Going Down (Quickies #1) Read online

  I let out an indignant huff, but decided to play along. “So, what do you want?” I whispered.

  “I’ll let Paige leave, and-”

  “And?”

  “And you’ll have dinner with me tomorrow night. At my place.”

  I actually laughed, completely and utterly involuntarily. It was shock and surprise, along with a fair amount of giddiness that I was one-hundred percent sure I didn’t want him to see. “You’re actually serious.”

  Carter offered me a crooked, knowing smile. “I never joke about dinner.”

  “And I’m just supposed to go to your house, like that’s not the beginning of every cautionary tale known to man.”

  He shrugged. “A famous stranger. Besides, if I hurt you? Paige has the power to ruin my life.”

  “Can’t risk your stock portfolio,” I joked, laughing.

  “Absolutely not.”

  My mouth turned up into a smile, and I reached out, the tips of my fingers skimming the tips of his. His skin was so warm, and it felt like every single cell came alive where we were touching. If Carter felt the same thing, he didn’t let it show, but he moved almost imperceptibly closer. The only reason I noticed it was because his lips seemed like they were easier to access, and I was having incredible difficulty not stepping on my tiptoes to, well, access them. With mine. Because I had never wanted to kiss someone as badly as I wanted to kiss Carter Armstrong in that moment.

  “A handshake is as good as a signature with your people, isn’t it?”

  “My people?” he replied, eyebrow raised.

  “You know, the upper crust, the elite, high society…”

  Carter let out a soft laugh. “I get it.”

  Slowly, he slid his hand against mine, and I immediately wanted him to touch me, well…everywhere. When I finally dared to look him in the eye, I could tell he knew exactly what I was thinking, and maybe, just maybe, he was thinking the same thing too. Which was utterly ridiculous, because what exactly would he see in me? I was the poor girl from Indiana who managed to attend NYU thanks to hard work and a scarily large amount of student loans. Dirty blonde, curly hair and brown eyes, I was girl next door kind of pretty, sure, but not snare a billionaire kind of pretty. I had to will myself to stop thinking about it, otherwise I’d talk myself out of this date.

  No, not a date, I told myself. Dinner, Chloe. Dinner.

  “I’ll have a car pick you up at seven.”

  “Okay,” I replied with surprising ease before I took a step back. “I…I guess I’ll see you then.”

  He nodded, and it seemed we both could breathe easier with a little bit of distance between us.

  I turned to leave and could feel his eyes on me; they felt like they weighed a hundred pounds. They made me walk carefully, made me swish my hips a little more than usual.

  “Wait. Where’s the party?” he asked, his voice a little choked.

  I shot him a look over my shoulder, aiming for flirty and hoping I succeeded. Who had I become in the five minutes since I walked into this office?

  “Why, you wanna crash it?”

  Carter shrugged and smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  I weighed my options, considered the possible outcomes of telling him. He could show up, which would probably not be a good thing. He could send a bottle of champagne to our table to apologize to Paige for making her stay late, which would be awesome. I decided to err on the side of possible awesome.

  “Azure,” I told him.

  He nodded and slid his hands into his pockets.

  “Thank you, Chloe.”

  “It was my pleasure,” I teased.

  “No,” he replied, a cocky grin spreading across his lips. “But it will be.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Early the following evening, I was rifling through my closet, frantically sliding dress after dress across the rack from one side to the other. How could I, a self-proclaimed clothes horse, not have a single thing to wear to dinner?

  This one was too short.

  That one was too long.

  The others weren’t date-y enough (not that this was a date, I had to keep reminding myself).

  The hangers clicked angrily against each other as the panic slowly started to overtake me. And why was I so nervous? I knew which forks went with which course, if he was going to get super fancy about it. It was just dinner; I ate dinner every night. I even had dinner with men on occasion, so it wasn’t like the concept was something new to me.

  No, that was a lie. This was something new, because last night I walked into Carter Armstrong’s office practically hating him, and I walked out of it wanting him more than I’d ever wanted another man in my entire life. It was strange, feeling such an instant attraction to someone. Maybe I’d find him intellectually interesting once we’d spent some time together, but I was much more interested in sliding my hands across what was sure to be an impressive set of abs, if the way he filled out his dress shirt was any indication. And his arms, god. I wanted them wrapped around me, holding me up against…something; I didn’t even care what. A hard surface—preferably vertical—probably.

  “Chloe!” Paige shouted.

  My heart slammed against my ribcage, and I pressed my palm to my chest, trying to calm it down. I turned around to look at her there, lounging on my bed like it was her own. Judging by the look on her face, she’d probably called my name a few times.

  “What?” I asked, a little breathless.

  “Are you okay? You kind of spaced out there for minute, staring at that ugly red dress I hate. You’re not thinking of wearing that, are you? Because if you are, don’t. And then burn it, because it really needs to stop existing.”

  “What is it with you and this dress? The more you hate it, the more I want to keep it. And no, I wasn’t considering wearing it. It seems too…”

  “Hideous?”

  I narrowed my eyes, deciding that I wasn’t going to win this battle, so I wasn’t going to bother trying to fight it. I turned back to the closet, continuing my quest for the perfect dress.

  “I can’t believe you agreed to go out on a date with my boss,” Paige said, leaning back on my bed, the toes of her fuzzy pink slippers brushing against the hardwood floor.

  “It’s not like I went into his office expecting him to ask me out.” No, I went in there disliking him, but now I just wanted to jump his bones. “I thought he was going to accept a fair trade; your release for my servitude.”

  “Servitude?” Paige rolled her eyes. “You make everything sound so dramatic.”

  “It was dramatic! I rescued you!”

  “Oh, please. You wouldn’t be able to work on a presentation if your life depended on it. Software so isn’t your thing.”

  I shrugged, not really having much of an argument. “He doesn’t know that.”

  “And now he won’t find out, because you’re having dinner with him.”

  “I would’ve gone out on ten dates with your boss if it got you out of that damned office. But if this bothers you, then I guess I can call it off. It’s not like he can do anything about it now since you already went to your party. Which,” I said as I eyed a turquoise number on the hanger in front of me, “I hope was worth it.”

  Paige grinned, leaning on her elbows. “Yeah,” she said with a smile. “Totally worth it.”

  “That wine Carter sent over-”

  Paige hummed her approval. “Do we still call it wine when it cost four hundred dollars a bottle?”

  “No,” I laughed. “We call that nectar of the gods. Liquid gold. Which reminds me, we need to make friends with some rich people. They can afford the good stuff.”

  “Seems like you’re well on your way to making friends with him,” she said suggestively. “He must have felt really bad.”

  Ah, there it was, the patented Paige Turner guilt trip that she somehow always managed to put on herself whenever someone did something nice for her because they had something to make up for.

  “Or maybe he’s expect
ing something in return.” It was terrible, but part of me? Part of me hoped.

  “You gonna give it?” Paige was looking at me with her eyebrow quirked up; no judgment or anything, just genuinely curious.

  “No,” I replied with a nervous laugh, and Paige didn’t buy it for a second. Like I said, terrible liar. “Hey, is this weird for you?”

  “Is what weird for me?”

  “Me having dinner with your boss.” Me sleeping with your boss, is what I really wanted to say, because I honestly hoped that would happen, who was I kidding?

  Paige shrugged. “A little? Not that you’re doing it, per se. It’s just the way the whole thing came about, I guess. I feel like maybe you’re being pressured into something you don’t want to do on my account, and I don’t like that.”

  I sighed. “No pressure, I promise. I want to go.” I wanted to go because I was attracted to Carter and I was curious about him and what he wanted from me. Even though I knew those things probably wouldn’t amount to anything good, I just had to follow them through to see where they led. “You know no one can make me do anything that I don’t want to do.”

  That seemed to pacify her. “Okay, I just wanted to make sure.” She bit her lip for a few seconds before finally moving on. “So…what are you going to wear?”

  I pulled out the flirty, flowing turquoise dress I’d been eyeing before and held it up to my chest, fanning the skirt out as I posed. “What do you think?”

  Paige tapped her chin with her index finger, giving me an amused and knowing look. “I think that I won’t wait up for you.”

  I rolled my eyes as I walked into the bathroom, desperately trying to ignore the handful of butterflies that had just started flapping their wings inside my stomach.

  I made it down to the first floor of our building right as the clock struck seven, and when I opened the front door, the driver Carter had sent for me was waiting by the curb, standing in front of a sleek black sedan. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was expecting: a stretch limo? An SUV? An armored vehicle? Anyway, I was surprised by the simplicity of it, because I figured Carter, being the billionaire he was, would send something ostentatious. Not that I knew any billionaires apart from Carter, but I always operated under the assumption that they spent their money on all manner of toys (cars included). This car looked like one I’d see cruising the busy streets of Manhattan. I guess there are times when it paid to blend in, and commuting was probably one of them.

  “Good evening, Miss,” the driver said, offering me a friendly smile as he opened the back door. He was older; his hair more salt than pepper. He reminded me of my father, which, strangely enough, put me instantly at ease.

  “Good evening.” As I slid into the car, I half expected Carter to be waiting for me. I allowed myself to feel one fell swoop of disappointment before my nerves picked up again and I sank into the soft seat, the buttery leather smooth against my legs.

  As the driver pulled away from the curb and out into traffic, I drummed my fingertips against my knee, trying to quell the anticipation that was building up inside of me. It was ridiculous how anxious I was to see Carter. Sure, I did the responsible thing and ran a few searches on him online, but I’d spent a grand total of ten minutes with the guy, angry for a good seven or eight of them. Yet every nerve in my body was thrumming, dying to be close to him again.

  The ride to Carter’s apartment was a little slow going, given the ever-present gridlock. I got lost in my thoughts, working through the nervousness, wondering exactly what I was expecting out of tonight, and trying to temper those expectations. Was I just going along with the plan to get Paige out of the office last night? Was I expecting an actual date? Was I actually going to sleep with him if given the opportunity? My mind swam with possibilities, and I decided to just go with the flow. I was going to follow wherever the night took me.

  I was so distracted that I completely lost track of time, so I was surprised when the driver pulled to a stop in front of a building on a residential street. I stepped out when the driver opened the door and I looked around, trying to get my bearings. I didn’t know exactly where I was, but I could tell that we were somewhere in Central Park West.

  A doorman walked over to where I was standing on the sidewalk, then offered me his arm. I slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow, wondering if this was how the other half lived, immersed in luxury with men waiting to escort them inside of their building whenever they stepped out of a car. I could get used to life like that, who couldn’t?

  “Good evening, Miss Moore,” the doorman said as he led me toward the building’s entrance. “Right this way.”

  I looked up, admiring the architecture. I imagined Carter living in some modern-looking high rise, not a pre-war building with a uniform-wearing, manners-having doorman. The night started off with a surprise, and I figured that had to be a good thing.

  The lobby of Carter’s building was all marble and leather and fresh flowers and decorations that probably cost more money than I’d ever have in a lifetime. It was difficult, not feeling a little ridiculous in a building like this, being escorted by a doorman. I should’ve been wearing Chanel, not a cute little dress that I’d gotten at a boutique sale at the end of last summer. I wondered if the few people milling around the lobby knew how out of place I was here, that I sometimes shopped at discount stores and ate toaster pastries for breakfast.

  The doorman led me past the main elevator bank and into a small vestibule off to the side, then waved a key card in front of a black panel on the wall. A minute later the door opened, and the doorman entered a code into the keypad on the right side of the elevator.

  Carter had a private elevator.

  “Enjoy your evening,” he said, smiling as he stepped back into the lobby, disappearing behind the closing doors.

  I wasn’t claustrophobic, but I felt it every second of that elevator ride.

  Up, up, up.

  To the penthouse.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The elevator doors opened right into Carter’s apartment, if that’s what one could call this bigger-than-my-whole-apartment, right-out-of-a-catalog room. And it was only the foyer. I stepped out, and Carter was right there waiting for me, somehow managing to look casual in a pair of dark slacks and yet another white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, again, like he just knew that was one of my weaknesses.

  I was going to need strength to make it through the rest of this evening with my sanity intact.

  “Chloe,” he said, smiling warmly as he reached out, his fingers sliding down the inside of my arm and coming to rest near my elbow as he guided me inside. I briefly wondered if he could feel the goosebumps slowly spreading across my skin, then I pushed that thought right out of my mind. “Welcome.”

  “Thank you for having me,” I said stiffly, like this was some kind of charity event or staff dinner. My nerves were overtaking me, making me second-guess every movement, every word that came out of my mouth. Only the delicious smell wafting through the air was able to break through my frenzied, self-conscious thoughts. It was Italian, maybe? “It smells delicious in here. Did you cook?”

  Carter gave me a sexy, mischievous grin. “No, I don’t cook usually. I like to spend my free time perfecting other skills.”

  I almost asked him what other kind of skills he was talking about, like it wasn’t some kind of innuendo. Thankfully I managed to keep my mouth shut, saving myself the embarrassment. His stupid grin and his stupid, sexy mouth was going to get me into some trouble tonight, I could feel it.

  “Let me show you around.”

  He walked me through the living room, decorated in warm reds and browns, photos peppering the mantle and just about every available surface. I was a little shocked to see how lived-in the place seemed. It wasn’t a picture perfect, everything-in-its-place kind of apartment with generic furnishings and expensive-looking chandeliers and such. It was normal. Well, the luxury kind of normal, but nothing too over the top.

  His apartment w
as large, but homey. It was warm and inviting, completely unlike his office. Like he could read my mind, he said, “You’re surprised?”

  I could feel his eyes on me, watching me intently as I walked around, taking in the space. I slid my fingers across the back of his sofa, along the fringe of a lampshade, admiring the understated luxury.

  “Yes,” I said honestly.

  “Why?”

  I shrugged as I took in a deep breath. “I thought your apartment would be colder. Less lived-in, maybe. I don’t know, more like your office? I kind of figured that place was a sample of your decorating style.”

  Carter laughed. “I hate my office.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded enthusiastically, like he just loved it when people asked him about this. “It was the result of an ill-advised study about office environments. I’ve wanted to redo it forever, but my employees seem to be happy enough with it, and I could hire twenty people with the money I’d spend on redecorating.”

  “Seems like maybe you could afford to do both,” I teased. Was he not a gazillionaire?

  “You don’t earn money by wasting it,” he explained. He could’ve very easily sounded condescending, but he didn’t. “I’m not rich because I throw it away.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, turning on my heel, taking in the high ceilings and crown moulding.

  “Would you like a drink? I have a bottle of wine breathing on the counter in the kitchen.”

  I nodded, wanting to laugh at how absurd this all was. Me, standing in a billionaire’s apartment while a bottle of wine was breathing on the counter in the kitchen. Paige and I always just drank it straight after we uncorked it. It seemed I had a lot to learn, and I knew there were a lot of things that Carter could teach me if I’d let him.

  I followed him into the kitchen, a long room with shiny granite countertops and wooden floors. Carter had stainless steel appliances with so many buttons I wouldn’t even begin to know how to use them. He probably didn’t know how to use them either, if I had to guess. Or maybe he did, and that was just another surprise I had waiting for me where he was concerned.