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Chapter One

ERIN

I hate red eyes.

The late-night flight to New York’s JFK had a mom with a screaming kid on one side and a man-spreader on the other.

The mom and kid I normally wouldn’t mind, but I’d barely slept the night before the flight, and I had to be in a boardroom pitching a new ad campaign, the biggest of my career, the moment my car picked me up at the terminal.

The car that was late.

And now… after a day that started with a quick bathroom change and a baby-wipe bath and mind-numbing presentations, topped off with a sweaty subway ride to the Maynard Hotel on West Seventy-Second and the Park, an old swank hotel full of yesteryear’s grandeur, I’m ready for the bar.

The hotel’s sandstone exterior and intricate black wrought iron on the doors and Juliet balconies are stunning. Inside, the lobby’s marble, rich reds, brass accents, and cherrywood finishes make it a place I’d want to stay for more than a night.

But first, I need to check in.

“I’m sorry, Miss Banks, but your room isn’t ready yet. ”

I stare at the concierge. “Not…” I try to find the right words that don’t involve an explosion of swearing. “Not… ready?”

“I’m sorry.”

“But check in is at noon. It’s almost six o’clock.”

The concierge smiles his practiced smile. “There was a mix-up, but the room will be ready in half an hour.” He taps something on his computer. “Make it one hour. And dinner is on us. The restaurant here has a Michelin star.”

He clicks some more and slides a key to me. “For when it’s ready. Top floor. I’ll come personally and let you know. If you’re heading out for the evening…” His eyes move over me. “We’ll let you change and clean up in one of the empty rooms.”

I try to regulate my breathing. “Just give me whatever’s ready now.”

“Trust me, you don’t want one of those.”

“I’ll be at the bar,” I mutter, taking the key and throwing a thank you over my shoulder.

I head straight for the sleekly curved, gleaming cherry-red wood and sit on the barstools, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in my dress.

The bartender comes over, a good-looking guy, the type who knows it, and his easy smile has women lined up at the bar.

I order a gin and tonic, and he asks for my room number. I hesitate.

“There was a mix-up and…”

“We also take cards,” he says.

I dig mine out of my purse and put it down.

Everything on the room is charged to the company.

Anything outside that’s out of pocket. Apart from the car service provided.

But Manhattan traffic can be so bad that taking the subway’s faster to get downtown to where the meetings are in the Financial District .

That’s something I learned the hard way last time I came to the Big Apple.

As the bartender puts my drink down, someone leans over me and whispers in my ear, “Hey, baby, you wanna hit the town or just paint your room red?”

I laugh and spin around, hugging my best friend, Kara. “Are you talking about turning it into a murder scene?”

“No!” She stops and gets the giggles as she takes the seat next to me, and my night suddenly cheers right up. “I got the thing mixed up; it’s paint the town red or go to your room?”

Kara pushes her black curls over her shoulder, taking in the old school swank, the cherry red of the bar, the velvet seats and brass fixtures. “Oh my. Are you boning Old Man Clearwater?”

“He’s about seventy.”

“And he likes them young,” she says about our boss. The owner of the entire company.

I smack her playfully on the arm as the bartender finishes serving someone else and comes over, taking his time and drinking her in.

“What can I get you?”

Somehow, I manage not to roll my eyes at the slink in his voice as he basically asks her to get naked for him with his gaze and tone.

Kara being Kara doesn’t notice, and she just turns to me. “You know you need to drink a Manhattan when in Manhattan, not a G and T.”

“A regular Manhattan,” he asks, “or a Maynard Manhattan?”

“What’s in that?” Kara’s one for actual fancy cocktails. And she leans on the bar, her big brown eyes on the bartender.

To his credit, he doesn’t self-combust. “It’s like a regular Manhattan but smooth, like butterscotch and it’s got an extra kick.”

“Sold.” She straightens, slams a hand on the bar, and grins. “I’ll have two. And she’ll have one. Not all at once, but after this round…”

He heads off to make the drink for Kara and I sip what she thinks is a drab gin and tonic.

But for me, the drink’s a workhorse, dependable.

I always know what I’m getting and if they use one of the newer, fancier gins and some small batch tonic, then that’s a perk.

Actually, mine is pink and tastes elevated, so I assume he did that.

“I’m not sleeping with the big boss.” I pause. “Or any boss. Or coworker.” Then I swallow. “Or anyone.”

“Erin, I’m sorry, I…” She trails off, squeezing my hand. “I didn’t mean anything by the joke. I’ve stayed here before, but I’m staying in New York longer than you, so I’m somewhere a little less…” She rubs her fingers together. “Fancy.”

“I know it was a joke.”

She leans in. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I try to think of something to change the subject . The room snafu would be perfect. With a sip, I turn to her just as her drink is delivered to her, and she gets drawn into a conversation with the bartender, who clearly wants to see her outside of work.

Thing is, Kara’s my best friend—sweet, feisty, spirited, loyal Kara—and I think she might be more hurt than me over her brother’s cheating.

Well, okay—not in all ways. There’s still a giant piece of my ego and self-esteem lying on the floor with everything else he reduced to scraps.

Three years of my life. Three. And I honestly don’t know if Toby, who came across as being just as loyal, had been cheating on me the entire relationship. I don’t even get the bittersweet victory of ending things .

No, he did that two months ago—went to town, chewed me up and spit me out like I was nothing. And I let him.

Hell, I was so blindsided, so gobsmacked that words couldn’t even form when he told me he’d found someone better, someone he’d been seeing for a while. Someone who rocked his world.

If I’d been a dude, he’d have told me she had a bigger dick than mine.

As it was, he told me they clicked she was glamorous, gorgeous, and had ginormous—He didn’t actually drop the ginormous tit bomb. But his new piece sounds like a cross between a porn star and Marilyn Monroe.

Yep, I dated my best friend’s brother and didn’t even get the T-shirt.

I suck down the rest of my gin, and the bartender actually tears himself away to return with my next drink, the Maynard Manhattan.

Before he can resume his position, a group of people in fine suits and gorgeous dresses enter.

After-work crowd? High-end visitors? I really don’t know.

Behind them sits a dark-haired man,in a bespoke suit, alone, tapping his fingers on the bar.

A lowball glass rests in front of him, along with his phone.

He glares at the screen, nodding and occasionally speaking into what I assume is his Bluetooth earbud.

Then the crowd blocks my view, and the bartender steps in to serve them.

The crazy little beat in my veins stops its thrumming the moment he's out of sight.

I turn back to Kara. “Try it, Erin!”

The damn drink is like butterscotch and the smooth hit of warming bourbon, an extra kick from something else, and the vermouth. I’m not a big drinker, but I’ve worked on enough ad campaigns to have done my duty tasting the products at parties—and pitching ad campaigns that won awards for others.

“It’s good.” And I smile. I know her; she’ll want to head out and party. She’s here for a few weeks; I’m leaving tomorrow night. Another damn red-eye from JFK.

Kara fusses with the edge of her dress. It’s borderline too short for the office, but Kara is tall and dark like her brother, and she can pull off whatever she wants. Besides, she always brings her A game.

“How’d the meeting go?”

“There’s a second one tomorrow. And… I’m taking the credit or the fall, but I think they’re going for it. They were on the fence about tomorrow, but now they want that meeting.”

Her eyes flash as she grins. “You go, girl!” Then her smile fades. “You know I want to say I’m sorry my brother did that to you. I mean, I’d picked out my bridesmaid dress. I hate her. And I’m so mad at him.”

“It’s not her fault. He was the one in a relationship finding fresh pussy. I don’t even know if she knew about me. He made it sound like she didn’t. The?—”

I stop. It’s her brother. And a fancy bar.

“We’ll go out?—”

“I’ve got that meeting, remember?”

Kara sips her drink. “I just don’t want you to be lonely. I want you to have fun, Erin. I want us to have our own advertising company. Modern.”

“Everton and Banks?”

“And I hate that he might have ruined that.” Her eyes narrow. “Call me shallow.”

“You?” I say. “Never. And I’m totally fine, totally over him. I can’t remember his name.”

“You should. He’s a terrible excuse for a human.” She squeezes my hand. “And that’s why we should go out. Find you a hot man and practice your filthy low-down rebound sex on.”

I laugh and hug her, right as the bartender puts her next drink down. Then he’s off. It’s busy now, so he can’t interrupt. “I’m not doing that. You should get his number.”

“The imaginary rebound man?”

“No, the bartender.”

“Go find a hot man to fuck and make Toby shrivel up inside. I’ll get T-shirts printed of you and Hottie McHotFace.”

A groan slips free. “Toby’s your brother; you don’t have to hate him for me. I appreciate you more than you could know.”

But she straightens, finishes her first drink and puts it down, then eats the curl of lemon rind. “Candied,” she says. Then she looks me up and down. “What he did to you was low, Erin. Not worthy of the name Everton, and not worthy of you. I’m going to make sure he never forgets it.”

“I love you, Kara.”

“I love you.” She grins. “Let’s go out.”