You Can Have Manhattan

by P. Dangelico

  “Hi,” he said, tried for a smile and gave up when he saw my reaction or lack thereof.

  “Hello.”

  Well, this was awkward. I rubbed the goose bumps on my arms, unsure whether they were caused by the bitter cold or by the way he was looking at me. His blue eyes roamed with abandon from my hair to the dark painted toes poking out from under my dress. It made me feel seen, exposed. Like he was slowly peeling away my armor, trying to get past my defenses. As if I would ever allow that to happen again.

  “You look…” A gust of breath, an expression of near defeat on his face. A genuine one. “Beautiful.”

  Then I remembered that my husband was a con artist. “Let’s get this over with so you can go back home.”

  Opening the back door, Scott helped me in and followed.

  “You’re still mad.” Gazing ahead with a sulky frown, he was devastatingly handsome, I begrudgingly had to admit. So I locked it down, kept my eyes trained ahead, and tried not to look at him unless absolutely necessary because this jackass and his drop-dead sensuality made a woman forget to protect herself. And now that I knew what it was like to kiss him, feel him, I was smart enough to know I was in twice as much danger.

  “No…not anymore.” I shrugged, blasé as all get out even though I didn’t feel blasé in the least. What I felt was a heaping portion of disappointment. I’d get over it, though, just like I got over everything else. “You’re not used to being inconvenienced. I get it. It was asking too much to hope you’d changed––”

  “I have changed…look, Syd––”

  I almost snorted. God help me, I was close. Moreover, he sounded genuinely offended which aggravated me further. “Growing a beard and shedding a few pounds does not constitute character growth, Scott,” I cut him off before more BS could spill out of his mouth. “But whatever. It’s fine. You do you.”

  The car pulled up to the New York Public Library, Patience and Fortitude (something I lacked at the moment), the two lion statues, watching over it. A long string of limos and Town cars filed in behind ours. Not waiting for the driver to come around, Scott jumped out first and offered me a hand. Then he threw his arm around my neck and tucked me as close as two people could be while fully clothed.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I tried to nail him in the ribs with an elbow, but the snake adroitly grasped and pinned my arm between us.

  “Acting like a man in love, Sunshine.”

  “Save the pet names for your women.”

  His mouth dipped close to my ear, the brush of his lips making my pulse race. “I don’t have women. I have one woman––an angry little wife. And this one’s just for you. Now be a good girl. We have a show to put on.”

  Scott

  My wife hated me. Which was a real bummer because I was starting to really like her. Leaning against a column, hiding away from critical stares of my parents’ friends and business acquaintances, I nursed my whiskey.

  Across the room, Sydney was talking to Devyn and my brother-in-law, John, who had flown in from California for this godforsaken dog and pony act. The booze was top shelf, the food was five-star rated, and the flower arrangements ostentatious––rare out-of-season blooms pouring out of every available crack and crevice. This party had my father’s fingerprints all over it.

  Speaking of the man, he was seated at a main table up front with a bunch of his cronies congregated around him. He looked a little worse for wear, which worried me, but I dared not bring up the subject. Dad detested any sign of weakness and would deny anything was wrong anyway.

  I watched Damon Hastings approach Sydney and pull her aside. I didn’t like the way Hastings was looking at her. Like Sydney was chum and he smelled blood in the water. If he so much as moved a hair follicle closer to her, I was going to get up close and personal with the son of a bitch and make it clear he needed to go hunt in different waters.

  “Hiding?” a voice called out from somewhere behind me, one that had the magic power to make my nuts crawl back into my body. I’d succeeded in avoiding any unpleasantness from my past all night. Unfortunately, it had finally caught up to me.

  Meghan looking almost exactly the same as she did the last time I’d seen her eight years ago. Her long chestnut hair swept to the side and draped over her shoulder. Her dark eyes smokey. Her pupils as big as nickels. Yeah, exactly the same.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Your sister and my husband went to business school together. They’re friends.” She sipped her champagne.

  “Consider yourself disinvited to any future Blackstone events.”

  “Eight years and you’re still a prick.”

  I turned to face her because I didn’t need anyone to overhear what I needed to say to her. “What do you want, Meghan?”

  “I want you to stop blaming me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I blame you? What you did––” My words fell away when I noticed my voice getting louder. Shaking my head, I turned back around and swallowed the urge to verbally eviscerate her. I wouldn’t be goaded into making a scene that would embarrass Sydney.

  After all these years, the anger and resentment was still there. This city did that to me: brought them up, opened old wounds and made them feel fresh again. I hated Manhattan. It reeked of dissipation to me, reminded me of all the promises I’d broken and bad choices I’d made. Of my past, of the man I was, the man I wanted to forget I’d been.

  Sydney stood in the middle of the crowded room watching us with a frosty expression, Hastings still by her side. I’d left her alone tonight, and maybe I shouldn’t have. I still owed her an apology. She’d shut me down in the car and I didn’t push it, didn’t want to upset her right before the party, but it still had to be done.

  “How long before she figures out what a selfish asshole you are? You think getting married is going to make anyone believe you’ve changed?” She smirked. “Not likely, Satan. Probably not ever.”

  Bile rose up my throat as I watched her walk away, back to the poor son of a bitch who had married her. Pushing off the marble column, I headed across the room. Sydney stood next to her assistant and a tall Asian guy with tattoos on his neck barely hidden under a royal blue suit that looked straight off the runway. Our eyes met and she turned her back to me, exposing an abundance of naked flesh from the waist up. I nearly ran face-first into a group of people. It brought a smile to my face. As much as she fought it, the ice princess had a thing for me. Good. Because I had a thing for her too.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sydney

  A heavy arm landed around my shoulders. Scott pulled me close while I pushed him away, struggling to put space between us. Eventually, I had to give up or risk making a scene.

  “Miller, right?” Scott said, thrusting out a hand. “Good to see you again.”

  “Really?” Miller said, tone dry, expression more than a lot suspicious. Meanwhile, I chewed on my bottom lip to school a smile. Last thing I wanted to do was encourage Scott to do…whatever he was doing.

  “Yes, really.” Scott’s outstretched hand shifted to Paul who stood next to Miller. “Scott Blackstone, Sydney’s husband.”

  Miller’s hazel eyes narrowed as he scrutinized my husband. He wasn’t buying the husband-of-the-year act for a minute and looked like he was seconds from calling Scott out. I shot him a don’t even think about it glare. Every member of the board of directors was here and watching us closely. Meanwhile, Paul smiled, amused by Scott.

  “Paul Smith, Miller’s husband.” Paul shook his hand.

  “You guys mind if I steal my wife away?” It wasn’t a question. Scott intended to do whatever the hell he wanted (as he always did) and we all knew it. “We have something to discuss.”

  “We have nothing to discuss.”

  “Of course we do, Sunshine. Like…what the names of our five little Blackstones will be. I’m drawing the line at Thanos, so don’t get any ideas.”

  Obligatory eye roll coming. And yet if I wasn’t still smarting from his
mistreatment of me, I’d probably be hiding a conspiratorial smile. “You’re in luck then because there won’t be any little Blackstones––”

  “Fine. Evans-Blackstones. You feminists and your labels.” He smiled, one of his pregnancy-inducing, dimpled ones, and I’m sorry to say that I succumbed like all the rest. I felt it between my legs and just about everywhere else, which then earned him a jab to the ribs. The grunt that came out of him was equally satisfying.

  “Nice to meet you, Paul. Excuse us, guys,” Scott said as he began to tug me away.

  “Only if you return her unharmed,” Miller shot back, all pretense of humor gone.

  It sucked all the fun out of the last exchange. I watched Scott sober immediately, his face shifting to his customary default neutral. “Promise,” he replied, as serious as I’d ever heard him sound. Then he guided me away.

  “Ladies and gentlemen––” Frank’s voice rose over the din of the crowd, the sound resonating against the marble walls, the shrill of an amplifier at the tail end of it. The announcement stopped us in our tracks.

  Standing in the middle of the dance floor in a crisp tux, holding a mic in one hand and the opposite arm wrapped around Marjorie’s slender shoulders, Frank looked larger than life––like the magnate he was.

  “Thank you all for coming to help celebrate something I never thought to witness in my lifetime…my impending retirement.” Chuckles from the gallery. “Oh, and some of you may have heard that my son’s a married man.” The band hit the punchline with a drum roll and Frank smiled broadly. “He married one of my favorite people in the world.” Gaze searching, the crowd parted and he found me. Our eyes locked. That’s when I understood what he was silently imploring…you promised. He raised his champagne flute and nodded.

  “Raise your glasses, folks. I paid a mint for the Cristal so let’s not let it go to waste…” Everyone obediently acted in accordance. “To Scott and Sydney.”

  “To Scott and Sydney,” all three hundred (give or take) people in attendance joined in. Everyone other than me and Scott.

  “May you have as happy a marriage as Midge and I have had.”

  I felt like a fraud, my conscience dragging me down, and gave Frank a wobbly smile. I could feel Scott’s attention on me, searing the side of my face, and glanced up to find a speculative look on his. I was the last person on the planet to get weepy and right now I was near to crying, something I hadn’t done in decades. Over a fake marriage I wanted less and less to be a part of? It didn’t take a genius to sense that something felt seriously off. It wasn’t adding up for him and I could see he was working hard to figure it out. It was only a matter of time before he did.

  “Thank you for forty-five wonderful years, Midge,” Frank continued. “They’ve gone by way too quickly, haven’t they?” He glanced at Marjorie and kissed her briefly on the lips. And in turn, Marjorie wiped her own tears away.

  “Kiss!” someone in the crowd yelled.

  The spotlight fell on me and Scott. Caught in the collective stares of all three hundred people, we looked at each other knowing there was no escape.

  “Steer clear of the family jewels,” he murmured close to my ear, a sneaky smile parting his freshly shaved face, dimples showing. “Can’t have a bunch of little Blackstones if you maim me.”

  “There won’t be any little Blackstones––” I hissed behind a cemented smile. People were watching and I was forced to give them the show they expected. He tipped his head slowly giving me time to stop him if I wanted to, but I didn’t. It was exhausting, fighting this beast of an attraction between us. And I was done trying. This time the kiss was everything a kiss should be. Sensual, possessive, drawing me deeper and deeper until the edges started to blur, and we got lost in the moment. This thing between us was irrational and without a doubt doomed to end badly, and yet there was no reasoning with chemistry. It either created an explosion, or it fizzled. The problem with explosions is that they tend to leave destruction in their wake.

  Whistles and shouts broke the spell, driving us apart. I tried to gently extricate my hand from Scott’s, but he had no intention of letting go and I couldn’t very well make a fuss with a majority of the board of directors watching us.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered under his breath. Saluting the crowd in a patronizing gesture, he pulled me in the direction of the stairs.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To settle a score.”

  Scott

  “Where are you taking me?” she demanded to know.

  I’d been craving Sydney’s mouth the moment she’d left Wyoming. Her mouth and, well, frankly, everything else. Kissing her again only supercharged this driving hunger I’d developed since that day in the bathroom. Which sucked because I was pretty certain it was not reciprocated.

  Pulling away far enough to look into her eyes, I’d murmured, “One more. And try to act like you’re enjoying yourself this time,” knowing I was playing with fire and that it was only a matter of time before she got fed up and delivered swift physical retribution. Which I more than deserved.

  But then I’d caught it, the momentary loss of control over the emotions she held in check with a steel grip. There was a lot going on in that big brain of hers. Reluctance, desire, pride. You name it and I watched it flash across her face. Then worry joined the rest, and my chest got tight and guilt made me look away. She’d thought I was playing her again.

  “Somewhere private.” I led her down the marble stairwell of the library and found an alcove out of the direct line of sight of guests coming and going, shielded her body with mine.

  “Enough, Scott. I’m tired and I want to go home.”

  Her voice was quiet, subdued. I almost wished she’d give me some attitude, even her ice princess impression would’ve made this apology easier. Straightening, I shoved my hands in my pockets.

  “I owe you an apology…for what happened back in Wyoming.” I could probably count on one hand the times I’d apologized to anyone in my entire life and this was proving even more difficult than I’d anticipated. Her non-reaction compelled me to continue. “But you had to know what was coming––”

  “Excuse me?” she jumped in, her face blanketed with confusion.

  “You blackmailed a man you barely knew into marriage. How did you think it was gonna go?”

  Her face twitched almost imperceptibly. You wouldn’t have caught it if you didn’t know to look for it. But I did. I knew every slight nuance of her expressions now.

  “This is you trying to apologize? Is that what you think you’re doing?”

  I was about to explain it to her when she swapped her favorite neutral expression for an indignant one. “You know what your problem is, Scott––you’re a rich asshole who’s always gotten his way. Money has bought you a free pass your entire life, and for the first time it’s cost you.”

  I scoffed, almost laughing at the hypocrisy. “You’re lecturing me about money? You––Miss Junior League––lecturing me about privilege?”

  “You don’t know anything about me.” She was getting the wrinkle between her blonde brows, the one I’d learned meant she was gearing up for a fight.

  “I know you enough.”

  Then it hit me. Belatedly, it occurred to me that she hadn’t introduced me to anyone. The room behind us was filled with my father’s people. My family, friends, and acquaintances. Where were hers? “Where’s your family? Why didn’t they come tonight?”

  “I don’t…” She looked off for a moment, huffed, retuned with a glare. “Why do you care?”

  “Call me curious.”

  “I don’t have any family, Curious.”

  Under normal circumstances I would’ve laughed. Mrs. Blackstone had a sharp sense of humor and the willingness to wield it as a weapon. But these were not normal circumstances. And, more importantly, I was getting a strong sense that the shit was about to hit the fan and end up all over me.

  “You don’t have family?” I couldn’t have hear
d her right. She had to have family, a big white one. Presumably living in Old Greenwich or Darien and they all spoke with lock jaw and vacationed in Martha’s Vineyard on their sailboats. The ice princess an orphan? Nah, not possible. Those two things did not jive.

  She exhaled like she was growing tired of me. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it and if I was a betting man, which I was, I’d say it wouldn’t be the last either.

  “What about friends? I wasn’t introduced to any of them.”

  “Yes, you were,” she replied, subdued once again and standing absolutely motionless. I didn’t like it. What I liked even less was the sinking feeling in my gut. An ominous indication that somewhere along the way I’d fucked up again.

  “No, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t. I was introduced to your assistant and his husband…” My voice faded as the pieces of the puzzle came together and the answer punched me in the sternum. “He’s your assistant, Sydney.”

  “He’s also my friend. Are we done with the inquisition? Because I’d like to go home now. Thanks for the apology, by the way. I’ll treasure it forever.”

  I was speechless. She’d robbed me of all my words. She’d also managed to make a liar, a fool, and a bully out of me. Not gonna lie, it was a personal low. I couldn’t seem to do anything right by this woman. In stunned silence, I stepped back, and Sydney didn’t waste any time putting as much distance between us as possible. I watched as she marched down the stairs with her head held high and her steel spine perfectly straight.

  Ten minutes later, in shock and off-kilter, I walked down the same library steps. As soon as I hit the sidewalk, I turned left and headed uptown. In the skyline I could see the Blackstone Building, better known as the Death Star in the family. My large loving family. With all our faults, we were tight. We were there for each other. If I started with the basic assumption that Sydney and I were strangers, I’d have to admit that I knew nothing about her. Only what I’d presumed to know, which was turning out to be off the mark by a mile.