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Inegotiated lavender hair into my contract.
Well, not just lavender. All the colors of the rainbow. I’d gotten used to wearing my hair however I wanted in California. I intended to continue to do so now that I was coming back to New York City.
If I was honest, I might have been looking for a way to get out of the contract. Something that would make my boss roll his eyes and tell me I’d gone too far. This hadn’t been the reason. Even if he hated agreeing to it. I was one of the best practicing plastic surgeons in the country. He was paying me a small fortune to move back to the city after I made an even bigger name for myself in LA.
But I’d left New York for a damn good reason.
And I had to face that reason tonight.
I was swabbing more mascara onto my already-long lashes when my phone rang on the bathroom counter. I pressed the video button, and my best friend, Anna English, appeared on the screen.
“Where the hell are you?” English asked.
She looked frantic, and my friend never looked frantic. She was a celebrity publicist and could handle drugged-out rockstars like it was her job, which admittedly it was. It was another thing to have to manage her future mother-in-law.
“Leaving now.”
“Oh my god, are you still at the hotel?”
I grabbed my overflowing Chanel bag and headed toward the exit. “I’m like three blocks away from The Plaza.”
“You’re still living on California time,” English grumbled. “In New York, three blocks will make you late.”
“You’re actually from California, girlfriend.” I snatched up a fuzzy white fur coat and exited my suite to the elevator. “Take a Xanax or something. I can handle monster-in-law when I get there.”
“Wait, what the fuck is that in your hand?”
“A coat?” I deadpanned.
English huffed, but I saw a smile creep out. “I told you to wear something sensible.”
“Oh, I heard you. Loud and clear.”
“You’re going to show up in something outrageous, aren’t you?”
“No one will be worried about you when I walk in looking like a train wreck, now will they?”
English laughed this time. It was a beautiful sound. “Fuck, I missed you. You’re going to be the best worst maid of honor there ever was.”
“At your service,” I said, stepping onto the elevator. I blew her a kiss. “See you in ten.”
“Fine. Hurry. I love you.”
I hung up and dropped the phone into my bag. Then, I slid the over-the-top fur coat on top of the slinky silver dress that I’d worn clubbing with my ex-girlfriend back in LA. She’d said it was the sluttiest thing in my closet, but I really thought that was underselling it. I’d paired it with strappy silver high heels that one of my clients had gifted to me as a thank-you for a nose job well done.
As I exited the elevator, I slipped on a pair of shiny aviators and sauntered through the overly bright lobby of Percy Tower.
A group of businessmen was laughing outside of the restaurant off to my left. Every single one of them turned to gape at me. A smile hit my lips. I still had it. Three years in California had made my pale skin a perfect sun-kissed tan. I’d had a personal trainer since I abjectly refused to work out unless someone forced me, and my body was toned in all the best ways. I liked a little appreciation from the peanut gallery to prove it had all been worth it.
Then, my smile slipped as I recognized one of the men.
In fact, the very man I’d been hoping to avoid for as long as possible.
Gavin King.
His look of interest turned to shock when he realized that the girl in the fur coat and lavender hair was me.
It had been three years since I’d laid eyes on Gavin King. Memory did not do him justice. His suit was black as night and tailored to his powerful build. He was somewhere in the six-and-a-half-feet range with burnished red-brown hair, styled with gel to stay out of those emerald-green eyes. He held himself like the wealthy Upper East Sider he was. Old oil money, mixed with a Harvard education, made him practically drip with arrogance.
But when our eyes met, I saw, underneath the charismatic playboy, he was haunted at the sight of me. I’d cracked the veneer of his mask, and he wasn’t fast enough to get it together.
I wanted to scurry away. To pack up my shit and leave, like I had three years ago when things got too complicated. But I was back. I was back, which meant I was going to have to face Gavin one way or another. I’d just wanted to do it on my terms.
Oh well.
When life gave you lemons, add a little vodka and soda.
I wasn’t ready for this confrontation. Not by a long shot. If he hadn’t seen me, I would have found a way to avoid this, but he had seen me. We had an audience, and it wasn’t like we could get into it in front of all of his friends. I didn’t want to get into it at all. Three years hadn’t been long enough for me to be ready for this conversation. Maybe I’d never be ready to talk about it. And certainly not in this moment.
Which meant that I needed to let the outrageous, wild Whitley Bowen that he w
as all too familiar with off her leash.
My hips swayed seductively as I made for the group of businessmen. My eyes were only for Gavin King. One of his friends nudged him and laughed. Gavin didn’t look back at him as I approached. He couldn’t look away from me, as if I’d put a spell on him in my too-short skirt and too-high heels and too-purple hair.
I ripped my sunglasses off when I reached him, standing way too close for total strangers. Which his colleagues clearly thought we were—and we were very much not.
“Hey, you,” I said with a grin.
“Hey,” he said on a breath.
I took his tie in my hand and threaded it between my fingers. His eyes were impossibly green this close. They stared at me with three years of distrust and confusion. I needed to end this or my knees were going to go weak, and we just couldn’t have that.
“You know this isn’t your color,” I said, flipping the blue tie over his shoulder.
A knowing smirk crossed his sullen little mouth. “That so?”
“Green,” I said with a wink. “To match your eyes.”
“I’ll take that into consideration.”
One of his friends elbowed him. “You going to introduce us to your friend, King?”
Gavin and I snapped back to reality at the same moment. And reality was not a plane that I enjoyed existing on.
Gavin looked flummoxed for a whole second as if he had no earthly idea how to introduce us.
“Love to, gentlemen,” I said, stepping back with a flourish. “But I have business to attend to. You understand.”
Gavin’s mouth turned into an O of confusion. I could see every single thing he wanted to ask on those perfect, pouty lips. The what was I doing here and what business could occupy my time and how had he not known that I was in New York. A million things that I didn’t want to discuss and couldn’t bring down my mask enough to acknowledge.
So, I didn’t let him get the questions out.
I wagged my fingers in farewell and shot him a wink. “See you later, King.”
I swallowed back my apprehension and sauntered away from the group. A whistle followed my exit. I kept the smirk on my lips the whole way, tossing the sunglasses back into position before exiting Percy Tower onto the Manhattan streets.
It wasn’t until I cleared the front doors that my shoulders slumped and a frown
replaced the ridiculous smirk. My hand dropped to the stone exterior of the building, and I took a steadying breath. Gavin King knew I was back in New York City. I’d survived that interaction. Barely.
It’d get easier the next time and the time after that. Like exposure therapy. The more I saw his beautiful face and that muscular physique and the skilled fingers, the more I’d replace the memory of him using all of that for my pleasure. The more I’d replace the look of betrayal on his face when I’d gotten back together with his best friend. The more I’d replace the horror he must have felt when I’d left New York without so much as a good-bye.
I’d agreed to come back.
I knew what that meant.
I just hadn’t wanted to face the fact that I still had feelings for him on my first day.
“Holy shit, King. I know you pull hot girls, but that girl?” Blake Holliday asked to my left.
Yeah.
That girl.
I watched Whitley Bowen traipse out of Percy Tower in that ridiculous fur coat with lavender hair swishing at the same tempo as her ass. Seeing her had momentarily paralyzed me. I couldn’t even get words out.
Blake wasn’t wrong. I could get with plenty of hot girls. Even by my own standards, I was a notorious playboy. I’d dated celebrities and models and socialites alike. I had a different girl on my arm at every event. None of them made much of an impression on me. In fact, I’d been so bored the last couple months that I showed up stag to events. My friends joked that I’d gone through every eligible woman in Manhattan. But that wasn’t it. I was just over the monotony.
None of them were Whitley Bowen.
A certified wrecking ball, who tumbled through relationships about as destructively as I did. We had been close friends for a few short years before we crossed a line we could never come back from.
“Who was that?” Merritt Locke asked next to me.
I glanced over at the guy who was soon-to-be family. In a month, Locke would be marrying my cousin back home in Midland, Texas. New York royalty officially merging with the King oil dynasty.
A wedding that I still didn’t have a date for.
“That was Whitley Bowen.”
Blake and Locke exchanged a look. They’d been best friends since their Stanford days, when they both were college swimmers. Now, Locke was Olympics bound, the fan favorite. I thought he had a real shot at gold. And Blake was returning to New Mexico were his family ran a ski resort.
“Can’t believe you let a girl like that walk away,” Blake said.
Again.
I didn’t say that out loud, but it was an echo through my mind. I’d let that girl walk away once before and regretted it. I damn well wasn’t doing that again.
I winked at them. “Gentlemen.”
Then, I dashed out of Percy Tower, my lunch plans forgotten as I chased after Whitley. She had a head start. If she wanted to escape me, she could thoroughly disappear into the New York City traffic.
But when I rounded the corner, looking right and left, hoping to catch a glimpse of her lavender hair, I found her with her hand against the building, taking a deep breath. She hadn’t run away at all.
“Whit,” I called, catching up to her.
She jolted. For a split second, we were back in time. Three years ago, when I’d chased after her after the Fashion Week debacle. I wanted to make things right after what happened with Robert. But when I’d slipped outside, looking for the rush of tulle, she’d already sunk into a cab and disappeared from my life forever.
I didn’t regret much in my life, but I regretted everything about that day.
“Hey,” she said, a wide smile hiding any trace of fear from her face. “What are you doing out here?”
“What am I doing out here? Whit, you’re in New York.”
“I am.” She shrugged. Her petite shoulders barely noticeable under the mound of fur. “But weren’t you in a business meeting or luncheon or something?”
“Oh, that? No, Locke is marrying my cousin.”
She arched an eyebrow. Right. She hadn’t been here when Locke moved back to New York. She hadn’t been here for any of it.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said in a rush. “What are you doing here? And dressed like this?”
“What? Can’t a girl get dressed up?”
I chuckled. “Sure. Where exactly are you going?”
“I’m meeting English at The Plaza.”
“Dressed like that?”
“What do you have against my outfit, King?”
Not a damn thing. In fact, my first thought was, How long would it take me to get it off? But I couldn’t exactly say that.
“It’s great.”
She gestured up the street. “Can we walk and talk?”
“Yeah. Sure,” I said, falling into step beside her. “I have to get back to work but—”
“Aren’t you the boss?” she teased.
I was heir to the Texas fortune, Dorset & King. My cousins ran the main branch of the oil corporation back home in Midland, where they could handle the day-to-day operations in the field. But I ran the New York division, which meant meeting with investors and business executives and handling the northeast refineries. Since I’d graduated from Harvard and I was friends with Upper East Side business types, I had volunteered. Anything to keep me out of Texas.
“I’m the boss,” I agreed with a grin. This teasing behavior was way easier to handle than anything serious that was threatening to come out of my mouth. We’d always worked like this. Flirting was ninety per
rcent of our personalities. “Now talk, Bowen.”
She pushed her shoulders back. “I’m back.”
“Back?”
“Back, back,” she confirmed. “My old boss, Kevin Varma, poached me from my LA position. He put me up in Percy Tower until I can find a place in the city.”
“You’re moving back.”
She laughed at my flabbergasted expression. “Yeah. I didn’t think I’d ever do it. My clients were pissed when I told them that I’d be leaving, but the money was too good to turn down. Not to mention, Kevin is bringing me on as a partner.”
“Really?” I asked after schooling my features. “You’re going to run the place?”
“Well, Kevin’s in his late seventies. He has three daughters. None of them followed in his footsteps, and he wants to see his practice, which he brought up from literally nothing, continue. For some reason, he sees me as surrogate family. You’d think I just annoyed him.”
“That’s probably why he thinks you’re family.”
She snorted. “Classic, King. Thanks.”
When she smiled up at me, it felt all strangely normal. Like she hadn’t left for three years and put thousands of miles between us.
Then, her smile dimmed, and she faced forward again. We passed Bergdorf on our left and stepped into the square, where The Plaza resided just off of Central Park. It was a trademark location with an enormous fountain at the center of the square, tourists galore, and even a few horse-drawn carriages.
Our close friends, English and Court, would be married here this fall. It was going to be the wedding of the year. Court’s mother, Leslie Kensington, was the current mayor of New York and determined to have the blowout wedding she had been denied by her younger son. I wouldn’t have blamed English and Court if they’d also eloped in Paris, like Penn and Natalie.
Whitley’s outfit suddenly made sense if she was here to deal with wedding plans. She didn’t care about anyone’s approval and could take the heat off of English.
“Are you here for the wedding?”
Whitley nodded as we crossed the street, narrowly avoiding a gaggle of tourists. “English is frustrated with the wedding planner.”
“And her soon-to-be mother-in-law, I assume.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You have no idea.”
“I think I do. I went to the engagement party.”
Whitley’s cheeks colored. She’d still been in California when that little catastrophe took place.
“Was it that horrible?”
“Worse than horrible,” I confirmed. “I thought for sure that someone was going to come to blows. I ended up leaving early with my date because it was such a fucking mess.”
Whitley’s eyes widened a fraction, and then she dipped her head to dig into her purse.
Why the fuck had I said that? Of course I’d dated while she was gone, but I hadn’t had to bring it up. That was just how we’d always worked.
She had been the best wingman I’d ever had. Who could have known that all of that time we’d been trying to find people for the other to hook up with, the person standing right next to me had been the answer?
“Fuck,” Whitley said. “English is SOS-ing me. I have to get in there before she does more damage.”
I nodded easily. “Sure. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“Definitely,” she said, but she still wasn’t meeting my eyes.
I’d fucked up. Maybe I’d said it because I was mad that she’d left before we could figure this out. Now that she could barely look at me, I realized that I didn’t want her to go like this.
“Hey,” I said, reaching for the sleeve of her fur coat.
She blinked back at me, her hazel eyes a honey color in the afternoon sunlight. There was something in those eyes, like panic. She looked … terrified. As if she thought that I might say something horrible to her.
I withdrew suddenly. I didn’t like that look in her eyes. I didn’t like it one bit. And I wasn’t going to get rid of it by asking her out right here on the street when she had somewhere else to be. I’d need to play a longer game for her to see that I was serious.
“Good luck.”
Her smile brightened, as if she’d dodged a bullet. “I don’t need luck.”
She winked at me and then disappeared inside.
Fuck. I was fucking fucked up about this woman.
I jerked my phone out as soon as she was gone, dialing Court Kensington without missing a beat.
Court’s baritone filtered through the phone. “King.”
“You fucking asshole."
Court laughed, low and resonant. “So, I’m guessing you heard Whit is back?”
“Heard? I just saw her in Percy Tower in a silver minidress. I walked her to English’s meeting.”
“She was wearing a minidress to the meeting with my mother? God preserve her.”
“Yeah. I think she’s trying to take the heat off of English, but that’s not the point, asshole.”
“What? Should I have told you that she was back? Still got a thing for her?”
I gritted my teeth. Court Kensington, Camden Percy, and I had met at Harvard. We’d become fast friends despite the fact that they had known each other their whole lives and didn’t like outsiders. Court had known exactly what he was doing by not telling me that Whitley was back.
“That was three years ago.”
“And?”
“And … I didn’t want to be blindsided.”
Court snickered. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Anyway, that’s why we’re all going out tonight. We were going to surprise everyone.”
Fuck. So, that was what that was about.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Court said.
“Yeah, whatever, fucker.”
Court laughed and then hung up.
I shouldn’t have been this worked up about it, but Court wasn’t wrong. I’d never really gotten over what could have been with Whitley. She’d made herself perfectly clear that she didn’t want to try this by moving across the country. And I didn’t think that I could change her mind now … but I was willing to try.
