Beautiful Secret (Beautiful Bastard #4) (9 page)

In the end, our divorce had started over something as innocuous as a rescheduled lunch. I’d received notice of a meeting that would run into the time we were meant to arrive at the restaurant midday. Portia often worked from home, but an hour of flexibility turned out to be too much to ask.

“Do you ever consider
my
day?” she asked. “Do you ever consider what I put aside to spend time with you?”

I thought back to the romantic holidays she’d canceled, and the anniversary dinners she had missed because she stayed late at a friend’s flat and forgot or, once, extended her girls’ holiday for another week simply because she was having too much fun to come home.

“I endeavor to,” I told her.

“But you fail, Niall. And, honestly, I’m sick of it.”

Being Portia, she needed to have the last word. And in that moment, with a sharp clarity I hadn’t expected, I was fine with that as the last word. I simply wanted out.

“I understand, Portia. You can only do so much.”

She’d startled slightly at the use of her given name; I’d only ever called her “Love,”
for years. “That’s just it,” she said wearily. “Niall. I’m swamped. I simply can’t live my life and carry the weight of all this, as well.”

All this
, she said, meaning: us. Meaning: the burden of a loveless marriage.

She looked up at me, eyes moving across my face, down my neck, and to where my hands were comfortably resting in the pockets of my trousers.

I could never escape the feeling that, when she looked at me like that, she was comparing me to someone else. Someone more posh, less tall, more American, less patient with her.

After what felt like minutes of ticking silence, she spoke again.

“We aren’t,” she began with exquisite understatement, “very natural together anymore.”

And that had been it.

When my alarm went off at six, it felt like I’d only just closed my eyes.

From beneath my pillow I could tell the room was still dark. Even so, I could hear the echo of horns from the city outside, the bustle of people up and out and already braving the chilly morning, on their way to work or school or whatever adulting they had to do.

I rolled to my side, doing the mental calculation of how many more times I could hit snooze and not be late, when I remembered exactly where I was . . .

Who I was with . . .

How much
fun
I’d had last night.

And whose bed was likely just on the other side of mine, separated by nothing more than an insignificant, paper-thin wall.

He could be in bed, right now. I closed my eyes and let myself imagine that, and suddenly getting ready for a day spent with him felt way more important than sleep.

I leapt out of the bed and raced toward the bathroom,
careful to avoid any and all mirrors along the way. Today would be my first day of the summit. My first day working alongside Niall Stella, learning and being a part of what he did, not just a moving piece in the periphery.

And after last night, I saw him so differently. He was still the man who preferred to remain at the perimeter, watching and taking note of what was said and
how
, but he’d also been this relaxed, funny
guy
, with a bunch of other guys, just enjoying a drink in a bar. He could unwind, be social, laugh at himself and others in his gentle way.

He’d teased me again—in front of his brother—his dark eyes shining with amusement and fondness. I felt my stomach swoop low, my heart trip in my chest as I remembered. Would he be like this the entire trip? And if he was, how would I manage to keep from falling at his feet, professing my love?

Gah
.

I could name at least a hundred ways in which I could screw this up on a normal workday. But today? Tired
and
suffering the effects of jet lag? Who knew what could happen.

I could practically feel the heavy bags under my eyes, but even so, a jolt of adrenaline surged through my veins. My heart raced when I imagined us working so closely together today, both of us bent over a file on the table, our shoulders side by side and his soft hair falling down over
his forehead.

This was going to be a train wreck for sure.

Food was the last thing on my mind, but I needed to bring my A-game today. I ordered room service and was thrilled to hear the little doorbell only minutes after I stepped from the shower.

The scent of breakfast wafted in from the hallway, and any thought of not being hungry flew right out the window. I raced to the door, stopping to double-check the modesty of my robe before I let the waiter in, because it was far too early to find the humor in any accidental wardrobe malfunctions.

I signed the bill and was just closing my door when Niall Stella walked down from the elevators.

Holy hell. He had been to the gym.

“Good morning, Ruby.”

Stay cool, Ruby. You’ve got this
. “Morning. You’re up early.” I said.

The Number of Times I’d Seen Niall Stella Sweaty: one.

I tried to covertly look him over, but subtlety was a wasted effort. I thought Niall Stella knew how to wear a suit, but he wore T-shirts like it was his life’s calling. I wanted to pray at the altar of his dark, sincerely tight blue shirt. He wore it so unself-consciously. So unironically. Knowing him, he picked it out for some complicated aerodynamic reason. And holy lord did it do wonderful things to his chest.

His posture was straight, stomach flat, and chest defined and bulkier than I’d expected. He wore what
looked like soccer shorts and his legs were just as muscular as I imagined. Seeing him like this, I was struck by his height all over again. I was on the tall side and I’d never been around a man who made me feel so tiny and feminine. This close to him, and with the clean scent of his sweat between us, I was starkly aware of my curves, my mouth, and how he towered over me by several inches. Without effort, everything about him was so dramatically masculine.

“Room service delivery of Fritos?” he teased, and motioned to my robe.

I looked down and laughed. “I was planning on wearing this for the rest of the month, hope that works for you.” I tugged on the tie and watched as his eyes followed the movement.

Sweet Lord
.

I wanted to reach out and drag him to me, using the neck of his shirt to pull him down on the bed. Or maybe I could wrap the sweaty hem of it around my wrist, use it for leverage while he fucked me from behind . . .

Oh
.

I felt my cheeks grow warm.

He leaned a broad shoulder against the wall, facing me. “The dress you wore last night was rather lovely. Perhaps you could alternate days?”

I laughed. “I—”

Wait, what?

My eyes went wide as I processed
what he’d said. His cheeks were pink, too, but he held my gaze.
Don’t get flustered, Ruby. Don’t get flustered
.

“That’s a good idea,” I said, feeling an enormous grin invade my face. I pretended to smooth the skirt of the robe down my thighs. “This might be a bit drafty.”

Nodding, he seemed to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “I suspect it would be.”

I pointed my thumb behind me. “So . . . I’ll just go put on some actual clothes.”

“All right. Let me shower and I’ll meet you downstairs?” he asked as I turned to go back in my room.

Imaginary Secretary, please add Watching Niall Stella Shower to my bucket list. Move it to the top, if it’s not too much trouble
.

“Good plan.”

He nodded once crisply. “I’ll be fast.”

“No,” I said, too loud, too quickly. I closed my eyes, inhaling a calming breath. “Take your time.”

He paused with his keycard inserted into the door next to mine and looked over his shoulder at me. The tiny smile told me he read every thought on my face before I had a chance to pull it into order.

“All right?” he asked quietly.

“I’m good. Just need coffee.”

His eyes twinkled with some mysterious delight. As if he enjoyed my absolute, desperate torment. “Right, then. See you downstairs.”

Game on, Mr. Darcy
.

The elevator ride to the lobby was the longest of my life. I counted down each floor on the screen near the top, my nerves twisting tighter the farther down I went. Niall would be waiting for me and then we’d walk to the temporary office together. Just us. No distractions. Alone. No big deal.

Except that it was a
huge
deal. This was the start of one of my most exciting professional experiences, and also a day full of the person I was fairly sure was the Most Amazing Man on the Planet.

I smoothed my dress, straightened the collar on my jacket, and double-checked everything: purse, laptop, cell phone, ass and underwear covered. Despite my nerves, I was still tired. My laptop case felt heavier than normal and seemed to weigh down my right shoulder, the combination of fatigue and jitters leaving me feeling slightly speedy.

I checked my reflection again in the gleaming doors, suddenly questioning my outfit. It would be cold out but likely too warm in the office, where the heat would be turned up to compensate for the March chill. I’d chosen knee-length boots with a reasonable heel; they would double as both comfortable to walk in, and warm enough should our day find us venturing out into the city and down into one of the many subway stations we’d be monitoring. I had every file and report I would need printed
out. I was ready.

And yet, still terrified.

I reached the lobby and looked around for Niall, but I didn’t have to look long. He was behind me, back near the registration desk, and
help me Jesus
because paired with the overcoat he had slung over his arm, his suit was straight-up business porn.

“Holy shit, you wear a suit well.”

I’d thought those words a hundred times over the last few months. Thousands. I’d said them under my breath as I’d passed him in the halls and it was possible I’d had more than one X-rated fantasy that started out with those exact words. But never, not in any of them did he swallow, look down the length of my body, and reply with “I suspect you wear everything well.”

And then immediately look like he wanted to shove the words back into his mouth and die.

Pardon?

When I was little I had an Etch A Sketch. I spent hours staring at that red frame and flat gray board, pulling it out to doodle whenever my bus was late or while entertaining myself on a drive home. Most people drew pictures or played games, but I was obsessed with drawing my name and perfecting the art of getting each letter down without seeing the line where they connected.

My mom would tell me to draw something else, that I would burn the image of those letters into the screen if I continued to do the same thing, over and over. And she was right. Eventually, no matter how many times I shook
the board, hoping to clear the image, a ghost of the letters still showed on the screen.

I knew this would be the exact same thing, but it would be branded on my brain for the rest of time.

I suspect you wear everything well
.

Had Niall Stella really said that? Was I having a stroke? Would I ever think of any other sentence for the rest of my life?

When I came to my senses, I realized he was already off and nearly gone. I quickened my steps and followed him out the hotel’s revolving door and left, down Fifty-Sixth Street.

I suspect you wear everything well
.

“—all right?” he said, and I blinked.

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, rushing to keep up with his long strides. Seriously, walking beside him was like galloping next to a giraffe.

“I asked if my assistant Jo had sent everything along? Whether everything had come across all right? Normally I wouldn’t send you things, as you’re not working for me here, but thought it might be best if we were both on the same page.”

“Oh, yes. Yes,” I said, nodding. “Emails arrived yesterday as soon as we’d landed. She’s very . . . efficient.”

Niall Stella blinked over to me with his obscenely long lashes. “She is.”

“How long has she worked for you?” I asked, my voice sounding a bit distracted, even to my own ears.
I’d never been with him out in broad daylight like this, and I was feeling flustered with just how good-looking he was: his skin was gorgeous, clear and smooth and absolutely flawless. It was obvious he took his time shaving, and everything was perfect, right down to his sideburns. I wondered if he measured them with a ruler.

He considered this. “Four years, this twelfth of September.”

“Wow. That’s . . . specific.”

He smiled, looking back to his phone.

I suspect you wear everything well
.

The morning air was cool on my face, and I closed my eyes, grateful for the touch of biting wind this morning. It helped clear my head as we covered the first block, and turned right onto Avenue of the Americas.

Only now did it occur to me that this was my first morning in New York City. London felt like a city, yes, and it was huge. But I always had the sense that I was standing in a place that had been there for centuries, that the trees and buildings and even the walkways I strolled on looked much like they had since they were put in. New York clearly had its older buildings, but many things were modern and new, steel and glass that stretched to the sky. It seemed to be in a constant cycle of rebirth. Scaffolding lined much of the sidewalks and we simply walked under it, or followed signs that led us around.