Dirty Filthy Rich Men Page 8

  “It has to be something if he’s calling you.” Her giddiness was making me nervous.

  I wiped my sweaty palm across my skirt. “Maybe he’s just going to be in town and thought it would be polite to say hello.”

  “Or. Maybe he realizes he can’t breathe without you, and he’s finally gotten the guts to do something about it. I told you I’ve only seen him photographed with, like, one girl in the last several weeks. He’s not fooling around like he was. He’s pining.”

  Again, I glared. I actually hadn’t put any thought into a future with Weston, but it was nice to be wanted. Did he actually want me? How different would things have been if Donovan had called after we’d been together? Even three months later. Even three years.

  “Just answer it!” Ashley squealed impatiently.

  I picked up the phone. “This is Sabrina.”

  “Sabrina. It’s Weston.” His smile carried over the digital network. I could practically hear his dimple in his tone.

  “Hi,” I said, unable to stop grinning myself.

  “Hi to you. It’s good to hear your voice. Really good.”

  “You too.” I swiveled back and forth in my chair, aware that Ashley was watching me like a hawk.

  Listening too. Which meant this couldn’t turn into phone sex. Not that I wanted this to turn into phone sex. Not that I knew what I wanted at all.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m surprised you called. This is out of the blue.”

  “I know,” Weston said, suddenly seeming more official and less flirty. “I’m sorry. I probably should have made an appointment.”

  “No, no. This is fine. Just. It’s unexpected.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about the more official tone. It wasn’t bad. It was different.

  “It is unexpected. I’ve had a lot of unexpected things happen in my life lately, actually. And I’m going to shock you again now. Are you ready? Brace yourself.”

  My muscles tensed automatically like they did when I was in a car and someone put on the brakes suddenly. “Okay. I’m braced.”

  “I want to offer you a job.”

  “He isn’t serious.” I’d said it so many times since I’d hung up the phone with Weston that Ashley had to think I’d gone into some state of shock.

  I had gone into some state of shock. There was no other word for what this feeling was.

  “He’s serious,” Ashley insisted as she stared at my computer screen. “I’m looking at the offer now, Bri. It’s on letterhead. This is serious shit.” Weston had emailed a formal offer over while we’d spoken, and she hadn’t hesitated to swivel my screen toward her so she could examine it in detail.

  My eyes had been open too long without blinking. So I blinked. Then did it again. “But why?”

  “He obviously followed up, checked out your resume, probably called some references and saw that you do good work. Because you do.” She bent to meet my eyes across the desk. “You deserve this, Bri.”

  I held her gaze for several heavy seconds. I did want the job. That wasn’t a question. The pay was phenomenal. The offer even included relocation expenses. The title was exactly the one he’d promised before—turned out his last director of marketing strategy was transferring to London and had been planning to for a while now. Weston had known he might need a replacement when I’d spent the weekend with him. It was essentially the same job that I currently had, but Reach was so much bigger of a firm that it was a huge promotion.

  There was absolutely no reason to say no.

  Just.

  Surely Weston had more qualified employees already on staff, waiting for advancement. If not, there were hundreds of people dying for a job like this. People who already lived in New York. People with much more experience.

  “But why me?” I asked as I suddenly stood, pushing my desk chair with enough force that it went rolling toward the wall. I looked after it apologetically. I didn’t mean to seem angry. I wasn’t angry. I was confused. When Weston and I had been wrapped in a haze of lust, the smell of sex still clinging to the air, these kinds of overtures made sense. But now?

  “Oh. Ohhhh.” Ashley drew the word out, finally understanding what I was really asking. “Because he wants to have a relationship with you. Obviously. Duh.”

  That’s what I had been afraid she’d say. I shook my head. “That can’t possibly be true. It’s not what either of us wanted.” At least, that’s what I’d thought. Had I been wrong?

  I didn’t know anymore.

  Ashley wouldn’t let that slide. Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms over her chest and furrowed her brow. “Why did you even go to bed with him if you didn’t want anything out of it?”

  “Is that something I have to actually explain?” I turned away from her and busied myself with straightening my computer screen so it was facing the right way again. It was easier to think without her reading into my every expression.

  “Well, I know why I would go to bed with him,” she said to my profile. “He’s hot as fuck and has enough money to buy the whole state of New York, but as long as I’ve known you, you’ve never been as superficial as I am. You’re also not into flings, so yes, you must explain.”

  With a sigh, I straightened and considered her question. I knew the answer—I just hadn’t had to put it into words before. “I went to bed with him because of exactly what you said,” I began. “He’s charming and attractive and nearly impossible to resist. But, okay, it was also because he was an unclosed door. I had a huge crush on him once upon a time. He stood for everything I once almost had. It was nice to finally be able to see what things could have been like.”

  Also, secretly there was a part of me that had wondered if a night—or a weekend—with Weston could erase what had happened with Donovan.

  Instead it had magnified it.

  Ashley’s lips curled into a half smile, as if my answer had somehow been a victory for her. “Now that you know, how are you not dying for more?”

  “Because it was just a weekend,” I said, crossing to retrieve my chair. “He’s a playboy. He’s moved on.”

  “Except he hasn’t moved on. He’s still thinking about you three months later. He’s thinking about you so much that he called you and offered you a freaking amazing job at a freaking amazing firm. How can you be questioning anything about this?”

  It was exactly the kind of thing I’d dreamed about when I’d gone to Harvard. The job. The pay. The boy.

  I rolled the chair to my desk and paused, my hands still gripping the seat back. “Do you think a yes to the job automatically means a yes to a relationship?”

  “Do you not want to say yes to a relationship?” Ashley’s tone said she didn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want a relationship with Weston King, but she was trying to.

  The truth was that I was trying to understand myself too.

  I sank into the chair and faced Ashley. “I had fun with him. I really did. But that’s not enough to build a relationship on. I don’t want to get out there and find out that we aren’t compatible and then what if it affects our working together? I’d be alone in a new city with no job, no friends and then what?”

  “Sabrina, you need to get out of your head and into your life. Seriously.” She reached across the desk and put her hands over one of mine. “If the relationship doesn’t work out, then fine. You’re both grownups. You can still work together; I know it. If I’m wrong, you’ll find another job. It’s time for you to move on. You’re not happy here right now. You said it yourself just today. And every day for a month before this. I don’t want to lose you, but you’re more important than our friendship, and dammit, this is what you want.”

  It was what I wanted. Not just the job, but Weston. A guy who was charming and sexy and not Donovan.

  I shifted my hand out from under Ashley’s so that I could squeeze hers. “You’re right.”

  She seemed surprised to have won the battle so easily. “About which part?”

  “All of it. Except me being more import
ant than our friendship.” I swallowed past the ball that had suddenly lodged in my throat. “You’re right about all the rest.”

  “Damn straight I am.” Ashley slammed her hand on the table—a tactic meant to divert me from noticing her eyes brimming with tears, I suspected. “Now pick up that phone, call the guy back and tell him yes before I do it for you.”

  As soon as the decision was made, I knew it was right. It settled everywhere in my body, wrapped around me comfortably like the favorite blanket I burrowed in on cold nights. I’d spent too long yearning for the life I’d been meant for—it was time to go out and get it.

  And maybe Weston would fit into my future as more than just a boss.

  But Donovan…

  He lived across the world, but it was his company too. His name would be on invoices and letterhead. He’d be present in my life from here on out in some way or another. There’d be no escaping him now.

  Still, I picked up the phone, called the guy, and when Weston answered, I told him, “Yes.”

  Nine

  “I can’t believe you’re only two and a half hours away!” my sister exclaimed for the millionth time since I’d first told her about my move to New York. Now, three weeks later, I was finally settled in the city that would be my new home.

  I shifted my cell phone to my shoulder so I could dig in my purse for my credit card. I was in a cab, quickly approaching my destination, and I wanted to be ready to pay when we arrived. “I have your bedroom all set up and ready whenever you can get away from school to come visit,” I said to Audrey while searching. “Or I could come there. But you don’t have an extra bed.”

  “And you’re going to be swamped with the new job. I’ll come visit you. When do you start?”

  “Officially, tomorrow, but I’m headed into the office now to meet with Weston so he can show me around. He wanted me to meet a few people beforehand so it wouldn’t be overwhelming on my first day.” Found it! I laid my card on my lap and rubbed over the raised letters of my name as we drove through Midtown. I was anxious and fidgety and had been ever since I’d arrived in New York two days before.

  I hadn’t seen Weston yet. I hadn’t even talked to him directly since the offer. It had all been through email, most of which were routed through his assistant, Roxie, who was helping arrange everything. Today was the day I’d know for sure what he expected for our future.

  It was almost four—was it too early to drink?

  “He’s having you come in at the end of day which means he’s probably planning to take you out afterward.”

  “Audrey...” I groaned. “Don’t jump to conclusions.” Of course I’d thought of that already, but her excitement wasn’t helping. I needed her to minimize this—not make it bigger.

  “But you have to be prepared,” she went on, unaware of the distress she was causing me. “What are you wearing? Is it day to evening convertible?”

  “A plum sheath dress. It’s professional.” It also had a slit that went up to my mid-thigh. “But yes, it would work for evening wear.”

  “Eeep! I’m so excited for you!”

  “That’s awesome.” I closed my eyes and waited for the most recent wave of nausea to pass. “Because I’m a bundle of freaking nerves. And I can’t figure out where I packed my Xanax, and I put my hair up because I’ve been pulling at it so much I’m sure I’m going to go bald, and now I have nothing to calm myself, and—”

  Laughter interrupted my lament. “Oh god, you crack me up.”

  “I’m glad you think this is funny.” The cab turned a corner and immediately pulled over to the curb.

  “It’s not my fault that you’re crazy,” Audrey said.

  “If I’m crazy, you’re crazy,” I said hurriedly. “I’m here. Gotta go.” I hung up without waiting for her to say goodbye, paid the driver, and climbed out. Then there it was—King-Kincaid Town Center.

  I craned my neck upward to scan the length of the skyscraper. Sixty floors rose above me, and while many different businesses leased space in the building owned by King-Kincaid Financial (the corporation Weston’s and Donovan’s fathers owned together), the top several floors housed Reach, Inc.

  Soon I’d be standing up there, taking my place where I belonged.

  I could barely even look that high.

  There weren’t many people inside the lobby of the Town Center, probably because of the time of the day. It made it easy to find the security desk where I was required to check in to get to the sixtieth floor. The guard, an African-American woman named Fran, called up to get my clearance.

  “Okay, you’re clear,” she said, letting me through to the elevators behind her.

  “Was that Weston King?” It was possible I was too eager. But I was a stranger in a foreign land, and Weston was the only person I knew here.

  “I don’t know who it was. Some woman with an accent.”

  Roxie, I thought. Of course.

  Sure enough, it was Roxie, Weston’s assistant from Hungary, who met me when I arrived at the top floor.

  “Did your ears pop?” she asked after handing my purse and jacket to the secretary at the front desk. “I keep gum in case you need.”

  I’d talked to Roxie enough on the phone to feel comfortable with her already. Her accent wasn’t thick, but occasionally her word choices reflected that English was definitely her second language. “I think I’m okay,” I said, working my jaw back and forth. “But, yeah, I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “It’s the speed. It shoot past all those floors. Just like going in an airplane. Come this way.” She took off briskly down the hall.

  “This floor is for executive offices,” she said as we walked past several glass-walled suites. Each of them had a waiting space outside, a secretary at a desk, sometimes a couch. The offices themselves were expansive—some half the size of my apartment—all with floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Your office will be here too,” Roxie said, and I almost tripped. She chuckled. “Not one of the fancy ones, I tell you that now. But pretty good. Better than mine. I let Weston show you that. He wants to give you the tour.”

  We passed a bigger office then; this time the walls were mirrored. Smart windows, I guessed. The kind that, at the press of a button, the glass changes so that the person inside can look out and no one can look in. It was probably Weston’s office.

  I battled another wave of nausea at the thought of being so near to him. So near to confronting what kind of relationship we were going to have.

  “Meanwhile,” Roxie said, “I’m supposed to take you to the upper lounge to wait for him. He’s running just a few minutes late.”

  We’d reached the end of the hall now where four steps led up to two double doors and another area sectioned off with mirrors—or smart windows—for walls. I followed my guide into a large room with modern teal sofas, black lounge chairs, and the most breathtaking view of the city I’d ever seen.

  “Is this where you entertain new clients?” I asked, looking around at the liquor cabinet and the coffee cart. There was also a full-size kitchen and a flat-screen TV fastened to one of the glass walls.

  “And new employees,” Roxie said with a grin. “You will see enough of me over the next few days. I will set you up with Human Resources and get you a security card and a secretary and everything else you need before you start work on projects next week. This afternoon, you enjoy the view. Mr. King be here soon.”

  I thanked her and promised to have Weston show me where her desk was before I left for the night so I could find her in the morning if she didn’t find me first. After she was gone, I walked over to the windows and drank in the scene. The Town Center was high enough that it had an unblocked view of downtown Manhattan, Brooklyn, and beyond.

  Giddiness surged through me, starting like a pinprick at my center and moving out through my veins in all directions until even my fingers and toes felt warm.

  I was really here.

  I made it.

  It wasn’t the way I thought it
would be, but in the end, it still came out of my time at Harvard. I’d always known that connections made the difference in a career, and here I was. Finally. At the top of the world, looking out.

  I couldn’t stop grinning.

  “It’s incredible, isn’t it?” a male voice came from behind me.

  Still smiling, I glanced up and caught his reflection in the window.

  And everything disappeared.

  The world that had buzzed below, the beautiful scene, the excitement that had unfurled through my body—all of it evaporated and all that existed in its place was a pale, hollow shell of myself and the man in the perfectly tailored suit behind me.

  I turned to look at him directly. Our gazes smashed together, and my legs nearly fell out from under me.

  “Donovan,” I rasped. It was a miracle that I managed to find enough voice to say that much.

  And there was so much more that had to be said. So much more that I hadn’t prepared for. Which was ridiculous since I’d talked to him so many times in my head over the years, practiced so many conversations, but never did he show up out of the blue looking so dastardly handsome in a dark gray three-piece suit, his face rugged with scruff, his eyes hazel and earnest despite the playful smirk on his lips.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I wasn’t even sure how to breathe anymore.

  He broke our gaze to nod out the window at the skyline, walking toward me as he said, “I’m sure you found the Empire.”

  Though his focus was now on the scenery, I didn’t take my eyes off him as he approached. He didn’t stop until he was right beside me. So close our shoulders would touch if I coughed. Tension ran off him like foam spilling over from a mug of beer. Good tension. Bad tension. I wasn’t sure if there was a difference when it came to Donovan.

  Which was why I was screwed if he was here.

  Why the hell was he here?

  “I thought you were in Tokyo.” I couldn’t stop staring at him. He’d gotten more refined with age, and rougher at the same time. His hair was short and his curls gone, giving him a polished look he lacked before. The lines by his eyes were more defined and his expression seemed harder than I’d remembered. It made him sexier.