Mogul (Manhattan #2)(58)

I open the cab door for her and watch my ex-wife reluctantly board, shooting me a snotty glance that I can’t care less about.

“Goodbye, Cordelia.”





BROADWAY


Sara



I’m dreading the appearance of the blonde bitch Ian married, but she’s nowhere in sight as I change into my dancing shoes and stretch out next to my new colleagues on the stage. We’re all waiting to be told what to do.

Everyone is shuffling around, commenting on how excited they are to have landed their respective roles. The sound of doors shutting causes me to raise my eyes to the far end of the auditorium. A tall, dark-haired man in a business suit is walking down the auditorium room steps.

My Suit is here?

I can’t help but stand a little straighter, in an effort to hide the way my heart just went crazy in my chest.

Ian is here…

On his way forward, the directors greet him.

I arch my brows, confused.

“From the top,” Ian calls as he glances up at us, taking a seat that one of the directors vacates for him.

I blink and shoot him a what are you doing? look, but run to take my place at the front of the dancers.

We take it from the top and perform the variation we practiced during audition. When the music stops, Ian whispers to one of the directors. “Take five,” that director calls.

I climb down from the platform and approach while Ian comes to his feet in one fluid motion, the gleam of pride in his eyes making my thighs feel watery.

“Why are they following your orders?” I whisper-ask, coming to stand next to him.

He casually tugs on my ponytail. “I had to make some arrangements to be sure Cordelia was out of the picture—for good. Out of my life, and yours.”

“What?” I swallow, trying to register what he’s saying. I’m about to ask him to clarify, because this cannot mean what I’m thinking it means.

My delicious Workaholic has enough work on his plate with his own documentary and film production company. He couldn’t possibly have bought a Broadway one to boot. Could he have?

I’m shocked—shocked enough that my question comes out as a mere breath. “What did your ex want in exchange for selling you her production company?”

“Not much,” Ian says calmly, laughing silently at my complete astonishment. “She wanted me to let her keep my name.”

“You can’t!” I cry.

He raises one brow, tugging my ponytail one more time before letting it fall behind me.

I can’t help my stupid reaction. I’m so completely taken by this guy. Body, heart, soul. Even my mind he hijacks all the time. It’s inconvenient and impractical. But I’m in love. For the first time in my life. I love everything about this guy, even his name. His name that I one day want to be mine.

“I mean… imagine if you ever married again,” I try to explain to him. “There can’t be two Mrs. Fords, three including your Gran, walking around New York.”

“We can’t have that, can we?” He tsks softly.

A realization dawns on me. My new boss is… Ian? My Yummy Motherfucker?

“You said, Dancer, that you wouldn’t mind who your boss was, whether it was someone you hated or someone you cared for.”

I dip my head forward slowly in agreement, realization that Ian did this for me nearly shattering my brain. I’m mind-blown. I can’t believe someone would do something so huge in order to help me achieve my dreams. Both of them. The one about having a shot on Broadway, and the one of having a relationship with my Dirty Workaholic. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“What for?” I ask.

Ian scrapes his chin as he thinks about it, tilting his head to one side as he regards me. “I suppose a girl I know would say it’s for recovering my… faith in the universe.”

“A girl you know.” A smile begins tugging at the corners of my mouth.

“The girl I’m deeply into.”

My heart somersaults. “How deep?”

“As deep as love goes.” He seizes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping my face back. “The girl I’m in love with.”

My toes curl in my dancing shoes as his burning eyes hold me. My hand curls over his as he continues holding me by the chin. “She loves you, too.”

“She said as much before. But we were both not quite on all five, and I can’t get enough of hearing it anyway.” His low voice rasps over my skin, and the slight twitch of his lips makes me breathless.

I nod frantically up and down. “Hmm. She does. Since she gave you her panties in a little wad in your pocket. She’s so easy.”

“No, she’s not.” His lips curve to shape an utterly sexy smile. “But she’s mine.”

I confirm his words with another jerky nod, and suddenly I can’t breathe beneath the intensity in his eyes.

“I’m free, Sara.”

“You’re free?”

“I’m free.”

I exhale, my whole body shuddering happily. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do now?”

“Take you out to dinner. Then take you home and keep you.”

One second he’s a few feet away. The next he’s lifting my face, kissing me slow, and so, so deep, like today is the end of the world. Or, maybe, the first day of a new one. Hands on my face, tongue invading, tasting. I’m a willing party to this celebration.