He Loves Me Not (The Hawthornes of New York 1)

He chases after the almighty dollar for a high. He has that in common with my stepfather.

The door opens to the sight of Lester pacing in front of the bank of elevators.

I stand guard while Mrs. Fields heads back to her apartment. Once her door is closed, Lester glances in my direction.

“Miss Marks, if I can have a word.”

“I won’t say anything to Sabrina this time,” I stress my cousin’s name. “Don’t play games with Mrs. Fields again.”

He stabs the elevator call button with his index finger at least six times. “I won’t. Thank you, Miss.”

Once he boards the lift, I turn and head back into my apartment.

My eye catches on the open laptop on my coffee table and the headshot of Roman Hawthorne.

Our brief encounter today is proof that Manhattan is home to some of the most breathtakingly handsome men in the country. It’s also home to my boyfriend.

I pick up the laptop, exit the page, and clear my search history.

By tomorrow morning, Roman will be nothing but a memory to me.

Chapter 3

Bianca

“Are you still in mourning?” Paige Barben asks from where she’s seated behind her desk.

We met over two years ago when she came to work for Packton Properties. She heads up the marketing department. I’m still holding down my position as an assistant project manager. Since I was passed over for the promotion, I’ve made a few inquiries at other real estate development companies, but so far, I’ve heard nothing back.

Biting back a smile, I tilt my head. “Why would you ask me that?”

“You’ve worn a little black dress to work for days.” She looks at the bright yellow ensemble she has on. “I happen to know that your spring wardrobe is killer. You’re hiding that away because you’re trying to make a point.”

“You’re very perceptive.” I tap her on the top of her head as I breeze past her.

She runs a hand through her blonde hair. “Mr. Smith hasn’t noticed. He doesn’t care what you wear as long as you’re decent.”

Until an hour ago, I would have agreed with her, but John has been eyeing me up through the glass wall of his office since he arrived at work. He was uncharacteristically late. He greeted me with a wave and a smile.

Most days, I get nothing from him, so something is up today.

“Bianca, I need to see you in my office.”

Paige’s brown eyes widen when she realizes that our boss just called out to me through the office PA system.

We have phones, but John likes to kick it old-school style.

If pagers make a comeback, he has at least a dozen stored in a cardboard box in the supply room.

I look in the direction of his office to find him on his feet. His suit jacket is on, so he means business. John is typically dressed in one of his stained white button-down shirts and a tie in a ghastly shade of brown.

Today the tie is light blue.

I smooth my hands over the skirt of my black dress. This one has lace at the collar and a cute thin leather belt around my waist. My black shoes have three-inch heels.

I’m five-four, so whenever possible, I try to get closer to eye level with the people I’m talking to.

“Give him hell, Bianca,” Paige whispers as I take the first step toward our boss’s office.

I toss a look over my shoulder in her direction. “I will. I have nothing to lose at this point.”

That’s a lie. I have a job to lose. It’s not the one I want, but it’s the one I have at the moment. The alternative is going to work for my stepfather. That’s never going to happen.

***

“Have a seat.” John gestures toward one of the white leather chairs that face his massive desk.

I settle into the middle one. I always do when I’m summoned in here. The first time that happened, I asked my boss why he has three chairs facing his desk instead of two. He answered that he likes odd things.

One glance around his office confirms that. For one of the most successful real estate developers in Manhattan, John’s office decor looks like it was stolen from a circus tent.

There are clown figurines everywhere. A portrait of a monkey playing cymbals hangs on the wall behind his desk, and a life-sized bearded mannequin in a red coat with tails and a top hat stands in the corner. He’s the ringmaster, or so John says.

I cross my legs. “How are you today?”

Pleasantries are born and bred into my blood. My dad taught me to mind my please and thank yous before he died. I always do as a way to honor him.

John nervously picks at a white spot on his tie. “I’m fine.”

He’s not. He’s growing increasingly frustrated as he tries to grab whatever that is. It’s proving to be an impossible task, judging by the way he keeps near missing it.