Mogul (Manhattan #2)(62)



“Sweetheart,” he warns. “Help. Now.”

I shake my head, smiling, but set the tray aside as Christos recovers the baby with a low, rumbly laugh.

I walk over to Ian, who’s looking down at his hands as if they’re infected.

“You look very handsome with a baby in your arms,” I whisper.

“Don’t get any ideas.” He drags a hand restlessly along the back of his neck, but he’s smiling. And I know that one day soon, we’ll get there. He and I.

“I’m getting quite a few ideas.” I bite my lip saucily.

He reaches out to grab the back of my skull and leans over. “You drive me crazy.”

“That’s the point. My life mission.” I drop a kiss on his addictive mouth and scoop up the baby from Christos. Now I feel Ian looking at me and Bryn waggling her brows telling me, maybe we’ll be pregnant together.

I love testing Ford’s limits.

“I know what ideas. I’ve got a few of my own,” he murmurs huskily in my ear, leaning down to look at me with heavy-lidded, dark-lashed eyes, and the look he gives me as I hold the baby makes my toes curl, like they did after he watched me dance on opening night.

He’s still watching me oddly when we sit down to have dinner. Bryn sets up the baby in a stroller and the baby sort of dozes off to sleep while we talk about business, movies, Ian’s next film, House of Sass, and my Broadway show.

“So does Ian go and watch you dance every night or what?”

“Not every night,” I say, tongue in cheek. Because to be honest, he’s been there for almost every one—missing only a few performances when work got in the way.

I still remember opening night. Ian, along with the public, watched me dance my heart out. Ian received me at the end of the show with a townhome full of red roses. He kissed me and told me how proud he was of me.

He still looks at me like that every night he watches me perform; as if it’s the first time he’s watched me dance. He looks at me like a guy in love.

I fucking love you, you fucking hot Suit, I think, as our eyes meet.

Giving him a private smile and feeling flutters when he does the same, I carry the dessert plates to the kitchen and set them in the sink.

I spot Becka’s book and skim through the pages. It doesn’t take me even a minute to realize she’s writing something important. Something personal about her trip to New York.

Holy shit.

Is she in love?

Suddenly, I really want her to be.

Suddenly, I really want whoever this lucky guy is to respond to her in kind.

I’ve learned these past months that love can be lost at any moment, but it can also be found.

It can change and grow and shine and hurt, the way sometimes beauty hurts. But its mark is permanent.

Its power infinite.

You just need to open up and let it out, because when you open those doors, love can’t help but come in.





DEAR READERS,

Thanks so much for picking up Mogul. I hope you enjoyed Ian and Sara’s story as much as I did writing it. And most definitely, yes! Becka is next!

XOXO,

Katy





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It started as a game.

We flirted. We played. Most importantly—we won.

Then I discovered who he was: Gambler. Famous playboy. Silver-eyed player who never plays to lose.

…And my best friend’s soon-to-be brother in law, Cullen Carmichael.

He needed a good luck charm, I needed a distraction.

So we made a gamble and set off for Vegas—but pretty soon—I was in too deep.

My heart, soul, and body weren't supposed to be part of the deal.

But somewhere between big wins and long nights, my house of cards started to tumble.

What was this devil with those piercing eyes doing to me?

I’d given up on love, but the wicked, all-in Cullen Carmichael was upping the ante and wouldn’t stop until he’d won it all.

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