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Pregnant on the Upper East Side?
by Emilie Rose
721 SECRETS
Keeping you up to date on all that goes onat Manhattan’s most elite address!
Our own Amanda Crawford wins the Dubious Award for Abstinence. She did what no other female New Yorker has ever done—resist TDH (aka tall, dark and handsome) Alex Harper. Once that gorgeous lawyer turns on the charm, women normally rush into his arms. But not Amanda. She put the heartthrob through his paces before she succumbed. It’s a match made in heaven, sources say. Alex has all the contacts Amanda’s fledgling party business needs and she’s the best there is to bring him the publicity he craves. But theirs is more than a business arrangement, according to 721’s ninth-floor residents who were kept up all night by their…work.
With Alex’s fine pedigree, no doubt Amanda’s parents will approve of her man—for the first time ever—but rumour has it she’s keeping mum on her love life. How’s that possible when she’s seeing Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor? And just how long will Love ‘em and Leave ‘em Harper stick around this time? Only time will tell…Some say we’ll know in nine months!
The Billionaire in Penthouse Bby Anna DePalo
721 SECRETS
Keeping you up to date on all that goes onat Manhattan’s most elite address!
Could it be that our resident lone wolf, Gage Lattimer, has found a mate? Sources say his new housekeeper has become a live-in…and more than a maid. Maybe that’s why the workaholic is keeping regular hours. And just who is the mysterious Jane Elliott? Nobody can turn up anything on the secretive housekeeper. But she’s apparently keeping Gage happy—with her skills. Cleaning skills, that is. But, really, Gage, she’s the hired help. Tsk-tsk. Then again, Gage has had more than his share of troubles. Let’s just say his reputation of late is less than sterling. Other rumours abound at 721. The latest is that the NYPD claim former resident Marie Endicott’s death was not a suicide. Is it possible dangerous doings claimed the life of that sweet young thing in our own building? Only one thing’s for certain: at 721 there’s always a heap of secrets and scandals!
Pregnant on the
Upper East Side?
by
Emilie Rose
The Billionaire
in Penthouse B
by
Anna DePalo
Pregnant on the
Upper East Side?
by
Emilie Rose
Bestselling Desire™ author and RITA® Award finalist Emilie Rose lives in her native North Carolina with her four sons and two adopted mutts. Writing is her third (and hopefully her last) career. She’s managed a medical office and run a home day-care, neither of which offers half as much satisfaction as plotting happy endings. Her hobbies include gardening and cooking (especially cheesecake). She is currently working her way through her own “Bucket List”, which includes learning to ride a Harley. She’s a rabid country music fan because she can find an entire book in almost any song. Letters can be mailed to: Emilie Rose, PO Box 20145, Raleigh, NC 27619, USA, or e-mail: EmilieRoseC@aol.com.
Dear Reader,
I adore Manhattan. But then who doesn’t? When I was offered the opportunity to work with some of my favourite Desire™ authors on a series set on Park Avenue, refusing never crossed my mind. The only thing more fun would be taking another trip to New York City—and that is definitely on my agenda.
For a laid-back southern girl there is nothing like the energy of the city that never sleeps. I love visiting places I’ve seen on TV or in the movies, like Times Square, Central Park and Ground Zero to name but a few. I’m sure my practice of smiling at everyone I pass marks me as a tourist, but so what? When I go to Manhattan I’m there to have fun, see the sights and yes, the people, and that brings a smile to my face that I can’t smother.
My only regrets: I haven’t managed to catch a Broadway play or get to a baseball game on my trips north. So look out New Yorkers. I’ll be back and I intend to hit both a Yankees and a Mets game—both just short train rides away—and catch a show or two. Keep your fingers crossed that I don’t sing a show tune on the way out of the theatre. Trust me, that would be bad.
Emilie
Starting over is never easy, but I’ve been fortunate to
have friends to help me through the transition.
You know who you are, and you have my infinite
gratitude for making the process as painless
as possible.
One
“Are you stalking me, Alex Harper? You’re an attorney. You should know better.” Amanda Crawford frowned at the too-handsome-for-his-own-good man standing beside the rows of mailboxes in her apartment building.
Alex feigned innocence. Badly. His coffee-brown eyes glinted with mischief, shooting off tiny gold flares in his irises, which in turn set off corresponding sparks below her navel. She clamped down on the unwelcome response.
He withdrew his hand from his black overcoat pocket and dangled a brass mailbox key in front of her. “I’m here to pick up Julia’s mail. It’s not all being forwarded to Max’s place, and since I was going to be in the neighborhood I offered to stop by.”
As excuses went, Amanda could almost accept that one. Julia, her former roommate, had married Alex’s best friend just over three months ago. But Amanda had been seeing far too much of Alex to believe mail call was his only motive for turning up at 721 Park Avenue on a Saturday night at the exact moment she returned to her apartment building. No matter where she went lately he managed to make an appearance.
“The post office makes change-of-address kits for exactly that purpose. I’ll send a few to Julia. Better yet, I’ll fill them out myself.”
Melting snowflakes glistened in Alex’s dark hair, and he stood close enough that she caught a whiff of his cologne. She’d always been a sucker for Calvin Klein MAN, especially when applied to a tall, wellbuilt body.
Stop it. You’re all business all the time now, remember?
No men to divert your focus. Especially not this man.
At five foot ten in her bare feet plus her three-inchheeled Stuart Weitzman ankle boots, she shouldn’t have had to look up at anyone not affiliated with professional basketball. But with Alex she did.
“I’ll take care of Julia’s mail since I still live here,” she insisted. “Besides, I have more upstairs.”
“I’ll come up and get it and deliver it when I meet them for dinner later.”
Walked right into that one, didn’t you, Amanda?
Disgusted by her slip, she turned and stalked across the marble-floored lobby toward the elevator. Henry the doorman sat in the center of the lobby behind his big mahogany desk, with the phone receiver pressed to his ear. She waved as she passed and his beady eyes followed her.
Alex kept pace beside her. “Why don’t you join us tonight?”
“No thanks. I’m busy.” Not exactly true. All she had planned was an evening of combing her accounts and trying to find the money to cover her most pressing bills, but she didn’t want to encourage Alex by accepting. Not that a womanizer like him apparently needed encouragement. She’d given him none and yet here he was. Again.
“When are you going to stop playing hard to get and go out with me, Amanda?”
“Never. And I’m not playing. I am hard to get. Impossible, in fact. So have a little pride and stop asking.” She stabbed the call button and caught Alex’s inspection in the ornate gold-rimmed mirror hanging on the Tiffany-box blue wall.
“I never give up when I truly want something. Or someone.”
She attributed the shiver working its way up her spine to the record-breaking cold November weather outside the glass lobby doors. Alex’s deep voice and the interest in his eyes had nothing to do with it.
“Especially when she’s equally as interested.”
She caught her breath at his audacity. And his insight. “For someone who is supposedly brilliant, you missed the mark on that one.”
Amusement mingled with disbelief in his eyes. “Did I?”
Why bother to lie? He wouldn’t believe her anyway. She ducked her chin into the fox collar of her cashmere coat and repositioned herself so she couldn’t see him or his reflection.
She had to admit she found Alex’s pursuit incredibly flattering, but she was smart enough to recognize a relationship train wreck when she saw one. In the dictionary of dating, Alex’s name defined the words temporary and heartbreaker. Getting involved with him would be a disaster on a major scale. Not something she needed to add to her already infamous and blotchy relationship résumé.
“Why is it the party girl—”
“Party planner,” she corrected instantly. Oops, that had sounded a little snippy and defensive. But he’d hit a hot button. Her disapproving parents had railed long and hard about her unacceptable career. If she heard Get a real job or marry money one more time she wouldn’t be responsible for her actions.
“—parties with everyone but me?” he continued as if she hadn’t interrupted.
She squeezed into the elevator even before the doors finished opening. He followed her into the car, crowding her toward the back wall. She put as much room between them as possible, which meant he literally had her backed into a corner. Not her idea of fun.
“Other people pay me for my services.”
“That’s what it takes? I have to hire you?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know.”
Trying to ignore him, she flipped through her mail and grimaced. Bills, bills and more bills. No surprise there. Her business, Affairs by Amanda, continued to grow, but unfortunately not fast enough to cover the balloon payment coming due on her bank loan.
If she didn’t land a lucrative and highly visible event contract soon she’d have to consider closing her doors or—a fate worse than death—beg her parents for a loan to tide her over. Either way, her father would need a larynx transplant because he’d wear out his voice box lecturing her about disgracing the venerable Crawford name. Not that she hadn’t heard that speech a thousand times already.
The elevator opened. She exited with Alex’s shoulder bumping hers. The contact acted like a blaring alarm clock on every cell of her being. She absolutely detested his ability to affect her this way.
Honestly, the man had nothing going for him…aside from being rich, smart and gorgeous. It had even been rumored he had a sense of humor. But she could and would continue to resist his advances.
She dug her keys out of her Carlos Falchi python tote bag and shoved them into 9B’s lock. It turned smoothly. The building might be prewar, but the security was modern era. If not for her friend Julia’s connections, Amanda could never have found herself at such a prestigious uptown address. The real question was how long could she afford to stay without a significant boost in income.
“Wait h—”
“I’d love to come in. Thanks.” Alex’s chest bumped her shoulder when he reached past her to push open the door. The usual unwanted frisson of awareness hit her.
Why him? Why did Alex Harper have to be the one to ring her chimes?
She stared at him for five seconds, debated the wisdom of letting him in and then decided it wasn’t worth arguing. He’d be gone in minutes. She left him behind and crossed the living room to the brushed stainless basket where she’d piled Julia’s magazines and mail. When she turned with the bundle in hand, Alex was right on her heels. Her breath caught at his nearness. She shoved the mail forward, jabbing him in his flat belly, in an attempt to make him back off.
“Here you go. Thanks for picking it up. I’ll show you out.”
He stayed planted, his big body blocking her path to the door. His gaze held hers as he accepted the stack of letters and magazines. His fingers grazed hers. That fleeting contact hit her like a speeding subway train, quickening her pulse, shortening her breath and knocking her silly with lust.
And then he blinked his ridiculously thick lashes, releasing her from his spell. He scanned the pale pink and white high-tech decor of her living room. She could swear he zeroed in on each new addition. The votives, the trio of bubble-glass vases she’d picked up at an estate sale for next to nothing, the lime-green-beaded sari she’d draped over the back of the white sofa and the new raspberry tasseled lampshade.
“You’ve made some changes since Julia moved out.”
“A few.” He’d been in the apartment dozens of times, but not recently and never without Max or Julia as a buffer. Funny how he seemed to take up more space and air when it was just the two of them. “You don’t want to be late for dinner.”
“I have time.”
She gritted her teeth in frustration.
“I want more than Julia’s mail from you, Amanda.”
As if she didn’t know that already. Nevertheless the words sent a quick thrill through her. She’d considered more with Alex a time or two during her weaker moments. More would probably be pretty darn good with him considering all the practice he’d allegedly had. But the man and the timing were all wrong. She had to work on organizing her life before she could allow someone else into it.
She folded her arms and rocked back on her heels. “Really? Now there’s a surprise. But there’s this little word. No. N. O. I’m sure you’re familiar with it since I’ve shared it with you so often.”
The corners of his mouth twitched as if he fought a smile. She would bet a month’s rent—which she didn’t have to spare—he enjoyed their little verbal duels. Why else would he provoke her every time they met?
“You’ll change your mind when you hear my proposition.”
A proposition. Again, no surprise. Nonetheless, her mouth dried because she really was going to have to say no. Again. And each time it was a little harder to squeeze out that single syllable. “I doubt it.”
He took off his coat and draped it over his forearm, revealing a charcoal Brooks Brothers suit, blinding white silk shirt and ruby power tie. “I need Affairs by Amanda.”
He’d employed the one line that guaranteed she’d hear him out rather than kick him out. “For what?”
“Harper & Associates just landed a substantial public settlement. I’d like to reward the staff for their hard work.”
He definitely knew how to tickle a girl’s interest. A party for his firm could be good for business. His and hers. “What kind of event?”
“A couple hundred guests including friends, clients and a few celebrities to make it interesting. Choice of venue is yours, but I’d prefer something upscale like the Metropolitan Club.”
Size and visibility. Class and clout. A-list guests who might be persuaded to use her services for their future affairs. Not exactly money in the bank, which she desperately needed, but the exposure could be just the boost her business required.
As a millionaire finance attorney, Alex had the kind of connections she could use. Not that she didn’t have her own connections. But his were better.
She knew there would be strings. A wheeler-dealer like Alex would always have strings. She curved her fingers in a “give me more” gesture. “Details.”
He named a budget that made her salivate. “The catch is I’d like to do this within the month. The sooner, the better.”
“That could be problematic.” But a boon for her finances.
“If you’re not up to it I can go elsewhere.”
A power play. And he knew exactly what he was doing. She didn’t miss the challenge in his eyes or in the angle of his chin. “What makes you think I’m available on such short notice?”
“Julia mentioned you’d had an unexpected cancellation.”
A huge engagement party had gone kaput. The bride-to-be had run off with the groom’s youngest brother. Not pretty. And while Amanda would get to keep the deposit to cover most of her losses, there would be little left after she paid the vendors and her employees.
She ought to turn Alex down. He was demanding and impatient and a workaholic like her father. He’d be hell to work with unless he stayed out of her way. And she doubted he would.
But she couldn’t afford to say no.
“If I do this, your party is all I’m doing. Is that clear?”
One dark eyebrow hiked and his delectable mouth tilted mischievously. “Amanda—”
“Don’t ‘Amanda’ me. I have no intention of being your latest accessory.”
His slow, confident smile hit her below the three-inchwide patent leather belt she’d cinched over her lavender cashmere tunic sweater. “But we’d be so good together.”
That’s what she was afraid of. He’d be amazing. Right up until the moment he dumped her. And she’d be left with yet another failed relationship. Wouldn’t her parents love to rub that in her face?
“But as you pointed out, I’m an attorney. I know better than to force my attentions when they’re not welcome. Meet me tomorrow to discuss the party details. Park Café. Four o’clock.”
She sputtered at his pushiness. “That’s less than twenty-four hours.”
“Long enough for you to know if you can pull this off.” He turned on his heel. His long strides carried him out of the apartment. The door shut quietly behind him.
She had her work cut out for her, but she’d be darned if she’d back down from the challenge he’d issued.
She couldn’t afford to.
Amanda shifted her laptop case to her left hand, braced herself for another onslaught of Alex’s charisma and pushed open the door of Park Café.
The upscale coffee shop was her favorite, and not just because of its close proximity to the building where she lived. If she ever had to have a last supper, she wanted it to be one of the café’s double chocolate chip walnut muffins—preferably fresh from the oven while the chocolate chips were still gooey.
She waved to Trish, the barista. The warmth enfolding Amanda had everything to do with leaving the blustery outside behind and nothing—absolutely nothing—to do with spotting Alex unfolding his tall frame from a chair at a corner table.
He’d dressed casually for a Sunday afternoon in charcoal wool trousers and a dove-gray cable V-neck sweater that made his shoulders look a mile wide. She caught a glimpse of the black T-shirt he wore between the cashmere and his skin.
Don’t think about what’s next to his skin.
Keep the meeting on a business footing.
And if he flirts, ignore him.
Easier said than done when even his smile invited her to break rules and promised she’d love doing it. Why did the man tempt her to throw caution and common sense out the window?
He pulled out a chair for her and nodded toward her briefcase. “You came prepared.”
“I’m good at what I do. That’s why you’re hiring me. I brought a list of venues and dates that we can get within the next four weeks. Needless to say, it’s a short list since the most desirable locations book up months or years in advance. I can pull up pictures of the spaces online since the café has wireless Internet access.”
Trying to make connections with vendors on a Sunday had been absolute hell. But she’d done it by calling in every favor she was owed. This job was that important.
“I’ve ordered your usual. Trish said to tell you she’d start your latte when you walked in the door and a fresh batch of muffins would be out of the oven in five minutes.”
Her usual? She’d met Alex here with Julia and Max a few times, but she hadn’t realized he’d noticed she always ordered the same thing. Most likely Trish had told him. “Thank you.”
She set her case on the table and extracted her computer. While the laptop booted up, Alex stepped behind her to help her remove her coat. Each touch, no matter how fleeting, hit her with a charge of electricity. Static electricity, no doubt.
Who do you think you’re fooling?
He draped her coat over his on the spare chair. She sat quickly to get away from his heat and shoved a sheet of paper across the table the moment his behind hit the chair.
“Here are the sites, dates available, room capacities and prices. We’ll have to act fast to snap up whichever one you choose because we’re capitalizing on cancellations. Once we select the location we’ll start on the menus.
“The Metropolitan Club is available for one day only, but I think the Trianon Suite at the Carlyle Hotel would be a better option. That time and date don’t conflict with any of the other high-profile events going on in Manhattan.”
“The Trianon it is.”
That had been too easy. “Do you have your guest list?”
He extracted it from his coat pocket. Amanda took it and scanned the names. Adrenaline rushed through her. If she could convince just two or three of these people to hire her, Affairs by Amanda would be in the black for a long time to come. Alex definitely moved with the in crowd.
A shadow fell across the page. She glanced up and stifled a groan. Curtis, her lying, thieving ex, stood by the table. It took every ounce of civility she had to hide her less-than-happy-to-see-him reaction.
“Hi, ‘Manda.”
“Hello, Curtis. I can’t talk right now. Could you please excuse us?”
The jerk didn’t move. “I stopped by your apartment.”
“Curtis, I’m working.”
“Your balloon payment is coming due this week. Do you have enough money to cover it?”
Her cheeks burned. She did not need Alex to know she had financial issues. He might change his mind about hiring her.
“I don’t have time for this discussion now. Later, okay?”
Curtis shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels as if he had no intention of going anywhere anytime soon. “I could loan you some cash if you’re strapped.”
The money Curtis wanted to loan was probably her own. She had to get rid of him. “Why don’t I let you talk to my attorney about that cash?”
She knew she was bluffing, but she saw her threat register in his eyes. And then she saw him dismiss it. His lips curled in a smirk. “Now, ’Manda, there’s no need to get nasty. We both know you’re not interested in making a fuss that would draw your parents’ attention to your…difficulties.”
Damn. Double damn. She glanced at Alex, and his dark, speculative gaze held hers for perhaps ten seconds. Then he shoved back his chair and rose.
She’d lost him, his business and her much-needed fee. Her stomach sank. Amanda racked her brain for a way to salvage the situation and came up empty. She grimaced an apology.
But instead of storming out of the coffee shop, Alex offered Curtis his hand in a friendly gesture. Surprised, Amanda searched his face. The hard glint in his eyes and his looming posture were far from amicable. In fact, she’d never seen Alex look so ferocious.
“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Alexander Harper, Amanda’s finance attorney.”
Curtis’s eyes widened. His mouth opened. The color leached from his face and he winced. Amanda realized Alex must have crushed his hand. As soon as Alex released him Curtis shuffled back a step. He glanced warily from Alex to Amanda and back, then squared his shoulders.
“Curtis Wilks, Amanda’s boyfriend.”
“Ex-boyfriend,” she corrected. “When you cancelled the lease on our apartment without telling me and then moved out while I was out of town, you ceased to be my anything.”
He’d left her high and dry, and with a stack of bills. Since they had been splitting expenses equally, her name had been on all the utilities though not the lease. She’d been doubly screwed. She’d had to move and cover their debts. If Julia hadn’t needed a roommate, Amanda wasn’t sure where she would have ended up.
Curtis seemed to gather himself. “Yes, well, about that loan—”
“If Amanda needs anything she’ll get it through me. Understand?” Alex’s cold tone gave new meaning to the word frostbite.
Amanda blinked up at him. She wasn’t used to anyone coming to her defense, and she kind of liked it. Even if he had lied about being her attorney.
Curtis took another step back. “Uh yeah, sure. See y’round, ’Manda.”
Not if she saw him first, to quote the cliché. She watched him leave the shop.
“Pack up. I’ll change our order to go,” Alex said.
“Why?”
“You’re going to tell me what’s going on. And I don’t think you want to discuss your financial status in a crowded coffee shop. We’ll go to your place.”
Having him back in her apartment wasn’t a good idea. “I’d really rather not discuss my private affairs at all.”
“If you don’t level with me, Amanda, then our business is finished.”
She sighed. What choice did she have? “My place it is.”
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