Chapter 8
8
By the time I get to the street—whoa—the limo is waiting there, the driver leaning casually against the car checking his phone.
He looks up when I struggle to get my bag through the door with one hand. He steps onto the sidewalk to help me. “Miss Ivy?”
“Yes. Sorry I’m late.”
“It’s not a problem, Miss Ivy. May I?” He reaches for my small suitcase. I nod and he takes it and puts it into the trunk of the limo. Then he opens the passenger door for me. “Can I pour you a glass of Mo?t?”
“Um…no, thank you.” But Cleo’s command echoes through my brain. Let loose and have fun. That’s an order. “Actually, maybe just one.”
“Of course, Miss Ivy.”
He pops the bottle that’s on ice and as I slide into the back seat of the limo, he hands me the glass.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure, Miss Ivy. My sister’s a big fan.”
“Oh. Tell her thank you.”
He bows a little, then closes the passenger door and soon we’re on our way through Friday afternoon rush hour traffic.
I use the time to answer a few emails but we don’t have far to go and before I know it we’re pulling up in front of a large, intricate iron gate.
Who has a gate in New York City?
On Park Avenue, no less.
The gate is part of a walled courtyard that leads to the entrance of a tall, very stately-looking building. The driver retrieves my bag and uses a key card to unlock the gate. A doorman is waiting for us. The driver gives him my bag, bows again and leaves me with the doorman. From there we enter the building and take an elevator up.
“Are we meeting Mr. Maddox at his apartment?” I ask the doorman.
“No. At the helicopter. It’s ready to depart. He’s waiting for you.”
I steal a glance at my phone. It’s 5:17. Something gives me the feeling Alexander Maddox isn’t used to waiting for people.
We get to the top floor and the doorman opens a door for me that leads out onto the roof.
Holy hell.
It’s a roof garden, but much more than that. It has several levels and takes up the entire roof of the building. On a lower tier, there are trees planted in giant pots. There’s a covered seating area and closed-in outdoor kitchen. There’s a huge pool and hot tub. And a large greenhouse-type structure with wooden beams, chandeliers, couches and tropical plants inside. It’s all very groomed, swish, wildly expensive-looking and so, so beautiful.
The entire city is sprawled around us. We’re literally on top of the world.
I feel a twinge of nervousness at the sheer grandeur of it all. This kind of luxury would have cost millions and millions of dollars. But I guess it’s not surprising that a man like Alexander Maddox would live in a sprawling penthouse with an accompanying roof garden in what looks like the most exclusive building in the city. He probably owns the whole building.
My gaze returns to the nearer, upper tier of the roof, where a giant helicopter sits on its circular helipad, its blade barely beginning to turn. The pilot is already in place. And a man is standing next to the helicopter, checking his watch.
Who could only be Alexander Maddox.
He’s tall. Big, but lean. He’s wearing a suit that’s obviously been cut by the best tailors in the world to showcase every detail of his masculine perfection. I don’t know if I’ve ever really considered what a “good” suit might look like, but this is far beyond that. It’s suit porn on freaking steroids.
When he looks up from his watch—a real watch, like a Rolex—and sees us approaching, his scowl barely softens.
Okay, wow.
Alexander Maddox is seriously gorgeous.
I walk closer. His eyes are pinned on me and they’re an unusual shade of dark, smoldering blue that’s almost violet. The glint in them is…electrifying, causing those little butterflies to flutter again.
He’s watching me, his expression both stern and cocky, and it’s a cockiness that’s baked in. This is obviously a man who rules the world and always has. He was born as what you might call an alpha male and lives his life as one, in every conceivable category, and this detail sort of radiates off him.
But there’s also an edge to him—of fascination, maybe. I get the feeling I’ve somehow caught him off-guard.
His hair is thick and black, smoothed into place, but a fraction longer and less tamed than you might expect from a billionaire mogul. Little flicks curl around his ears almost romantically.
He’s rugged-looking, even in his bespoke Armani or whatever and he reminds me of a hero from another time. Like a Roman gladiator or some conquering general. I don’t know why I say that. He seems larger than life. He’s more good-looking and impressive than any man I’ve ever seen.
I’m standing in front of him now and he towers over me. I feel small and feminine next to his outrageously confident masculinity.
His gaze hasn’t left me once and his fascination holds. The sternness has faded out. He looks almost beguiled.
He holds out a tanned, strong-looking hand. “You must be Ivy.” His voice is deep, almost dark, with a husky edge to it that makes the tiny hairs on my arms stand up.
Whoa.
I hesitate for a split second, only because I’m not used to dealing with men, or at least not ones that look like this. His presence is intense. Even outside and with the breeze now being created by the helicopter blade, ruffling his hair, his energy feels…commanding.
I finally return the handshake and his big, warm hand completely envelopes my own. His grip is careful but hints at a ridiculously powerful strength. “Alexander Maddox.”
“Nice to meet you, Alexander. I’m sorry I’m late.”
Something behind his expression flickers at my use of his first name. He must be used to formality. He doesn’t reply with the usual, it’s fine, or don’t worry about it. His gaze slides over me slowly, taking in my face, my hair. My outfit. My bare legs and my painted toes.
I can’t help doing the same, sort of enthralled by all the details of him. The shape of him is somehow…magnificent. His brawny shoulders and the muscles of his burly arms are defined even under the layers of his beautiful clothing. And it’s fitting, I can’t help thinking. This man needs gorgeous, obviously-expensive clothes. Nothing else would be good enough for him.
He’s incredibly handsome, with strong, masculine features. He’s got nice eyes, is what I’m thinking. His irises are vividly blue, framed by thick, dark lashes. The strong stripes of his eyebrows are barely furrowed. There’s a detectable five o’clock shadow against his square, manly jaw.
Wow.
“I’ll forgive you,” he finally says. It almost sounds like a barely-playful warning. “Once.”
Some deep instinct flickers. For a second I wonder if he might be dangerous.
He reads this in me and it amuses him. And maybe even pleases him. A challenge simmers in those smoky eyes.
I can feel my heartbeat in strange places as his smug, layered arrogance settles into me. I’m aware of a deep warmth low in my belly that’s surprisingly…erotic.
Yikes.
But I hold his gaze, clinging desperately to my inner calmness and self-control. I think of the money. I think of Josh. And I can admit that this assignment doesn’t feel nearly as awful as it did yesterday.
Fine. I’ll see your challenge and raise you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. This is a fake date and nothing more. I can handle you.
At least I hope I can.
He almost smiles and it occurs to me that Cleo’s descriptions of this man don’t match the first impression he’s giving me at all. I’m not getting aloof or uptight. I’m getting self-assured animal power and purely male physicality.
“Are you ready?” he asks in that low, smooth voice, stoking the small rush of…whatever’s going on in the low pit of my stomach…and lower.
God. Am I getting…wet?
“Yes,” I say, sounding almost breathless.
My bag has already been loaded into the helicopter. Alexander opens the door and holds my arm as I climb in. He leans over me to fasten my seatbelt and his huge, looming presence gives me a not-entirely-unpleasant feeling of being dominated.
Cleo, I don’t know whether to kill you or kiss you because damn, those Google images did not do this man justice.
Soon the helicopter blades are a blur and we’re lifting off.
The view of Manhattan in the late afternoon light is stunning.
But I find myself more riveted by the hot, buff billionaire who hasn’t taken his eyes off me once.
And we’re on our way.