Dirty Filthy Rich Men Page 9

  As if he was a man who needed to be sexier than the one I knew.

  “I came back two months ago,” he said offhandedly. “That’s it right there.” He leaned his face in close to mine as he pointed to the famous structure. “Do you see it?”

  Fuck if I cared about the Empire. I was in Donovan Kincaid’s orbit. What else was there in the world?

  “And that’s the One World Trade Center in line behind it.” He reached around me to point over my other shoulder, caging me in against the glass without touching me at all.

  God, I couldn’t just smell his cologne, I could also smell him. The musky scent of his maleness, and even after a decade, my body reacted against my will. My nipples budded, and my panties felt slick. Every part of me tuned to him despite how my mind cried to resist him.

  “Over there’s the Brooklyn Bridge.” His breath skated against my neck, hot, but I had to fight not to shiver.

  He knew what he was doing. He had to.

  “Donovan…” My voice trailed off, drawing out his name when what I really meant to say was please.

  Please what? I didn’t even know. I wanted relief. I wanted to cry, and saying his name was as close as I could get.

  In the window, I watched as his reflection finally looked away from the goddamn Brooklyn Bridge and stared down at me. His eyes closed momentarily.

  “Leave it to Weston to be the one to bring you here,” he said quietly.

  I inhaled sharply.

  But that was all the time I had to process before Weston burst into the room. “You two found each other!” he said excitedly.

  Donovan and I turned simultaneously to face our intruder.

  “I suppose we did,” Donovan said, meeting my eyes once more, punctuating his words.

  Had we found each other? What did he mean? What did any of this mean?

  Then Donovan was gone, our connection broken when he crossed the room toward the liquor cabinet.

  Weston hurried toward me, taking his place in my focus. “Sorry, I was running late. Did you find the building okay?”

  “Yes. I took a cab.” My voice was thin and unsteady, but I forced a smile and hoped he didn’t notice.

  He put his hand on my arm. It was friendly. More than friendly was the way his fingers stroked my elbow. “And Roxie—?”

  “Was very welcoming.” I looked down at his fingers then up at his face. He was letting me know. About him. About us. That he expected us to be a thing. And I did too. Except—

  “Sabrina?” Donovan called, making my heart trip in my chest. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  I glanced over at him because I couldn’t not look at him when he spoke. Couldn’t not take notice. He was already mixing something with gin. “Uh. Whatever you’re making for yourself. Thank you.”

  “How was the move?” Weston asked eagerly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Are you all settled? I’ve been so anxious for you to be here.”

  “It was…” I could barely think. Could barely string words into coherent sentences. My attention was halfway across the room on the figure now with his back toward me. Every touch of Weston’s felt like a betrayal, which made no sense at all.

  Donovan wasn’t even supposed to be here.

  I shook my head slightly and forced my attention on what Weston had asked. “The moving company was excellent. Thank you for suggesting them. They did great work. I haven’t quite figured out where they put everything yet, but I’m definitely settling in.”

  There. I could do this. Cinch.

  “That was Roxie, I think, who arranged the movers. And your apartment?”

  The two-bedroom condo in Hell’s Kitchen had been the best surprise. Weston had helped find that as well. Or Roxie. The floors were hardwood, recently stained. The kitchen was remodeled. The building was secure and being able to have an extra bedroom for Audrey was the cherry on top. “It’s perfect. Even better than the pictures you sent. I can’t believe how much time you spent on—”

  Suddenly, Donovan was beside us handing out drinks. “Weston—gin and tonic. I presumed.” The tumbler he handed me was something different. Golden amber and unmixed. “I made a scotch for myself. Would you prefer a gin and tonic as well?”

  His fingers grazed mine as I took the glass, and I nearly dropped it from the electric shock that went through me at his touch.

  “No. The scotch is fine.” I’d accept a glass of bleach if it meant Donovan would leave me alone. Because that’s what I needed more than anything.

  Accepting the scotch at least got him to return to the liquor cabinet to retrieve his own drink. I gathered any strength I could find in the absence of his proximity and redirected my attention where it belonged. On Weston.

  “Anyway, as I was saying. Thank you, Weston, for all you did to get me moved in. And for finding me such a wonderful place to live.” I brought the tumbler up to my mouth to take a sip.

  “I can’t take credit for the apartment either. Donovan owns the building.”

  “Oh,” I choked, on the burn of the liquor, maybe, but also at this new information. The space I’d slept in, bathed in, undressed in—it belonged to him. Why did that make my pussy ache like it did?

  Weston patted my back. “Okay?”

  “Yeah. I just…” I said when I recovered, looking again toward Donovan. “I didn’t know.”

  Was that why the price had been so affordable? Why would he do that for me?

  Donovan crossed to us, his own drink in hand. “Why would you know? I’m glad you’ve found it acceptable.”

  Did he know? About Weston and me? He had to know. He didn’t seem to care.

  “More than acceptable. It’s.” I cut off. Did Weston know?

  So many questions and not enough answers.

  They were both standing in front of me now, staring at me. Weston to my right, Donovan to my left, like a real life game of This or That, and of course the choice was This. It was the only choice. Practically. For my sanity. The other one wasn’t even an actual option.

  And yet my body pulled traitorously toward That.

  I spun away from both of them. “I’m sorry. I’m flustered.” I took a seat on one of the couches. Two lovers. One room. Too much. “I guess I’m still in a bit of shock about all of this.” I took another sip of scotch. It went down easier this time, warm and comforting.

  Until I realized what an idiot I must look like.

  “I’m making a bad impression, I’m sure.” Here I was, determined to prove I belonged in this world, and I’d fucked it up in the first thirty minutes. Over a guy. Over two guys.

  “Not at all,” Weston said, perching on the arm next to me. “That’s why I wanted you to have a chance to come in before you actually started. You’re not on show.”

  That was easy for him to say. He’d never had to justify why he deserved to be president of his own company. He just had to be it.

  “I don’t know about that,” I chuckled. “A true professional is always on show.”

  “Well…” Weston trailed off.

  Donovan unbuttoned his jacket as he sank into an armchair and crossed one leg over the other. “That's what you left Harvard to go learn at that little college of yours? What was it called again?”

  The insult burrowed past any armor I’d put on, under my skin, into my very blood. As if he could read my mind, see my innermost fears. As if his only goal was to expose them.

  And suddenly, as vividly as my body remembered how it longed for Donovan Kincaid, I remembered how much I also hated him.

  Weston caught the dig as well and threw his partner a warning glare. He followed it with a slow scan up my body. “I happen to like what I see,” he said, his meaning clear.

  Donovan swirled his drink, his expression smug. “Too bad you won’t be the one she’ll be reporting to.”

  My throat went dry. Was he implying that I’d be reporting to him? Was he staying? I had a brief flashback to the class he taught in college, the way he jerked me around
. The way he fucked me against the bookshelf in his office.

  “Hey,” Weston chided. “We haven’t decided how that’s going to work yet. For now, it stands as it is.” There was subtext in his tone that suggested there was more to the situation.

  I was feeling dizzy, and I didn’t think it was just from the alcohol. “I’m confused. Whom do I report to?”

  Weston rested his hand on my collarbone. “It’s me. Donovan’s just being an ass.”

  I would have been relieved if the more important question didn’t remain lingering. “But Donovan is staying? Here? Instead of Tokyo?” I was such a coward that I couldn’t even ask him directly. Couldn’t even look at him.

  “Yes. Thank god. We’ve gotten too big to run with just two presidents. So he’s taking over management and finance. I’m still in charge of marketing.”

  My gut dropped, but my chest rose, and I felt like I was sinking and soaring all at once. He was staying. He was here, and he was staying, and nothing in my world would ever be the same.

  Carefully, I dared to peek in his direction.

  He was already looking at me, as if waiting for me to meet his gaze.

  “Oh!” he said, his eyes sparkling. “While we’re on the topic, Weston…have you told Sabrina about the party on Saturday?”

  Then we’d both play this game—talking about one another as if the other weren’t present.

  “No,” Weston said flatly. “I didn’t think that her attendance was necessary.”

  I sat up straighter. Intrigued.

  “But that’s not fair. I’m sure she’d want to come if she were given the opportunity.” Donovan wouldn’t stop looking at me. It was bait.

  So I took it. “Of course. What’s the celebration?”

  “Weston’s engagement.”

  Ten

  For several uncomfortable seconds, everything stood completely still. All eyes were on me.

  “Congratulations,” I said finally, breaking the hush. My voice sounded slightly higher than usual, but other than that, I was pretty sure I pulled off calm and reserved.

  Inside, however, I was dying. Weston was engaged? What the ever-living fuck? Obviously, he was an asshole. And Donovan was even worse, trying to needle me about it, and no way was I letting him get to me.

  “Donovan, you shithead¸” Weston snapped under his breath.

  “Oh. She didn’t know,” Donovan said in a way that made me suspect he knew very well I hadn’t known all along. Shithead was right. Add goddamn motherfucker to the list.

  “No, I didn’t know. But congratulations seem to be in order all the same.” With a tight smile, I scooted over casually so that Weston’s hand fell off my shoulder. This was fine. Totally fine. Just had to keep breathing.

  Weston looked from me to his friend. “I told you I hadn’t told her.”

  Donovan waved him off. “That was two weeks ago. I assumed you would have told her by now. How could you bring her here without fully explaining the circumstances? That doesn’t seem very fair to Sabrina now, does it?”

  “Hey. I’m right here.”

  Both men turned toward me at once.

  “I should have told you,” Weston said at the same time Donovan said, “He should have told you.”

  “Told me that you were engaged? You’re telling me now. I can’t wait to hear all about her, Weston.” I stood up. “I’m just going to refill my drink.”

  “It’s not how it seems.” Weston ran after me, fumbling to help me with the scotch.

  “It’s really not. Just wait until he explains.” Donovan had moved his ankle to his knee, the relaxed position suggesting he was enjoying this far more than he should.

  I tried to ignore him—as if that were possible—and trained my focus on Weston, keeping my voice as even as I could. “How is there any way other than what it seems? You didn’t even have a girlfriend when…” I trailed off, glancing back at Donovan. Even if he knew that I’d spent a weekend in his partner’s bed, it felt somehow wrong to acknowledge it in front of him.

  Anyway, I didn’t need to. “Was that not true?”

  “It was true,” Weston insisted. “I still don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “No, you have a fiancée,” I said.

  “A fake fiancée,” he corrected.

  “A fake fiancée? Right.”

  Donovan chuckled behind us. “This just gets better and better.”

  I shot him a nasty glare, but his smile made things worse. It poked at me like a boy with a stick torturing a trapped animal. Jesus, why did he have to be here?

  I took a large swallow of my scotch.

  Weston put his hands on my upper arms. “Let me explain.”

  “Don’t.” I jerked away, louder than I meant to. Taking a breath, I tried again. “Don’t touch me. Please.”

  He dropped his hands, then, seeming not to know what to do with them, stuck them in his pockets.

  Again, I glanced toward Donovan. Was this why he’d come here today? To drop this bomb? To play with me now in the same ways he had in the past? To see me humiliated and disgraced?

  Well, I refused to let him see me like that. I lifted my chin. I was resolute. He wouldn’t see me down.

  He met my stare and held it. Whatever he saw—my determination, maybe—caused his expression to sober.

  “I should really let you two work this out on your own,” he said, setting his empty glass on the table next to him and standing.

  “Thank you,” Weston said.

  “Though I won’t say I’m not tempted to turn on the security feed and listen in.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Kidding.” Donovan buttoned his jacket. “Leaving,” he called over his shoulder as he brushed past me, shocking me with a jolt of electricity that made me shiver.

  I heard him leaving. Heard him open the doors. Dread sank inside me like a lead ball. It was strange and sudden and unexplainable. I couldn’t attach it to current circumstances or to anything at all except the fact that the ghost of my darkest thoughts was slipping out of my realm.

  I spun around.

  “Donovan!” I called out before I could stop myself.

  He halted halfway out the door and looked toward me, but I clammed up. I had no idea what else to say to him. I didn’t want him to stay necessarily; I just didn’t want him to go. Not now. Not so soon. Not when there was still everything left unsaid between us.

  Weston watched us curiously, his eyes darting from me to Donovan then back to me.

  It was Donovan who filled the silence. “You were right, Weston,” he said, his gaze looking nowhere but my face. “She has grown up.” Then he was gone.

  Had I? Grown up? I didn’t feel like it. I felt like I was still seventeen—naïve, overwhelmed, and pulled apart by someone I’d escaped years ago. Physically escaped, anyway. But here, in the present, in the flesh, he was still the magnet he’d always been, his tug on me as strong as ever.

  And Weston, the man I’d thought could protect me from my sick attractions, was engaged?

  “Okay,” I said, turning back from the doors that Donovan had closed behind him. I folded my arms across my chest and gave Weston the sternest glare I owned. “You better start fucking explaining.”

  Weston took a deep breath in. “It’s going to sound like a story.”

  “As all stories do.”

  “But it’s not. I’m not making it up. You have to believe me.”

  With Donovan out of the room, I no longer felt the need to pretend to tolerate the bullshit. “I can’t believe you if you don’t tell me.”

  “Right, right.” He ran both his hands through his hair, leaving a mess that somehow made him look hotter.

  This was the first time I’d looked at him since he’d walked in, actually. Really looked at him, anyway. He was wearing a navy blue suit that accentuated his eyes. His face was smooth, even this late, and I wondered if he’d shaved midday. He was devastatingly handsome. So easy to look at.

  Funny how I’d forgotten
when Donovan was in the room.

  But I didn’t want to think about him. “Well?”

  “Do you know who Elizabeth Dyson is?” Weston said, surprising me with his turn of conversation.

  I decided to go with it. “The daughter of the media mogul?”

  “Dell Dyson. That’s right.” Weston walked over to the counter and set his mostly finished drink down. “While it’s not their main focus, Dyson Media has an advertising subsidiary that is especially large in the European market.”

  “I didn’t realize that.”

  “They’re our biggest competitor overseas.”

  It was both embarrassing and irritating that I didn’t know this. But I belonged here, dammit. I wasn’t letting this stupid little fact make me feel out of place.

  I racked my brain to try to think of anything else I remembered about Dell Dyson or his company, hoping to prove myself. “Didn’t he die recently?”

  Weston nodded, slowly returning to me. “Last year. Since his death—before it even—we’ve been looking to buy out the advertising portion of his company. Dell had shown some interest, but now that he’s dead, we have to purchase through Elizabeth.”

  “Let me guess. She’s not interested.”

  “No, she is.”

  He was almost to me and yet not any closer to an explanation. “I’m not seeing how this is—”

  “I’m getting there.” He stopped, two feet away from me, and stuck his hands in his pockets. “The problem is that Elizabeth is twenty-five. Her inheritance doesn’t give her full ownership of the company until she turns twenty-nine. Or until she marries.”

  “Or until she marries,” I echoed slowly, everything becoming blindingly clear. “I see.” I sank down onto the couch. “How archaic.”

  “Elizabeth was as desperate to get control of the company as we were to buy her out,” he continued. “It was a win-win situation.”

  “So. You’re engaged.”

  “I’m engaged.”

  I tested the taste of the words, the sound of them, using them to poke at my emotions. How did I feel about this? Definitely disappointed. It was a change in plans, and while I wasn’t a rigid person, I’d come to New York under one pretense and this was going to take some adjusting.