Need you Now (Top Shelf Romance Book 2)

by Laurelin Paige

  “And you’re going to be swamped with the new job. I’ll come visit you. When do you start?”

  “Officially, tomorrow, but I’m headed into the office now to meet with Weston so he can show me around. He wanted me to meet a few people beforehand so it wouldn’t be overwhelming on my first day.” Found it! I laid my card on my lap and rubbed over the raised letters of my name as we drove through Midtown. I was anxious and fidgety and had been ever since I’d arrived in New York two days before.

  I hadn’t seen Weston yet. I hadn’t even talked to him directly since the offer. It had all been through email, most of which were routed through his assistant, Roxie, who was helping arrange everything. Today was the day I’d know for sure what he expected for our future.

  It was almost four—was it too early to drink?

  “He’s having you come in at the end of day which means he’s probably planning to take you out afterward.”

  “Audrey...” I groaned. “Don’t jump to conclusions.” Of course I’d thought of that already, but her excitement wasn’t helping. I needed her to minimize this—not make it bigger.

  “But you have to be prepared,” she went on, unaware of the distress she was causing me. “What are you wearing? Is it day to evening convertible?”

  “A plum sheath dress. It’s professional.” It also had a slit that went up to my mid-thigh. “But yes, it would work for evening wear.”

  “Eeep! I’m so excited for you!”

  “That’s awesome.” I closed my eyes and waited for the most recent wave of nausea to pass. “Because I’m a bundle of freaking nerves. And I can’t figure out where I packed my Xanax, and I put my hair up because I’ve been pulling at it so much I’m sure I’m going to go bald, and now I have nothing to calm myself, and—”

  Laughter interrupted my lament. “Oh god, you crack me up.”

  “I’m glad you think this is funny.” The cab turned a corner and immediately pulled over to the curb.

  “It’s not my fault that you’re crazy,” Audrey said.

  “If I’m crazy, you’re crazy,” I said hurriedly. “I’m here. Gotta go.” I hung up without waiting for her to say goodbye, paid the driver, and climbed out. Then there it was—King-Kincaid Town Center.

  I craned my neck upward to scan the length of the skyscraper. Sixty floors rose above me, and while many different businesses leased space in the building owned by King-Kincaid Financial (the corporation Weston’s and Donovan’s fathers owned together), the top several floors housed Reach, Inc.

  Soon I’d be standing up there, taking my place where I belonged.

  I could barely even look that high.

  There weren’t many people inside the lobby of the Town Center, probably because of the time of the day. It made it easy to find the security desk where I was required to check in to get to the sixtieth floor. The guard, an African-American woman named Fran, called up to get my clearance.

  “Okay, you’re clear,” she said, letting me through to the elevators behind her.

  “Was that Weston King?” It was possible I was too eager. But I was a stranger in a foreign land, and Weston was the only person I knew here.

  “I don’t know who it was. Some woman with an accent.”

  Roxie, I thought. Of course.

  Sure enough, it was Roxie, Weston’s assistant from Hungary, who met me when I arrived at the top floor.

  “Did your ears pop?” she asked after handing my purse and jacket to the secretary at the front desk. “I keep gum in case you need.”

  I’d talked to Roxie enough on the phone to feel comfortable with her already. Her accent wasn’t thick, but occasionally her word choices reflected that English was definitely her second language. “I think I’m okay,” I said, working my jaw back and forth. “But, yeah, I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “It’s the speed. It shoot past all those floors. Just like going in an airplane. Come this way.” She took off briskly down the hall.

  “This floor is for executive offices,” she said as we walked past several glass-walled suites. Each of them had a waiting space outside, a secretary at a desk, sometimes a couch. The offices themselves were expansive—some half the size of my apartment—all with floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Your office will be here too,” Roxie said, and I almost tripped. She chuckled. “Not one of the fancy ones, I tell you that now. But pretty good. Better than mine. I let Weston show you that. He wants to give you the tour.”

  We passed a bigger office then; this time the walls were mirrored. Smart windows, I guessed. The kind that, at the press of a button, the glass changes so that the person inside can look out and no one can look in. It was probably Weston’s office.

  I battled another wave of nausea at the thought of being so near to him. So near to confronting what kind of relationship we were going to have.

  “Meanwhile,” Roxie said, “I’m supposed to take you to the upper lounge to wait for him. He’s running just a few minutes late.”

  We’d reached the end of the hall now where four steps led up to two double doors and another area sectioned off with mirrors—or smart windows—for walls. I followed my guide into a large room with modern teal sofas, black lounge chairs, and the most breathtaking view of the city I’d ever seen.

  “Is this where you entertain new clients?” I asked, looking around at the liquor cabinet and the coffee cart. There was also a full-size kitchen and a flat-screen TV fastened to one of the glass walls.

  “And new employees,” Roxie said with a grin. “You will see enough of me over the next few days. I will set you up with Human Resources and get you a security card and a secretary and everything else you need before you start work on projects next week. This afternoon, you enjoy the view. Mr. King be here soon.”

  I thanked her and promised to have Weston show me where her desk was before I left for the night so I could find her in the morning if she didn’t find me first. After she was gone, I walked over to the windows and drank in the scene. The Town Center was high enough that it had an unblocked view of downtown Manhattan, Brooklyn, and beyond.

  Giddiness surged through me, starting like a pinprick at my center and moving out through my veins in all directions until even my fingers and toes felt warm.

  I was really here.

  I made it.

  It wasn’t the way I thought it would be, but in the end, it still came out of my time at Harvard. I’d always known that connections made the difference in a career, and here I was. Finally. At the top of the world, looking out.

  I couldn’t stop grinning.

  “It’s incredible, isn’t it?” a male voice came from behind me.

  Still smiling, I glanced up and caught his reflection in the window.

  And everything disappeared.

  The world that had buzzed below, the beautiful scene, the excitement that had unfurled through my body—all of it evaporated and all that existed in its place was a pale, hollow shell of myself and the man in the perfectly tailored suit behind me.

  I turned to look at him directly. Our gazes smashed together, and my legs nearly fell out from under me.

  “Donovan,” I rasped. It was a miracle that I managed to find enough voice to say that much.

  And there was so much more that had to be said. So much more that I hadn’t prepared for. Which was ridiculous since I’d talked to him so many times in my head over the years, practiced so many conversations, but never did he show up out of the blue looking so dastardly handsome in a dark gray three-piece suit, his face rugged with scruff, his eyes hazel and earnest despite the playful smirk on his lips.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I wasn’t even sure how to breathe anymore.

  He broke our gaze to nod out the window at the skyline, walking toward me as he said, “I’m sure you found the Empire.”

  Though his focus was now on the scenery, I didn’t take my eyes off him as he approached. He didn’t stop until he was right beside me. So clos
e our shoulders would touch if I coughed. Tension ran off him like foam spilling over from a mug of beer. Good tension. Bad tension. I wasn’t sure if there was a difference when it came to Donovan.

  Which was why I was screwed if he was here.

  Why the hell was he here?

  “I thought you were in Tokyo.” I couldn’t stop staring at him. He’d gotten more refined with age, and rougher at the same time. His hair was short and his curls gone, giving him a polished look he lacked before. The lines by his eyes were more defined and his expression seemed harder than I’d remembered. It made him sexier.

  As if he was a man who needed to be sexier than the one I knew.

  “I came back two months ago,” he said offhandedly. “That’s it right there.” He leaned his face in close to mine as he pointed to the famous structure. “Do you see it?”

  Fuck if I cared about the Empire. I was in Donovan Kincaid’s orbit. What else was there in the world?

  “And that’s the One World Trade Center in line behind it.” He reached around me to point over my other shoulder, caging me in against the glass without touching me at all.

  God, I couldn’t just smell his cologne, I could also smell him. The musky scent of his maleness, and even after a decade, my body reacted against my will. My nipples budded, and my panties felt slick. Every part of me tuned to him despite how my mind cried to resist him.

  “Over there’s the Brooklyn Bridge.” His breath skated against my neck, hot, but I had to fight not to shiver.

  He knew what he was doing. He had to.

  “Donovan…” My voice trailed off, drawing out his name when what I really meant to say was please.

  Please what? I didn’t even know. I wanted relief. I wanted to cry, and saying his name was as close as I could get.

  In the window, I watched as his reflection finally looked away from the goddamn Brooklyn Bridge and stared down at me. His eyes closed momentarily.

  “Leave it to Weston to be the one to bring you here,” he said quietly.

  I inhaled sharply.

  But that was all the time I had to process before Weston burst into the room. “You two found each other!” he said excitedly.

  Donovan and I turned simultaneously to face our intruder.

  “I suppose we did,” Donovan said, meeting my eyes once more, punctuating his words.

  Had we found each other? What did he mean? What did any of this mean?

  Then Donovan was gone, our connection broken when he crossed the room toward the liquor cabinet.

  Weston hurried toward me, taking his place in my focus. “Sorry, I was running late. Did you find the building okay?”

  “Yes. I took a cab.” My voice was thin and unsteady, but I forced a smile and hoped he didn’t notice.

  He put his hand on my arm. It was friendly. More than friendly was the way his fingers stroked my elbow. “And Roxie—?”

  “Was very welcoming.” I looked down at his fingers then up at his face. He was letting me know. About him. About us. That he expected us to be a thing. And I did too. Except—

  “Sabrina?” Donovan called, making my heart trip in my chest. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  I glanced over at him because I couldn’t not look at him when he spoke. Couldn’t not take notice. He was already mixing something with gin. “Uh. Whatever you’re making for yourself. Thank you.”

  “How was the move?” Weston asked eagerly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Are you all settled? I’ve been so anxious for you to be here.”

  “It was…” I could barely think. Could barely string words into coherent sentences. My attention was halfway across the room on the figure now with his back toward me. Every touch of Weston’s felt like a betrayal, which made no sense at all.

  Donovan wasn’t even supposed to be here.

  I shook my head slightly and forced my attention on what Weston had asked. “The moving company was excellent. Thank you for suggesting them. They did great work. I haven’t quite figured out where they put everything yet, but I’m definitely settling in.”

  There. I could do this. Cinch.

  “That was Roxie, I think, who arranged the movers. And your apartment?”

  The two-bedroom condo in Hell’s Kitchen had been the best surprise. Weston had helped find that as well. Or Roxie. The floors were hardwood, recently stained. The kitchen was remodeled. The building was secure and being able to have an extra bedroom for Audrey was the cherry on top. “It’s perfect. Even better than the pictures you sent. I can’t believe how much time you spent on—”

  Suddenly, Donovan was beside us handing out drinks. “Weston—gin and tonic. I presumed.” The tumbler he handed me was something different. Golden amber and unmixed. “I made a scotch for myself. Would you prefer a gin and tonic as well?”

  His fingers grazed mine as I took the glass, and I nearly dropped it from the electric shock that went through me at his touch.

  “No. The scotch is fine.” I’d accept a glass of bleach if it meant Donovan would leave me alone. Because that’s what I needed more than anything.

  Accepting the scotch at least got him to return to the liquor cabinet to retrieve his own drink. I gathered any strength I could find in the absence of his proximity and redirected my attention where it belonged. On Weston.

  “Anyway, as I was saying. Thank you, Weston, for all you did to get me moved in. And for finding me such a wonderful place to live.” I brought the tumbler up to my mouth to take a sip.

  “I can’t take credit for the apartment either. Donovan owns the building.”

  “Oh,” I choked, on the burn of the liquor, maybe, but also at this new information. The space I’d slept in, bathed in, undressed in—it belonged to him. Why did that make my pussy ache like it did?

  Weston patted my back. “Okay?”

  “Yeah. I just…” I said when I recovered, looking again toward Donovan. “I didn’t know.”

  Was that why the price had been so affordable? Why would he do that for me?

  Donovan crossed to us, his own drink in hand. “Why would you know? I’m glad you’ve found it acceptable.”

  Did he know? About Weston and me? He had to know. He didn’t seem to care.

  “More than acceptable. It’s.” I cut off. Did Weston know?

  So many questions and not enough answers.

  They were both standing in front of me now, staring at me. Weston to my right, Donovan to my left, like a real life game of This or That, and of course the choice was This. It was the only choice. Practically. For my sanity. The other one wasn’t even an actual option.

  And yet my body pulled traitorously toward That.

  I spun away from both of them. “I’m sorry. I’m flustered.” I took a seat on one of the couches. Two lovers. One room. Too much. “I guess I’m still in a bit of shock about all of this.” I took another sip of scotch. It went down easier this time, warm and comforting.

  Until I realized what an idiot I must look like.

  “I’m making a bad impression, I’m sure.” Here I was, determined to prove I belonged in this world, and I’d fucked it up in the first thirty minutes. Over a guy. Over two guys.

  “Not at all,” Weston said, perching on the arm next to me. “That’s why I wanted you to have a chance to come in before you actually started. You’re not on show.”

  That was easy for him to say. He’d never had to justify why he deserved to be president of his own company. He just had to be it.

  “I don’t know about that,” I chuckled. “A true professional is always on show.”

  “Well…” Weston trailed off.

  Donovan unbuttoned his jacket as he sank into an armchair and crossed one leg over the other. “That's what you left Harvard to go learn at that little college of yours? What was it called again?”

  The insult burrowed past any armor I’d put on, under my skin, into my very blood. As if he could read my mind, see my innermost fears. As if his only goal was to expose
them.

  And suddenly, as vividly as my body remembered how it longed for Donovan Kincaid, I remembered how much I also hated him.

  Weston caught the dig as well and threw his partner a warning glare. He followed it with a slow scan up my body. “I happen to like what I see,” he said, his meaning clear.

  Donovan swirled his drink, his expression smug. “Too bad you won’t be the one she’ll be reporting to.”

  My throat went dry. Was he implying that I’d be reporting to him? Was he staying? I had a brief flashback to the class he taught in college, the way he jerked me around. The way he fucked me against the bookshelf in his office.

  “Hey,” Weston chided. “We haven’t decided how that’s going to work yet. For now, it stands as it is.” There was subtext in his tone that suggested there was more to the situation.

  I was feeling dizzy, and I didn’t think it was just from the alcohol. “I’m confused. Whom do I report to?”

  Weston rested his hand on my collarbone. “It’s me. Donovan’s just being an ass.”

  I would have been relieved if the more important question didn’t remain lingering. “But Donovan is staying? Here? Instead of Tokyo?” I was such a coward that I couldn’t even ask him directly. Couldn’t even look at him.

  “Yes. Thank god. We’ve gotten too big to run with just two presidents. So he’s taking over management and finance. I’m still in charge of marketing.”

  My gut dropped, but my chest rose, and I felt like I was sinking and soaring all at once. He was staying. He was here, and he was staying, and nothing in my world would ever be the same.

  Carefully, I dared to peek in his direction.

  He was already looking at me, as if waiting for me to meet his gaze.

  “Oh!” he said, his eyes sparkling. “While we’re on the topic, Weston…have you told Sabrina about the party on Saturday?”

  Then we’d both play this game—talking about one another as if the other weren’t present.

  “No,” Weston said flatly. “I didn’t think that her attendance was necessary.”