I’d Be Honored (NYC Romance #2)

ONE

HAYLEY MADDOX LOVED BEING ON TOP. That was why she woke up every day before sunrise, why her suit had been steamed the night before, and why she now stepped into the private elevator of Central Park Tower with the total certainty that this Monday morning was already hers for the taking.

Her pulse hammered, not from the five-mile run she’d finished before dawn, but from the crisp contract tucked inside her designer bag.

In less than an hour, she’d hand over the keys to a twenty-six-million-dollar condo, securing a commission that would make other New York City agents whisper her name like a myth.

As the elevator doors slid open to the eighty-second floor, it was the silence that hit Hayley first. The expensive kind of silence that only came from triple-paned glass and neighbors who owned islands.

Hayley stepped into the penthouse, taking in the view of the city’s sprawling expanse beneath her.

Her empire. Her red-bottomed heels clicked in a sharp, steady cadence across the hardwood, echoing throughout the vast emptiness.

She carefully set her black Birkin bag down on the quartzite countertop, admiring the stark contrast between the two. She released a slow breath.

The deal had been executed perfectly. Everything was flawless. The Maddox Group didn’t tolerate anything less, and neither did Amy Thompson.

Behind Hayley, the latch clicked.

Right on schedule, she noted.

Hayley didn’t have to turn around to recognize the calculated rhythm of those heels. Or the undercurrents of that scent—bergamot and clean linen with something sharper underneath.

“Ms. Maddox,” Amy purred, her voice low. Coy. Anticipatory.

Hayley faced her, squaring her shoulders. In front of her, Amy Thompson stood framed by the morning light, all ice-blue eyes and tailored Italian silk.

She must have a trial today.

Hayley would be willing to bet the woman could win over a jury with a single raised brow.

“Congratulations.” Hayley kept her voice smooth and professional, but a grin pulled at her lips as she leaned her hip against the cool countertop. “It’s officially all yours.”

A slow smile tugged at the corner of Amy’s mouth as her eyes scanned Hayley’s bare, toned arms.

Hayley had intentionally shed her suit jacket before her client arrived, leaving her standing in only her silk chiffon camisole.

“Oh, you know I couldn’t care less about this place,” Amy scoffed, waving one hand as she dismissed the panoramic view of Central Park and the city spread out below. “I’m here to be all yours.”

Hayley straightened and sauntered toward Amy, who stood transfixed by the swaying of her hips. As Amy reached for her, Hayley caught her wrists and deftly pinned them to Amy’s sides. She ghosted her lips across Amy’s as if to remind her what she couldn’t have.

Holding Amy’s gaze, Hayley steadily pressed her backward until the stone peninsula dug into her spine.

Amy’s shoulders slumped in submission.

Hayley fisted Amy’s long dark hair and roughly tugged her head back, exposing her neck.

She traced her tongue along the open expanse of skin and gently dug her teeth in near Amy’s racing pulse.

Hayley knew exactly how much pressure she could use without leaving a mark that might lead to complications later.

“I want you inside of me,” Amy gasped, pleading.

Hayley’s lips hovered beside her ear. “Did I ask?”

A shiver erupted through Amy as she clenched her jaw.

“Turn around,” Hayley instructed, releasing her grip.

Amy complied, her palms now flat atop the polished quartzite and her breath growing desperate.

Hayley skimmed her hands down Amy’s pristine double-breasted blazer and kept going until she found the hem of her skirt. She dragged the silk up around Amy’s waist and used the tips of her heels to nudge her client’s feet wider apart.

Hayley appreciated the delicate black lace thong for a moment before sliding it to the side and gliding her fingers through the wetness pooling beneath.

Amy let out a soft moan, and Hayley smirked. It was almost too easy.

Hayley pressed her own chest into Amy’s back, her left hand reaching under the loose fabric and cupping a swollen breast. She could feel Amy’s heartbeat racing against her palm, Amy’s chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

Without warning, Hayley slid three fingers into her.

Amy’s lungs let out a burst of air as she breathed, “God, yes.” She arched her back, pressing her body against Hayley’s hand.

Hayley’s own center began to throb in response.

She slowly pumped her fingers in and out, sliding easily through Amy’s arousal. Her tongue traced a trail up the back of Amy’s neck, and Hayley watched as goosebumps rose to the surface.

“Harder, please. Fuck me,” Amy groaned. “Fuck me like Jake won’t.”

Hayley snorted softly and wrapped her left hand around the front of Amy’s neck, gripping firmly with her thumb and fingertips as she pulled their bodies flush. With her right hand, she drove deeper, harder, faster.

“Louder,” Hayley whispered from behind Amy’s ear.

She curled her fingers inside and was rewarded with a primal moan that fell from Amy’s lips.

“Holy shit,” Amy gasped, her knees buckling.

As Amy’s body began to shudder, Hayley gripped her neck tighter to stabilize her, the fingers on her right hand still moving deep within.

When Amy’s breathing finally began to slow, Hayley released her hold, withdrew her slick fingers, and took a steady step backward.

“Well, shit.” Amy’s knees wobbled as she turned, leaning against the kitchen island to steady herself. “I dare say this has been our best closing yet.”

Hayley didn’t look up as she smoothed down her ivory camisole and beige slacks with the back of her hand, making sure the pleat was still perfectly in place.

Once she was confident that she showed no trace of what had just taken place, Hayley slid the stack of paperwork toward Amy and pulled a black Montblanc pen from her purse. A gift from her father after her first sale, it was the only pen she trusted for her biggest closings.

As Amy finished signing her last name—her husband’s last name—on the final page, her fingers brushed Hayley’s wrist and lingered there. Too familiar. Too confident.

Hayley offered a tight, professional smile that didn’t reach her eyes, placing the keys to the penthouse on the counter, directly on top of the print Amy’s palm had left behind minutes before.

“You never cease to amaze me, Ms. Maddox.” Amy smirked, fluffing her loose curls where Hayley’s fingers had just been knotted.

“My office will send over the completed documents this afternoon,” Hayley stated, autopilot kicking back in. With a practiced ease, she swept her suit jacket on, slid the calfskin bag onto her forearm, and held Amy’s gaze with a victorious look. “Enjoy your new home.”

On the elevator ride down, Hayley caught a glimpse of her sharp jawline in the silvery reflection.

She narrowed her eyes, not recognizing herself at first, then blinked the feeling away.

On the first floor, an electronic ding rang out softly, and she wondered absentmindedly about when her commission would be deposited into her account.

——

The morning was still young when Hayley stepped out of the taxi, slid her Tom Ford sunglasses into place, and strode toward her second meeting—a ritual she’d kept every day since her freshman year of college at the University of Pennsylvania.

The door swung open, and the scent of roasted espresso enveloped her the moment she stepped inside.

This particular café had been chosen as the perfect middle ground between her apartment in the West Village and Greenwich Village, where her best friend, Gemma, now lived with her fiancée.

The two college-roommates-turned-lifelong-friends lived only a few blocks away from one another, but even Hayley could admit that the new distance felt lonely and unnerving at times.

“Good morning.” Hayley kissed her best friend’s cheek before settling into the chair across from her, careful not to wrinkle her slacks.

“Morning.” Gemma raised an eyebrow. She took a sip of Hayley’s triple-shot oat milk latte, then slid it across the table—a thirteen-year-old habit that Hayley had never bothered to question. “Nice hair.”

Hayley reached up reflexively, running her fingers through her long sleek bob, confirming that there was not a single strand out of place.

“Late night or early morning?” Gemma asked, not trying to hide her knowing grin.

A subtle, one-sided smile flickered across Hayley’s face. “Best way to start off the week.”

“And you’re wearing one of your Armani suits, which means…” Gemma scanned her face, then groaned. “Oh my God, seriously, Hayley?”

Hayley took a sip of her coffee, saying nothing.

Gemma leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “How many times are you going to sleep with that married woman?”

“However many times she wants,” Hayley deadpanned. “If she keeps landing me commissions like that.”

Gemma rolled her eyes. “How is the Maddox Group these days? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

At just thirty-one years old, Hayley Maddox was already one of the most sought-after real estate agents in New York.

It was in her blood. Her grandfather, the first Johnathan Maddox, had founded Maddox Development the moment he’d gotten his college degree.

After his passing, Hayley’s father, Jonathan II, took over the company and turned it into the multi-million-dollar empire the world now knew.

Maddox Group was her baby, a collaboration that allowed her to stay in the family business while creating a legacy of her own.

Her phone vibrated once on the table. She looked down as it buzzed again with another incoming text. The first was a message from her father—Proud of you. And the second came from her older brother, Jonathan III. It was a link to the new Rolex Submariner.

Just the Maddox way. No fuss, no theatrics.

“I was just at your house last week,” Hayley reminded her, setting her phone back down.

“Yeah, and that was five days ago.”