Suite on the Boss (New York Billionaires Book 5)

I turn, looking at myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the lobby of my apartment building. The dress is good. It’s floor-length and dusty blue, setting off my faint summer tan and fitting for the benefit’s dress code.

I’d had a salon blow-out earlier today, and my hair looks glossy beneath the lights. It’s grown longer this summer, and I haven’t kept up with the trims. Gone is my sleek shoulder-length hairdo, consigned to history, along with the person I was when I sported it.

Makeup, clean and minimal.

I look… appropriate.

I take a deep breath. And then, I take another. All week, I’d been so sure I wouldn’t really be anxious when the time came. It’s been almost a year, and I no longer carry his name or his ring. I don’t bear the weight of his expectations or my own suspicions. They’d been so heavy of a burden that I didn’t realize I’d suffered under it until it disappeared.

But here I am, and anxiety is a pounding beat in my chest, making my stomach turn. It seems there are parts of myself that remain foreign, even to me.

I look at my watch. Isaac will be here soon.

He’d insisted on picking me up. Our emails over the past week have been quick and focused on the practicalities.

The intimacy we’d shared over drinks didn’t carry over into logistical texts between meetings. And now? I need to pretend I’m dating him.

But the real problem is that, somehow, I think that might just be the easiest part of the entire evening.

A black town car pulls up outside my building, and Isaac steps out. He’s wearing a snug dinner jacket that looks tailored to his form. “Sophia,” he says, and then his eyes drop down to my dress, doing a slow sweep of the tight bodice and flowing skirt. “You look… stunning.”

“Thank you,” I say, “but we don’t have an audience yet.”

He pushes the car door open for me. “I’m not pretending.”

I slide into the car and watch as he follows suit. A warm, spicy scent reaches me. His cologne. I tighten my hands around my clutch. “This will be a networking event for you,” I say. “Right?”

He nods to the driver to set off, and the car glides smoothly out into the New York traffic. “Yes. It’s hard for them not to be, honestly.”

“You must go to a ton of them. How do you stand it?”

“Practice,” he says. But then he looks over, and there’s a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’ve had a few approaches over the years.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Well, I’ll admit that when I was young and green, I abused the open bar.”

“You did?”

“I’ll take your surprise as a compliment,” he says. “But yes. I was young and asked to go to dinners and parties that were… well. Not very engaging.”

“They bored you to death.”

“Yes,” he says. “The open bar was the only thing that made them tolerable.”

“I imagine your parents weren’t too happy about that?”

He snorts. “They didn’t mind, but my grandfather did. He put a stop to it.”

“So, you had to move on to tactic number two.”

“Yes, which was to network as aggressively as possible.”

“You threw yourself into the game?”

“No,” he says, eyes teasing. “I mastered it.”

“Wow. The confidence!”

He chuckles. “I did that for almost a decade. It opened a lot of doors.”

“Oh, because so many of them were closed before?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you implying that I was born with privilege?”

“No,” I say. “I would never.”

“Good.” But then he leans his head back against the seat and sighs. “I was, though, and I’m aware of how fortunate I’ve been. But I still needed to… make me memorable. Many of the people I spoke to in my early twenties knew my grandfather, my aunt, or my dad. Not me.”

“You needed to establish yourself,” I say.

He nods. “But networking that aggressively is… tedious.”

“Oh, I know. I did the same thing when I first arrived in New York, and then when I got married.”

“Did your ex help?”

“A bit,” I say, and my stomach gives a nervous lurch at the reminder. I’d almost forgotten we’re heading somewhere he’ll be, too. “I take it you moved on from that tactic? What do you do now?”

“Now, I wait for people to come to me,” he says. It’s not said with arrogance. It’s just a matter-of-fact statement made by a man who knows his worth. “And I never stay past midnight.”

“Like Cinderella,” I murmur.

“Exactly like her,” he says. “Except I make it a point to keep my shoes on.”

The seriousness in his voice makes me laugh. His humor and sarcasm is surprising, so at odds with the man he presents as. “Does that make me the pumpkin?” I ask. “In this analogy?”

“I think the car is,” he says. “But considering the other options are mice and barnyard animals, I think it’s best we end the analogy here.”

I dig my teeth into my lower lip to keep from laughing. “Thank you for not calling me a horse.”

“You’re welcome,” he says in a tone of deep seriousness, and my laughter bursts free.

We arrive at the museum. The city is dark around us but alight with life and music. The benefit has attracted a lot of people, both guests and passersby, who occupy the steps.

Isaac offers me his arm. It’s unfamiliar, touching him like this for longer than a brief handshake.

“Ready?” he murmurs.

I know what awaits us. Who’s waiting inside those giant double-doors, beckoning in the warm light of the chandeliers. My former in-laws will be there. Former acquaintances and friends who chose Percy’s side. Everyone from my old life… before it imploded.

“Yes,” I say. “I am.”

Isaac’s eyes linger on mine for a moment. “All right. Let’s do this, then, Miss Bishop.”

“Sophia,” I say quietly.

“That’s right,” he murmurs. “Sophia.”

We walk up the worn stone steps and into the golden light of the chandelier-filled lobby. On a normal New York day, this hall would be filled with elementary school classes and tourists speaking languages I couldn’t understand, the commotion all echoing up the vaulted ceiling.

And tonight, it’s only for the invited guests.

Guests who, the organizers hoped, would be wealthy and generous enough to dip their hands into overflowing pockets and support the museum.

Somewhere in the distance, I catch the mellifluous tones of a string quartet. It’s interrupted by the clicking of expensive shoes against the marble floor.

“What’s your step one?” I whisper to Isaac.

He leans his head my way. “My step one?”

“Yes. Of your current networking plan.”

“Ah,” he says, and his voice warms. “Letting people come to me doesn’t require a lot of work on my part. That’s the beauty of it.”

“Do you stand in a corner and look intimidating?”

He chuckles. “That would make my life a lot easier. Unfortunately, I do have to look approachable for the method to work.”

I make my voice teasing. “Do you think you’ll find your prince here, Cinderella?”

“I haven’t spotted him yet,” Isaac says. “Will he be the tall, dark, and handsome one?”

“Most likely,” I say and can’t resist the rest. “But make sure you avoid mirrors, or you might get confused.”

There’s silence from the man beside me. But then he chuckles, the sound a bit hoarse. “Well, well,” he says finally.

We head toward the bar. I walk beside him and glance around. Lizzie and Tate Winthrop are here. So is Maud Astor. Her eyes widen when she sees me, and then she finds her composure and gives me a quick smile hello.

She’s best friends with Percy’s sister, and I’ve spent a lot of summer weekends with her and her husband. I’ve hugged her when she’s cried, and took care of her dog one weekend, and played a lot of charades on opposite teams.

She’d dropped me like a bad habit after the divorce.

But then she clocks who I’m walking beside. Her eyes linger on Isaac before returning to me and then darting quickly away.

Petty satisfaction wells up inside me. It’s not a noble emotion, but it sure is human, and I’m going to revel in all of it tonight.

“Chardonnay,” Isaac asks, “or champagne?”

“Champagne, please.”

He hands me a tall flute and takes one for himself. Flutes. Not coupes. My mother-in-law would have commented on that. She had gifted Percy and me a set of twenty-five Cristal Champagne coupes for our wedding and insisted I never use flutes.

The hag.

“Sophia?” he asks.

“Yes? Sorry.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I say and force a smile. “You know, it surprised me when I first came to New York how important events like these are for one’s job.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I’d thought, naively perhaps, that business was done during office hours. A handshake in a conference room, a phone call or an email sent. But it’s not.”

“No,” Isaac says, “not always.”

“It’s a shame it’s tacky to bring business cards to benefits,” I say, looking out over the crowd. “It would make remembering people’s names the next day a hell of a lot easier.”

Isaac breaks out into surprised laughter, the arm beneath mine trembling with it. And when he speaks, his voice is warm. “It’s a wonder how alike we think sometimes.”

I feel warm. “You know, great minds often do.”

“I can’t tell you,” he says, “how often I’ve struggled to remember the name of someone on Monday morning after a weekend of these things.”

“Might be a bit awkward when you verbally agreed to build a hotel together with someone you can’t call?”

He nods. “Exactly,” he says, “although I save things that big for when I have lawyers present.”

I look around the room at the gentlemen in tuxes and women in floor-length gowns. Isaac and I blend in perfectly. “I think there are a fair amount of lawyers present,” I say.

“Probably, but I bet there’s not a single practicing one.”

“You don’t think at least one of the couples invited their divorce lawyer along?”

“I don’t know,” he says, and looks down at me. “Did you?”

I take a sip of champagne. It feels bubbly on my tongue, adding to the symphony inside of me. “No. She was excellent, expensive as hell, and I never want to see her again.”

“I think that’s the mark of a job well done for a lawyer.”

“Yes. Quite the opposite of you, the emperor of hospitality.”

He chuckles. “Yes. If my customers never returned, I’d have a serious problem.”

Isaac’s eyes are light on mine, lighter than I’ve seen them before. There’s gold mingled with the dark brown, flecks of them forming a ring around his pupils.

He smiles. “Although, you— ah. We have incoming.”

My stomach tightens. “Who is it?”

“The vultures are circling,” he says, but his tone is amused. “My aunt and uncle.”

“Oh.” Showtime. I smile, at the ready, and realize that we never decided how long we’ve been dating for or how we met.

But they don’t ask, even if they’re curious. It’s there in their eyes, flicking between Isaac and me. And they’re not alone.

Isaac’s strategy works. It’s not long until we’re weaving through the throngs of people who come up to talk to him.

He knows nearly everyone by name.

I mention it to him, and he gives me a wry smile. “I’ve been in this game a long time.”

We stop by the blind auction. Items are listed one by one, and each has a box beside it. Guests are expected to bid on them blindly, dropping their offers into the box, with the highest bid announced as the winner later in the evening.

Isaac and I walk side by side down the line. I watch in amusement as he bids on half of the items.

“A vintage bottle of champagne,” I say. “Are you a collector?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Hmm. And a private cooking class by a world-renowned sushi chef… are you trying to up your skill set?”

He sends an exasperated glance my way. “No. When would I have the time to do any of these things?”

“And yet,” I say, sweeping my hand at the ludicrous sum he’s currently writing on a scrap of paper.

“It’s expected of me,” he says. “The committee will read through all of the names. I have to be on at least some of them.”

“Are you trying to win?”

“It would look good if I did,” he admits and then smiles wryly. “But I’d rather win the champagne than… a couple’s spa retreat.”

I laugh. “I can’t imagine you taking a weekend off to lie in a Jacuzzi, but I’m sure you’d enjoy it if you ever let yourself.”

He leans in closer, voice warm by my ear. “I think,” he says, “that I might, too, but it depends entirely on the company.”

Somewhere between my second glass of champagne and the hors d’oeuvres, I make the cardinal sin of relaxing. I’m so busy pretending to be a couple with Isaac, standing close by his side and sliding smoothly in and out of the conversation with strangers, that I forgot who might be here.

Who I’m here for.

And when you let down your guard, the wolves descend. It’s the second law of New York, and I learned it quickly after I arrived. The first is to never, ever walk at anything but a brisk pace.

I spot my former mother-in-law first.

Celine Browne is holding court by an old fresco, her diamond earrings catching the light beneath her tasteful perm.

My breathing comes faster.

This is the woman who’d begged me to come to my senses right after I’d found her son in bed with another woman. When I said leaving him was me finally coming to my senses, she’d said she was disappointed I valued my wedding vows so little.

Oh, because your son lives by them? I’d asked, and she’d turned pink with anger.

This was two days before she unlocked the door to Percy’s and my apartment without telling me first and started packing up our wedding china, the champagne coupes, and the set of silver spoons Percy had been gifted at birth. Celine’s pointed looks had made it very clear that this was an Insult, capital I, planned and orchestrated. And I was to bear this Insult humbly, as the failure she now made it clear she thought I was, while she not-so-subtly reminded me of the prenup.

These are heirlooms, she’d said, packing up the spoons. I’d hate for them to end up outside of the family.

I was a failure and a potential thief.

Isaac’s voice is quiet. “Sophia, are you okay?”

“Yes,” I say. “Absolutely. Yes.”

He looks down at my empty glass. “Would you like another?”

“Please.”

And keep them coming.

He takes the glass gingerly from my fingers, which are cramped around the thin stem. “I’ll be back,” he says. “Then, we’ll do another round at the blind auction.”

“Yippie,” I whisper. He rewards me with a smile, just the slighest curve to his lips. It feels like a victory. All of his expressions do.

I watch his retreating back through the crowd and wonder why I don’t remember seeing him at events like this before. I can’t imagine laying eyes on Isaac Winter and not having the memory burned into my mind.

I catch Maud standing next to Celine, one of the many rapt listeners to one of my former mother-in-law’s embroidered tales. Probably about the one time she dined in the same restaurant as JFK.

I look away. And that’s when I see him.

Standing right next to her.

Together.