by Maya Rodale
I didn’t know how my love story would end, but I had hope I’d have the happily-ever-after I wrote for my heroine.
Whatever longing I felt for Duke, I channeled into my book.
“What are you thinking?” Phinn asked.
“Kissing,” Olivia said softly. Because young ladies do not think of kissing. They especially do not compare the mouths and kisses of two different gentlemen, especially when one was not her husband.
“Kissing is not a silly female thought,” Phinn said in a low voice.
“No?”
“You should do it more often,” he said, his voice grave. “Even better than thinking about it . . .”
“Actually kissing?” Her voice was breathless. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. They hadn’t kissed. Not yet.
“Exactly,” he murmured, before lowering his mouth to hers for a light caress of his lips against hers. She felt a spark. This. Then he pulled back. A young lady would blush modestly and leave it at that. But Olivia was making her own rules now and she wanted to know this man she had married. Having had a taste of a damn fine kiss that was more than she’d ever dreamed of, she wanted to know if she’d ever have a kiss like that again. She wanted to know now.
She lightly traced her finger along his jacket before holding on to a handful and pulling him closer. He didn’t resist. Their mouths met again. Tentatively, she parted her lips, not caring if he found her wanton or forward. She wanted to kiss him deeply. This—the delicate caress of lips, a nibble here, tracing the seam of her lips there—was driving her mad . . . in a wonderful way. This tease of a kiss made that initial spark turn into a smolder. Who knows what fire might have started had the carriage not rolled to a stop?
Olivia looked at Phinn, dazed. He looked at her with darkened eyes.
Words weren’t necessary. This was not over.
Chapter Nine
* * *
Washington Square Park
A few weeks later
IT WAS ONE of those gorgeous late August end-of-summer-almost-autumn days that made it impossible to stay inside. So when Sam texted asking me to meet him for coffee in the park, of course I said yes. And put on a chambray cotton summer dress and nude patent sandals and went to go meet him.
We hadn’t seen each other since our dinner at Balthazar a few weeks earlier, though we had kept in touch online. Today we met around ten in the morning on Saturday and found seats on a bench around the fountain. Nearby, a guy had dragged out a grand piano from God knows where and played classical music. Around us children played and frolicked in the fountain, dogs sniffed all the plants and flowers in bloom, homeless guys slept on the grass, and all kinds of people strolled by. I glanced to the right and saw the famous arch, a look to the left and the low historic buildings of Greenwich Village stretched before me.
“So I have news,” I said.
“Are you back together with your billionaire?” Sam asked.
“No. But I got a call from an editor at HarperCollins. She wants to publish my novels.”
“That’s fantastic, Jane.” Sam smiled. “Look at you: a fancy New York published author.”
“It was quite a surprise but I’m really excited about it,” I said. Part of me thought about downplaying this achievement because Sam had been the one to plan on writing and publishing books. But here I was with the three-book deal from a top New York publisher. If my heroine, Olivia, taught me anything, it was not to downplay my own feelings and achievements. So I added, “Soon my books will be in print in bookstores everywhere.”
“That’s really fantastic, Jane. I’m happy for you,” he said. But was he? I couldn’t tell. Then he changed the subject. “So I also have news.”
“Oh?” I inquired, sipping my iced latte.
I braced myself for news of his engagement to Kate Abbott.
“NYU offered me a position in their English department.”
“Oh wow, congratulations! That’s amazing.”
That’s what I said. Here’s what I felt: nothing, bordering on dismay. Was this city big enough for me and my ex? I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know. The other strong feeling currently leaving me speechless: I still wanted Duke.
It had been weeks since my tell-all interview with the New York Post and thus weeks since his “thanks babe” text message. And then . . . nothing.
“You didn’t ask if I accepted.”
“Did you?”
“Does it matter to you?” There was a bitterness in his voice that caught me by surprise.
“Sam—”
“I thought we had something, Jane. You and me.”
“If you thought that,” I began slowly, “why did you break up with me?”
“The break did us good and we both know it.”
“It’s true,” I said, and as soon as I said the words, I meant them. “To be honest, I didn’t think so at first. I was devastated. But I see now that it was for the best. Even though it hurt like hell at the time.”
“But you don’t want to get back together,” Sam said, putting into words what I was really trying to say. And when I didn’t reply he turned to look at me. “You still like that billionaire guy.”
I took a long sip of my latte.
“Are you still seeing him?”
“I haven’t seen him in a while,” I confessed. “Or heard from him.”
“Well, if he’s got all that money . . .” Sam didn’t finish that thought. But I knew what he was getting at and it stung. “It’s not like I’ll ever come close to that, even if I take this job at NYU.”
“It’s not about the money,” I said. “You and I make each other comfortable. We stagnate together. But Duke and I make each other better.”
We also gave each other have the most earth-shattering orgasms, but it felt cruel to mention that.
“So what are you going to do about it?” Sam asked. “Shouldn’t you do some grand gesture or something?”
“That’s the job of the hero. Haven’t you watched any romantic comedies?”
“First of all, I’ve seen more than I ever want to, thanks to you. And second of all, it’s the hero’s job to make a grand gesture? I’m sorry, did feminism pass you by?”
“I made my grand gesture with an interview in the New York Post,” I retorted. “It’s his turn now.”
On the way home, I thought about reaching out to Duke. I considered giving him a chance to read Wallflower Gone Wild before I published it, just to give him a preview. I considered orchestrating some “accidental encounter” which would have been child’s play, thanks to Foursquare.
I could just see us running into each other accidentally-on-purpose at a bar or restaurant. “Oh! I didn’t see that you had checked in on Foursquare,” I would exclaim innocently, while lying through my teeth.
But I didn’t. Because that was ridiculous. And because I loved him and he needed to make a success of Project-TK. And judging from the tweets and blog posts, he was closer and closer.
Every time I had more than two glasses of wine and started talking about reaching out to Duke, Roxanna calmly confiscated my phone until the next morning when I was sober.
Life went on. The news was full of sad stories and warnings about a dire hurricane season coming up. My job kept me busy from nine to five. I worked on my books.
And then one morning, there he was. Duke.
Not in the flesh, but on Twitter. I was skimming through while waiting for the subway on my way to work. Nearly every tweet was about plans to prepare the city in event of a major storm—in looked like Hurricane Geoffrey was heading toward New York City. The city was planning to shut down—subways, buses, restaurants, even bars. Even the lights on the Empire State Building were going to darken. Amongst all the storm related news, a certain tweet caught my eye and hit me like a bolt of lightning.
@DukeAusten: When a $20 billion IPO isn’t everything.
I clicked through immediately. Obvs.
The page loaded painfully, agonizingly, torturously slowly. My
train arrived, and I let it roll out of the station without me. And then, finally, a blog post on DukeAusten.com loaded.
When a $20 billion IPO isn’t everything
It is with enormous pride, satisfaction, relief and triumph that I announce the forthcoming $20 billion dollar IPO for my baby, Project-TK. It’s been a journey that began in my aunt’s garage years ago. The story continued at Stanford and with the rise and epic fall of my two previous startups. It hasn’t been easy getting to this moment. This success would never have happened without the amazing team at Project-TK. It also would not have been possible without the mostly unwavering support of Augustus Grey (aren’t you glad you stuck around, old chap?).
A funny thing happened on the way to the IPO. I fell in love. Yeah, you read that right. The Bad Boy Billionaire, star of a thousand tawdry scandals, is in LOVE in all caps. Shout from the rooftops kind of love.
I fell in love with a woman who caused some unmitigated disasters. She was a distraction when I never needed to focus more. She was, in a word, trouble.
She was also my saving grace.
Her selflessness as evidence in this ridiculous New York Post interview set me free to devote myself to Project-TK and all the people counting on me. But now that the deals are done and there’s nothing left but to ring the bell on the stock exchange . . .
Now that it’s safe to say it . . .
I wish I had said these words earlier when I had everything to lose . . .
I love you Jane Sparks.
I might have shrieked. I might have jumped up and down. I looked around, mouth agape. Did no one else on this subway platform realize the monumental thing that had just happened? With the back of my hand, I wiped the tears from my eyes. I turned and looked from side to side. Literally no one around me was either 1) aware of the dramatic turn of events or 2) found it remarkable that a woman would jump up and down and shriek on a subway platform or 3) gave a shit.
That was the thing about New York. The city didn’t care when you were down, and it didn’t care when you were up. It was simply the perfect stage upon which to live out the greatest romance imaginable.
With fumbling fingers I tried to tweet a response. And then I thought, No, I’m an old-fashioned, historical romance kind of gal. I want to tell him in person.
It turns out that’s easier said than done.
It should be so simple: boy meets girl. Boy and girl embark on fake relationship before boy and girl inevitably fall in love and live happily ever after. If only! But I knew how these stories played out—hell, I wrote those stories. There’s always a dark moment before everything turns into sunshine and roses. I knew that—I just didn’t think it would happen to me.
What’s next for Jane and Duke?
Keep reading for a sneak peek at the next installment
of the Bad Boy Billionaire series
THE BAD BOY BILLIONAIRE: WHAT A GIRL WANTS
An Excerpt from
THE BAD BOY BILLIONAIRE: WHAT A GIRL WANTS
Bar Veloce, New York City
“THIS,” I SAID angrily, waving my iPhone. I wanted to slam this down on the table, like I had done with the paper invitation to my high school reunion earlier this summer. But I wasn’t about to risk breaking my iPhone over a Paperless Post invitation that was intruding upon my inbox.
I settled for firmly setting my phone on the bar. It just wasn’t the same.
Roxanna reached for my phone.
“No way!” I snatched it back. “I’m not falling for that again.”
Roxanna just grinned. “You’re welcome for setting you up with the love of your life.”
I pursed my lips. I suppose I did owe her a thank you for Facebook post announcing an engagement between me and Duke Austen, infamously known as the bad boy billionaire. After a sham engagement and a secret romance, we were now for real.
“Thank you,” I muttered under my breath. It was only polite.
“What is it this time?” Roxanna asked, flipping her red hair over her shoulder. She was perched on a bar stool and sipping a whiskey. I took the seat next to her and sipped the chardonnay she’d gone ahead and ordered for me.
“This is the invitation to the party celebrating the IPO of Duke’s startup.”
“How fabulous. Where is it?”
“That’s not the point. It doesn’t even matter, because it’s at the same time on the same night as my high school reunion.”
Roxanna raised one eyebrow. It was one of the traits of hers that I was jealous of, in addition to her carefree attitude, ability to drink copious amounts of whiskey without getting ridiculously drunk, and ability to talk herself into restaurant tables without a reservation.
“Are you actually torn between which event to attend?” Roxanna asked incredulously. “The hottest party in the city, celebrating the hottest business launch possibly of all time, with free booze and fascinating people. Oh, and your hot boyfriend. Or a party in an old gymnasium with the same old bores you’ve known for ten years. They’ll probably just want to talk about their kids.”
“It’ll be on the terrace at the Milford country club,” I replied, but unenthusiastically.
“Oh,” Roxanna sighed. “The country club. Someone get the velvet rope to keep out the riff raff.”
I sighed. Duke’s party would be so much more fun. Why, then, did I have this angst about missing my stupid high school reunion? I could just go home and hit the pizza parlor on a Friday night and it’d be the same thing.
“It’s just that we had a deal. I would pretend to be his good-girl fiancée and keep him out of trouble. In return, he’d be my hot and successful boyfriend on a night I’ll sorely need a confidence boost. But we can’t be in both places at the same time.”
“You could go alone,” Roxanna said, demonstrating that she was so much more ballsy than me. “Since you do, in fact, have a hot successful boyfriend, not to mention your numerous bestselling books. You shouldn’t need the confidence boost, Jane. You’re fabulous already.”
“Thanks,” I said with a smile. “I know this is all silly.”
“Have you talked to Duke about any of this?”
“Of course not,” I replied. “That’s the mature, logical thing to do.”
“Are you not a mature, logical person?” Roxanna queried. I took a long sip of wine.
“I am the kind of person so desperate for a date to my high school reunion that I faked a relationship.”
“Point taken,” Roxanna said before taking a sip of her whiskey.
My phone, still on the bar between us, buzzed and lit up with an incoming text message. I picked up the phone quickly in case it was something sexy from Duke. He was known to send pictures of himself without his shirt on or other flirtatious and naughty text.
“Is that your bad boy billionaire lover?”
I frowned. “No, it’s Sam. He’s been texting me a lot lately. This one says, ‘How do you feel about second chances?’”
“Weird. Has he forgotten that you two broke up?”
“I have no idea what’s going on with Sam lately,” I said with a sigh. “He was up for these two jobs and I’m not sure if he’s gotten them. I have no idea what’s up with him and Kate.”
“Your nemesis.”
“Grrrr.” I growled just thinking about Kate Abbot who teased me all through high school and then the minute Sam and I broke up, swooped in and claimed him.
“Are you going to answer him?”
“Maybe later.” I got rid of the text and looked back at my email. The invitation was there, awaiting a reply. “I have to talk to Duke about this party. But he’s got a big trip to San Francisco coming up. Might not be a good time.”
He tended to be really, really devoted to his business. It could be hard to tear him away from work but once I did, that same intense focus was aimed at me. My toes curled in my black patent wedge heels just thinking about it.
“And he’s not whisking you away with him?” Roxanna asked.
“No, you don�
��t get the apartment to yourself. He’s just going for a day or two and I have to work.”
Roxanna’s iPhone buzzed with an incoming text. Like me, she snatched it up right away.
“Is that from your mysterious millionaire lover?”
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. I tried to raise one eyebrow in an “I’m intrigued” sort of way, but I think I only managed a weird face. Either way, Roxanna was too busy smiling as she texted him back.
“Do tell,” I said, sipping my drink.
“Oh no. I won’t have my romantic entanglements serve as fodder for your next book.”
“Especially since I have no idea what to write,” I muttered. I owed my new publisher the third book in my series of historical romance novels featuring a trio of wallflowers. The first two had been easy to write—my real life had provided all the inspiration I needed. But now that my love life was lovely, I had no idea for a story and a deadline was looming.
“Your own romance isn’t inspiring you?”
“Nope. My love life is wonderful, which doesn’t exactly make for a very exciting romance novel. There’s no conflamma,” I said, using our made-up word for the awful mixture of conflict and drama. It was essential to any great story—the happy ending wouldn’t be as sweet without it.
“Don’t get all sappy romantic on me.” Roxanna punctuated that with a big sip of her whiskey. “You have to promise not to turn into one of those awful, smug couples.”
I laughed. “Well—I suppose there is some conflict. The dueling parties where he has to decide what matters more—his big night or mine.”
“OR YOU have to decide what matters more,” Roxanna pointed out. “Or which party is simply more fun.”
