Dirty Boss (Dirty Rich 2)

He's right. A year ago was Kat's wedding, the day he told me he loved me, the day the world starting looking beautiful again.

She and Blake left for a trip to Japan last week. The exact date must have slipped my mind.

I sit up. "You're cheesy."

"I don't care. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. I'd celebrate you every day if I could."

"What about selling three start-ups for what—ten billion dollars?"

"Better." He sits next to me.

Naked.

He's naked.

Somehow, I keep my eyes glued to his.

He presses his lips to my forehead. "You're better than ten billion dollars."

"Twenty billion?"

He nods.

"A hundred billion?"

He shrugs, teasing. "Don't get greedy." He sits up and puts on his boxers. "We have a dinner reservation."

"To celebrate our anniversary?"

"Yes. Get dressed. I don't want to be late."

His cheeks turn red. Nick is nervous? Nick is never nervous.

Suddenly, I'm motivated. My legs are jelly, but they cooperate enough to get into my dress and my shoes. I don't bother with underwear.

After ten minutes with my blow-dryer and makeup brushes, I'm ready. Nick is waiting for me in the living room. He's as handsome as ever in his sleek black suit, his tie the same amethyst shade as my dress.

"Are we walking or driving?" I ask.

"Up to you. I reserved a limo."

I look out the window. It's raining. That puts a cramp on walking. "The limo."

He leads me to the elevator, then the lobby, then the curb, where a shiny black limo is waiting for us.

I'm not quite relaxed enough about driving to spend the ride doing anything fun. We're in our seat belts, our hands intertwined, my head on his shoulder.

It's only ten minutes to our destination. The building looks familiar, but I don't place it until we're on the top floor, in the middle of the hallway.

It's the restaurant where we had our first official date.

Nick presses his hand into my lower back as he leads me inside.

My eyes go wide. The furniture is arranged so there's only one table in the center of the restaurant. It's just us. All ours.

He pulls my chair out for me. It's tilted slightly, so it's facing the windows more than it's facing the table.

I take my seat, my eyes fixed on his.

But he doesn't sit.

He squeezes my hand, drops to one knee, and pulls a purple ring box from his pocket.

Oh, my God.

Nick smiles wide. "I meant what I said earlier. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I'd be a fool not to make things official."

He pops open the purple box. The ring is beautiful. A princess cut solitaire. It's beautiful, modern, and feminine at once.

He stares into my eyes. "Lizzy Wilder, will you marry me?"

My body fills with warmth. "Yes. Of course."

He slides the ring onto my finger. It's gorgeous, but it's not as gorgeous as the joy in his expression.

I lean down to press my lips to his. "I love you."

"I love you too."

I kiss him until my lips are numb.

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Dirty Deal

Chapter One

The manager takes one look at my discount heels and my loose pencil skirt and shakes his head.

"Sorry, but the position is already filled." He leers at my chest. Raises a brow. Maybe you'd like to fill a different position.

I swallow the insult rising in my throat. "Do you know when you'll be hiring again?"

"It might be awhile."

"Keep me in mind. I have a lot of experience." Not so much the kind he's looking for. But I do know how to wait tables.

He takes my résumé but keeps his eyes on my chest. "Sorry, honey, but we're looking for something specific."

Yeah, I bet.

I take a not-at-all-calming breath. This guy is nothing. He's not going to make me lose it. I've dealt with a thousand entitled jerks worse than him.

I'll deal with plenty more tonight.

It comes with working at a nice place.

I nod a thank you and walk out of the restaurant slowly.

I keep my steps casual. Easy. Well, as easy as I can in these shitty heels.

The air outside is freezing. Even by March in New York standards. The white sky is heavy with grey rainclouds.

Usually, I like the drizzle. I like the temperamental weather—the snowy winters, the rainy spring, the humid summer, the crisp fall.

Right now, not so much.

I dig into my purse for my phone. Lizzy will cheer me up. She always does.

With my next step, I bump into something solid.

No. Someone. Soft wool wraps over a hard body.

My leg catches on his. I think it's a his.

My ankle shifts.

Shit.

I throw my hands in front of my face to catch my fall.

Ow. The concrete smarts. And it's fucking cold.

"Are you okay?" a deep voice asks.

So that's a him. Very him. His voice is masculine. There's something about the steady timbre. Something that makes me forget I'm splayed out on the ground, damp concrete wetting my skirt.

"I'm fine."

His shoes are nice. Leather. Designer. Expensive. His slacks fall at exactly the right place. They're grey. Wool. And they're covering long legs.

His black wool coat falls at mid-thigh. It's buttoned. It's hiding his torso. It's hanging off his strong shoulders.

He's looking down

at me, his blue eyes filled with… with something. I'm not sure. It's hard to do anything but stare back at those eyes.

They're beautiful.

And he has this square jaw. The kind of jaw that belongs on a sculpture.

Or a Disney prince.

He's the hottest guy I've seen in months.

And I'm splayed out on the concrete staring dumbstruck.

Awesome.

"I… Um… You should watch where you're going." I pick up my purse and slide it onto my shoulder.

He leans down and offers his hand.

Okay.

I guess he's a gentleman.

That's weird, but it fits him, what with the whole Disney prince vibe.

I take his hand. It does something to me. Makes the air sharper, more electric. Sends heat from my palm, down my arm, through my torso.

It's a strong hand, but it's smooth.

And that suit—

And that I get what I want look in his eyes.

I know this guy. Well, I know his type.

He's pure money.

The kind of guy who has the world at his fingertips.

"I really am fine." I pull myself to my feet. Or maybe he pulls me. Either way. I take a step towards the corner—the subway is only a few blocks away—but my ankle isn't having it. Fuck. That hurts.

His grip on my hand tightens. "Sit down." He nods to the bench behind us. "If you can walk."

"I don't need your help."

"Oh, really?" He raises an eyebrow and nods to my shoe as if to say put it on then.

Oh.

I'm not wearing a shoe.

For some reason, my foot isn't cold.

None of me is cold.

He's just so…

Obnoxious for telling me what to do.

And incredibly, painfully appealing.

I shift my weight to my other ankle, but I can barely balance. "I have to get to work."

"You'll get to work. Trust me." He slides his arm under mine, like a human crutch, and he sets me on the bench.

His touch is comforting.

It should be scary—this guy is a stranger. I don't even know his name.

But it's not.

It's soothing.

Tender.

But that doesn't mean anything.

It's just that it's been so long since anyone has touched me with any care or attention.