Page 1 of Vicious Arrangement (Alpha Billionaire Daddies #7)

Chapter One

ARIA

In my head, a clock ticks loudly. Timing is important. Being on time is doubly so, and as I pound down the wet East Village pavement from Union Square, the inner clock just ticks louder.

Not the traffic swishing on the Manhattan streets or the people dashing into buildings can crush it.

I thank my hospital, Quentin Memorial, for having a plethora of umbrellas in a pile in a hold-all bin where the changing rooms are.

And I’m pleased there’s only one spoke sticking up at a strange angle.

My lungs burn, and my sneakers slap the pavement as I try to somehow make up time.

I can’t. I’m late for Katie’s party. I’ve already missed the dinner due to a crash that came into the ER, which along with the usual spatter of ODs and elderly slip-and-falls, put us into overdrive and overtime.

But now, in the dress that always sits in my locker, heels in my bag, I’m running.

I turn onto Second Avenue as the rain lightens and stops. On Sixth Street is the insanely cool bar, and I duck into the doorway of the apartment building next to it, a hand on the wall, and hop as I change shoes.

Then, I somehow fold the umbrella and go into the bar.

It’s warmer in here than the cool touch the spring rain brought outside, and I swear steam rolls off me. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the small space’s mirror-backed bar and grimace.

Wavy hair’s a curling nest of blonde, my dress’s top is lower cut than I thought, but at least the red matches the lipstick I slapped on.

Pitchfork’s latest song plays loudly, the song list in places like this always up to the minute with an indie twist. The only reason I know the band is that Claire, a fellow nurse, loves them.

I scan the crowd for Katie and our friends. Honestly, my feet ache, and all I want is a half glass of wine, a soak in the tub, a stupid movie, and bed in my biggest, ugliest, most comfortable PJs.

“Heeeey, it’s my favorite nursey!” Katie wraps me in a big hug. “She’s got her sexy hair on! Yeah! Happy birthday to me. I’m old now, Ari, old. Like ancient. Like, I need a wheelchair with a walking frame attached.”

I roll my eyes and hug her. “You just turned twenty-five. You’re two months younger than me.”

She grabs my cheeks. “Yesh, but I don’t have your cheekbones. You are sooo pretty. My friend,” she shouts, “is pretty and single and looking to mingle!”

I slap a hand over her mouth. “And you’re drunk.”

She peels my hand away, and draws her small frame up and flips her long silky black hair over one shoulder. “I am celebrating my birthday. I’m not drunk. Just happy.” Then she dives for my bag. “Gimme my present.”

A giggle breaks free as Brie and Luke come up to try and wrangle her back. “You can have it later, when you’re more… not happy.”

“Shots!” Katie shouts. “And get my best friend here…” She waves a hand in my direction, “ten of them. She’s sober as a nurse.”

And then she falls all over the place laughing.

I grab Luke, whose smiling face is a little glazed from the booze and possibly the girl who comes up to him, no one I know because she clearly thinks I’m a threat to her newly staked territory for the night. She’s so wrong.

I’ve known him for years and we’re just buds. But he’s on his way to the bar so I need to stop him. “How many has she had?”

“A few,” he says, shrugging.

I glare. “No shots, just a drink and get a weak one for her? Please?”

“Okay, Aria.” He runs off, weaving through the crowd, the girl following, and I spot where Brie’s taken Katie, to a table filled with friends of hers and ours.

Katie’s downing a second shot, and I know I’m losing a battle because the booze hits her fast.

She’s in her superhuman mode, where she thinks she can drink like a pro and come out unscathed. Next will be a mess of regrets and bad decisions. I sit her down, pluck a water from the table, and put it in her hand. She has a sip and then manages to spill it all over the table.

“Brie? Try not to let her drink more for at least twenty minutes.” It’s not an actual thing, it won’t sober her or let the alcohol move through her and clear her system, but it’s a break and if I can get twenty, then I can get more. And… it’s a start.

Brie’s eyes widen. And I sigh.

“Or until I get back,” I say. “I’ll get more water for her.”

One more nursing job.

That’s all it is.

And as I love Katie, I’d rather save her from hangover hell in the morning.

I leave my bag with Brie, who’s the most sober of the lot.

If I remember rightly, she’s got an early morning start most mornings, so early drinking is her agenda, or at least light.

And to me it looks like it. “I’ll watch her. Thanks, Ari. She’s a beast tonight.”

Someone hands Katie a drink as Brie finishes speaking, and I grab it just as Katie starts to raise it. “No, Katie, you need a break.”

“You’re a party pooper,” she says with a drunken pout.

Others raise glasses and shout, “Party pooper at me.”

I roll my eyes and slam a hand on one hip. “I’d rather be that than end up in the ER with alcohol poisoning.”

“Drugs, then,” someone else shouts, and the table dissolves into laughter.

With my other hand, I point at them all. “Just for that, I’m getting a whole pitcher of water.”

I collect my phone from my bag that Brie’s guarding and slide it into my pocket, one of the reasons I bought this dress. Then I weave through the crowd, the music shifting into a sexier beat.

To my right at the bar, I spy Luke who isn’t getting drinks and is instead performing an up close and personal tonsil inspection from what I can see with his and the girl’s very graphic PDA.

“What’ll it be?” A bored, good-looking bartender says with artful scruff and tattoos up his exposed forearms.

“A pitcher of water, with ice and lemon, and a shot for you,” I say, panicking. Not over him. He’s not my type, but I’ve never figured out if it’s insulting to tip on water, and since I’m not buying it and I don’t have cash on me… I’d rather buy him a drink.

He starts to speak, but I cut him off. “Please, I’ll get you a drink so I can tip for the service of getting me water. Besides, a drink’s wasted on my friend down there.”

I tilt my head in Luke’s direction, and he laughs.

Once I pay and tip for his very cheap shot—a very generous shot since I watch my money…

I have college debts, and a nurse’s salary isn’t huge, especially at this point in my career—I grab napkins for the messy table, and then try to hold the jug in one hand as I put my phone away, making my way back across the bar.

I don’t make it.

I slam into someone, and to my horror as I stumble back, the pitcher jerks, and water sloshes over the edge and onto that someone.

Not just onto someone.

Onto someone’s crotch.

In a fine suit.

And as the water soaks in, I can see, even in the dim light, the soft outline of a very decent size cock.

Heat flares over my skin.

I snatch the mostly dry napkins and try to mop it up, dabbing and pressing and rubbing at the water. I think the charcoal suit is merino, something exceptionally fine, and I’ve turned his crotch into a black stain that looks like he’s peed himself.

Under my fingers as I work, a part of me, a professional part, marvels at how thick he is, how well proportioned. It almost seems like it’s getting big?—

Oh.

Fuck.

Me.

I pull my hand away and half step back, bumping into someone behind me. And I look up, and up.

The man’s gorgeous. Tall, unbelievably hot with dark hair that’s short at the back, a little long at the front, and perfectly styled so a lock falls charmingly forward.

He’s got sensual lips, a strong chin, and the chiseled cheekbones of a model.

His left cheek bears the perfect dimple, and his dark eyes that are probably dark chocolate brown but look black in the low light sparkle with bemusement, and that almost smile is knock your socks off divine.

If I were breathing right now, I’d probably forget.

As it is, air is trapped by a mix of lust and mortification. My throat burns with humiliation, but inside my chest, my heart slams against my ribs.

I think he’s the best-looking man I’ve ever seen, and the suit, the dark hair fits my tall, dark, and handsome fantasies and then some.

It’s been so long since I’ve had any action, I might be a virgin again, but I’d take him.

“You know,” he says, leaning in. “It’s not that I didn’t mind the innovative drooling and hand job on my junk, but I do draw the line at my feet. The shoes are new. Italian leather.”

“Wha…?”

Suddenly I look down. I slowly straighten, the now empty jug’s contents are on his shoes and the floor.

I swallow, hard, starting to shake.

“Oh, God. I’m sorry, I’m really, really sorry.” I’m not sure what to do so I reach out without thinking, intent on drying that patch on his pants.

His erection.

What the fuck am I even doing?

He snatches my hand, his touch electric, and firm but gentle as he stops me making contact. I look up at him, and his dimple deepens as his almost smile turns real and wicked.

The man uses his thumb to stroke tiny whispers against my inner wrist that threaten to short-circuit my brain.

“Exhibitionism has its place, but I think we can have more fun if you continue playing with my cock somewhere private. The bathroom’s good if you want quick and dirty.

And you can get on your knees and fuck yourself stupid on me, get your juices flowing in the best way.

Better than water. I mean, if we come out and just ask rather than try and pull off elaborate sex plans, my three Grand shoes wouldn’t be sodden. ”

Heat radiates off me. “I spilled water, I didn’t do some sort of weird mating dance.”

“That’s what they call it these days?” The other cheek flirts with a slight dimple, but the left dimple makes me want to drool. It takes some of the sleaze from his words, I don’t know why.

And his voice is the kind I could rub one out to.

I suck in a breath and try to pull back my hand but he doesn’t let go.

“No one’s calling it anything these days but an accident.”

He winks. “I know a come-on when I feel one and you were getting me… primed.”

“I was not.”

He pulls me a little closer, and I breathe him in. Sophisticated sex. Pepper and bergamot and woods, it’s dark places and heat, and I don’t think I could ever get sick of how he smells. “You absolutely were.”

His eyes dare me, the smile teases, and I’m falling into the forward charm. Between my thighs, my pussy tingles, it’s something I haven’t felt in a while, like he’s under my dress lightly stroking over my panties along my slit, making me drip and do some personal soaking of my own.

“N-no,” I say. “I absolutely wasn’t. If I were going to try to get your attention, I’d have just grabbed you.”

I wouldn’t. Not in a million years, but my mouth is speaking on its own, and he laughs. “You did.”

“No, I was cleaning the water.”

“It’ll never hold up in any court of mine.

But I’m willing to hear your case if you’re naked—” He stops, the amused look darkens, and his mouth comes close to my ear.

“Of course, this might be your MO. Find a victim for your whiles, drown them in water and then give them a hand job to see if they… respond. How many before me?”

I gasp, and a part of me knows he’s joking but the rest of me’s outraged. “Do you think I do this for a living? Go to bars and throw water on men for a quick feel?”

“If the jug fits…”

“Well,” I snap, trying not to be turned on by him, trying not to let his scent and touch wind me inside out and back again, “I don’t. It’s not a calling card, just an accident.”

He goes to say something else when a small, black haired drunken missile stumbles into us, and the hottest man I’ve seen steps back to give Katie space.

“Ari,” she says, slurring, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

I shove the empty jug at the guy and take Katie, pushing through the smallest line to get into one of the four bathrooms.

One girl glares. “Hey?—”

“She can vomit on you if you like.”

“Gross!” the girl says, motioning to the restroom.

A minute later, the door opens, and I get Katie into the one-toilet room just in time. I lock the door, lift the seat, and hold back her hair, smoothing my hand down her back as she violently throws up.

When she finally stops dry heaving, I wash her face and use my hand to feed her some water to rinse with.

“Stay,” I order, flushing and leaving her on the floor, head on the now-closed seat.

I’m not worried about how long we’re taking. There are other restrooms for girls. But I don’t want Katie to go out there until she feels a little better. She’s still drunk, but the excess is out.

“Why’d you let me drink so much, Ari?” she says, leaving half the words out. “Not right.”

I stroke her hair. “I know, baby, I know.”

“You are pretty. Can I have your hair?”

From wavy to frizz and curl central in an instant? “Sure thing.”

“Were you talking to a Hotty MacHotty pants?” she asks.

I groan. “No, apologizing to an arrogant fool.”

“Oh. I love you. I’m thirsty.” She sits up, staggering. “I need some water.”

With that, we leave the bathroom. It’s been about fifteen minutes according to the clock in my head, and Brie and another friend pour Katie water from a fresh pitcher.

Taking a breath, I look around for my hot nemesis, but he doesn’t seem to be here. And I even go for a small walk, just to see.

He’s gone.

Instead of relief, my contrary libido sinks. Maybe it’s because I’m lonely, and after my rather nasty breakup more than a few months ago, I could just want some attention.

But for all his arrogance and over the top confidence, I remember the feel of his dick growing bigger, getting harder.

That’s embarrassing, intriguing, something I wouldn’t mind touching again.

Yet it’s more than that. He was funny, charming and apart from the insanely hot thing, he was clearly flirting with me.

Me.

As people in our group start to peel off for home or more fun, I gather Katie and say goodnight to Brie. Luke’s already left, and I figure it’s time to get the birthday girl home.

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, and adding Katie’s I hail a cab outside, and we head to Katie’s Greenpoint apartment on Java Street in Brooklyn.

Once there, I help her change and put her to bed. Then I put an aspirin and a glass of water by her bed, along with her gift.

I should go home. But I can’t face heading back out into the night. My limbs are heavy with lack of sleep, and I grab a blanket, kick of my shoes and curl up on the sofa in Katie’s living room.

As sleep takes me, my mind swirls with a hot man with a killer dimple, the one night stand from the heavens that got away…