Page 3 of Filthy Little Regrets (Princes of NYC #2)

The bell for the front door jingles, and I glance up from my computer, eyes narrowing on the gorgeous man in the doorway.

Mace Astor. Hottest single , as dubbed by NYC Socialite year after year.

Annoying, corrupt, and worst of all, charming.

Oh, and to make matters worse, he’s a billionaire.

Heir to Rex Technologies, the world’s largest tech conglomerate.

He’s not just rich, he’s rich. The Astors are one of the five richest families in NYC, and his shoes probably cost more than my rent.

The brush of his gaze is warm against my skin, the knot of stress between my shoulders growing.

He slides off his suit jacket and hangs it on the coat rack by the door.

My muscles tense, body ready to run if needed, and I force air into my lungs.

I hate that he and Orion have recently become friends.

Actually, I kind of hate everything about him.

His eyes darken at whatever he sees on my face, and a wave of unease presses down on my chest as he prowls toward me. The lights seem to dim as he gets closer, shadows coalescing around him, as wicked and foreboding as the ones weaving through his dark blue irises.

“Orion went to get lunch.”

Mace lifts an eyebrow. “What, no hello?”

Gritting my teeth, I look at my screen and mutter, “Hi.”

“Lovely to see you, as always.” He does this a lot. Uses humor to win people over. None of them seem to notice there’s more beneath the surface, but I see flickers of depravity within the immeasurable depths of his gaze. Mace isn’t who he pretends to be. Not exactly.

And I don’t like people who hide their true selves. Especially not a wolf parading around as a sheep.

“Wish I could say the same,” I say, giving him a judgy once-over, as if I find him lacking.

But he doesn’t have any faults. Short brown hair and a perfectly symmetrical face.

A strong jaw. Piercing eyes that are calculating and far too aware.

Sparkling white teeth. A smile that stops a woman outside in her tracks.

She does a double take, peeking through the glass and around the Orion Investigations decal to get a better look.

The bastard even has a dimple. Dimples make women stupid.

“I think she likes me,” he muses, nodding at the lady. Her cheeks flush at having been caught, and she scurries away.

My eyes flutter closed. “Please don’t be smug. She has no idea that your personality cancels out whatever hotness you might have.”

“Cassia,” he purrs, smoothing his hand down the buttons of his black shirt. “You think I’m hot? ”

Loathing pulses in my chest, and I glare at him. “You missed the insult.”

“I’m ignoring it because it’s not true. I have a great personality.”

“Says who?”

The wicked gleam in his eyes sharpens. “Plenty of people. I’m charming.”

“Nauseating.”

“Hilarious.”

“Annoying,” I counter.

He hums and perches on the edge of my desk. This close, I get two nostrils full of the smoky, earthen scent of his cologne. If it was on literally any other man, it would be nice. “Are you flirting with me?”

“I’m not.” I scowl at where his butt rests. The man has cake, I’ll give him that.

He tsks. “What a shame.” His gaze sweeps over my dark green blouse, black leather skirt, floral tights, stops at my Chelsea boots, and slowly roves back up, a flicker of approval shimmering within the depths of his irises.

I thought he’d be more into women with perfectly manicured nails, pearls, and sticks up their asses.

I ignore his obvious desire and frown at him. “I’m going to have to sanitize that spot once you leave.”

Chuckling, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks, eyeing my computer. “What are you working on?”

I arch an eyebrow. “None of your business.”

Undoing the button of his left cuff, he rolls it up, exposing a muscled forearm covered in tattoos, which I know extend up his arm, over the expanse of his torso, and down the other. Underneath that corporate getup, Mace is covered in ink .

“Fine. If you don’t want to talk about work, we can play twenty questions. What’s your favorite color?”

I side-eye him as he rolls up the other sleeve. Is he exposing me to his forearm porn on purpose? The clack of my nails drumming on the desk settles in the space between us. “Are we really doing this?”

“It’s a simple question. Don’t tell me you’re scared to answer.”

“Have I ever told you I hate you?”

He nods. “A time or two.” The smile on his face falls as he grows serious. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone your favorite color is shit brown.”

“It’s black,” I say, eyes narrowing. “What’s yours? Wait. Let me guess, pink.”

His gaze moves to my hair before meeting mine once more. “No. It’s red.”

Crossing my arms, I lean back. The hinges of my chair creak. “Does this stuff work on other women?”

“What other women?”

I lift a shoulder. “I don’t know, the ones you date all the time.”

“I don’t date.”

I scoff. “Please, you date. I swear I’ve seen pictures of you with a woman on your arm at some event.”

“Have you been stalking me?”

Why does he almost sound pleased? Does he get off on this shit? “You wish.”

“Maybe,” he fires back before shaking his head. “My parents have set up a few dates for me for high-profile events, but I’d hardly call that dating.”

I didn’t expect an honest answer. I want to ask if he’s going to be forced into an arranged marriage, like Rose, but I don’t want him to think I’m interested.

Families like Rose’s and Mace’s have all the money in the world, and yet they still live by old world rules.

Marriages made to forge new alliances. Honestly, I feel bad for whoever he marries because his head is so far up his own ass.

“Well, sorry about your life, but I should get to it.” The wheels of my chair roll across the tile.

I grab the mouse and stare at the screen, clicking into a new email.

A picture of a naked woman loads. It takes up half the screen, her bright pink nipples flaring like headlights.

She’s so naked. It wouldn’t normally bother me, but Mace is still leaning on my desk, close enough to get an eyeful of this chick’s naked selfie.

Mortification flushes my cheeks, and I die a little on the inside. Can this day end already? I navigate to another email, one less graphic, and send a warning glare at Mace.

“I didn’t take you for the type of woman who looks at porn.”

“Shut up,” I mumble. “This guy cheated on his wife with half the world, and that was just another one of his conquests.”

Mace hums, frowning at the monitor. He wants to ask questions, but I’ve already said too much.

Orion’s business operates on strict confidentiality.

I mentally curse myself for almost breaking the rule.

Silence stretches between us, as awkward as a hard-on in a church.

I can’t concentrate with him here. I mindlessly click through the emails with no real purpose, waiting for him to get the point and leave me alone.

“Do you need help?”

I shoot him a venomous look. “What makes you think I can’t handle this?”

He tips his head. “Is that what I said? ”

“You didn’t have to. Despite what you think, I’m perfectly capable.”

Orion pushes through the door before Mace can respond. My boss’s keen gaze sweeps from me to the bane of my existence. “You’re early.”

“I needed a break,” Mace says. “Cassia and I were getting to know one another.”

“Please make him go away,” I beg Orion, who simply lifts an unimpressed eyebrow.

“You two need to sort your shit out,” he says, shaking his head, heading into his office and gesturing Mace over.

“One second.” Mace leans toward me.

Heart drumming in my ears, I wait for him to say whatever he has to say.

Reaching out, he fiddles with a strand of my red hair, rolling it between his thumb and finger. “Tell me, is it only me you hate, or is it the world?”

“Depends on the week,” I admit. “Sometimes it’s just you, other days, it’s most of the world.” I smack his hand away before I can think better of it.

Shadows shroud his features, and his gaze, no longer lit with amusement, cuts through me. Those secrets I know he keeps come closer to the surface. A shiver erupts at the base of my spine; there’s something familiar about the danger he buries deep within himself. What exactly is Mace hiding?

“Most?”

Swallowing the sudden thickness in my throat, I rip my gaze away from his. Something about his corporate persona isn’t right. Maybe it’s the rumors of him working with the mafia. Regardless, being intrigued by Mace is dangerous business.

“I’d never hate Rose.”

“She is one of the good ones.” Heaviness hangs in the air between us. I won’t apologize. He has no right to touch my hair, but part of me worries I’ve sparked his interest instead of deterring him.

I force my fluttering pulse to calm with a deep breath, then say, “Goodbye, Mace.”

His responding chuckle is foreboding, like he takes my resistance as a challenge. I glare at his back. There’s no way that is ever happening.