Enraptured: A Billionaire Romance (The ROGUES Series Book 2) Read online

  Time to go home, Harlow.

  I unsteadily got down from the high bar stool, wavered, and almost fell. Strong hands gripped my arms, righting me.

  “Sorry,” I slurred. “It’s been a horrible day.”

  Oliver reached for my purse and slid it diagonally across my body. “Let’s get you a cab home, shall we?”

  “I can manage.”

  He smirked. “I’m not saying you can’t. However, my mother brought me up to be a gentleman. You’re actually doing me a favor by letting me see you safely into a cab.”

  I peered up at him, then waggled my finger in his face. “Oh, you’re good, mister. Very, very good.”

  He slipped his arm around my waist and eased me toward the door.

  “Bye, dollface,” I slung over my shoulder at the bartender. Then I giggled. “He hates me.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” Oliver replied.

  The temperature outside had cooled considerably during the time I’d spent inside the bar. I shivered and wrapped my thin coat around me. Oliver held up his hand for a cab, and one instantly pulled over.

  “Here we are.” He opened the rear door. “Make sure this lady gets home safely,” he added to the cab driver, handing him a fifty-dollar bill.

  I should tell him I could afford my own cab fare home, except we both knew that was a lie.

  I gripped the top of the door and tried to focus. “Look at you. A regular Prince Charming.” And then I did something completely dumb. I stood on tiptoes and kissed him. Barely a kiss, really. More like a brush of lips.

  Oliver reeled backward so fast anyone would think I’d shot him with a taser. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not… I mean, that’s not… I have to go.”

  He hurried off and hurled himself into the back of a waiting limousine. It immediately filtered into the busy traffic.

  I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes.

  I’m never drinking again.

  2

  Oliver

  I touched my mouth with the tips of my fingers, still able to feel the unfamiliar sensation of Harlow’s lips against my own. I should have dealt with that much better. She’d had a bad enough day as it was without my hang-ups adding to her misery. She wasn’t the first woman I’d kissed since Sara left, but it was the first in a while.

  Five years, to be precise.

  When my wife walked out on me and our baby daughter, Annie, before she’d even celebrated her first birthday, I’d drowned my sorrows in other women. But all fucking anything with a pulse had done was make me feel even worse about myself. In the end, I’d simply given up trying to blot out the agony of Sara’s betrayal and had poured all my energies into Annie instead. Her happiness was the only thing that mattered. She didn’t deserve a string of dates—if I could even describe them as such—coming and going. And the last thing I wanted was for her to get attached to one of my brief flings, only for me to run a mile at the first sign of longevity.

  I did my best to make up for the fact she didn’t have a mother, but I had sleepless nights about the permanent damage Sara’s abandonment might have caused. Annie wasn’t short of love. She had me, my mom, my best friends and their families. But every day, I held my breath, waiting for her to ask why she only had a dad when all her school friends had two parents. And when that inevitable question arose, I worried that I didn’t have a practiced answer.

  I swept a hand over my face, exhaustion weighing heavily on me. I hadn’t taken a full day off in over a month, and the long hours had begun to take their toll. I always made sure I had breakfast with Annie each morning, and waved her off to school, and in the evenings I never missed bath time or putting her to bed and reading her a story. Those were my favorite parts of the day. But in between those brief moments of joy, I filled the hours with work, work, and more work.

  Maybe I should book a vacation. Take Annie down to Florida. A trip to Disney World might be the tonic I needed to find some purpose to life again. To let Annie’s happiness wash over me, seep into my veins, and chase away the looming depression.

  I closed my eyes, letting my head relax against the seat. Until I’d landed this latest deal, any dreams of a vacation would have to remain just that. Dreams. Besides, Annie had school. I couldn’t remove her on a whim simply because I was feeling maudlin.

  I can still smell her.

  The woman from the bar.

  She smelled clean, of soap and shampoo, and the barest hint of perfume.

  I shook my head and pinched my nose between my thumb and forefinger. She was only in my thoughts because I felt sorry for her. From what I’d gleaned from her conversation with her friend, her sleazy employer had fired her because the husband had gotten a little too friendly, and then she’d returned home to find her boyfriend sticking it to the neighbor. That was a shitty day by anyone’s standards. I didn’t blame her for getting blind drunk. I’d have done the same.

  Hell, I had done the same when my life had gone down the toilet six years ago.

  The only person who’d saved me from myself? Annie. I’d do anything for that kid, and she would always, always come first with me.

  I didn’t matter. She did. Period.

  My driver pulled up outside my apartment block that overlooked the Upper West side of Central Park. I’d bought the penthouse suite when ROGUES, the company I part owned with five of my best friends, hit the big time. We’d all met in college and, bored with the monotony of classes, began dabbling in gaming apps. One took off, sending us headlong into a life of riches beyond our wildest dreams. Now, all these years later, we were equal partners in a global brand, with a portfolio of diverse businesses from telecommunications to agriculture, a hotel chain, and even a string of exotic dance clubs.

  I checked my watch. Five before seven, a little later than I usually arrived home. I wasn’t in the habit of going to bars on the way home from work, but after the week I’d had, I’d craved five minutes to myself. It had done me good, not only for the few moments of peace, but because meeting Harlow had reminded me of how lucky I was. I had a mother who thought I was perfect, even though the reality was far from that, a daughter who was the light of my life, a fulfilling professional career, and five of the greatest friends a man could ask for.

  The only blight in my otherwise perfect existence? An ex-wife who betrayed my trust so badly, I found it impossible to even consider dipping my toe into the water with anyone else. What kind of woman walked out on her husband and daughter without a backward glance? Even after I discovered she’d had a brief fling with our family doctor, I’d harbored slivers of hope that she’d come home. I’d have forgiven her anything back then, when I was young and stupid. But she’d ignored every olive branch I’d extended, every email begging her to reconsider, every text message where I’d attached pictures of Annie hoping to break through a seemingly impenetrable shell.

  And in return, I’d received a letter from her lawyer ordering me to end the harassment.

  Harassment?

  That was the moment I’d filed for divorce. She didn’t contest the application, but she did demand a large financial settlement. I’d paid without a murmur of dissent, just to end the torment once and for all.

  I hadn’t seen her since, and neither had Annie.

  Fortunately, I had a selfless mother who’d provided rock-solid and unwavering support at a time of crisis in my life. She’d moved in to help me take care of my daughter. I honestly didn’t know how I’d have coped without her.

  I rode the private elevator up to the top floor and dropped my briefcase in the foyer before wandering into the main living area to find Annie and Mom. No doubt they’d be in the kitchen, clearing up after dinner. Sure enough, there they were, Annie standing on the step that allowed her to reach the sink, washing up her plate, and Mom beside her, ready with a towel to dry it. We had a dishwasher, but Mom liked to teach Annie that not everything came easy in life, and you had to know how to do the basics.

  Christ, I loved my mom.
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br />   I leaned my shoulder against the entrance and folded my arms, watching the scene before me, love bursting from my chest. These people, right here, were my life.

  Once Annie passed her plate to my mom, and the chances of her accidently dropping it passed, I crouched, then called out, “Hey, munchkin.”

  She wheeled around, a huge grin lighting up her face. “Daddy!” She leaped from the step and threw herself into my waiting arms. After a few seconds hugging, she drew back, then frowned.

  “You’re late. And you smell like whiskey.”

  Mom shot me a look, one eyebrow curved in query.

  “How do you know what whiskey smells like?” I asked my daughter, who had now placed her hands on her hips and was giving me one of her impish looks.

  “I know lots of things,” she said.

  I grinned at her sass. “Do you know that it’s time for your bath?”

  That made her pout. Annie was at the age where she wanted to stay up late for fear of missing out. I’d capitulated at the weekends, moving her bedtime to eight-thirty, but on a school night, I refused to budge from seven-thirty.

  “Just five more minutes, Daddy, please,” she begged. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

  I grinned again at her overexaggeration. “You saw me this morning.”

  “Daddy, do you have any idea how long ago that is?” She kicked out a hip.

  My heart clenched. Fucking adorable.

  “I do, munchkin. But there’s only one more day of school, and then we have the whole weekend to look forward to.” I waggled my eyebrows. “And who knows? We might take a trip to the zoo… if you’re good.”

  “I’ll be good,” she expelled, running for the stairs. She stopped, then spun around and beckoned me. “Come on, Daddy!”

  “That child gets more mischievous by the day,” Mom said, her eyes filled with adoration.

  “Tell me about it.” I grinned and set off after her.

  I bathed Annie, got her into bed, and read her a story. She insisted I leave her bedroom door ajar and the hallway light on. I did as she asked, blew her a kiss, then returned to the large open-plan living area that housed the kitchen, dining, and relaxation areas of my home. The hub of the place, really, and where we spent most of our time despite the penthouse having several other rooms, both formal and informal. This space had the best view of the park, though, as did Annie’s bedroom. I liked that she woke up to greenery in a city full of concrete.

  “I saved you some pasta,” Mom said as she spooned spaghetti and meatballs into a bowl.

  I sat at the kitchen table and loosened my tie. “What would I do without you?”

  “Strange you should say that.” She took a seat beside me and pushed the pasta and some grated parmesan in my direction. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  A twinge of anxiety twisted my gut. I shoveled a forkful of spaghetti into my mouth, chewed slowly to buy myself some time, then swallowed. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Scott is taking a cruise around the world.” She paused, took a deep breath, then hit me with it. “He’s asked me to go with him, and I’ve said yes.”

  Scott was the man my mother had been seeing for the past few months. I liked the guy. Dad had died ten years ago, and Mom deserved to find happiness with someone else.

  “For how long?”

  “Three months, give or take. We leave a week from Saturday.”

  I didn’t begrudge my mom anything. She’d basically given up her life for me and Annie. But how the hell would I cope without her?

  I squeezed her hand, and, biting back my anxiety, I hit her with a broad smile. “It’s wonderful, Mom. You’ll have an amazing time.”

  “I know it’s not ideal,” she said. “But I’ve already contacted some very reputable agencies. I’ve told them we’ll need someone who’s willing to live in. And I’ll handle the interviews, narrow them down to a short list. All you have to do is rubber-stamp the final choice.”

  “Whoa, back up,” I said. “What agencies? Who’s moving in?”

  “Why, the nanny agencies, darling,” Mom said, as though having an outsider in our home was the most natural thing in the world. Unlike most of my friends, I hadn’t resorted to household staff, save a cleaner who came in twice a week to help Mom out, and I didn’t intend for that to change.

  I flexed my jaw. “I don’t need a nanny.”

  “Correct, you don’t,” Mom said, chuckling. “The nanny is for Annie.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. “Not funny, Mother.”

  “Come on, Oliver,” she said. “You can’t manage here alone, not with the hours you work.”

  “I’m not having a stranger living here.”

  Mom huffed, her arms coming across her chest in defensive mode. “Then give me an alternative.”

  I twirled spaghetti around my fork, my appetite waning as I racked my brain, trying to find a solution that didn’t involve hiring outside help. Except there wasn’t one. I couldn’t take care of Annie alone and keep up with my other responsibilities. And I refused to stop Mom from going on this trip. She’d put her life on hold long enough. It was about time I took some of the weight off her shoulders.

  “Fine,” I said, my tone resigned. “When do we start the interviews?”

  Mom smiled and leaned over to kiss my cheek. “Monday.”

  3

  Harlow

  Three days.

  Three measly days, and then I’d find myself out on the streets, homeless. My rent was due Friday, and I didn’t have the money to pay it. My hiring agency hadn’t come up with any suitable opportunities. Strike that. They hadn’t come up with any opportunities, suitable or otherwise. My drunken bravado last Thursday night that I’d only work for single women had melted away. If I placed too many conditions on my search, it’d cut my chances of finding work down even further.

  I half-filled a bowl with cereal and sparingly added milk. I’d need to save every cent until I was earning again. Today, I would swallow my pride and look for any kind of work. And I’d go apartment hunting in the Bronx, or even farther out. I needed somewhere cheaper to live. Even if I found a job today, I couldn’t afford this place without Carter.

  One phone call to my parents or any one of my brothers and a huge sum of money would be deposited in my bank account, along with a truckload of judgment.

  I didn’t need the cash that badly. Not yet, anyway.

  I ate my meager breakfast, the food only taking the edge off my hunger rather than sating it, then went for a walk, dodging the rain the weather forecaster failed to predict. Even Mother Nature had it in for me. As I waited for the light to change, my head bowed against the driving wind, my phone rang. Ducking under the awning of a deli, I dug it out of my purse. My pulse jolted, and hope permeated my chest. My recruitment consultant.

  “Tamara,” I said, turning my back to the wind. “Please tell me this is good news.”

  “That depends on your performance at the interview I’ve secured for you,” Tamara said.

  I squealed, drawing an eye roll from a passing pedestrian. Who cared? I had an interview.

  “That’s fantastic. Where is it?”

  “Upper West Side of Central Park. The lady’s name is Liv Ellis, and she sounded so nice on the phone. It’s a three-month contract, taking care of her seven-year-old granddaughter. I get the impression, though, that it could turn into a longer contract if she likes you. And it’s live-in. She told me she’s seen a few people, but none of them were quite what they’re looking for. But you’re a warm individual, Harlow, and kids adore you. Put your best foot forward, and this job could be yours.”

  Relief swamped me. This sounded like my dream job. Working for a woman, right here in Manhattan, and solving my accommodation challenges all in one fell swoop. There had to be a catch. I wasn’t this lucky.

  “Where are the parents?” I asked.

  “She didn’t mention any parents, and I didn’t want to pry.”

  “Fair enough,” I sai
d, secretly thrilled with the idea of no male in the picture. “When’s the interview?”

  “This evening at six. I’ll email you the details now. Call me immediately afterward.”

  “I will. You’re the bomb, Tamara.”

  She chuckled. “Thank me when you’re gainfully employed again.”

  She cut the call, and seconds later my mail service pinged with an incoming message. I opened it and scanned the details. I checked my watch. Eight hours until my interview. A whole day to fill where, with every passing minute, my hope would grow.

  I could only pray this chance didn’t turn to ashes.

  At five-thirty that evening, I arrived at a towering apartment block that oozed money. Given the location, even a small apartment here probably cost millions. I checked the email Tamara had sent over once again. Liv Ellis lived in the penthouse. Christ only knew what the price ticket on that prime piece of real estate had been. Given my history with math, I probably couldn’t count that high.

  I entered the lobby. It exuded rich elegance with expensive artwork adorning the walls and luxurious rugs dotted about, breaking up the expanse of Italian marble flooring.

  I crossed over to the reception desk.

  “May I help you, miss?”

  “I hope so. My name is Harlow Winter. I’m here to see a Mrs. Liv Ellis.”

  The receptionist smiled, then checked her computer screen. “Ah, yes, she’s expecting you. The penthouse elevator is right over there.” She pointed behind me, then handed me a card. “You’ll need to enter this code into the keypad to gain access.”

  Wow. Heavy on the security. “Thank you.”

  On the way up to the penthouse, anxiety and nerves swarmed through my abdomen, and my palms were slicked with sweat. I wiped them on my coat. Slimy hands would not make for a good first impression.

  Calm down, Harlow.

  The elevator doors opened. Standing in the large foyer was a gray-haired, bespectacled woman, her hair pulled back into a neat bun. She greeted me with a warm smile. I immediately felt at ease, my pulse slowing to a more normal rhythm.