New York Billionaires Series

“Hi, Robin,” I say.

“You weren’t planning on leaving without saying hello to me, were you?” His smile doesn’t show in his eyes.

“I was, actually.”

He blinks. Looks back at me from his perusal of Anthony, and for the first time I remember, it actually seems like he’s seeing me.

“Ah,” he says. “Well, that’s sneaky of you, Sum.”

Anthony clears his throat and extends a hand to Robin. “Anthony Winter.”

Well, that’s not fair. He’s breaking out his full name, knowing exactly what that thing does. I cheer him on silently.

Robin’s eyes narrow. “Robin Whitlock,” he replies.

“A pleasure,” Anthony says in a bored drawl. “Now, we were leaving, so if you’ll please…”

The hint of a flush rises in Robin’s cheeks. Oh, I haven’t forgotten how quick he is to anger when he feels shamed.

I give him a brilliant smile. “Take care of yourself, Robin.”

We step past him toward the exit. If he responds, it’s not something I hear. It’s not something I want to either.

Anthony doesn’t put his arm around my shoulders or tug me against his side. He just brushes the back of his hand against mine in a subtle invitation, and I know him well enough to know it’s not accidental.

I curl my fingers around his in answer.

We walk hand-in-hand through the crowded bar, like we walk this way all the time. Like we’re a confirmed item. My heart beats fast, and it’s not only from the confrontation with Robin.

Anthony stops a few feet from the door. It’s such an abrupt stop that I startle, looking up at him.

He’s watching a couple in the opposite corner.

There’s nothing special about them. A dark-haired woman is sitting in the crook of a tall man’s arm. They look a bit mismatched, perhaps. He has a leather jacket on and she wears a tweed blazer.

As we watch, the man turns her face up to his and kisses her.

“Anthony?” I ask. The look on his face sets my heart into overdrive. He looks… outraged. Betrayed.

Confused.

“My fucking eyes,” he mutters. “I can’t be sure… I have to be sure, Summer.”

“Sure about what?”

Barely taking his eyes off the couple, he pulls out his phone. A few seconds later and there’s an image of a pristine young brunette on the screen.

“Is this her? Sitting over there?”

I look from the image of a smiling woman with pearl earrings to the couple across the bar.

“Yes,” I whisper. “It’s her. Who is she, Anthony?”

“Cordelia Jacobs,” he says. “My brother’s fiancée.”

I walk through the lobby of the Winter Hotel with quick strides. It won’t be long until one or more of the concierges recognizes me, and once they do, there will be no end to the hello-ing and hi-ing I’ll have to endure.

Worse, because they’re people I’d once spent a lot of time with. Marcel at reception had looked after Isaac and me when we were children, letting us ride the luggage trolleys down the corridor sometimes when we visited.

The plush carpet gives way under my feet as I walk up the marble staircases. The railing is polished to gleaming. The way it’s always been, and if my brother has a say in it, the way it’ll always be.

The Winter Hotel is an institution.

It’s my family’s greatest accomplishment. It’s also my family’s ball-and-chain.Content bel0ngs to Nôvel(D)r/a/ma.Org.

Isaac’s office is on the second floor. He’ll be here, because he’s always here on Thursday afternoons, and my older brother is as regular as clockwork. My mother likes to joke that it started with his birth, with him arriving at noon on the expected date.

An attendant stares at me open-mouthed when I swipe my keycard to access the staff corridor. Perhaps I’m a ghost around here. A tale passed down to new employees, a name whispered. The lost son.

I give a nod and shut the door behind me.

Knock twice on Isaac’s office door.

“Enter,” he calls.

Ah, yes. Come on in is doubtless too many words. Not efficient enough.

Isaac’s eyes widen when he sees me and he pushes back from his desk. “Anthony?”

“I didn’t know you were coming in today.”

“It’s an impromptu sort of thing.”

He nods. Glances to the chair opposite his desk. “Well, I’m glad. It’s been a long time.”

“It has.”

“You’re answering my email in person,” he says, smiling. “Does this mean you accept?”

“Accept?”

“Being my best man.”

My stomach sinks, and I do something I haven’t done since this office belonged to our dad. I sit down in the chair opposite him. Wish I was anywhere but here. “Isaac, about that… I saw Cordelia yesterday. And she wasn’t alone.”

The taxi pulls up outside of Summer’s Soho apartment. I pay him more than I should and wave away the change. My steps feel heavy and my head thick as I call her on the intercom.

“Come in!” she sing-songs.