

I feel safer than I thought I would. I trust him. I took a leap of faith and I trust him. I wonder if he will ever trust me after having had a bad marriage. I vow to myself that somehow I’m going to win his trust, and his loyalty, things a man like him must value.

With the whole club circling around him, I realize he must not attend these sorts of events that often, because everyone is ecstatic to see him, men and women alike. I feel myself pulled to him like my anchor and my safety and my universe. And yes, there are a thousand eyes inside this place, and a thousand eyes were on Ian as soon as we walked in. I can feel the stares on me, bouncing from him to me, me to him.

Every fantasy I’ve ever had of finding the right man for me… none of those included the environment. None of those included me feeling as if I don’t quite fit—and yet how can it feel so right to stand beside him?

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