Manhattan Holiday Page 2

  Not that it was doing him any good.

  The hideous engagement ring on her finger told him someone else had beaten him to the finish line; a line he would never cross. That was how it had been for the last six months, whenever he was forced to make a trip into his attorney’s office—a monthly time-to-get-horny routine would set in for some legal assistant who didn’t even care if he existed or not.

  “….so that will take care of the contracts for the next few months. I’d say we’re probably done here for a while. I also have those personal contracts almost ready for you. There are a few minor clauses to be added, though. I’m finishing those particular contracts myself as you requested. That is, if you still need them?”

  Roman blinked and forced himself to listen to what Henry Bressler was telling him. “Yes, I still need those personal contracts. Send over the final papers when they’re completed,” he instructed, rising to leave.

  “Very good,” Henry agreed, standing to shake his hand. “I hope I can get them done before the holiday weekend. If not, we’ll have to—”

  “—actually, I need those personal contracts sent over to my apartment tonight,” Roman interrupted. “The other party involved is scheduled to sign them this evening, along with a notary to witness the signing. I want my personal business wrapped up and out of the way before I head down to Florida for the New Year weekend.”

  “You’re going through with it? Tonight? This is sort of sudden,” Henry inquired, sounding overly concerned as he knit his dark winged brows together. “Uh, I mean…let me think. Ah, all right I guess I can make this work. If you really need them tonight, I’ll have to step up the plan a bit and move things along faster than expected.” The usual smooth, unflappable attorney seemed almost frantically lost in his own thoughts. “Could you fill me in on why the short notice on these personal contracts—if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I have my reasons,” Roman stated firmly, with no further explanation.

  Henry smiled uneasily. “No problem then.”

  “Great. Thanks, man. And I appreciate you personally handling the contracts yourself. I know they’re not your forte,” he acknowledged, suddenly feeling like something was radically wrong with his plan. It was a strange, foreboding sensation he hadn’t ever experienced before. He definitely didn’t like how it felt in the bottom of his gut. He shook off the creepy feeling and refocused. “Uh, yeah, one more thing—if it’s all the same to you, Henry, from now on let’s conduct business at my office. It’s less…distracting there.

  ****

  April stood before her closet, pulling dress after dress and tossing them onto her antique iron bed. She studied the array, all of which seemed either too dowdy or too revealing. Eyeing a slinky red cocktail number she’d yet to don, she quickly pulled it out and put it up against her body, looking back at her reflection in the standing mirror. The deep crimson color of the garment brought out the smooth paleness of her complexion and made her feel decisively apart from the woman she portrayed at work. Most weekdays she dressed conservatively in tweed skirts and silk blouses with modest heels. With her hair up in her trademark bun, she was a model of what an assistant should be. Seen and taken seriously, but never drawing attention.

  The weekends were another matter. Tight jeans and tiny camisole tops, curve-hugging dresses and five-inch platform heels were her thing. As was her indulgence in skimpy lingerie. She loved the sheer freedom of wearing such things, since her weekdays were so structured and ordinary. For her, the weekends were purely about being sexy and feminine.

  She put the rest of the dresses back into her closet, except for the red chiffon confection that she tossed gently onto the bed. Stripping off her work clothes, she wrapped herself in a robe and made her way through to the kitchen, loving how her third-floor brownstone apartment had finally come together. After the breakup with Todd she’d literally thrown herself into redecorating it, and it now looked chic but comfortable. Done in creams and soft tawny tan, along with touches of dove blue-gray on the throw pillows and curtains, it was stunning but cozy at the same time. She was more than pleased, especially since she’d done everything herself. She’d picked out every last piece of furniture and even painted the walls and hung the new drapes. It was fresh and new and exactly what she needed.

  The next year was also a new start for her.

  No more boring fiancé telling her she was better off saving money than wasting it on clothes or having her hair done, which was rich, since Todd was now married to a woman whose whole life was about fashion and hair. Happily, she took out a box of flatbread crackers from a cabinet and proceeded to slather a few with creamy salmon spread. At the same time, she vowed to open one of the cookbooks she’d recently purchased and learn to make something other than omelets or cheese and crackers. She smiled with renewed optimism and took a bite of her snack, leaning against the counter to survey her new and improved digs. White twinkle lights and holiday greens trimmed her apartment mantel above the gas fireplace as the uniformed flames danced within. More white lights adorned her modest Christmas tree decorated with a hodge-podge of ornaments leftover from her childhood.

  As she studied the homemade holiday sentiments, warm memories filled her, and she realized her life was definitely on the upswing. Maybe part of her new resilience came from the fact she didn’t have Todd expecting her to put her life in second place for him. Or demanding she quit her job as soon as they married. She loved her career. The only reason she’d consider not working would be to have children; which she knew Todd didn’t want. Too much trouble, he’d told her once. He’d only insisted she stay home after they marry to keep his house running smoothly.

  Ugh!

  What century did you find that ass in?

  She laughed, finding dark humor in it now.

  On impulse she pulled off her gaudy engagement ring and dropped the offensive piece of jewelry onto the kitchen counter. The weight lifted symbolically off her shoulders. She eyed the clunky pink diamond while munching on another cracker. The ring was kind of trashy looking and too over the top for her. She would have preferred something more classic. She grimaced; Todd had only chosen it to impress his friends and coworkers at the investment firm where he worked. As if it were hazardous waste material, she picked up the matrimonial symbol with two fingers and unceremoniously dropped it into the silverware drawer, closing it with a bang. She would donate it to her favorite children’s charity.

  From now on my life is all about a new year, new apartment, and hopefully a new man. A guy who is normal and down to earth, thoughtful, kind, understanding, who wants nothing but a relationship that’s equal on every level. Fun, too. Absolutely, the guy has to be fun. And if he’s totally hot and good in bed—that will definitely be a plus too.

  Roman Vasquez.

  The name arbitrarily popped into her head as she poured herself a glass of chardonnay. His bold image made her spill some of the gold liquid onto the polished black granite countertop. Swearing to herself, she mopped up the spill and eyed the large brown envelope that sat to one end of the counter. His name flashed in her mind purely on account of the slim package that taunted her ever since leaving work.

  She gritted her back teeth and rinsed out the washcloth. Roman Vasquez was so far removed from the kind of man she wanted it was laughable. Even on her off-hours he could drive her nuts.

  She hung the kitchen cloth neatly on the side of the sink and took a long drink of her wine before she finally relented and picked up the packet to weigh it in her hands. His name was printed boldly on the outside of the oversized sealed envelope. Henry hadn’t told her what it contained; a first for him. She guessed some sort of contract or business papers had to be inside. Important ones at that, since she’d been instructed to deliver them to Roman Vasquez’s apartment tonight. She’d agreed, knowing Henry wouldn’t have asked her if it hadn’t been important. Given that she was paid well, and compensated with lots of vacation time and perks, going out of her way for her boss
wasn’t even an issue.

  But facing Roman Vasquez was.

  After their first encounter, she’d Googled him and found out he was a third-generation developer. His late father and grandfather had been big-time developers, first in Puerto Rico, then again in Florida. Roman Vasquez had capitalized on the development boom in New York City, after which he’d expanded his firm to San Francisco, Denver, and Chicago.

  April dropped the envelope back onto the kitchen counter and picked up her wineglass to take another long drink, feeling the golden liquid slide down her tight throat. Knowing she was to see him again, twice in one day, made her more than anxious. There was just something in the way he looked at her that made her uneasy.

  It was as if he were trying to figure out a puzzle—one that he didn’t enjoy solving.

  Around everyone else he seemed at ease. The other legal assistants and secretaries practically swooned and openly flirted with him when he visited the office. Roman Vasquez was just as bad, returning the ladies’ banter with his own brand of sexy charm. But with her he acted as if she’d made him walk on hot coals through the lobby of Bressler and Bressler the numerous times he’d been there. This despite the fact she hadn’t done anything to the man but be polite and businesslike each time she encountered him, which was no easy feat since he made her wilt with unexpected heat each time he was within twenty feet of her.

  The guy’s hot. There’s no denying it.

  Damning her rotten luck, she eyed the clock on the stove and decided she’d better get ready for her evening out, before she made herself late thinking about Roman Vasquez.

  With Robin Thicke playing in the background she showered and toweled off, then blow-dried her hair, styling it loose and flowing. She quickly dusted her face with a light touch of powder, applied mascara, blush, and did the smoky-eye makeup routine. After slipping on a sheer pair of matching lace-trimmed panties and bra, she carefully slipped on her dress and stepped into her favorite Boutique 9 five-inch heels.

  In the mirror she looked at her reflection, loving how the dress resembled deep red wine and how her hair looked shimmering and full. With any luck, she’d find a hot guy tonight.

  And have nothing more than a purely fun, no-strings-attached, sweaty, one-night stand.

  About time.

  Hadn’t her sister June told her that recently? That a good man would appear when she least expected it, and in the meantime she needed to have some fun?

  Isn’t that what guys do? A quick hookup? Men aren’t out there hunting down the first woman who comes through the door in hopes for a long-term relationship.

  Okay—I’m going with the hot and sweaty no-strings-attached hookup tonight.

  The thought bounced back and forth in her mind.

  Maybe.

  I don’t know.

  Chicken.

  She made a disparaging face at herself in the bathroom mirror. At the age of twenty-eight, hooking up wasn’t her style. She shrugged, indecisive yet.

  On the other hand—it couldn’t hurt to consider it.

  After swiping gloss on her lips, she sprayed a liberal amount of her favorite perfume and grabbed her black cashmere wrap, only pausing to turn off her fireplace, holiday lights, and collect the envelope along with her evening bag. Still undecided what her plan was going to be concerning the man situation, she headed out the door.

  She was officially on the clock before meeting Emily, so Henry insisted his car service be provided for the entire night. Trying to protest had been useless. She smiled secretly. She’d given in easily, liking the idea of having a private car at her disposal.

  Outside her brownstone a black town car was waiting; the driver opened the back door for her. After giving him the address, she sat back and instructed herself to relax. They quickly left her tree-lined neighborhood and drove downtown to the trendy SoHo district, where Roman Vasquez lived. The evening was a typical one for Manhattan in December. The streets were snow laden and traffic was moving slowly, the norm for a Thursday night. Holiday decorations and strings of lights festooned the windows of various shops, restaurants, and luxury apartment buildings along the way. Stray snowflakes drifted about in the icy night air, making the post-Christmas scene magical. She took in the bustling romance of the streets and neighborhoods and remembered Henry had mentioned Roman Vasquez resided in a swanky loft apartment he’d renovated himself. Her boss also added the successful developer had purchased the entire block; his company renovating most of the buildings into luxury apartments and lofts before selling them. She couldn’t imagine how much money and energy was required to accomplish such a feat. Even though she personally didn’t care for the man, she had to admire his ability to do the unthinkable.

  The driver stopped the car outside a plain eight-story brick building with twin Christmas wreaths affixed to the Tiffany glass-paneled entry doors. The renovated building looked as if it once had been a warehouse of some kind. Even though the exterior was understated, she knew the interior would scream designer chic. And she wasn’t disappointed: the streamlined modern decor awed as a uniformed doorman greeted her inside the tastefully decorated lobby. After checking the registry, he waved her off in the direction of the elevators. Roman Vasquez’s loft was on the top floor, and she rode the lift with nervous tension racking her every breath.

  As the lift doors opened she stepped out, noticing there was only one door in the long hallway. Obviously he owned the entire floor, which came as no real surprise to her. He seemed like the kind of man who required an entire floor.

  She was about to knock on his door when it flew open. Gasping in shock, she took a deep breath and realized it wasn’t him, but a tall, bespectacled blond man who looked equally shocked to see her.

  “Hey,” the man murmured, eyeing her from top to bottom through his black-rimmed glasses, his arms laden with files and paperwork. “No way. You can’t be the assistant from that stuffy law office?”

  April smothered a laugh and smiled warmly at the twenty-something male who now stood in the doorway. “Yes, that would be me,” she answered. She reached out her hand. “I’m April Sutton. I have legal papers for Mr. Vasquez. He’s expecting me.”

  “Yes, of course,” the man replied, smiling down at her as he juggled his paperwork into one arm in order to shake her hand warmly. “I’m Alex Daniels, Roman’s assistant, and I can’t believe we’ve never met before. Roman always insists on doing all the legal stuff himself. Now I can see why. Tell you what, I’ve got to leave, but why don’t you go in and Roman will be right with you. I’m sure he’ll want to check over those papers before you leave. I hope this won’t ruin your plans for the night?”

  April ignored his ever-so-clever attempt to discover the details of her evening. “No, not at all,” she replied noncommittally, ignoring how he looked like he wanted to stay but couldn’t. “Have a good evening, Mr. Daniels.”

  Smiling, as if he understood her maneuvering tactics, he waved her into the apartment. “Have a great night yourself, Miss Sutton.”

  With that, he was gone, and April was left standing in Roman Vasquez’s entryway.

  Red brick walls greeted her as she walked on gleaming hardwood floors toward the direction of the main living area. In the entry she passed a wall displayed with modern artwork, highlighted by tiny spotlights in the ceiling. On the opposite wall hung surf boards and rock-climbing gear, along with a fishing rod and tackle. The usual man stuff, with it all artfully arranged as if part of the decor. She would have never guessed hanging such things would look right, but against the brick it seemed logical, especially for a New York City loft. And for someone like Roman Vasquez.

  In the living area she found extra high ceilings and long expanses of windows on two walls. The feeling of space and light was amazing and foreign after leaving her small apartment. The area was softly lit for the evening, a fire ablaze in the modern hearth, and showcased a comfortable black micro-suede sofa and matching chairs, with glass end tables making up the rest of the décor. Alon
g one wall was a galley kitchen divided from the rest of the living area by a massive slate-topped island. On another wall were shelves filled with books, artwork, and custom wood cubicles loaded with wine bottles. They seemed almost as if they were design elements with a functional purpose, no doubt the designer’s intent.

  Everything seemed to have a place and function—with the exception of a very spindly undecorated Christmas tree that clearly rivaled Charlie Brown’s. The poor thing only had one set of white lights threaded through its scrawny branches. She walked over and peeked at the tag attached to one of the threadbare tree limbs.

  Merry Christmas.

  I thought this tree fit your personality.

  Mawh! xoxo

  The handwriting was very feminine to say the least, and she raised a brow at the cryptic note. Obviously somebody had Roman Vasquez’s number. Not surprising. April smothered an amused chuckle and hesitantly moved farther into the living room. Notably absent throughout the loft were any other holiday decorations or even a hint the holidays existed. Typical.

  Loud rock music was cranked from a distance, and she guessed it had to be coming from Roman Vazquez’s bedroom. Rolling her eyes in disgust at his taste of music, she glanced about, wondering if she dared to search for him or if she should stand and wait.

  “Hello?”

  With no reply, she removed her cashmere shawl and draped it on the arm of the sofa. Eyeing a beautiful crystal paperweight, she laid her purse down along with the envelope and picked the heavy object off the coffee table. Inside the paperweight was an unusual and intriguing blue bug, and she examined the captured creature, marveling at how lifelike it looked.

  “Alex, if you’re done with those contracts, can you get Morrison on the phone before you leave? I need you to get those figures on the cost adjustment before—”

  April dropped the glass object as Roman Vasquez entered the room. The loud clunk of the paperweight landing on the glass coffee table was deafening in the high-ceilinged room. The clanking sound ricocheted off the ceiling and bounded around with a prolonged, embarrassed ring. Crap! Blushing beet red, she quickly picked up the toppled item, but not before she found herself moaning inwardly while noting he wore nothing but two strategically placed black bath towels: one tied securely around his lean hips, and the other draped around his neck while he used the ends to dry his hair. She stood speechless, her feet suddenly cemented to the floor, with the heavy crystal weight still in the palm of her shaking hand, unable to do much more than gape at the man.