Chapter Eight
Scarlett
A year.
That’s so different to four weeks. I mean, I know he wanted to make some changes, but I thought that happened to be rules. He’s a guy who seems happy with rules. A hot, sexy, rule man.
But a year and a new contract and NDA?
This drags me in deep, right down into the tangled mire of it all. And I have a problem. With four weeks, lying about my name…or who I am isn’t going to be much on any grand scale. Hot, sexy rule man threats aside.
But a year…
I drag in a breath as I drag a dress off a hanger and hold it against myself in my bedroom mirror. Rolling my eyes at the sight, I toss it on the bed and grab another.
The thing is, a year is a bunch of four weeks. That’s a whole load of things going wrong, or the potential, and what if he loses everything and then not only destroys me, but Danny?
I pause, my throat closing up and panic cutting into me with little barbed strands.
Okay, I’m totally panicking here, but I had to sign. If I’d walked away, I… My shoulders slump as I drop the dress. If I’d walked away now, then he still might do all that, like he said, and I’d also end up with nothing.
Danny would have nothing. All his hopes and dreams that are already battered would be destroyed.
And I’m smart. I know that. There’s a way to do this. Sarah won’t be back for a while, not according to the breezy text I got. We’re not the closest of friends, but we’re good. So even if she does come back, Hudson doesn’t seem to be in her world of parties and glitterati and the like.
I’ll have time to think it all through and make it to the end.
With that thought firmly in my head, I leave my room to raid Amber’s closet.
After all, I’ve got a not date I know nothing about to prepare for.
I get there with minutes to spare.
Hudson texted me to meet him. And I’m so pleased I chose upscale clothes that are probably from my roomie’s funerals and future mother-in-law’s lunch date collection. As in something that’s going to fit in anywhere and not show too much skin.
That was the plan, anyway, and considering my attributes aren’t as out there as hers, I think I pull off the deep chocolate dress and low heels which are mine. As is the Kate Spade knock off I got that I swear looks just like the OG.
I’m programming his name into my phone as Martini Legend when a shiver passes through me and all my senses go into overdrive as I stand outside the SoHo building.
I don’t need to look up to know Hudson is there. He moves in close. I’m still staring at the screen of my phone, my fingers biting into the protective cover, trying to gain some semblance of calm.
He’s so there, close enough he brushes against me, and I stare up into those dark eyes and forget to breathe, all over again.
“Should I even ask?”
His voice slides through me, and I’m lost in those eyes, in him, until someone bumps into me with a hurried apology and drags me out of whatever world I went and put myself in.
“What do you mean?”
“The name?” His eyebrow rises as he nods at the screen of my phone.
I laugh, a weird relief washing over me. “You said keep it secret.”
“I’m thinking there’s a story, and I’m both curious and not sure I want to know.” Then his mouth is at my ear and little electric pulses dart along my spine at the whisper of his breath there. “You look good, Scarlett.”
The latent heat in his words coils around me and I want to say the same to him, but who am I kidding? This man always looks incredible. He can ignite fantasies just by walking into a room.
“Thank you.”
Hudson straightens up and offers me his arm. “Shall we?”
I still have no idea what this is. The building is beautiful, classic, an icon of the cast iron district’s past. But it isn’t a restaurant or shop, and it doesn’t look like some fancied up apartment building.
He leads the way. “I own this building, and we’ll be meeting with a who’s who of the real estate world. More or less. And clients. So do try and keep your mouth under some semblance of control.”
“Me? I’m the modicum of decorum and restraint.” At the narrowed eyed look he gives me accompanied by the low slung smile that says I’m lying, I fight the urge to step on his foot. “And I promise I’ll only call you Mr. Martini Legend once.”
“Just try.”
“I will.” I won’t. I don’t want his wrath upon me. Whatever that might entail.
The door opens, and it’s an unassuming one. I mean, it’s a door. But what’s beyond takes my breath.
A beautiful space awaits of polished floors and wide openness that during the day would let in light, especially the higher up you went with each floor. It’s elegant, tasteful, modern, and yet keeps the charm and history of the building with the exposed beams and arched windows.
I know enough about real estate in New York to know this will probably be sold or rented as a home, and where we are would be the great room if one wanted to put in walls. But right now, it was set up as a playground for an architect and interior designer, and as I took in the people and the discreet staff, a perfect place for some kind of party.
In my head, I go over the emails I took care of that day and realize some of them were for this. The rest would have been in the hands of his receptionist, Georgina, but the people he wanted here I was in charge of—so to speak—in getting here…at different times. And I hope to God I got it all correct.
His hand is on my lower back. It’s both disconcerting and comforting and I don’t know how it can be like that except it is.
My part is simple as we move about the room. Let him chat and get him to the people he wants to talk to and get him out of the conversations he doesn’t.
At first I’m shit at it. A little loud or abrupt, but the pressure of his hand changes and gives me the clues I need. And I’m good at that. Learning fast and adapting. It comes with having to do a million different jobs to make money over the years to keep our little family—mine and Danny’s—afloat. And with my love of training AIs.
When Hudson talks to someone he wants to, his hand isn’t there on my back. But when he’s done, it’s there. Sometimes hard, sometimes soft.
So, I wing it. I’ll jump into conversations to give him an out. I’ll pretend there’s something we need to take care of work related—cell phones are a godsend as long as you remember to keep yours on silent.
This is industry as well as those interested in having this space. And I know there are people here hungry to work for Hudson. Or even poach someone who can’t afford his asking price.
Danny would love this. I want to text him, but I can’t. I mean, what a mess that would all be. So, I keep going, keep smiling and keep longing for when Hudson touches my lower back and murmurs in my ear which person he’d like to talk to next.
Oh, who needs sweet nothings when they have that?
I grab hold of myself as I grab a glass of wine from a passing waiter. This is all pretend. I need to remember that.
Hudson’s talking to some impossibly glamorous woman and hasn’t glanced at me once. And she’s loaded. Used to power and commanding it. I can see that in how she owns the place. Except him. He doesn’t react to her any differently than he does the waiter or anyone else.
Secretly, my inner bitch likes that.
I have problems.
“A penny for them?”
I whirl around and almost spill my drink on the too-handsome man standing there. He’s in a lovely suit, but not up to Hudson’s standards and he’s the kind of good looking that I suspect takes him hours to perfect. But I smile because right now I’m out of the boat and in the water and Hudson isn’t there to steer me, so for all I know this guy’s important.
“Oh, just enjoying the evening,” I say, taking a gulp of the wine.
He smiles the kind of dazzling smile that came from a dentist with a psychotic love of whitener. “I haven’t seen you before. Are you one of us?”
I don’t know what that means. “I’m—”
“We should get out of here. I don’t think Sinclair’s going to talk to us this evening.” The smile doesn’t fade, just turns hard. “Not the little people.”
“I work for him, so I don’t think—” I stop. “I don’t think he’d appreciate that. If you’ll excuse me.”
I whirl away from him and start heading back to Hudson, who’s watching me with narrowed eyes. Or maybe he’s looking at someone else because he’s back talking to the woman. And I breathe a sigh of relief.
A short-lived one.
Because there, to my left, is someone I know.
Danny.
Shit. I cast a glance at Hudson because my brother’s heading over, but Hudson isn’t paying me attention. So, I grab Danny’s arm and drag him off to a corner.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Danny frowns at me.
“Danny,” I hiss. “You—”
“Oh my fucking God.” He’s not looking at me. He’s looking over my shoulder.
I turn.
My brother clutches my arm. “Hudson Sinclair’s coming this way.”