When the conversation suddenly quieted, Natasha froze when she realized all eyes were on her, and she vaguely thought she’d heard them ask something.
What was it they said? Think!
Alex’s dimple popped as he smiled again. “Oh, this is Ms., um, I’m so sorry, what was your name again?”
A quick rush of fury burned her cheeks but abated quickly with the short mantra that always got her through anything.
Ten flawless carats. Ten flawless carats.
“Natasha,” she said before waking her smile.
“That’s beautiful,” Anna said. “What do you do, Natasha?”
Unprepared, she pulled in a quick breath as her eyes widened. Sure, she could lie without a second thought. But she couldn’t get caught in one just yet.
On the DGI books, she was an entry-level clerk, but there was no way those words were coming out of her mouth with this crowd. And her degree was left off the application. The social security number was a bit tricky, but fake paperwork about an upcoming annulment seemed to explain away the name discrepancy.
“This young lady just graduated from Wharton,” Alex said, lifting his glass in a toast to her.
Impressed, the small crowd murmured appreciatively, but Natasha’s normal pride for her alma mater was snuffed out by nervousness. How does he know that?
Suspicious, she stared at Alex’s right-hand man. Squinting, she asked herself, Does Pablo know?
Or was it Paco? Pablo . . . Paco. He’s sexy, but a nobody. Whatever.
“I’m dying over that Lamborghini outside. I was really trying to hold off on buying one, but it’s so sweet,” Trevor said, gushing about her favorite car. A Lamborghini was one of the first things on her to-buy list as soon as she tied the knot. “Though I’m not sure I can pull off yellow.”
“It’s a Lambo,” Paco said with a smile. “Anyone can pull it off. And driving around in that bright beast definitely brightens my day.”
His revelation made him unbelievably magnetic.
Natasha took a step toward him, barely noticing that Alex was stepping away. The heat of Paco’s Latin accent and the obvious chiseled physique barely hiding beneath his fitted suit made her move closer.
Painting on her most seductive smile, she asked, “You have a Lambo?”
“A Lamborghini? Me? No.” Paco laughed off her comment. Leaning in, he said, “This will be lucky number three.”
His wink was all she needed to hook her arm around his. He didn’t seem to mind. Why would he? I’m a prize.
Seeming to enjoy her touch, he ran his gaze over her lovingly. “Don’t we make quite the attractive couple?”
His boast to Trevor and Anna gave Natasha a boost. Her posture straightened with the assurance of a woman bred for the finer things.
Clinking her champagne glass to his, she beamed. “We certainly do.” Her extra mouthful of bubbly was just the cherry to top this delicious cake.
Locking his dark gaze to hers, Paco added, “If only I weren’t gay.”
Champagne nearly shot out her nose as she choked down her swallow. “You’re gay?” burst from her lips, the timbre of her tone distinctly asking if the matter could be negotiated.
“And my date has finally arrived.”
Spotting the hunky beefcake heading for them, Natasha reeled as the hits kept coming. Now she had to cross lick-worthy number five off her list.
Six-foot-four-inch ebony god with the dreamy chocolate eyes Grant Evans? He’s gay too? Goddammit!
Removing himself from Natasha’s clutch, Paco greeted his guest with two cheek-to-cheek kisses, and returned her untouched, still half-full flute of champagne to her limp hand. Her lipstick stain remained intact.
“Do you mind taking care of that? I’ll make sure to put in a good word with Big Al.”
Big Al. Snapped back to her original goal, Natasha scanned the room in haste. Fuck. Alex Drake was nowhere to be seen.
No, no, no. Tell me he didn’t leave.
Her feet quickly carried her past the small clusters of chitchatting hobnobbers to see if she could catch a glimpse of the elusive Mr. Drake. She raced around the grand banquet hall, cursing her three-thousand-dollar stilettos with every step.
In a secluded corridor, a floor-to-ceiling inscription bathed in the glow of old-fashioned lights caught Natasha before she passed it. She mumbled a few words, as if reading the chiseled stone letters aloud would give her some clarity.
. . . know that your own money, rewarded for its service, returns to you as strength and surety for the years to come.
Under her breath, she huffed. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It’s like a riddle, isn’t it?”
Startled, she whirled around, catching the tall, dark figure staring at her with a half smile.
“Gotham Hall used to be a bank.”
Curious, Natasha said, “Really?”
“Yup.” Alex strolled casually to the massive plaque, stopping beside her and looking up. “These lofty words met everyone who entered the bank since it was built in the eighteen thirties. Gave them confidence that their money would grow in these walls. Their pennies would bloom and make them richer and richer.”
“So, it outgrew its money? Where’d it move to?”
He scoffed. “It didn’t. These words are nothing but a big, steaming pile of bullshit. Greenwich Savings Bank dissolved in 1981. At the time, it was the sixteenth largest deposit holder in the country with one point five billion dollars.”
“How could a bank fail with that much money?”
Matter-of-factly, he said, “Oh, you know. Recessions. Deregulation. A leak that they were about to be sold. Greenwich Savings lost a third of its deposits when the news came out. A run on the bank is the fastest way to lose half a billion dollars in three days.”
Noticing he’d again pronounced the word to rhyme with sandwich, Natasha couldn’t help but correct him. “Don’t you mean gren-ich?”
Obviously amused, he smirked. “Everyone walks away from a story with a different lesson. But you’re used to homework . . . after four years of college.”
Defensive, she asked, “How do you know that?”
Alex towered over her, the heat of his body kicking up her pulse, forcing her lips to part to take a needed breath.
“I know everything because I do my homework. Like I know the correct pronunciation of your last name. You’ve pronounced it TAY-lor. But everyone knows if you sound it out correctly, it sounds like JAY-me-son. Of the Long Island Jamesons.”
Caught, Natasha didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she turned on her heel, simply saying, “Excuse me.”
Lightly, Alex wrapped his large hand around her arm. “Leaving so soon? But I haven’t even given you my proposal yet.”
12
Natasha
From Gotham Hall, the ride was an unnerving silent eternity. Natasha couldn’t help staring at Alex, wondering what would happen. She’d prepared herself for the worst. Well, at least the worst she could imagine.
A far cry from a Lamborghini, his Rolls-Royce seemed to age him. Like, he could be her father. Mulling it over, she wondered how many women he’d been with. Had any of them called him Daddy? Trying it on for size, she mouthed the word to herself.