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  “You look better than appropriate,” he added.

  “Was that a genuine compliment from Mr. Grumpy Pants?” She pressed a hand to her chest in mock horror. “Now, where are you hiding the real Reed McMahon?”

  He looked straight ahead as they walked toward Forty-Second Street. Keeping his eye on the prize was his motto for the day. Secure the client and his job. After that, he could worry about his annoying attraction to Darcy and the ongoing issues with both his father and Bad Bachelors.

  Christ. He needed a vacation.

  “No response, huh? Is that question not in your database?” She poked him.

  “Are you implying I’m a cyborg?”

  “It would explain your ability to detach.”

  His gaze flicked over her as they rounded a corner, dodging a group of men in suits who appeared to be returning from a boozy lunch. He slipped his hand around Darcy’s shoulders and steered her out of the way of their leering glances.

  “Is that because I didn’t serenade you before I left your place last week?” The words came out with a little more sting than he’d intended. “Sorry, that’s not my style.”

  “Not your type, not your style.” She huffed. “Do you ever think about what the other person might want?”

  Oh, he’d thought about it all right. It’d been two whole days and he couldn’t seem to get the words no one to stop echoing in his head. And now she was going to give him a hard time for being detached?

  “And what kind of reaction are you wanting or expecting from someone who is ‘no one’?” He all but growled the words.

  “So that’s why you didn’t return my calls?”

  “I called yesterday.”

  “To arrange a meeting, Reed. That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  This was why he didn’t do relationships. What started off fun and sexy inevitably turned to sniping and taking not-so-subtle shots. That much he remembered about his mother and father from the early days. Then, when carefully worded digs were no longer effective, it turned to out-and-out verbal warfare.

  He remembered sitting with his back pressed against the living room wall, listening to his mother and father fight. Back then he hadn’t known what the word whore meant, but later on, the pieces fell into place. His mother had lots of boyfriends and that wasn’t allowed when you were married.

  “Then what are you talking about, Darcy? Because I don’t remember us exchanging promise rings or any bullshit like that.” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. “And you certainly didn’t act like I meant anything when you were trying to avoid me meeting your friends. So I really don’t understand what’s gotten you so pissy.”

  “You weren’t supposed to hear that,” she said, her voice softer.

  That only made it worse, because it proved Darcy was like the other women he’d dated who said one thing and meant something else. For some unknown reason that realization made him want to stalk off in the other direction.

  Why? You never wanted it to be anything serious and neither did she. So why are you both acting like fucking crybabies?

  He couldn’t deal with this right now. If he wanted drama in his life, then he’d go back to the office and have a chat with Donald Bath. He needed Darcy to play her role and help him hook Dave Bretton. Once the fundraiser was done, they would be done.

  The thought didn’t reassure him the way he’d hoped.

  “For the record, it’s not the reason I never called,” he said as they approached the restaurant where they were meeting Dave and his agent. “I’ve had a shit storm of things to deal with and my mind has been preoccupied.”

  “Right.” She didn’t look at him, her blue eyes fixed on something farther down the street.

  She wasn’t going to buy his noncommittal explanation; that much was obvious. “Dad’s been giving me grief. Turns out he paid the replacement caretaker to leave him alone and no one had checked in on him for days, but Donna didn’t know.”

  “Oh.” She tilted her head. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I don’t want to talk about it, but I got the impression you wouldn’t be satisfied with my vague response.”

  A sheepish smile played on her lips. “That obvious, huh? I thought you were just saying that to shut me up.”

  “I was.” He pressed his hand to her lower back. “Come on. We have an author’s ego to stroke.”

  * * *

  Darcy caught a glimpse of their reflection in a large mirror that hung in the restaurant’s reception area. They could have been any high-powered couple—matching black outfits, him in a custom suit and bloodred tie, her in a blouse and minimal makeup.

  They’d walked past the name of this place—Gabriel Kreuther—on the way in. So it was another one of those difficult-to-pronounce places, no doubt Michelin starred, for lunch.

  When Reed had texted her the meeting details, he’d specifically pointed out that the dress code was “smart casual, no denim.” Darcy had been tempted to text him back a picture of her giving the middle finger. Though his method had been subtler, the request wasn’t any better than the comments her mother made about her appearance.

  But now that they were in the restaurant, her resentment faded. This place was fancy with a capital F. White linen; plush, patterned carpet that would look at home in Buckingham Palace; floral wallpaper; and a clientele that looked as though they would turn their nose up at anything that wasn’t caviar infused. The whole place had an air of crazy, rich, old aunt about it.

  She should have swung past her tattoo artist on the way over so he could write I don’t belong in the center of her forehead.

  But this was Reed’s world. Well, the Reed she knew from before the baseball game. The Mets hoodie–wearing Reed was someone else. Someone who opened up about his past, who came to her house and gave her the most amazing orgasms she’d ever had in her life. That was the Reed she’d hoped she’d see today.

  But she’d slapped that Reed in the face by calling him no one. She cringed.

  The maître d’ stopped in front of a table in the back corner, where two men were waiting. She recognized Dave Bretton instantly—she’d thought him attractive once, with all his wavy, dark hair and chiseled features. But next to Reed he looked like a poor imitation of the original piece of art. A cheap knockoff.

  “It’s an absolute pleasure, Mr. Bretton. Thanks for having me along to your meeting.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m a huge fan.”

  Over the course of the next hour and a lot of weird food, including foie gras—she still wasn’t certain from which animal it originated—she proceeded to watch Dave and Reed act like a couple of gorillas beating their chests for male superiority. No wonder the first meeting hadn’t gone very well. Dave had an ego that filled the space around them like a noxious gas. He enjoyed talking about himself and diverting any thread of conversation away from business and back to his own life.

  “The fundraiser is the perfect opportunity for you to start rebuilding your profile in the industry. We’ll use it to replace the negative news articles with positive ones, and get people excited for the new book.” Reed sipped his water. “The charity event will expose you to a lot of important people and, of course, we’ll have press there.”

  “Reed, what you don’t seem to understand is that I am the important people,” Dave said.

  Darcy’s eyebrows rose in automatic disbelief, but she covered it by reaching for a napkin to dab her mouth. Oh boy. Reed’s patience was starting to thin—the muscle in his jaw was ticking and there was a vein pulsing in his neck that made it look as though he was about to lose it.

  “We’re going to have our full library staff at the event,” Darcy said, pressing her hand to his thigh under the table, silently asking for him to give her a shot. “I know they love your work as much as I do. It would be a tremendous honor to have someone of your caliber
at our event. We’ll be the envy of all the other libraries.”

  “Well,” Dave said, shifting his gaze back to her. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint the fans.”

  “Reed has done a great job creating a guest list of people that will really help our library to thrive with their generous donations,” she added. “But you would be a huge draw. If there’s any way you could help us by coming along, we would be forever in your debt.”

  “And we can parlay this event into a broader PR plan specifically designed to promote not only your successful works, but also you as an industry leader,” Reed said. He squeezed Darcy’s hand under the table.

  “I think that sounds fantastic.” Dave’s agent, Mike something, nodded enthusiastically. “I know the publisher will be thrilled, and that’s excellent timing as we’re about to go into negotiations for a film deal.”

  “Really?” Darcy didn’t have to feign excitement that time. “I’ve been hoping that they’d make the Martin Pollinger Chronicles into a movie for years. You’ll be making the fans very happy.”

  “Fine.” Dave threw his hands up in the air. “I’ll do it. Can we quit with the business talk now? I want another drink.”

  “Darcy and I should head back to the office, but I’ll send the waiter over to take your order.” He pushed back his chair and stuck his hand out. “Of course, lunch is on me.”

  “Damn straight.” Dave reluctantly grasped his hand.

  “I’ll have my assistant draft up a contract for you to sign and we’ll get the event details to you both as soon as possible.”

  Darcy shook Dave’s hand and tried not to squirm when he turned his wrist so that he could kiss her knuckles. She was grateful she’d already finished his book, because something told her she might not be able to pick up another one of his stories without feeling a little slimy.

  “How did I do?” she asked as they walked through the restaurant.

  “Brilliant. I don’t know where all that gushing came from, but I’m not going to question it.” He held the door for her as they exited.

  “To be honest, I feel dirty.” She frowned.

  “Welcome to my world,” he quipped.

  “The sad thing is, I love his books. You really should read them. They’re a lot of fun.”

  Reed looked past her. “I don’t read fiction.”

  She blinked. “Like, at all?” What the hell was the point of living without books? That was not a world she wanted to be part of.

  The afternoon had grown warm, and the further into summer they ventured, the stickier it was getting. Even Reed, who seemed perpetually cool despite the weather, shucked his jacket.

  “I’ve got to head back and get a contract drafted to make Bretton an official client,” he said, ignoring her question. “The event is mostly done, but I’ll have my team confirm the last details. I would suggest you get the library staff to read at least one of his books each, because the last thing we need on the day is for him to get pissy.”

  “Duly noted.” She bobbed her head. “But I was hoping we could talk.”

  About what? There’s nothing to say. If you want closure on a one-night stand, you picked the wrong guy.

  Reed’s wary gaze swept over her. “Let’s grab a drink tomorrow after work. We can talk then.”

  “Okay. Sure.” She nodded.

  “I’ll come by the library when I’m finished with work.” He touched her shoulder but the gesture felt stilted and uncertain.

  “Any dress code this time?” she said, hoping she sounded as light and unaffected as she wanted to.

  His lip quirked, but it didn’t turn into a smile. “Just be you, Darcy.”

  * * *

  The following day, Reed stared out the window of his thirty-sixth-floor office. When he was younger, he used to imagine he could cut the other buildings in half to see what was going on inside. The first time he’d even set foot into this office, it had been to vacuum the floors.

  Not many people knew he’d started out as a janitor, just like his dad. And it wasn’t something he liked to talk about either. Edward Weston had hired him out of pity after meeting him at a career fair held by Reed’s high school. They’d been stuck together after the fair closed, Reed waiting for his detention to begin and Edward waiting for his driver.

  What an odd pair they’d made. Edward had asked him what he wanted to do with his life and Reed, the smart-ass, had answered that he’d probably end up like his father—poor and alone.

  Edward had offered him a job on the spot, with one condition: Reed had to stay in school. So he did. He stayed in school and cleaned the offices three days a week, trekking in and out of Manhattan on the subway. Eventually, Edward had offered him an upgrade, working as a mail boy and general office gofer. Then it was an internship. Junior consultant.

  Now, Reed was a partner, and up until recent events had shattered his reputation, he had been known as one of the best in the industry. He pressed a palm to the window as though it might help him to reconcile the tattered heap that was his life right now. Sure, Dave Bretton’s business would make up for some of the lost clients. But he was still in the doghouse with Donald and the other partners. It felt like people didn’t take him seriously anymore. He’d confronted Melissa about whether she’d used the site to post reviews about him and had been met with a smirk and a “no, of course not.” But her face said it all, and if she’d done it, then who knows how many other people had used the same tactic to get at him?

  He made the decision not to waste his time on people like Melissa. If there was one thing he’d learned in all his years of PR, it was that you could drown yourself in the small stuff. The petty stuff.

  Bad Bachelors was the big problem here.

  However, perhaps it was time that he shouldered some responsibility for his actions. He did sleep around a lot, and though he never cheated on anyone, he kept people at arm’s length. He had probably been harsher than he should have simply because he wanted to make sure nobody got too close. It wasn’t a way of life he’d wanted, but rather an act of preservation after watching his father fall apart and stay that way.

  But Darcy has pushed passed all that.

  She’d snuck in when he was worn down and desperate for someone to believe in him. Even the people he usually went to for advice—his father, Edward, and Gabriel—had acted like the issue with Bad Bachelors had been partly his doing. Yet Darcy, who’d started out pricklier than a porcupine, had warmed to him when he needed it most.

  Or maybe it’s that you’re sick of acting like nothing affects you…and she does. She’s so terrifying because you can see how it might be with her, how you might want to take that risk.

  Was that possible? Could he take a risk and do the one thing he swore he would never do: allow someone to make him vulnerable?

  He glanced at his watch. He was supposed to meet Darcy for drinks in forty minutes so they could talk. What the hell was he going to say?

  I really like you, but I’m scared of people leaving me.

  No fucking way. McMahon men swallowed their fears like pills; they didn’t put them on display for the world to see.

  “Reed?” His assistant’s voice came through the intercom speaker on his desk phone. “I’ve got Donna for you. Can I put the call through?”

  “Yes, of course.” He snatched the receiver up when the light blinked. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Reed. It’s Donna.” The tone of her voice put every nerve ending in Reed’s body on high alert. Her usually calm and soothing voice was wire tight.

  “What’s wrong?” he barked.

  “It’s your dad.” Her voice hitched and Reed’s stomach plummeted. “You need to come to the hospital now.”

  “What the fuck happened this time?”

  Kerrie poked her head in at the sound of his raised voice, her brows knitted with concern. Reed scrawled the words D
river, Now on a piece of paper and handed it to her.

  “He… Oh God.” Donna’s voice broke. Damn it, was she crying? “He got into the pill cabinet and…”

  “Christ.” The room spun around Reed and he slumped back into his chair. “Is he…?”

  “They’ve pumped his stomach and admitted him for observation. They have a special room.” Her words were stilted, raw. “There’s a window so people can watch him, to make sure he doesn’t…”

  Reed’s stomach heaved and the phone clattered to his desk as he rushed to grab the trash can next to his foot. Donna’s voice came through the line. “Reed? Reed, are you there?”

  His stomach contracted violently, and his breathing was short and ragged. But the nausea subsided before he could bring anything up. Instead, he was left with his throat burning and raw from coughing. A hand landed on his shoulder, and he jumped. He hadn’t even noticed Kerrie come back into his office.

  She picked up the phone. “Donna, it’s Kerrie. Give me the details and I’ll get our driver to bring Reed over right away.”

  Reed braced his forearms against his thighs and lowered his head to his hands. The world was still uncertain beneath his feet, and when he eventually pushed up, he swayed.

  “I’ll come with you,” Kerrie said.

  “No.” He shook her off. “I need you to cancel drinks. Darcy, the contact for my library client. Her number should be in my email somewhere.”

  There was no way he’d let anyone see him in this state. Because the second he saw his father, he was either going to scream the roof off the hospital or cry. Like a kid.

  “I’m fine,” he said, sucking in a breath and straightening his shoulders. It took a moment, but the swaying stopped and the panic was slowly smothered. “Please clear my day tomorrow and the day after, and inform Edward that I’ll be taking a short leave of absence.”

  “Of course.” Kerrie nodded. “If there’s anything else I can do…”