Love in New York (American Boyfriend Book 5)

  American Boyfriend

  Love in New York

  Chance Carter

  Contents

  New York

  Personal Invitation

  Also by Chance Carter

  New York

  I noticed you the second you walked into the office. I don’t take the time to notice every new employee of the firm, but you stood out. I’ve always had a thing for girls like you. You’re cute, you’re funny, you’re animated.

  When you talk about things that excite you, you light up the entire room. That first day, three weeks ago, you were all worked up about delays on the subway.

  “I could have walked here faster,” you said, apologizing to my secretary for being late. “It was like being trapped in an elevator. It took twenty minutes for them to let us off the platform. I could have screamed!”

  I was sitting at my desk and the door was slightly open. I got up and walked over to the two of you.

  “You’re the new client relations manager?” I said.

  You looked up at me. Both you and the secretary stopped laughing. I have that effect on people at the office. I cultivate it. The more people fear me, the more money I seem to make. That’s the way it is for lawyers on Wall Street. It’s dog eat dog, and the meanest dog gets the bone.

  “Yes, sir,” you stammered.

  My eyes lit up when I saw you. I hadn’t been expecting you to look so sexy. You had the prettiest face I’ve ever seen, the brightest eyes, and your curves were just the kind that make my dick twitch.

  Which is why I had to cut our little meeting short. I couldn’t have you notice the erection you’d instantly given me.

  “Well, keep it down out here,” I said, sounding as stern as I could.

  I shut the door firmly.

  “He’s scary,” you whispered to the secretary, unaware I could still hear.

  “You should see him in court,” my secretary said.

  I stood there for a minute, my back to the door, thinking about you. I’ve never let my feelings for an employee get to me before. I keep business and pleasure separate. I’ve never slept with a single woman in the entire firm, and I had no intention of changing that practice.

  But you were going to be a test.

  You were going to be a tease.

  I opened the pants of my suit and pulled out my erect cock. Right then and there, I started pumping my shaft. I fantasized about bending you over my desk and sliding my long, hard cock right inside you. I spat on my hand and rubbed it up and down the length of my shaft, picturing your delicious butt. I didn’t stop until my cum was all over my hand. That was the first time I’d ever done anything like that in my office and luckily I had a box of Kleenex on my desk. I quickly wiped off my hand and then hurried through the office to the washroom.

  “Oh, sir,” my secretary said, trying to stop me as I passed her desk. “Please, stop!”

  I stopped. My hands were in my pockets, still sticky. My cock was still pretty big in my pants but at least it wasn’t sticking out.

  “The new client relationship manager is here,” my secretary said.

  Then she waved you over from your desk where you were just getting set up.

  I never felt so awkward in my life. I was standing there, fresh from my orgasm, my cheeks still flushed, my hand wiped but not washed, and you were walking right over.

  “It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” you said, extending your hand in greeting.

  I looked at your hand. There was no way in hell I was going to shake it. Not after what I’d just done.

  “You’ll have to excuse me,” I said curtly and turned to leave.

  It was rude of me, but you tell me honestly what I should have done in that moment!

  I don’t often take an interest in a woman. Not a real interest. Sure, I get laid on a regular basis, but none of it ever means anything. I take a woman home, I slide my dick in her, I cum, and I go. Or rather, she goes.

  I never let it go further than that.

  But you had my interest right from that very first second. For the next three weeks I noticed you around the office. I always felt a little awkward after the way I’d treated you that first day. I never spoke to you of course, I’m far too important and menacing to strike up a conversation around the water cooler, but I noticed everything without ever letting on.

  You work in client services. That means you spend the day on the phone with my most important clients. You put their mind at ease, you make sure they’re happy, you tell them what we’re doing for them and how it’s going to make them rich. And they eat it up. You’re a natural at your job. You have a way of putting powerful men at ease and getting them to feel exactly what you want them to feel. It’s like you were born for the job.

  And it’s not an easy job. These men are demanding. They’re assholes. They’re used to getting everything they want, exactly when they want it, and never saying please or thank you.

  That’s what’s so effective about you. You never give them what they want. When they say they want more lawyers on their file, something that costs me money, you tell them they can’t have it. And usually that would lose us the client, but when you say it to them, they just accept it. When they say they want to speak directly to me, and waste half my afternoon talking about golf or stock tips in the process, you tell them I’m far too busy for them.

  You’re sexy. You’re innocent.

  Or at least, you come across that way. But there’s more to you than that. Behind all that sweetness, all that pretty hair and cute outfits and red lipstick, there’s a power. You’re sure of yourself. You know what you’re doing. And you don’t compromise, you don’t back down. It’s what makes you irresistible to my clients.

  And irresistible to me.

  After three weeks of watching you work, I can honestly say I’m obsessed with you. I think about you all the time. When I’m at the gym at five in the morning, pumping iron, I’m thinking about you. When I’m closing a deal with a rival legal team, billions of dollars at stake, I’m thinking of you. When I’m fucking some broad I just picked up at the Plaza or the Ritz Carlton, I’m thinking of you.

  And that’s why I took things to the next level.

  I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to think I’m a creep. I’m a stalker. I’m a freak who should be locked up.

  But you don’t know me. You don’t know who I am. My work is incredibly stressful. I’m thirty-nine years old and I singlehandedly built one of Wall Street’s most prestigious law firms. I’ve got people gunning for me every day. Trying to make me slip up. Trying to catch me in a mistake. You don’t get to where I am without making a few enemies.

  So I’m stressed, but that’s not the only thing. I’m lonely too. I have no family. I grew up in the system. I never knew either of my parents. They’re dead as far as I’m concerned. I’ve never been married. No kids. No girl friends. No friends, period.

  I can’t trust anyone. The year I set up the firm, one of my rivals hired someone to get close to me. I let her into my life and she betrayed me. Almost cost me my career. Ever since, I’ve never been able to trust anyone.

  Not even you.

  That’s why I started following you.

  I had to know who you were, whether you worked for anyone else, whether you were out to get me like all the rest of them. I had to know you weren’t sent to bring me down.

  So I checked the black leather calendar you always left sitting on your desk. I flipped through it and straight away saw something suspicious. You were meeting my biggest client for lunch. Had he hired you to keep tabs on me? To infiltrate my firm and bring me down? I know that sounds paranoid but tha
t’s what my world is like. Really.

  And I had to know the truth.

  I had my chauffeur bring my limo round to the front of the office at lunchtime. We waited for you to come out and when you caught your cab, we followed. You got out at a fancy restaurant and I followed you a few minutes later.

  There wasn’t much risk you’d notice me in there. I’m a lawyer with an athletic physique, salt and pepper hair, and a tailored suit. In short, I looked exactly like every other guy in the place.

  I took a seat at a booth behind yours and listened in on the conversation. This particular client is notoriously difficult to deal with, but the way you talked to him, it was like taking candy from a baby. You had him eating out of your hands by the end of lunch. You were funny, entertaining, and you knew exactly how to use your womanly charms to keep him at ease.

  And most important of all, you weren’t working for him. In fact, you were helping me. You’d arranged the meeting to make extra certain he was satisfied with the service we were giving him and to find out if there was anything more my firm could do to meet his needs. He ended up agreeing to give us even more work. You made me money, and you didn’t even charge the lunch to your expense account. You paid for it with your own personal credit card.

  I was floored. I’d come out expecting you to be taking advantage of me, of plotting to bring me down, but you were actually looking out for me.

  It felt strange. No one had ever looked out for me before. Growing up an orphan had taught me to rely only on myself.

  Now I saw that you had my back. So how did I repay the kindness?

  Did I ask you into my office and thank you?

  Did I give you a raise?

  Did I send you on an all expenses paid trip to the Bahamas?

  No, I did none of those things. I found that once I started following you, I didn’t want to stop. No, it’s not that I didn’t want to stop, I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. You went from being a girl in the office I was attracted to, to my obsession.

  I wanted to be near you. I wanted to watch you. I wanted to know where you were and what you were doing.

  And I didn’t just want to watch you, I wanted to protect you. I wanted to make sure nothing bad ever happened to you.

  I was obsessed. I know this is the kind of behavior that gets men locked up, but I couldn’t help myself.

  I had my driver follow you home that night and I saw for the first time where you lived. It was a sketchy neighborhood and I worried about your safety. I called my private security firm and had them watch over you. Nothing you’d ever notice, but it would ensure your safety.

  I also learned that you volunteered at a local public school, teaching leadership skills to inner city kids, and I made sure the program you worked for received extra funding. And every day, I made sure my driver was ready to follow you to wherever you went for lunch.

  Sometimes you’d go out for a meeting at a restaurant and I’d follow and get a table near yours. Sometimes you sat at your desk and ate a sandwich from a brown paper bag. On those days I sat at my desk too. I could see you from my office and I would sit there and pretend to be working, but really I was just enjoying the fact that I was near to you. And sometimes you go to the park and feed the birds. I sit on a bench across the green and watch you. I’m far enough away that you don’t notice me, but near enough that I can see you throwing bread crumbs for the pigeons. It makes me smile to watch you on those days.

  He doesn’t know I know his secret. For a man so obsessed with security and privacy, he’s a surprisingly bad stalker. It’s almost endearing.

  I noticed it right from the very first day. It’s hard not to notice a luxurious chauffeur driven limo, even in Manhattan. It’s even harder not to notice my super hot boss, dressed to kill in his impeccable black suit, walking into a restaurant and taking a table alone.

  He’s the kind of man everyone notices. He doesn’t stand a chance of staying undercover. He stands out from a million miles away. The fact that he doesn’t realize that only makes him more attractive.

  I can’t get him out of my mind. He takes my breath away every time he approaches my desk. His perfect hair, his intoxicating cologne, his irresistible smile. Every time I get a smell of his cologne my palms sweat, and my panties dampen.

  He’s a dream come true. He’s rich, he’s powerful, he’s confident, and he’s not afraid to take what he wants. Except for me. For some reason, something’s holding him back from taking me.

  I know he wants me. His private security team stopped a burglary of my apartment last week, and he thinks I haven’t put two and two together. The after school program I work for got a ten thousand dollar anonymous donation, just when we thought we’d run out of funding, and he doesn’t think I know it’s him.

  So what’s holding him back?

  I’m sitting in this fancy restaurant, schmoozing some stock broker our firm represents, and he’s sitting there at the bar with his back to me, watching everything in the mirror behind the bar.

  Make a move!

  Take me!

  I want something to happen so badly!

  He’s obviously got trust issues. He’s definitely not your average Joe. I’m not sure I’d ever be taking him home to meet my mother, if you know what I mean. But I really, really want him to make a move.

  I want something to happen.

  There’s only so much obsession a girl can take before you either take her and make her yours, or she gets a restraining order against you.

  “Oh really?” I say to the client, pretending to be interested in what he’s saying.

  These men love it when a woman seems interested in what they do. It must be such a rare occurrence. You’re not going to find many women, even in downtown Manhattan, who are interested in Nasdaq shares and oil futures.

  Out of the corner of my eye I watch my boss. Kurt. He looks so casual, so confident, in a two thousand dollar Armani suit, sipping some fancy coffee, completely oblivious to the fact that I know he’s stalking me.

  What would he say if he knew? How would he react?

  I’m sure he’s not used to being called out on something.

  “You must be so smart,” I say to the client, trying not to sound completely fake. “That’s so much money.”

  I’m smiling but I’m looking at Kurt. Is he even watching me? Knowing my luck, he’ll get bored of me before he ever makes a move. That would be devastating. That’s the ultimate rejection. I must be the first woman in history who’s afraid of being rejected by her own stalker! How desperate is that?

  I’ve got to do something. I’ve got to get Kurt to make a move.

  Of course, I could never call him Kurt to his face. It’s all, Mr. Silverstone this, Mr. Silverstone that, at the office. But I yearn to be that girl who wakes up next to him some morning and says, “Kurt baby, want to go again?”

  I bet his cock is absolutely perfect. I bet it’s a work of art. Not that I’m much of an expert on the subject. I’m not a virgin, I’ll admit that much, but I’ve never had truly satisfying sex in my life. I’ve never been in love. Honestly, they’re not going to be writing any books about my love life after I’m dead.

  I’m a bore.

  I come across as confident. Sexy, even. I know how to work with what I’ve got, use my curves to my advantage, and I love shopping for pretty things.

  But, alas, I’ve never truly been wowed in the bedroom. And I don’t even think I registered all that highly for the men I was with either. They’d probably rate me a six, or maybe a seven if I’m being generous. Definitely not an eight or a nine.

  But being an eight or a nine is where I belong. I know it. I just need the right man in my life. Kurt Silverstone is that man.

  God, look at him. He’s talking to the cocktail waitress now. She’s flirting her face off. Of course she is. She must be fourteen years old. It’s probably illegal for her to be wearing a skirt that short. I bet he takes home girls like that all the time.

&nb
sp; I need his attention.

  He’s my stalker and I want more attention! I’m insane!

  Look at me! Look at me, Kurt Silverstone! Stop talking to that teenager!

  “I can’t believe you got away with it,” I say to the client, who’s still droning on about the world’s most amazing stock trade.

  Dude, I’m a girl. Can’t you talk about something human? Something that might remotely interest me? Don’t you watch television? Don’t you have any friends? Don’t you do anything but work?

  Oh no! Kurt’s getting up. Is he leaving?

  He’s still watching me in the mirror. He wants me. Come on, do something about it. I’m all yours!

  He’s putting on his coat. This is such an epic fail. I can’t even get my own stalker to stick around until the end of the date.

  Without thinking, I do something that I’ve never done before in my life. I make a move. Not on the man I want of course. That would make too much sense. But to get the attention of the man I want.

  I put my hand on Mister Client’s knee. It’s bold, it’s seductive, and oh yes, it’s desperate.

  He looks at me. He’s as amazed as I am. His blank, boring face turns immediately into a ridiculous grin.

  “Oh, my,” he says. “I’ve heard of women getting turned on by finance talk, but I’ve never actually witnessed it.”

  I glance toward Kurt. Oh, that got his attention. He turns around and looks right at us.

  I look back to the client.

  “Tell me more,” I say, sliding my hand slowly up his thigh.

  I honestly don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never done anything remotely like this before in my life. This is so not me.

  He leans forward and puts his hand on my arm.

  “Maybe I’ll tell you about the time we cornered the market on corn futures.”

  “Oh, corn, I love corn,” I say pathetically.

  If you want a class in how not to be a seductress, this is it.

  Mister Client rubs his finger along my bare arm as my hand slides back down his thigh, retreating from his obviously stiffening cock. This is too much. If this doesn’t get Kurt’s attention, I’m out of ideas. Short of undressing by my window, I don’t know what else I can do to tempt him to make a move.