The Dirty Series: The Complete Bad Boy Billionaire Boxed Set

by Amelia Wilde

  Even Cecily seems to think I’m cracking up. Maybe I am.

  “I need you to cancel the meetings. Any meetings that I have today. Reschedule them for next week. All of my commitments are in the calendar. And I’m going to need an away message.”

  “Of course, Mr. Kingsley. Is there anything else?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  She nods, stepping back out into the hall.

  I take my phone off the surface of the desk and send a hasty text to Noah, who responds with his characteristic On the way, boss. The car will be at the curb when I get downstairs.

  “Mr. Kingsley?” Cecily is back at the door, rapping gently at the doorframe.

  “Yes?”

  She has a little smile on her face, and it makes me wonder how much the secretaries here just know.

  “Whatever you’re doing…good luck.”

  I’m sure as hell going to need it.

  Noah shuts the door behind me after I slide into the backseat of the Bentley, scrolling through my phone even though all I can think of to do is text Carolyn.

  And I don’t want to text her.

  Even in my most desperate hour, I don’t want to start with a pathetic text message begging her for her current location so I can throw myself at her feet.

  Not literally.

  Maybe fucking literally, if that’s what it takes.

  Noah pulls his own door shut behind him and turns around, throwing his arm over the back of the seat.

  “Where to, boss?”

  “Boss,” I say, under my breath. “How many times—” That shit doesn’t matter at all. Noah grins at me, eyes shining. I’m not in the habit of leaving in the middle of the workday, and he knows it.

  “Who are we looking for, boss?” I can tell he’s trying to stifle a laugh, so I look at him with narrowed eyes.

  “How do you know we’re looking for someone?”

  “You’ve been staring out the window all week, mooning about Carolyn. Any idiot can tell you miss the hell out of her. So where is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You know.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Text her, then.”

  “No.”

  Noah rolls his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, then gives me a look that I would never tolerate if he weren’t such a close friend.

  “Fine. Where do you think she might be?”

  It’s hard to think straight because I’m so fucking wrapped up in what I have to do.

  “She’s probably at the boutique.”

  “That store she owns? Couple blocks away?”

  “How do you know that?”

  Another look.

  Noah turns around and peers into the sideview mirror, then steers the car back into traffic.

  “Wait.”

  “I’m taking you to that store, boss. If you sulk for another week I’m going to lose my damn mind, and so is everyone else.”

  “There’s something else I need to do first.”

  The idea comes to me in a painful flash, but it makes such complete and total sense that once my mind works out the logistics, there’s no way I can’t follow through.

  Carolyn will know my apology is absolutely sincere. She’ll have no choice but to believe me.

  And even if she chooses not to, I’ll move on with my life knowing that I did everything possible to win her back, up to and including baring all the details of the worst parts of my past. Every little thing.

  If she wants to know about me, she can.

  I love her too much to live any other way.

  I love her too fucking much.

  My heart throbs with it, aches with it, until I think it might burst.

  I have to get to her.

  “Safe deposit box,” I say to Noah the next time I can get a breath.

  This is in motion now, and I’m not going to stop until I find her.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Carolyn

  Scott Richards, my financial manager, purses his lips and looks across the desk at me.

  He’s not my favorite person in the world, but he’s been adept at managing my money all these years, so I’ve been able to forgive him for his occasional older man bullshit.

  Right now, unfortunately, it’s in full force.

  “Ms. Banks, I’m just not entirely convinced that selling this asset would be in your best financial interests.”

  “Why not, Scott?”

  He taps his fingers together in front of his chest like the banker in Monopoly and takes in a breath through his nose. “When we originally purchased the storefront, it was worth far less. Your renovations, and increased traffic over the past year, have increased its worth considerably. I can only expect that to continue. Selling now could lose you millions in future profit.”

  The word “profit” reminds me of the millions I’ve made off of Ace, and it turns my stomach. Scott Richards never blinked an eye at that source of revenue, and—it just now occurs to me—that may be because he’s a member of the website himself.

  Was. Was a member of the website. Right now, as I sit across the desk from Scott Richards, in the strange and stupid position of having to convince him to do what I want with the properties I own, my technical team is dismantling the website, downloading the data onto a secure drive that will be stored in a safe deposit box that only I can access, and securing the domain name and all related domain names for the foreseeable future.

  Rainflower Blue went offline at ten forty-three this morning. I know, because that’s the exact time I watched the tech team take the site down. A man with a goatee—I can’t remember his name—turned to me and smiled. “We can still reverse it, if you want.”

  I’d shaken my head. “Not a chance.”

  “What if I don’t care about millions in future profit? What if I just want to offload the property?”

  Scott spreads his hands. “It is your property, Ms. Banks. I would be remiss as your financial adviser if I didn’t inform you that it might be a misstep.”

  “Then what would you suggest?”

  “Close the boutique if you’d like, but we can carefully select a tenant so that you’ve got some return on your investment.” He opens his mouth, like he’s going to tell me one more time that it would be unwise to get rid of the property at this juncture, but then closes it.

  I lean back in my seat.

  “You know what, Scott? I appreciate the advice.” I chew on the inside of my lip. An idea is forming, another in the crashing ocean of thoughts sweeping back and forth in my mind. “The reason I want to sell off the property is because I’m thinking of relocating.”

  The instant the words are out of my mouth, I know it’s the right decision.

  Whether all of this ends with Ace by my side or not, I have to get out of New York City.

  Scott does a double-take. “Ms. Banks, are you entirely sure?”

  “Yes,” I say, my tone broaching no argument. “I’ve become too wrapped up in this city and its…dramas.” I find myself about to say “rumors” but stop short just in time. “It’s time to move on.” The more I say, the truer this becomes. The idea is a spark in my chest. The more I think about it, the more it grows.

  Scott’s eyebrows are so high they’re practically disappearing in his hairline, and his mouth works. How many words can he possible need to search for? “Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know yet,” I say with a smile and a little shrug. “Seattle? London? I could go wherever I wanted.”

  “That—that’s certainly true, Ms. Banks.” He blinks at me, no doubt wondering if I’ll keep him on as my financial adviser if I leave New York City. My account is probably one of his largest. Before he can launch into an attempt to pry that information out of me, I shift in my seat and put one hand on the desk, tapping my fingers lightly on the surface.

  Maybe Scott does have a point. I might want to keep the storefront in my possession until I decide where I’m going.

  Even a move
of this caliber shouldn’t put too much of a dent in my trust fund, but until I’m absolutely sure, it’ll be nice to have an excuse to come back to the city if I need to.

  What am I saying? I don’t need an excuse to come back here. All of that is secondary.

  It’s possible that even Ace is secondary.

  My heart twists at the thought, and I know it isn’t true. No. Ace affects everything. My entire world hinges on whether he’s going to forgive me or not.

  Without him, it doesn’t even feel like the earth is spinning on its axis. It’s impossible, ridiculous, I know, but that’s exactly how I feel.

  That’s why all of this—the boutique, the apartment—it doesn’t matter so much.

  I stand up abruptly. “Scott, I’m going to need you to get in contact with my real estate manager. Do you think, between the two of you, you could work out how much I could expect to get from the sale of the storefront?”

  “Ms. Banks….”

  “And my apartment?”

  His mouth drops open.

  “And the backup property on the Upper East Side.”

  Scott has gone beet red, but he stands up and offers his hand to shake. If I know him, his mind is already whirling, trying to figure out what number he can come up with that will dissuade me from selling everything I own and moving out of the city.

  It makes no difference to me.

  The website is being destroyed even as I stand here, and if I’m going to get the hell out of here, I’m going to have to start right now.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Ace

  Carolyn isn’t at the boutique.

  The girl at the counter, Natalie, who blushed when she saw me come into the store and turned an even deeper shade of red when I approached the counter, told me that Carolyn had been gone since yesterday and hadn’t given a reason.

  “She sounded…tired?” she said, her hands going to the hem of her shirt, tugging at it just slightly. “Maybe she had a wild night out. I don’t know.”

  “Thank you, Natalie,” I said with half a smile, my heart skipping a beat. God forbid she had a wild night with some other man and decided that he was infinitely better than me.

  It’s a possibility, I guess.

  She’s not at her apartment either, the folder from the safe deposit box clenched in my hands. I’ve been standing outside the door for fifteen minutes, knocking and calling her name, and I must look like a complete jackass. I’m surprised nobody has come to try to stop me. Not that they’ll be able to even if they do try.

  I turn around and lean against the door, putting a hand to my forehead. Where the fuck could she possibly be?

  If she’s not at work and she’s not at home, I have no idea. I doubt she’s at the Swan in the middle of the afternoon. I could try there next, but I have almost no hope of finding her there.

  I text Noah.

  She’s not here.

  Where to next?

  Even Noah has realized how deadly serious this is.

  I have no fucking idea.

  I have to find her, but I don’t know how. I could call some of the people from my security team, but it will take hours to comb the city and be far more creepy than driving around and looking for her myself. Carolyn hasn’t given me much information about other places that she frequents, other than a couple of restaurants, and I’ve already gone there.

  I already look like a crazy fucking stalker. It’s been more than enough for one day.

  But I can’t give up.

  I open her contact on my phone, my thumb hovering over the button that would open a text message.

  I didn’t want to resort to this. I wanted to find her, surprise her, show her that I would go to any lengths to let her know how I feel.

  I don’t think I have any other options.

  I swallow the hard lump of my pride. That’s what this means, then. If I’d go to any lengths, then here I am. At the end of the line.

  It was pride that tore me apart from her in the first place. It’s my own damn fault that I wasn’t willing to listen to her, to see her side of the story. All I cared about was that she was snooping—and not even that. That she might find out the details of my past that I’d rather forget, and then she would know that someone out there managed to threaten Ace Kingsley. And almost managed to get away with it entirely. If it weren’t for a few upstanding men in the Italian justice system, I might be rotting away in one of their prisons right now, my fortune collecting interest and me without the slightest ability to use it to save myself.

  I stand there for another five minutes trying to craft a text message that will make her want to see me again.

  I’m sorry, I start out. I should have listened to your side of the story.

  I delete the entire thing and start over.

  I shouldn’t have done what I did.

  No. This sounds like I’m admitting to the murder, which would be a damn fool thing to even begin to suggest, even by accident.

  Please come back to me. I can’t live without you.

  I might be desperate, but even now, I can’t bring myself to send that in a message. It’s the unembellished truth, but if I’m going to say this to Carolyn, I’m going to say it to her face.

  I open up another message, and I very nearly text Noah, asking him what to say.

  No!

  I run a hand through my hair again and take a deep breath. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m in love with a woman, but that doesn’t have to shatter me.

  If she walks away for good, yes, that might destroy me. But not forever.

  Just send the text, Kingsley.

  I tap out the words and send them before I have another moment to second guess myself yet again.

  I’d really like to talk to you. Will you be home soon?

  It has far less of a stalker vibe than several of the other messages I considered, even though at this point I’m almost totally unconcerned with seeming overzealous. I just have to see her.

  What if she doesn’t want to see you?

  I dismiss the thought the moment it enters my mind. It’s too horrible to consider, that I might have spent the day trying to find the woman I love only to be dismissed at her doorstep.

  Speaking of, I should probably get the hell away from her doorway. If she’s not at home—which she almost certainly is not, unless she’s had the strength of will to ignore me knocking for the last twenty minutes—then eventually she’s going to return, and it’s not exactly the most attractive place to be, hovering outside her door, waiting like a lovesick puppy.

  You might as well be a lovesick puppy.

  True or not, I wrench myself away from the door and head for the elevator.

  Step one: I need to tell Noah to keep an eye out for Carolyn and let me know when she’s back in the building. That way, I’ll know if she’s decided not to see me. Step two: Go back to the penthouse and wait to see if she’s going to have me or not.

  The elevator door opens and I step on.

  This is going to be the longest wait of my life.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Carolyn

  My financial manager and realtor cannot come to a consensus about what the right thing to do is in my situation. The realtor, Angie, thinks that I could make an absolute killing on the sale of the apartment and the storefront. Of course, if I make a killing, her cut will be substantial.

  Meanwhile, Scott Richards is still arguing in favor of, as he calls it, “maintaining my assets” even if I decide to leave the city.

  “It makes the most financial sense in the long run,” he’s telling her over the phone when my cab pulls up to the curb outside my building. There’s a strange energy coursing through me that I’m absolutely going to take advantage of, and right now. My first call when I get upstairs is going to be to one of the personal assistants I share with a couple of friends, and I’m going to ask her to bring as many packing boxes as she can carry up to my apartment.

  A moving company will do the bulk of
the work, of course, but it’s been a long time since I moved anywhere for a substantial period of time. Since…since college, really, which is bordering on eight years ago now.

  “Damn,” I whisper under my breath as I slide my card into the cab’s reader to pay the fare.

  “Ms. Banks?”

  “Not you, Scott. I was just…thinking of something else.”

  “As I was saying, I simply can’t recommend a sale of your properties at this time, although the values have, of course, increased substantially since the time of your purchase. There’s no arguing that. But I hope to impress upon you that—”

  “Thank you so much, Scott.” Sometimes, interrupting him is literally the only way to end the conversation. I can tell he’s feeling very passionate about keeping me—and my assets—in New York. “Thank you,” I repeat to the cab driver, who gives me a friendly wave and a smile just before I close the door to the car. That has to be a good sign.

  “Scott? I’ll get back with you before the close of business on Monday with my final decision. I really appreciate all your input.”

  There’s a moment of silence, and then he says, “Of course, Ms. Banks. Pleasure speaking with you, as always.”

  As soon as I end the call, my phone rings again.

  Angie.

  “Hi, Angie.” I pause on the sidewalk in front of the building, tilting my face up into the September sun. Once I go inside, I’m going to lose myself in packing up the most important of my possessions, and by the time that’s finished, it’ll be dark out.

  “Carolyn! I have to tell you, I think this is an absolutely wonderful time to list your properties. I have a number of connections who have expressed interested in similar properties in the last few months, so I’m confident we can negotiate a sale as soon as you’re ready.”

  “That’s good to hear, Angie.” I want to tell her to list it, list everything, but the words stick in my throat. Why is this so damn difficult? When it first came to me in Scott’s office, it seemed like a sure thing. A new place. A new life. With Ace or without him.