Chapter 2
MAKE IT A DOUBLE
Isla
After five grueling hours of learning everything Declan Noble expected from his executive admins, Casey finally decided it was time to go home.
As it turned out, Casey was Declan’s right hand in London, where Noble Consulting was headquartered.
She was scheduled to return to the UK the following day, which was why she had asked me to stay and get the express version of the usual training curriculum she had for Declan’s temporary assistants.
“What’s going to happen to the original admin you had hired?”
“I’ll find her something to do in the London office. I can use the help, and she’s already fully trained.”
“Why are you not staying to run the project with him? I mean, you already know everything.” I waved toward my iPad, where I had at least ten pages of notes on all the daily tasks I was required to complete.
“I have too much to do back at home. Plus, the change of scenery helps. Usually, by the time Declan returns, he’s done with the States and the team and he’s extra nice to the rest of us.”
“Hmm. I guess distance makes the heart grow fonder.”
“Something like that.” She chuckled.
Something in the way she dipped her head and busied herself with the last of the files she had prepared for Declan made me wonder if she hoped Declan’s heart would do way more than just grow fonder.
Declan was hot, but he was a total jerk.
Who would fall for that kind of guy? Casey needed to get out more.
We had just met earlier today, but I could tell.
“Hey, so my boyfriend and I are going out tonight. He got invited to this super exclusive night club in Midtown. Wanna join us?” I made to reach for her shoulder to tap it but then realized we had practically just met.
Not to mention, I was still here because the owner of the company made her hire me on the spot.
“I don’t want to impose.” She shook her head.
“Not at all. Steve won’t mind. Come on. You had to stay late because of me. On a Thursday night no less.”
As soon as I mentioned my boyfriend’s name, my phone buzzed with a message from him.
Steve: How long is this interview gonna take? I hope they’re paying you for this time. You’re late.
I had ignored the last five of his messages so I could focus on Casey’s instruction.
The butterflies kicked in. Holy shit. I was officially an employed professional.
I was so excited; I didn’t care that Steve hadn’t bothered to congratulate me after I quickly messaged him to tell him I had landed the job.
Though I chose not to mention that I hadn’t exactly gotten the programmer position I had hoped for.
“That’s him now.” I flashed her the screen as proof.
“Next time.” She offered me a genuine smile. “Go celebrate with your boyfriend. We’ll catch up next time I’m Stateside. Declan landed earlier today. I need to make sure his condo is ready.”
“Oh, do you need help with that?” Steve would hate me for bailing on him, but this job was too important.
“No. I got it. I promise. You go on ahead.”
“Okay. Have a good weekend. And safe travels.” I shouldered my computer bag and darted out of Declan’s fancy corner office.
Out in the lobby, I made my way to the bathroom to get ready for a night out with Steve.
I hadn’t seen him all week. Spending Thursday night with him was exactly what I needed.
I had met Steve my senior year in college.
We started dating exclusively after our second date, and now he practically lived with me in my Brooklyn apartment.
When the thought entered my head, I stopped midway with my high heel in hand.
Omigod. I dropped my shoe and covered my mouth.
Today was our year anniversary. Was that why Steve was being so pushy to get me out of the office?
Why was he taking me to an exclusive nightclub?
Holy shit, was he going to propose today?
I glanced upward. The universe was finally delivering on the husband front.
Someone up there was really watching out for me.
Everything was finally coming together. All my hard work had paid off.
I had a great job, a soon-to-be husband, and access to my half-sister.
I now knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Louisa and I would be best friends before the end of the year, or by the time I married Steve.
I beamed at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and quickly re-touched my makeup. When I finished, another message popped into my screen.
Steve: If you don’t leave now, I’m going without you.
I laughed because his gig was so up.
Me: Okay. I’m ready. Where to?
Steve: I’ll pick you up.
I typed the address to Windsor Financial Holdings and hit send. He responded immediately to say he was already in Manhattan and on his way to me.
“Perfect,” I said to the screen, grinning.
Steve’s Uber car arrived twenty minutes later. My heart beat a little faster as I climbed in the car and the scent of his cologne crowded my senses. He looked so cute with his wet hair combed back like that. Usually, he let his unruly locks do whatever.
I made to scoot over and sit closer to him, but he leaned forward and started giving the driver directions.
My pulse settled after that. Steve always acted distant when he was nervous about something, like a presentation at work, a new client, or a proposal.
I smiled at my hands, then let my gaze shift to him.
He wore jeans and a heather-gray T-shirt that made his blue eyes stand out.
“I thought you said the nightclub was a sort of fancy place.” I gestured toward the black cocktail dress, a sexy number I had packed last night when he told me about the invitation he’d received.
“It is.” He furrowed his brows at me then glanced down at his pants. “What does it matter what I wear?”
“I guess it doesn’t.” I shrugged, not wanting to pick up a fight with him tonight of all nights.
We rode in silence for almost ten minutes before he leaned forward again and tapped on the driver’s shoulder. “What’s taking so long?”
“Traffic,” the driver deadpanned.
“Is that the line to get in?” He craned his neck to see up ahead.
“I think so.” I unbuckled my seatbelt to get a better look.
The high rise ahead of us took up the entire block. At the very top, looming over the scene below it, was a huge sign that read Crucible. The red bright letters seemed to cast a carmine glow on everything.
People spilled out onto the street while lights circled across the sky and the building itself. I couldn’t tell if the crowd was there waiting to join the party inside or if this was the actual party. The beat of the music drummed against my chest.
“This place looks amazing.”
“I know.” Steve took my hand. “We’re walking the rest of the way.”
“Okay.” The driver shrugged.
I had to practically run in my pumps to keep up with Steve’s pace.
But he was right. If we had stayed in the car, it would’ve been another half hour before we reached the lobby.
He gripped my hand tighter as he zigzagged his way through the throng.
Several women shot nasty glares our way when Steve shoved them out of the way.
“Is that necessary?” I yelled in his ear over the loud music.
“What? They wouldn’t move.”
When we reached the front of the line, a bouncer cut us off. He was the kind of guy I’d expect to see in a place like this—huge, all muscle, and with a dour-looking face. “Do you have an invitation?”
“Yes.” Steve reached for the back pocket of his jeans and pulled an enveloped he’d folded in three.
The bouncer’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he unfolded the paper and flashed a light on it. He peered at us for what felt like hours and then reached for the red cord. “Welcome to the Crucible, Mr. and Mrs. Moretti.”
I cut my gaze to Steve, and he squeezed my hand in response.
The fucker. This wasn’t his invitation. All thoughts of protesting for having either a fake invitation or one that wasn’t his own faded as soon as we stepped into the super fancy lobby with shiny marble floors and a ginormous chandelier hanging overhead.
I never knew a place like this one existed in the middle of Midtown.
We rode the elevator to the thirtieth floor. When the door opened, we were greeted by a man dressed in a tuxedo. He ushered us toward the bar and introduced us as Mr. and Mrs. Moretti. The bartender smiled and promptly got started on our drinks, which we hadn’t ordered.
“Drinks are included, so don’t complain,” Steve whispered in my ear.
“What the hell?” I yanked my hand away from him. “Did you steal this invitation?”
“Shh.” He glowered at me. “My boss is out of town. I happened to be there when the envelope was delivered.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose as heat rushed to my cheeks. “You know it’s a federal offense to interfere with mail.”
“I thought you were a computer geek. Now you’re a lawyer?” He rolled his eyes then turned away from me to grab the glass of whiskey.
“Mrs. Moretti, enjoy.” The bartender set a glass of red wine in front me.
Growing up in Bensonhurst, New York, aka the Little Italy of Brooklyn, I wasn’t used to places like this.
I’d never even traveled outside of New York.
Dad had always said, “We have everything we could ever want right here in Bensonhurst. Why would you wanna go anywhere else?” I never agreed with him.
I ached to leave town, move to the city, and meet new people, maybe travel to Europe one day.
I’d had to get a passport first. But that was on my list.
Thinking of my list and my future plans reminded me of why we were here tonight. Steve wanted to propose.
I sipped my wine, and omigod it was delicious. It made me think of dark chocolate and berries. We were here now. How we got here didn’t matter. What mattered was that Steve loved me.
“The wine is incredible.”
“Yeah. My drink, too.” He craned his neck, checking out the game tables on the other end of the room. “I bet Mr. Moretti has an account. We could make some real cash.”
“That’s stealing.”
He rolled his eyes again and set his empty tumbler on the bar. “Why do you always have to be riding my ass? We’re already here.”
“I thought you wanted to be with me. Isn’t that why you invited me?” A lump churned in my stomach as I slowly realized the night wasn’t going to end with a proposal. Just another night of Steve drinking and making stupid decisions.
“The invitation was for a couple. I needed a girl.”
“What?” My Brooklyn accent came out loud and clear, like it did every time I was pissed.
Because I was pissed now. I’d let Steve drag me out of work, make me complicit in his crime, and now he was flat out telling me he only brought me here because he needed a warm body with boobs?
“In case you didn’t know, today was our first anniversary of when we started dating.
I thought you were going to propose.” I grabbed the fresh glass of wine the bartender slid across the counter and took a big gulp, then another, and one more just to finish off the pour.
Steve stepped back. He knew that once I got to this point of fury, messing with me was a huge mistake. He stared for the longest time, then stood taller then dropped his gaze to my crotch. “Why in the hell would I want to marry you?”
Tears stung my eyes. His tone implied I wasn’t woman enough to be with him. “We practically live together.”
“Your apartment is closer to the train. Jeez, you do me one favor and now you think you own me?” He knocked back the rest of his drink.
“Do you even love me?”
“You know what? I’m tired of this. Your tears, your silly plans. Your head is always in the clouds. I’m done.” He started to walk away.
“You’re done?” I reached for his elbow to make him look at me. “You’re breaking up with me?”
“I thought you were the smart one in the relationship. Yeah, I’m breaking up with you.” He turned on his heel and headed toward the poker table.
I stood there, my cheeks burning hot and my stomach twisting into knots. Fisting my hands, I plopped myself on the bar stool and waved at the bartender. “Can I get a shot of tequila? Make it a double.”
I wanted to numb my senses. I wanted the burn of the liquor to wash down the lump in my throat. Most of all, I wanted to forget about Steve. I knocked back my drink as soon as the bartender set it down. Then I asked for another.
A while later, there were two bartenders. They were blurry. And I couldn’t really understand what they were saying. “Mrs. Moretti, I went ahead and called you a car. It’s waiting downstairs. It will take you wherever you need.” He braced his hand under my elbow and propped me up.
To my surprise, I was fairly steady on my feet as he ushered me to the elevators, through the lobby, and then the street. As soon as the fresh air hit my face, I got a second wind. “I can take it from here. I’m fine now.” I pushed him away from me.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Go. Get out of here.” I waved him away, then got distracted by how fast my hand was moving, like I had many hands.
“Of course, your car is right there. The black coupe.” He pointed up ahead at the two cars.
I closed one eye and the double vehicles became a single one. Okay, I was officially piss drunk. Time to go home. “Thanks.” I waved at the bartender again.
He nodded and went back inside. If this was the local bar in Bensonhurst, I’d be mortified.
The goody two-shoes Vendetti girl getting wasted would probably make the front page of the Sunday paper.
But this fancy place? I was sure I would never see anyone here again.
I made my way to the black car, stumbling a few times.
I didn’t remember the sidewalk being so uneven.
I climbed in and collapsed on the soft leather. The coolness of it made the space spin slower. Oh, fuck. Maybe the tequila shots were not such a good idea.
“I beg your pardon.” The driver shifted his body to look at me.
Or was he glowering. I squinted at him. “You talk funny. The two of you.” I laughed. And then I couldn’t stop laughing.
“What are you doing in my car?” His British accent made me think of Declan Winston Noble, my soon-to-be boss, London’s most eligible bachelor, and as of late, the protagonist of all my dirty fantasies.
I smiled at him. “Wow, are all English men this hot? You look just like my boss. So hot, so delicious, so lickable.” I laid my head on the seat again because now the face of my boss was everywhere in the car.
Not to mention that his sultry voice and sexy accent were doing things to me that I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
“Oh, bloody hell.” His angry voice was the last thing I heard before everything went pitch black.