Tycoon

  “Yes.” I glance at his shoes, grateful they’re black and big. Not the ones I saw earlier.

  “It sure as fuck wasn’t me.”

  “I know. I saw his shoes, and they’re not your shoes.”

  He watches me as if I’m a little dumb. “We had an appointment at six, I was ready at six.”

  Gulp.

  He picks up the phone on his desk and punches a number. “Get the car ready for me.”

  “Thank you for your time,” I say, but I can’t leave like this. How can I persuade him to do more for me?

  He stops me at the door—as if he senses my disappointment. “I want to help you, but this is business. It’s not personal, Bryn.”

  I swallow. “I know.”

  Fuck. He hated it.

  I’m happy for him, he’s on top of the world. Nobody deserves it more. I’m happy for him, but there’s this restless feeling inside me, one that appeared when she called him darling, one that won’t go away. You had your chance, you lost it, I tell myself. Never mind I was young and stupid, and very scared. We weren’t meant to be, maybe casual acquaintances…not more.

  “I’ve busted my ass too hard to risk my neck for a vaguely conceived startup.”

  “It’s not vaguely conceived.”

  “You need more here.”

  “I’ll have more!”

  “You need to bring it.”

  He motions for me to follow him, and I do. He leads us to a private elevator and punches the down arrow, and when we step inside, we face off for a moment.

  The space is confined—and his scent is everywhere. It reminds me of my childhood, of the younger version of me. Having him standing so near in such a closed space makes him impossible to ignore. He’s in front of me, behind me, above me, and below me, all at once.

  There’s an odd little tug from his body to mine, as if there’s a force trying to lure me closer to him, a magnetism in him that’s primal and animalistic. He’s standing close and yet instead of feeling invaded, like I should, I am achingly aware of how many inches still separate us. How many inches still stand between me and his large, hard, warm body, a wall of muscle and elegance before me.

  I try to ignore it. I’m not after him to get laid. I had my chance—I said no.

  I ball up the yearning and try to pretend he’s not as magnetic as he is. Try to pretend he’s just a wall. Or basically an ATM. The only ATM that can finance my baby.

  But no.

  He’s more than that.

  Among the most memorable—he was the guy who gave me his jacket one awful, awful day when I got my period early and stained my stupid shorts. People were snickering. I didn’t know why. One of my friends told me. I wanted to cry. Christos took off his jacket and handed it to me silently. He didn’t snicker like everyone else. I tied it around my waist, hurried to my car, and drove home in tears.

  I could never give him his jacket back. It would have been too embarrassing for him to think it had gotten stained with my period blood. Guys are funny about those things.

  So I bought him a new jacket. Leather, the best. He was lean, but he had broad shoulders, so I bought him a medium. It wouldn’t fit him now. It cost me a fortune. The one he’s wearing now would cost ten times as much.

  But it didn’t matter. He was different then.

  His dad was gone and his mom was sick, so he never seemed quite as young as his age said he should be. He always acted older. More worldly, maybe even a little more jaded.

  I could probably play the crying card with him and bend him to my will, but I won’t because that’s cheating. And because if it fails, I’ll be terribly embarrassed.

  “I never invest my money without knowing exactly what I’m buying and who I’m doing business with. I need you to develop this idea more. I’ll tell you about my vetting process if we move forward,” he tells me.

  “I don’t want to leave without a yes.”

  “You don’t get a yes on the first appointment. You get a maybe, if you’re lucky you get vetted by me.”

  “It’s technically our second appointment. I’m feeling lucky.”

  He releases a pleasant, low laugh that rumbles up his chest.

  “Christos, you just said you want to help me. Do you like my idea?”

  “No, I didn’t say that. I’m open to the idea, but what I like is your fiery passion for it.” He lifts his brows meaningfully.

  His grin is irresistibly devastating, and I find myself grinning back.

  Something crackles in the air as our gazes hold—something electric and warm, something that comes with knowing someone as more than a stranger. A friend even. A once, long ago, possible love interest.

  “I’ll work on my pitch to give it some clarity,” I say.

  His eyes roam over my face until they lock back on mine, neither of us smiling anymore. “Good. Call my office when you’re ready.”

  He steps out, and I see that his blonde is waiting for him outside. My heart skids to a stop. Christos doesn’t miss my reaction. His eyes shadow speculatively, then he gives me a ghost of a smile and a brief nod, slings his bag behind his shoulder, and walks away.

  I smile at his girlfriend. She glares. My smile wavers and I look away, too tempted to look back at him but forcing myself to stare ahead and focus on business.

  On the train to Nolita, I try to find the perfect song to reflect how angry I am at myself for fucking up my meeting. And also for feeling…well, the pang I felt when he left for his couples workout with his girl.

  I can’t deny there’s a restless feeling inside me that appears every time I remember he’s with her, the same one I felt when she called him darling that first time. It won’t go away.

  I shut my eyes and try to suppress the memory of his sexy mouth smiling as he cornered me at a party Cole hosted years ago. “You look like a guy who thinks he’s going to kiss me,” I teased him. I always teased him with that line. My heart was banging so hard I couldn’t think or hardly see straight as he approached…

  But he never got his chance. I never let him, always stealing away when we were alone because he made me nervous.

  I sensed he was dangerous to me. I sense he still is.

  So I should be glad he’s taken. In fact, I’m glad he’s taken. It’ll totally ensure I always stay focused on business.

  Christos

  8 1/2 years ago…

  “She’s yours, Aaric.”

  For a moment I’m not sure I heard right. Leilani gazes at me with sweet eyes and a smile before glancing down at her very large, very pregnant belly. I blink as I look up at her, struck with disbelief.

  I fucked her. Once. And I definitely remember using a rubber.

  She glances around. “May I come in? I’ve been on the road for days. It’s been a hassle to find you.”

  I should be angry. I should demand explanations. It’s true I’ve fantasized about being a father, but she was never the mother I imagined for my child. God, the timing couldn’t be shittier. I’m barely getting my fucking feet wet in business. Real business. And I’m in the middle of fucking relocating to New York.

  “Ley. I don’t have plans for a kid now. I want one. Hell, I want a family more than anything. But not now,” I say, raking a hand through my hair in exasperation.

  She shrugs. “Well, I didn’t get pregnant on my own, Christos.”

  “Jesus,” I curse even as I swing the door open and watch her walk inside.

  Bryn

  “It usually only takes two or three meetings, by the third he gives you a yes, a contract is drawn, and you get your first check,” Jensen tells me.

  I was passing by his Gramercy Park basement flat while walking Missy on Saturday afternoon and decided to punch in his number on my cell and ask if he wanted to meet me outside.

  He did.

  He’s in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, walking next to me after picking up coffee at Irving Place as we head to Washington Square Park.

  I mull over his words for a moment and sip the
last of my coffee, before tossing it into a nearby trashcan. “This’ll be my third meeting and still nothing. I don’t know what the fuck is going on—all my meetings have sort of gone south, Sen,” I admit.

  “Hell, I don’t know what to tell you.” He scrapes his hand down his jaw and eyes me. “He’s breaking protocol seeing you directly. Usually his staff screens possible options first.”

  “I’d heard that. It’s why I was never put through.” I hug him with one arm to keep from pulling Missy, Mrs. Lopez’s pampered poodle, back. “Thank you, Jensen.”

  “Hell, don’t thank me. I was as surprised he agreed to give you that first meeting as you were. But we had to try, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, we did.” I lean down and pet Missy happily, once again running my plan through my head.

  “So when was your last meet?”

  “Five days ago? Monday. I was supposed to call but I want to be sure my business plan is solid before I call again. I can’t screw this up again.”

  “I like what you’ve told me so far.”

  “Hmm,” I say when I spot a man exiting a bank building.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? He said to call, right? You’ve finally got your foot in the door and now you’re hesitating. Why?”

  I give him a wordless look, my heart pounding over the reason. “Personal, I guess.”

  “What.”

  “I’m attracted to him,” I admit, my eyes still tracking the guy, who has his head down and is speaking on the phone.

  “So. Last I heard, everyone is. Me included.” He grins. “The only ones spared are straight men, and the woman who gave birth to him.”

  I laugh. “I’m just so impressed by him, Jensen. He was always hardworking, and a little bit bad, but he was a good guy too. I see him, I see the Aaric I knew in this man, but he’s also so…I don’t know. I’m just impressed by him.”

  “And.”

  “And I think, despite him not going for my business, he was impressed too.” I smile.

  “So?”

  “It could just be complicated to work with him so closely, but I’m going to call, don’t worry. I’m just getting my ducks in a row.”

  “Speak of the devil and he appears,” he mumbles under his breath, kissing my jaw. “He’s crossing the street and heading straight toward you. Go get it.”

  “Wha—” I gasp, grabbing his wrist impulsively. “Jensen, don’t go,” I beg.

  “I really have to bail, I’ve got to join my boyfriend in his art stand down Prince Street, it’s Saturday, babe! But don’t be shy. Pretend he’s me and tell him exactly what you told me about your plans for your fucking kickass business. If he’s not in, I’ll mortgage my house and my ass and give you the money.”

  “Come on.” I push him, laughing, and he pats my butt and says, “Christos,” in greeting.

  They slap each other’s back, and yet I notice Christos seems pissy as he greets him.

  I don’t know why.

  He sees me and I can’t stop my heart from kicking faster. “Twice in two weekends?” He smiles, his eyes glinting in the evening light. “Somebody up there has a sense of humor.”

  “No kidding,” I agree.

  He’s wearing slacks and a gabardine, and he looks decadent. Making it even harder for me to stay calm.

  We begin walking side by side toward Washington Square.

  “You didn’t call,” he says. He eyes me sideways.

  “I will. I just have other things on my mind. My roommate was really distraught last weekend. I’ve been looking for more clients so that she can join my dog-walking escapades.”

  I realize what I said sounds lame. I don’t want him to think I let other things keep me from doing what I really want to, so I add, “And I’ve been quoting an office space, a marketing budget, the works.”

  “Good. I was concerned I’d discouraged you.”

  “You have a lot of experience. People with experience have been discouraging me for a while.” I shrug.

  “Who are these people?”

  “Losers, all of them. Just richer.”

  “’Fess up. Names. Addresses,” Christos says.

  “Oh haha.” I smile. “The loaning institutions.”

  He frowns, then he leads us into a small café and summons a waitress, giving her a warm smile. “Hi, there. Would you hold this little pooch for us, please? Thank you.”

  She seems flustered by him, for the waitress nods dumbly and takes the leash from my hand without a glance in my direction—her eyes never leaving Aaric’s face.

  He sits down at a small table and kicks the chair out so that I can sit with him.

  “I’m supposed to be walking Missy, not talking to you,” I object.

  He winks at the waitress. “Would you walk her up and down the block for a few minutes?” He hands her a bill. “I’ll double that if you bring her back safe and happy in fifteen minutes.”

  “Aaric.” I’m amazed, shaking my head. “I think you’re having trouble realizing this”—I motion—“is not your office. You’re not her boss, mine, or the dog’s, or the dog’s owner.”

  He leans back and looks at me with smirking eyes.

  “You can’t just do what you want and get away with it!” I say.

  “See…if you want to own your own business…those invisible lines you want to keep yourself inside?” He moves his head sideways decisively. “Need to disappear. No limits to anything you can do. Or have.”

  I smile as we order drinks. I order more coffee, hoping to keep working tonight, but he orders wine.

  “So why did you look me up?” he asks, watching me across the table.

  “Bankers don’t go into this sort of thing.” I shake my head. “Not big risks and definitely not from someone with hardly any credit to her name.”

  “You’re right.”

  “You think I’m crazy?” I ask.

  He just stares at me, his watchful gaze making me nervous.

  “A lot of people have thought of crazier stuff that works,” I say.

  “You can make anything work in this day and age with hard work and a good marketing campaign. I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re crazy if you don’t call me tomorrow. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get me to hear anything?” His brows go up cockily.

  “I do.”

  “I’ve got a full schedule for weeks. If you stop by 6:30 we can discuss some more,” he says then.

  My stomach dips in excitement and dread. “Okay. Yes. 6:30 p.m. on Monday.”

  I purse down on my smile and bite it from the inside, trying not to let my nerves and joy show too much.

  “Can’t believe you still do that,” he mutters.

  “What?”

  “Bite down on your lips like that—from the inside. Beneath your top lip.”

  I release my lips. “I don’t do that,” I counter.

  “You just did.”

  “I didn’t.”

  He signals with his index finger. “You just did again.”

  “Ugh! I’m so annoying,” I cry, laughing.

  He chuckles. “You’re adorable,” he says plainly.

  We are laughing one second—and the next we are sober.

  “So you’ve been with her for long?”

  “Miranda?” he asks. “Six months, give or take.”

  “A record for you?”

  He shrugs. “You could say that.”

  “Soul mates?”

  “I don’t believe in that.”

  “Really?”

  “Come on. I’m practical.” He frowns. “Do I look like someone who gets caught up in the fanciful stuff?”

  I shrug.

  “I’m thirty-two, bit.”

  “So? One can be romantic at any age.” I laugh when he doesn’t even smile in agreement. God, this man is gorgeous. Gorgeous and very hard to read. “My best friend Becka and I discovered a site called the Soul Mate Site. I love reading it. It preaches that you won’t meet your soul mate until you’r
e on your soul’s path—so we all better do what we came here to do.”

  “What did you come here to do?” he asks. He sounds interested.

  “I suppose what makes us happy is a good indicator.”

  “Sometimes it’s what we’re good at,” he says.

  I laugh. “Yeah. Maybe. But then you’re not thinking you’re with your soul mate. You might not be on the right path yet.”

  “It’s the only path I’m going to be on.”

  I smile. “I heard about you when you made your first million. I was happy for you. You deserve it. While everyone partied you worked, but when you got to the parties you partied hard.”

  He leans back and crosses his hands behind his head. “I like going all out on everything,” he says cockily.

  “So are you going all out with your girlfriend?”

  He drops his arms. “We’ll see,” he says. Gruff.

  He scrapes his jaw as he stares at a spot past my shoulder in frustration. I realize it’s little Missy coming back from her walk.

  “I better go. I should probably go to bed early, catch some rest,” I say. “You too. I mean. Not together. Alone.”

  “I know what you mean,” he says, taking care of the tab and handing a bill to the waitress.

  We head out of the café. I lead Missy to the sidewalk where I see his car is pulling over.

  It’s a cool night. I feel like curling into him for warmth. My nose feels red, and it’s only fall. Christos looks tall and powerful and so warm that it is a feat not to throw myself at him.

  “See you Monday,” I say.

  “Does Missy want a ride?” he asks.

  “Oh no, she’s good,” I say.

  “How about Wicked Miss Kelly.”

  I laugh, blushing so hard the cold fades away.

  “Hop in, I’ll drop you off,” he says.

  “I’m fine, thanks. Really,” I insist. “Let’s keep it professional.”

  His eyebrows pull down, and he takes a step, looking down at me in a mix of confusion, frustration, and amusement. “I offered you a ride, Bryn. Not a hotel room.”

  I laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” I take a step back and trip over a break in the sidewalk. “I’m within walking distance.”