“I’ll take you to your accommodations, then.”

  “My accommodations.” I blink twice. “Right. Yes. Thank you.”

  I step back as he drops his hand and releases my wrist. My blood feels like rushing rapids in my veins. Jackson’s smile wavers the tiniest bit, but he motions down the hall, back the way we came. I follow him, making sure I keep a little distance between us so I’m not at risk of touching him. Again.

  We leave the penthouse, and he pulls out a keycard for Apartment B. “This will be your room for the night. I hope it suits your tastes.”

  “I’m sure it will,” I murmur and brush by him, my heart thundering in my chest as I cross the threshold and the lights come on, dim at first, and slowly brightening.

  It resembles an upscale hotel room, complete with a small kitchenette and a bathroom.

  The walls are white, the floors dark wood, the bedframe is feminine, and the comforter is a pale, icy blue. Gray and black accent pillows dot the comforter, and several vases of flowers are placed strategically around the room. The chandelier in the middle of the ceiling reminds me of diamonds and teardrops. “This is beautiful.”

  “I’m glad you approve.” He crosses the room and touches a sensor by the windows. “I entertain business associates often, and I realize it could be awkward to have people stay with me.”

  The blinds retract, providing a stunning view of the city. The sun reflects off the windows of the skyscrapers, lighting up the backdrop. I can understand from this vantage point why people love New York City so much. The lines and the architecture are incredible from this high up. “Wow, this view is amazing.”

  He nods. “My bedroom faces the other side of the city, so I get the sunrise, but both views are equally appealing.” He rocks back on his heels and glances toward the foot of the bed, where my small suitcase sits. “Everything you need should be there, or in the closet or the bathroom. If you’re missing anything at all, or there’s something you require, Aylin has left her card for you, so you can contact her directly.” He rubs the back of his neck, the first thing he’s done to signal anything but poise.

  “Thank you, that was very thoughtful.”

  He smiles faintly and nods, gaze moving around the room before it settles on me again. “I’ll leave you to freshen up, and if you want to review anything prior to the meeting, I’m available.”

  “That would be great.”

  He leaves the keycard to the apartment on the table and opens the door. “I’m just a text message away if you need anything.”

  “Thank you, Jackson.”

  He smiles, and it looks impish. “Thank you for always being up for adventure, even when I keep you in the dark about it.” He closes the door behind him, leaving me with a racing heart and more questions than answers.

  11

  WHAT IS THIS LIFE?

  LONDON

  I blow out a breath and drop down on the edge of the bed, flopping back. “Holy hell, this man is too much to handle,” I mutter. I notice a small note card sitting on the nightstand and pick it up.

  It has Jackson’s company logo on the front. On the back is the phrase: “Made from 100% recycled paper.” I smile and flip it open. The writing is unfamiliar.

  Dear Ms. Spark,

  If you require any additional items during your stay in New York, please don’t hesitate to contact me. I’m at your service for any and all of your personal needs.

  Best,

  Aylin

  Faint buzzing comes from my purse so I rummage around to find my phone. I should not be surprised that it’s my sisters, video calling me. I adopt an unimpressed expression and answer. “You two have a lot of explaining to do.”

  Harley and Avery are sitting at the common table in the office. If I had to guess, Harley is sitting crisscross applesauce. “You can totally thank us later. How was the flight? Where are you staying? Tell us everything.”

  “The flight was fine. We took his Gulfstream, which was an experience.” Small planes are a slightly louder, bumpier ride, but it was still nice. Particularly considering the company.

  “But a good experience, right?” Harley wrings her hands before dropping them to her lap under the table.

  “Yes, it was a good experience. I can’t believe you kept this a secret.” Harley usually has a terrible poker face, and she’s bad at lying. It’s not that she would willingly share a secret, it’s just that she can’t hold back her excitement.

  “It wasn’t easy,” Harley admits. “Where are you staying? Do you know where you’re going for dinner?”

  “I have my own apartment beside his penthouse. It’s in one of those Mills buildings. And I’m not sure where we’re going for dinner. Mostly I’m just trying to stay focused and be prepared for this meeting.” Which I still know very little about, so the last part is a challenge.

  Harley does me a solid and changes the subject. “Did I do okay packing for you?”

  I unzip my suitcase and go through the contents, carefully this time. “You get an A-plus on packing,” I tell her. I notice that she’s packed my peach chiffon dress and muted gray heels.

  “Awesome. I wasn’t sure how much time you’d have when you got there, so I tried to be thorough.”

  “Speaking of time.” I check the clock. It’s already six thirty. “I still need to go over my presentation and get ready for dinner.”

  “Why don’t you go over it while you freshen up?”

  While I fix my makeup, my sisters listen to me go over the details of the event at Spark House. They also convince me to change into the peach dress. Since I’ve been wearing the black one all day and flew across the country in it, I agree.

  At seven, I leave my room and am about to message Jackson to let him know I’m in the foyer, when I see that he’s sitting on the small couch outside the elevator. He pushes to a stand. His hand smooths over his chest, and he adjusts the front of his suit jacket.

  His eyes move over me, and he smiles when his gaze pauses at my bag, hanging off my left shoulder. “You look lovely.”

  “So do you.” I shake my head. “I mean you look dashing not lovely. Or handsome. Handsomely dashing.” Geez, what is this, 1900? I sound like I just stepped out of the pages of one of my grandmother’s beloved historical romance novels.

  His grin widens as he crosses the foyer. And once again, he slips his finger under the strap of my huge purse and lifts it from my shoulder. I grip the bag, mortified by the idea that he feels the need to carry it for me.

  “I have it.”

  His eyes twinkle with amusement. “You won’t be needing all of this tonight.” He tugs the strap.

  I tighten my grip on my purse. “But it’s a meeting, and I have to present, so I’ll need all of these things.”

  His smile and his eyes soften, and his hands settle on my shoulders, which are mostly bare because this dress has thin straps. The way his thumbs sweep back and forth over my skin is distracting and disarming. “It’s not that kind of dinner meeting, London. Tonight, you’re just going to enjoy yourself.”

  “But it’s a business dinner.”

  “It is, but you just need to be you. You don’t need this entire arsenal to sell them on Spark House. You can leave this all behind.”

  The idea of not having my presentation materials gives me heart palpitations. But he’s adamant I don’t bring it. “I’ll just bring my clutch, then.”

  “Of course.” He nods and gives me a moment to root through the bag until I find the small clutch that pairs with the dress I’m wearing. It contains my phone, lipstick, and a small compact so I can freshen up in the bathroom when necessary. I have to leave behind my star strips, but that’s inevitable. They were just in the bag because they always are. I leave my purse in my room, and we step into the elevator.

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going for dinner?” I ask when we’re on the way down to the lobby.

  Jackson leans against the mirrored glass, still wearing an infuriatingly delicious smile. “We’re not leaving the building.”

  “Oh?”

  “There’s a steak and seafood house here. They have a fabulous charcuterie board appetizer.”

  “Do you have an addiction to charcuterie boards that you need to deal with?”

  “No. They just happen to usually have all the things I love on them.”

  “I’m not eating finger foods during a business meeting.”

  “You’ve eaten finger foods multiple times in front of me.”

  “Because you ordered them.”

  “Hmm.” He taps his lip. “Good point. I’m sure there will be future opportunities.”

  I don’t have a lot of reasons to fly to New York, but I keep that to myself.

  When we reach the lobby, I fall into step beside Jackson. Even with heels on, he has several inches on me. I feel very much as if I’ve just been put under a microscope as eyes shift in our direction when we pass.

  As we approach the entrance to the restaurant, a familiar man steps forward to greet us. It’s the same man who came into the conference room for Jackson when he crashed my meeting with Mitchell and Tish.

  “Trent? What are you doing here?” Jackson allows his friend to pull him in for a half-handshake-half-hug.

  Trent gives him a curious smile. “Same reason you are. I’m here for dinner.”

  Jackson takes a step back, his brow pulled into a furrow. “Are you meeting someone? Why would you come all the way from Jersey to eat here? Do you have a date? I’m staying in the penthouse tonight.”

  Trent laughs. “Don’t worry, man, I’m not here on a date.” His gaze flicks briefly to me and then back to Jackson. “I haven’t been home. I had a few things to take care of in the city and I ran into Lincoln at the gym. He mentioned dinner, and I’m never one to turn down an invitation. Especially not when it means I get to meet the woman my best friend can’t stop talking about.” Trent turns to me; his expression holds curiosity and a hint of mischief as he extends a hand. “We haven’t been formally introduced, although we have met a couple of times in passing. I’m Trent, Jackson’s friend and trusty sidekick.”

  I take his hand, even more nervous than I was before. It’s one thing to be flown across the country for a business dinner, and completely another to meet Jackson’s best friend. This whole thing feels like a test I didn’t even know I was taking. I smile, hoping it doesn’t look strained. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. Jackson speaks very highly of you.”

  “Likewise.” His gaze stays locked on mine for a few seconds, assessing before he finally drops my hand. “We should head inside. Don’t want to keep the boys waiting.”

  I have no idea who the boys are. Or who this Lincoln person is.

  We’re met by the host, who addresses Jackson as “Mr. Holt” and leads us through the empty restaurant. I want to ask Jackson why there’s no one else here, at least until I spot the table in the center of the restaurant occupied by two men. They stand at the same time, their movements almost synchronous. Judging by their faces, they must be related. I’d go as far to say they could be twins, but as we get closer, I notice the gray flirting at the temples of the slightly shorter one, along with a few crinkles in the corners of his eyes when he smiles.

  “Jackson, man, it’s been a hot minute,” the shorter one, who’s on Jackson’s side, extends his hand, and when Jackson takes it, the man pulls him in for a back pat and a hug.

  “Nice to see you again, Trent,” the other man says before he turns to me. He looks like Adonis come to life and smiles warmly, extending his hand to me. “You must be London Spark. I’m Lincoln, but you can call me Linc.”

  “I am. It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Linc.” I wish someone would use a last name so I would have a hope of piecing together why he seems familiar.

  “Pleasure is all mine. Jackson has had nothing but great things to say about you and your event hotel.”

  “Oh, well, that’s kind. We’re just a small family-run hotel, nothing as elaborate or stunning as this.” I motion to our surroundings. “But we’ve worked hard to get where we are, and we’re excited to see it flourish, particularly with our partnership with Holt Media.”

  Linc’s smile turns knowing as his gaze slides from me to Jackson and back again. “Well, he certainly thinks highly of you. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s brought someone this far for a meeting with us. Apart from this guy.” He thumbs over his shoulder at Trent. “And he mostly comes just for the free food.”

  “And the excellent company,” Trent replies.

  “It really is quite an honor.” I will my cheeks not to turn red.

  The other man turns his attention to me, and Jackson and Linc exchange back pats and hellos. “Griffin. I’m Lincoln’s cousin. It’s great to meet you, London. I’m sorry you’re stuck with just us guys tonight, but you’ll get a chance to meet our better halves in a couple of months at Jackson’s charity event here in New York, I’m sure.” He motions between himself and Lincoln.

  “Oh, I don’t—”

  “How are Wren and Cosy?” Jackson interrupts.

  Trent and I both look at Jackson, who is very much focused on Linc and Griffin.

  Linc drags his attention away from me, although he too has questions in his eyes.

  “Great. They would have loved to have been here, but Wren volunteers at the hospital once a week when we’re not traveling, and Cosy went with her,” Griffin says, eyes doing the same volley between me and Jackson.

  “She’s been doing that for a long time, hasn’t she?” Jackson says.

  “She has. It’s been a passion project, and she misses it when we’re traveling.”

  Lincoln pulls out a chair for me, and Jackson takes the one beside mine. The cousins take the two chairs on either side of me and Jackson, putting Trent between them. Griffin takes the one closer to me and Linc the one next to Jackson. As I settle into my chair, the server appears and offers us sparkling or still water before they ask if we’d like something to drink, and then addresses Griffin and Linc as Mr. Mills and Mr. Moorehead.

  Which is when it finally clicks who I’m sitting at the table with.

  The oldest of the Mills brothers. Of Mills Hotels. And Lincoln Moorehead, the CEO of Moorehead Media. A hotel mogul and a media mogul. I want to say something to Jackson, like a little warning would have been nice. I’m sitting in a room with some of the most powerful businessmen in the continental US. It’s a bit intimidating and awe-inspiring.

  There is literally nothing I can do about it apart from tamp down my nerves and try not to drink an entire liter of sparkling water because my mouth is dry from the sudden anxiety of it all. I only allow myself a sip of the pink champagne cocktail—that Linc swears is his wife’s favorite drink—every five minutes. It’s delicious and almost impossible not to guzzle it. The rest of the time I keep my hands folded in my lap to keep from fidgeting.

  The conversation is surprisingly easy despite the company I’m in. Linc and Griffin seem to love pushing each other’s buttons, and it’s very clear that Linc, for as gruff as he seems to be, is the more social of the two. Much like Jackson, he has a charismatic way about him that draws people in.

  “So tell me about Spark House. I really love the idea of a boutique hotel, but adding the event angle gives it something unique. It must be a lot of work for you and your sisters,” Linc says.

  “It can be hectic, but we have a great system down, and lots of part-time staff to help with setup and takedown between events. My older sister, Avery, is the one who comes up with obstacle courses or team-building exercises, I take care of the business end of things, and our younger sister is in charge of social media.”

  “And you own the hotel, is that right? It’s completely family-run?” The ice cubes in his glass tinkle.

  “We do. My sisters and I are the third generation.”

  “Have you had it appraised?” Griffin asks.

  “It’s not for sale.” The words are out before I can find a better, less hostile way to phrase it.

  The table falls into something that feels a lot like shocked silence, at least until Linc picks the lemon slice off the edge of his glass of water and chucks it at his cousin. Hitting him between the eyes. “Fuck, Griff. This isn’t an acquisitions meeting. Dial it in.” He turns his attention to me. “I have to apologize for my cousin. He spends a lot of time looking at spreadsheets and not a lot of time dealing with human beings.”

  “He’s not wrong,” Griffin mutters, the apology clear in his tone. “We know Spark House isn’t for sale. I was just running numbers in my head because it’s what I do. I apologize if I took you off guard there. It wasn’t my intention.”

  “It’s okay. I apologize for overreacting. My sisters and I are very attached to Spark House.”

  “And I can definitely see why. Conceptually, it’s fantastic,” Linc says.

  They continue to ask questions about Spark House, how it started, how we took it over when our grandmother decided it was time to retire. Linc is especially interested in the green programs we’ve put in place to help make it a more efficient and environmentally friendly hotel. In turn, I take the opportunity to ask them all kinds of questions about Mills Hotels and Moorehead Media, which has shifted gears over the past several years, since Lincoln took the helm.

  And just like Jackson said, I don’t need any of the presentation materials I tend to rely on. It doesn’t hurt that both men are charismatic and engaging. Linc is definitely the talker of the two, but they make me feel welcome and included, and very much like one of their equals.

  Dinner is long finished, and it’s well after ten. Normally I’m in bed by this time, unless we have an event. As the evening wears on, I relax, although I don’t accept the offer for a second cocktail, no matter how delicious and tempting it is.

  “Jackson tells us that you’re not only an incredibly savvy businesswoman, but you’re also creative,” Linc says after the server sets a teacup in front of me.