THE DEAL (Manhattan Nights #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

PRESENT DAYJESSE

I can’t see past the heavy falling rain. An early Wednesday morning crowd gathers on the other side of the street, but I can’t tell what’s going on. Nor do I give a s**t.

I’m late.

My suit is wrinkled from the rain, and the anger is still simmering on the f*****g surface of it. That late arrival of the train did nothing but add to my frustration, a tension that’s been building since last night.

Since I didn’t get to f**k.

The woman who’d shown up for my date last night was anything but screwable, and in the seconds before she’d shown up, I’d know it was a mistake. Known this time would be a disappointment.

Like so many others.

She was late. That was strike number one.

She’d canceled once before, a slip that was counting as Strike Number Two, even though I’d tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. Meeting someone off the SexySingles app wasn’t guaranteed safe, but I’d always done my best to soothe the minds of my potential dates.

Let them pick the meet-up place. Never take them to my apartment.

Book a hotel in a mutually agreed upon spot.

But last night? Last night felt wrong.

And the second Miss Laney Crimson—a fake name, clearly—strolled inside Serrano’s dimly lit doors, I knew I was in deep s**t.

Strike Number Three?

Miss Crimson was a f*****g liar. And I didn’t do liars.

Figuratively or literally.

Lying about your name was one thing; using a picture that looked like a Victoria’s Secret model when you looked like someone who could be my mother was another.

The badly made-up semi-senior citizen hobbled towards my table, her gaze pivoting from the edge of my half-drunk Scotch up towards my face as she muttered three words that made my heart and d**k sink southward at the same time. She smiled, revealing a set of orange lipstick-stained teeth.

“Are you Jesse?”

I inhaled, tempted to dunk my head in my drink and down the entire elixir. I nodded.

“And you must be mistaken.”

Her ginger-colored eyebrows furrowed in front of my face. “Pardon?”

I stood, grabbing for my suit jacket on the back of the elegant chair. I glanced over. “Nice picture you had on your profile.”

She grinned, her fleshy jowls shaking as she gazed at me. ‘Thank you.”

“A shame that it looks nothing f*****g like you.”

“Well, I…” she started to stutter. “I assumed that maybe we were in the same boat.”

“Meaning?” I said, slipping a few twenties out of my leather wallet and sliding them on the table.

“That maybe you were lying about your picture, too.”

I blinked, disbelief leaving me speechless. I didn’t understand it.

How people lied as easily as laying to sleep at night. Sure, SexySingles was a hook-up app. But did people like Grandma Laney here think that the truth wouldn’t eventually come out?

It always did.

Truth was like the rain. It would only be put off for so long. Eventually, the showers were going to come. And you couldn’t do a damned thing to stop it.

No matter how hard you tried. A lesson I’d learned the hard way.

And this morning’s rain was harder than most. I duck under it, heading fast away from the subway and a few blocks later into my building, the SparrowHead—home to some of the most ruthless liars in New York. Site of my law firm. And my temporary prison.

I stalk inside, stepping softly over the immaculate black marble of the expansive lobby, my leather briefcase barely making a sound as I slip it and my damp suit between a cache of waiting women standing in the center of the silver lift, heading upwards. The air in the elevator shaft shifts, the conversation between them turning to whispers.

Even stuck in a soaked suit, I know what women see when they look at me. I just never cared. Much.

My life, for the last three years at least, was made for making it in the world of law. And for me, that meant changing the culture at King & Sparrow, fighting cases that I actually gave a f**k about at the firm run by the best friend I’ve ever had.

Thirty fast floors later, I exit the elevator and head down the hall to find that friend waiting in front of my office, his eyes slanted from a wide smile he shoots in my direction. The grin only grows wider as I approach, my key to the office slipping from my grasp and into the lock as I try to ignore the frat-boy joy coming from the side of the doorframe.

“No, I didn’t f**k her last night, Huncho,” I say, unlocking the door and opening it without glancing at my friend and boss. “Now wipe that ‘I want the dirty details’ look off your face.”

I stomp towards my desk, gazing out the glass beyond it, and removing my damp suit coat. The day is still gray from the morning rain, and it’s just as dark as my mood, the frustration of the last twelve hours or so like a fever underneath my skin. And I certainly don’t have the time to share them with Heath Sparrow, managing partner at the firm and the nosiest CEO in the world—who sits down in front of my desk as I slide into my leather seat. He arches one curious eyebrow, his brown eyes dancing with a dare in them.

“That’s not what I was going to ask.”

“But that’s what you were thinking,” I say, arranging my papers on my desk, reaching inside a drawer for more. “I should have never told you about that hookup.”

“Why, counselor?” He jokes with another grin. “Getting harder and harder for you to close deals, J. Set?”

I find the files I want and pull them out, laying them across my desk. I look up, at last.

“Let’s just say that Miss Laney Crimson was a deal I didn’t care to close…”

“Ouch.” Heath leans back, running a hand through his lengthening brown hair. “Dating getting hard, huh?”

“Not dating,” I shoot back. “f*****g. And yes, it’s harder than ever when the woman who you thought would be a ten turns out to be a seven…if I were in my sixties.”

Heath shrugs, the shoulder of his white collared shirt practically shining in the barely lit office. “Maybe it’s time to try something different then.”

My hand lands on the files of my current court case and my finger swipes across the name that’s been in my goddamned nightmares for weeks. This Chris Jackson trial was driving me crazy. But not nearly as crazy as my boss whose latest advice wasn’t getting any more helpful.

He leans forward, ignoring the fact that I’m ignoring him.

“Come to my party tomorrow night.”

The pen in my hand I was just getting ready to press to the page stops. I level a glare at him.

“You can’t be serious,” I almost growl.

“I am.” He nods like the overconfident, lovable asshole he’s always been. “You’ll meet all types of great women there. Beautiful f*****g women. Women I’d hook up with if I wasn’t already in love.”

I grin back. “Spoken like a truly smitten man.” I shake my head, watching him. “How is Violet?”

He leans back, crossing his arms with a glint in his brown eyes. “f*****g gorgeous as ever. Stubborn as hell. The woman’s practically gutted my damn apartment with all these new renovations. She actually yelled at the superintendent the other day. Damn electricity keeps breaking down all the time in my building. And she won’t let him forget it.”

“Must make for a hell of a living arrangement.”

He snorts. “Sure does. After she’s done giving the super a piece of her mind, I give her a piece of something else.” He grins wickedly. “Can’t let that fire go to waste.” He winks with a nod of his head. “There are a lot of rumors about redheads, Jess…and I’m happy to confirm that every one of them is true.”

I can’t help but laugh at the dazed look on his face.

I’d heard that Violet Keats, lawyer extraordinaire, was a ball-buster before she came to work for King & Sparrow. Just never thought it’d be Heath’s balls she’d bust… Or more like drains, from the looks of the glint in his eye. I exhale with a chuckle, straightening the sleeves of my still damp suit, thinking how much has changed in a few months. How much he’s changed—a fate so far from where I am. I meet Heath’s eye.

“Still can’t believe you’re in a committed relationship.”

“You’re looking at a changed man, now, Jess.” My best friend inclines his head, letting a few strands of hair tumble towards his face. He lifts an eyebrow. “Care to join the cult?”

“You’d have a better chance of me going back for date number two with the geriatric Miss Crimson. And seriously, Heath…” I say, standing to my feet. I walk over towards the burgundy wooded bookcase on the other side of the office, pulling another stack of files, slapping them on the surface of my oak desk. I drill my best friend with a stare. “I’m not in the mood for a party.”

“This is not just a party. This is one of my parties.” He returns my gaze. “Or were you that drunk all those times that you forgot the debauchery?”

My hands stop moving.

Like the sick f**k I’ve found myself becoming because of this case, I chuckle, thinking of the decadent fun we’d had just five years ago in one of the many lofts owned by New York City’s most dysfunctional tabloid fodder family.

It seemed their destiny that Heath and his family-led law firm were constantly battling the press. A curse of their multi-comma’ed trust fund. They couldn’t catch a break.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, the rumor mill had sucked Heath’s own sister, Marilyn, into another sordid story, releasing hacked nudes of the city’s infamous soap opera actress into the blog-o-sphere.

Scandal swirled around the Sparrow family like crushed cookies in an Oreo shake.

Decadent. Delicious. And seriously bad for your f*****g health.

I glance up at Heath, wondering if I should risk touching the swirling soup of madness. I shake my head, tapping my knuckles at the corner of my desk. My mind soaks in his suggestion.

I exhale. “I don’t know, man. I just…”

“Just…think about it,” Heath holds up his hands. “And don’t forget to swing by after your deposition.” He shoots me a pointed look. “I’d like to get in on this if you don’t mind.”

I watch his back as he turns and leaves.

I glance out the wall-to-wall windows, only regretting one thing.

That I’m not stronger.

Not strong enough to not let the stress of my current court case drag me down in the dregs with it. The nightmares I’d had years ago are back with a vengeance. And as I look over the skyline of Manhattan—silver and black skyscrapers, dark and beautiful as ever—I can’t help but think of it as the site of so much joy, success…and sadness.

This city is a devastating swirl of all three. Designed to put your willpower in a f*****g blender and your privacy on display. And there are none who now know that fact more than Marilyn Daniels, Heath’s baby sister, whose own beautifully nude body was now shattered all over the Internet, just a phone touch away.

Including mine.

I sit, sliding back into my leather seat, grabbing for my phone as my frustration gets the very best of me. Guilt tugs at my gut, but still I tap on my phone’s black screen, bringing it back to life. I search through my browser history, hitting on the one site I’d been staring at this morning.

Almost all morning.

Pretty pink t**s flash onto the screen as Marilyn’s naked form fills my screen with curves and silky skin as far as the eye can see. She’s gorgeous. Every inch of her.

Dark rosy buds sit atop her pair of beautiful breasts, pointed at the screen, inviting my mouth, and I am lost in the thoughts of Heath’s beautiful little sister, the sultry brunette with delicate flaring hips, tiny white-painted toes and long legs.

She snaps the photos in various positions, capturing every captivating curve, and as I scroll through the skin-filled view, the thickness inside my slacks can take no more. I reach for my already rock-hard c**k, releasing it from the zipper, sinking my palm around it with one deft stroke.

Dark brown hair flows over her well-defined shoulders and towards her large tear-dropped t**s, the strands spilling over the skin—undoubtedly silky. I stroke myself harder, imagining my hands around them.

Marilyn was always beautiful. Always completely tantalizing even at seventeen.

She’d been teetering on the edge of adulthood, even then. But I’d been Heath’s roommate, his Harvard classmate—his friend. And Marilyn was so young. So innocent. So completely off-limits.

Until now.

I’d never thought I’d get the chance to see the beautiful and memorably mouthy brunette naked. But now?

Now… I can’t un-see it. And though the one part of her I’m dying to see most is missing from the vast array of photos, I’m happy that others can’t view it. Can’t imagine it. Because right now, that’s all I can guiltily do.

All I can do in this damned office is imagine her pink plush p***y in my hands, beneath my fingers. All I can think of is her tight walls completely full as I sink the center of my digits in what I know is her unbelievably buttery-soft wetness.

And I hate myself for it. For wanting her beautiful body. For desiring all that silky, inked skin and the sass that comes with it.

My fist pumps harder over my pulsing shaft, and as I pick up the pace, I daydream about Marilyn Daniels—tempting actress, Hollywood bad girl and the subject of many of my fantasies—moaning underneath me, as I show her a pleasure she’s never known.

I come at the thought of me plunging slowly into her wet center, my release spilling onto my hands. I sit back, my body going slack as I lean over for a napkin, wiping away the remnants of my lonely ecstasy.

I nearly growl.

Fuck, I needed to f**k.

The deposition I had in less than five minutes wasn’t making my horniness any easier, and suddenly, the thought of meeting women at Heath’s party isn’t sounding so bad. At least, it will lessen my f****d-up frustration. And maybe—just maybe—get my mind off Marilyn.