King of Wall Street: a sexy, standalone, contemporary romance Read online

  “Oh my God. Don’t you listen to anything I say?” she whined. “Callum moved here from San Francisco last semester. Don’t you remember me telling you?”

  “Oh, right.” I nodded, trying to cover up the fact I had no idea what she was talking about. Why hadn’t we sent her to an all-girls school? “And you want him to ask you to the dance?”

  A blush crept up her face and a piercing pain shot through my chest. She was too young for all this. “Maybe,” she said. “But only because he’s funny, and I saw him dance once during lunch and he seemed to be able to move in time to the music.”

  “So everyone is going as couples?” I tried not to shudder as I spoke. My baby girl.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, plucking a grape from the bowl of fruit on the counter.

  “If Callum asked you to the dance, he’d pick you up and—”

  “No, Samantha and I are going together. You said you’d drive us. You don’t remember?” She splayed her hands in front of her as if I was possibly the stupidest man ever to have lived.

  “Yeah, I remember,” I lied. “But I thought you and Samantha were no longer friends?”

  “Last week, Dad. Keep up.”

  “Okay, explain it to me because I don’t know how these things work. So you’ll see Callum there?”

  She shrugged. “I guess.”

  The thudding of my pulse slowed. Maybe labelling this whole thing dating was over-dramatic. I poured the batter onto the griddle as I tried to cover my relief. “So do you have your costume yet for this dance?” I asked.

  “Costume? You mean a dress? It’s not a costume party.”

  I sighed. “Give me a break. Do you have a dress?”

  She grinned. “I wondered if you wanted some company in the city this week? You know, we could go shopping maybe?”

  “In Manhattan?” I wasn’t sure I was qualified to take her shopping for a dance. I had no idea what would be appropriate. I didn’t like Amanda in the city, and I tried to discourage her attempts to visit me when I was at the Manhattan apartment. New York was no place for a kid. There were far too many bad influences.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Don’t you like the shops around here?”

  “I want something no one else will have.” Something in my expression must have caught her eye. “Just because I’m fourteen doesn’t mean finding the perfect dress isn’t important, if that’s what you’re thinking. Perhaps if you ever dated, you’d get it.”

  Here we go. One crisis situation always overlapped with another. Amanda was always nagging me about getting a girlfriend. Or a wife. Women were exhausting. Work was easier. Or it was before Harper started.

  “I want you to look pretty. Of course I understand that. I have plenty of women in my life.” With two sisters, a daughter, and Pandora, there was no lack of estrogen in my world.

  “You always think about it in such a selfish way.” Amanda sighed and slipped off the stool. She began to gather plates and cutlery. Helping out in the kitchen without being asked—that was new. I was getting constant reminders about how much she was growing up, and although I was proud, it felt as if we were hurtling downhill with the brakes off. I wanted to pause for a second, enjoy the here and now for a couple of years.

  “I’m being selfish by not dating?” I asked, flipping the pancakes over.

  “Totally. You know how much I’ve always wanted a sister. Mom’s been married to Jason for forever and they’ve completely ignored me, so it’s up to you. I don’t understand what you’re waiting for. Don’t you want to get married?”

  “Hey, wait. A minute ago you were talking about you dating and now, not only do I have to date, but I have to marry a woman and get her pregnant?” She must have been talking to my sisters. They were always pestering me to date, trying to set me up with their friends. The fact was I didn’t need help getting women. But neither Amanda nor my sisters had to hear about my sex life.

  She laughed. “Don’t you ever think about it? We’re here in the big house, just the two of us, and I’ll be in college soon.”

  “Are you trying to kill me today? You have a couple of years before you leave for college.” She was right; college was really just around the corner. Of course I wanted her to go, but maybe she could still live at home. I wasn’t ready to give her up entirely.

  “I think it would be nice for you to have someone. And if I got a baby sister out of it? Well, then that would be even better.” She placed the plates on the breakfast bar and set the cutlery on either side.

  “What’s brought this on? I haven’t had this particular lecture from you for a while, peanut.” Had this just been my sisters’ influence, or did she miss Pandora? I dished up pancakes and turned off the stove. Was I not enough for her?

  She shrugged. “Dunno. Samantha’s mom was asking whether or not you were dating, and it just got me wondering.”

  Samantha’s mom? Why did I think there was more behind Samantha’s recently divorced mom’s question than neighborly interest? Since Amanda had been living with me, a number of her friends’ moms seemed to find an excuse to come by. I’d never given any one of them a reason to think I was available.

  “I think it would be nice if you found someone is all. And I want a baby sister.”

  I dated—and by that I meant had sex, plenty of sex. But it always happened in New York. I’d never brought anyone home to Connecticut. I kept my two worlds separate. Never anything more. I had the best of both worlds—my family in Connecticut and King & Associates and my career on Wall Street. I’d never needed anything more. There were no holes in my life as far as I was concerned. Apparently Amanda disagreed.

  “You wouldn’t miss our father-daughter time together? Eating pancakes, watching the game?”

  “Why would we have to stop doing that? The three of us could do it together, and when Chelsea was old enough, she could have pancakes, too.”

  “Chelsea?” I was confused.

  “My baby sister. Or maybe Amy would be better. I like that our names would both begin with an A.”

  Of course. I chuckled as Amanda grinned at me. “You’re crazy, but I love you.”

  “I could find you a date if you wanted.”

  “Stop it and eat your pancakes.”

  “If you agree to go on a date, I won’t tell Mom you’re feeding me pancakes on a Monday night. You know she’d have a cow.” Wow, maybe a few of my negotiation skills had been passed through the genetic line.

  “Tell me you’re not trying to blackmail me.” I ruffled her hair as I sat beside her at the bar. “I’ll take my chances with your mother. She knows how sometimes sugar is the only solution.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “I’m your dad. I’m not supposed to be fun.”

  “Please just think about taking a woman to dinner. Tinder is meant to be the place to find someone.”

  Tinder? “Promise me you’re not on Tinder, or I’m taking your phone and you’re not getting it back until you hit thirty-five.”

  “Dad, of course I’m not on Tinder. Are you crazy? I’m fourteen.” At last she was making sense. “Tinder’s for old people. Like you.” Amanda held the syrup high above her plate and amber stickiness trickled out.

  Was Harper on Tinder? Perhaps I should try to find out. Fuck, no. Why was I thinking like that?

  “Check it out, Dad. Promise me.”

  “I’m promising nothing,” I replied, but I wasn’t sure how convincing I sounded.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Harper

  I’d been waiting to hear from Max about the Bangladesh report for three days. I’d worked my ass off all weekend so he could have it on Monday. I shouldn’t have bothered. It was Wednesday evening and he’d canceled our follow-up meeting twice. I kicked off my shoes and slumped onto my sofa. I could hear Ben, or maybe it was Jerry, calling from the freezer.

  “Knock it off, guys,” I yelled. I couldn’t spend the evening eating. No. I’d be productive—take advantage of the gy
m in the basement. That would take my mind off the asshole who was my boss. He’d strode past me in the corridor earlier in the day and totally ignored me. Okay, maybe my report could have been better, but giving me the silent treatment didn’t seem like the professional thing to do. I had to keep reminding myself he wasn’t the man I’d thought he would be and that still didn’t mean I couldn’t get a lot out of working for King & Associates.

  I changed into my workout gear, grabbed a bottle of water, and headed downstairs. A gym in the building was more than I could have hoped for when I started looking for somewhere in Manhattan, and I’d not had a chance to visit yet. Work might not be good, but home was a cocoon from anything bad. I could relax—focus on the big picture.

  Thirty minutes on the elliptical would clear my head and stop me trying to think up ways to physically hurt Max King.

  As I entered the gym, I noticed there were three men already there—one using the free weights, one on a bike, the other on a rower. And apart from the muted sounds of CNN coming from a TV fixed on the wall in the corner, it was quiet. I checked out the rest of the space. No mirrors, so I didn’t have to look at any part of me wobbling while I moved. Perfect. It was as if I’d invented the place myself.

  Moving toward an empty elliptical, I avoided the blatant stare of the guy using the weights. I dropped my water bottle into the holder on the machine just behind the man on the bike—he had an amazing ass—hopped on, and tried to find a program that wouldn’t kill me. Just what I needed to stop me from thinking about the office—a hard workout and a nice view.

  I found a program on the machine that I knew would be tough, but I wanted to be focused on something other than what a disappointment King & Associates was turning out to be. I needed to be able to tune out when I wasn’t in the office or I’d send myself crazy. My first day on the job, my jaw ached from smiling so much. I’d finally achieved my dream, and I’d done it all on my own. It felt as though I’d arrived on the first step of a bright future—where the beginning of all my plans converged. I’d been beside myself with excitement. But the sheen had worn off pretty quickly, sometime in the first week when I was introduced to Max and he’d barely looked up from his desk to say hello.

  The guy on the bike gasped and sat up, circling his shoulders, then tilting his head one way and the other as he continued to peddle. He had a nice broad back, and jet-black hair drenched in sweat. He was going to need a serious shower. If he was the guy I’d heard having sex in the penthouse, I’d be happy to keep him company.

  “You live in the building?”

  I jumped when the guy who’d been using the free weights draped his arm over my machine. I hadn’t seen him head over. He was short, overbuilt, and so tan I wanted to ask him whether or not he’d lost a bet. He looked as if he belonged on the Jersey shore rather than downtown Manhattan. I nodded, hoping the fact I didn’t speak would put him off.

  “You have a nice ass, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  Really? He held up his hands when I shot him a look to kill. “No need to be snotty. I just like a nice ass.”

  I fixed my stare to my machine’s panel, wanting to punch the guy.

  “I think you better move on,” a man said from behind Jersey Shore.

  “Hey,” Jersey Shore replied. “I was giving the girl a compliment.”

  I kept my head down, not wanting to attract any more attention.

  “Her loss, right?” my rescuer replied. I recognized that voice. My brain tried to work out if it was a famous person.

  Jersey Shore moved away, and I glanced up with a smile. “Thank—”

  It was like someone was trying to take a dump over my entire life.

  Max-fucking-King stood right in front of me.

  Kill. Me. Now.

  The guy I’d come down here to escape was standing right in the middle of my gym in my apartment building. I glanced around. Jersey Shore had left, and the rower was still going. Max King was Nice Ass Guy. Life was just not fair.

  My limbs stopped working and I half tripped, half stepped off the elliptical, stumbling into the wall behind the machines. Really? The hits just kept on coming.

  “Are you okay?”

  I peeled myself off the drywall as he moved toward me.

  I nodded, unsure what I’d say if I actually managed to form words. How was this possible? My apartment was supposed to be my sanctuary from this man’s assholey behavior in the office. Now I had to worry about running into him in the corridors of my apartment building while I was drunk or not wearing makeup. Not that it mattered if he saw me without makeup or in my sweats; it would just be another reason for him to think less of me.

  “Okay, well. I guess you live in the building,” he said, then clenched his jaw and flicked his eyes to the door as if he wanted to escape.

  Fine by me.

  “Yeah, I just moved in.”

  He looked past me and pressed his fingers to his forehead as he had when reviewing my Bangladesh report. “Right.”

  And that was it. Before I could think of anything else to say, he sped out the door as if his balls were on fire.

  He had no more manners outside the office than in. He was still cold and rude.

  Despite his nice ass.

  I leaned against the wall, trying to make sense of it all. A year ago I would have thought my life had peaked at just being within a five-yard radius of Max King. Now he was not only torturing me at the office, but he’d just made my building gym a no-go area. I grabbed my water bottle and headed back to my apartment. Could my day get any worse?

  *

  After my near aneurism at running into Max in the gym, I’d taken the hottest shower possible without landing in the emergency room, blow-dried my hair, and then wrapped myself in my white silk robe, which I’d bought on sale at Barney’s. It always made me feel better. As if I had my shit together. I needed a BFF download, and I’d be back on track.

  “Hey, Grace,” I replied as she answered my call.

  “You sound like you’re about to put your head in the oven,” she said through the sound of her chewing on something.

  I wanted to ask her if I could come over and spend the night. For the rest of my lease. “Just a bad day at work.” If I told her about Max being in the building, she’d have me moved back to Brooklyn before she could say the words sublet. I’d have to settle for a general gripe session, so I explained I’d still not heard back on the Bangladesh report.

  “Have you ever thought about quitting your job? It really can’t be worth it.”

  “I can’t quit. This is my dream position. It’s what I’ve worked so hard for. I just need two years on my resume, and then I’m golden.” And who knew. I might have won him over with the revised Bangladesh report. I could get into the office tomorrow to find he’d turned over a new leaf.

  And I might be the next Beyoncé.

  “Two years is a long time to be miserable. You could always talk to your dad.”

  Was she serious? “Why would you even say something like that?” Grace knew I was the only one of his kids not working at JD Stanley, his investment bank. My three half brothers had all started on the graduate course the September after college. I’d thought I’d get the satisfaction of turning him down, but he never asked. Why would Grace think I would call him? I didn’t want anything from him.

  “You do the kind of work his firm needs, right? Don’t you have like a perfect skill set for him?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Ben and Jerry’s cries from the kitchen were growing louder. “I wouldn’t work for him if he was the last man on Earth. And if you remember, he never offered me a job. I didn’t have the correct reproductive equipment.”

  “He probably didn’t think you wanted it.” It didn’t mean he couldn’t have asked. “He doesn’t know you, doesn’t get how brilliant and ambitious you are. He’s like a hundred years old. He’s probably just old-fashioned.” Was he just from a different generation who thought women should stay at home and look after
the kids? If he’d ever gotten to know me, he would know I wasn’t like that.

  “I really can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I’m not about to quit my dream job, and I’m not about to ask my father for anything.” I swung my legs up onto the couch and lay on my back staring at the ceiling. “It’s really starting to upset me that you’re defending him.”

  “I’m really not. I’m just trying to offer you a way out.”

  Grace was always trying to solve my problems. And the problems of all the guys she dated. There just wasn’t anything Grace could do to fix this situation.

  Footsteps thudded across the ceiling, causing my light fixture to rock gently back and forth. Jesus, the last thing I needed was my neighbors going at it again. I didn’t want to be reminded of my lack of sex life.

  “Thank you, but I don’t need a way out. I’m exactly where I want to be.” I wasn’t a quitter.

  “But you’re miserable.”

  “I’m not.” I should complain less. I was just frustrated to find Max in my building. “My standards are just too high.” The thudding upstairs sounded like someone pacing back and forth. “I’m going to readjust, reset, and everything’s going to be just fine.”

  Classical music, Bach maybe, blared from upstairs. It was so loud my apartment started to vibrate. Metalheads or coked-up dance music addicts were supposed to play their music loud and annoy their neighbors, not classical music buffs.

  “Do you have classical music on? Jesus, less than a week in Manhattan and we’re already growing apart.”

  I chuckled. “No, it’s not me. It’s upstairs.”

  “The shaggers?”

  “Yes. Although they’re not shagging. One of them put their concrete boots on and is dancing like an elephant across my ceiling.” The music hadn’t drowned out the consistent pound of footsteps. “I can’t tell if there are two people up there.”

  “Brooklyn looking a little more attractive?” Grace couldn’t hide the smug tinge to her voice.

  “I’m sure the music will die down in a little bit. Maybe they’ve had a bad day and they’re trying to drown it out, like I do with—”