Playboy Ever After Read online

  “Paulina, you look stunning,” Jeremy said, in a honeyed tone he reserved for such occasions. “Nobody would believe you were Max’s mother if they didn’t know.”

  It was true that my mother did look much younger than her fifty-three years. She always bought the best skin creams and lotions on the market, and had regular teeth whitening and Botox treatments. She wore her dyed black hair in an elegant chignon most days, though for tonight’s special event she’d opted for a more elaborate up do, with braids, pins and all sorts of other debris. Her clear pale skin had barely any wrinkles, and when she looked at me it was with the same icy blue eyes from all my childhood photos.

  “Jeremy, you’re such a charmer.”

  Mom laughed and rested a hand on his arm flirtatiously.

  “We really must find a girl who can keep up with you, otherwise you’ll leave a string of broken hearts behind you.”

  “As long as I never break yours.”

  My mother practically preened at that. It took her a full twenty seconds to recover before she turned to me, intent evident in her gaze.

  “I’m afraid I must steal you away, darling. I have somebody I’d like you to meet.”

  I glanced up at Jeremy, who shrugged and took another sip of his champagne.

  “I’ll go do the rounds.”

  I nodded to my friend and followed my mother through the crowd, wondering what she had up her sleeve this time. She was always up to something. Paulina Westfield was a meddler, through and through. She had no qualms about eavesdropping or gossiping, so long as it served her purposes. Generally those purposes weren’t harmful, but I had at least one ex-girlfriend who’d learned the hard way not to mess with my mother.

  Mom stopped in front of a tall blonde wearing a pretty purple dress. The girl was talking to a group of people, but the moment my mother tapped her on the back she turned and gave me a dazzling smile.

  “Maximilian, this is Cynthia Bronstein. Her father owns half the properties in Manhattan, you know.”

  “Not quite half,” Cynthia said, laughing shyly.

  She had a pretty smile, which matched the rest of her pretty features. Long, dark lashes that framed exotic green eyes, a straight aquiline nose, and lips that parted with lust when she saw me looking her over. She was hot, I’d give her that. The dress was tight on her curves, and I wondered how her ass would feel in the palm of my hand.

  “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” my mother said, and just like that, she was gone.

  “Happy birthday,” Cynthia said.

  “Thanks.”

  The silence lengthened between us.

  “Your mother said you like sailing.”

  I sighed, “My mother wishes I liked sailing. I like to go out on my father’s yacht from time to time.”

  “Your father’s?” she said her eyes filled with confusion. “But I thought...?”

  “Yes, he’s dead,” I said, straightforwardly. “But I don’t feel comfortable claiming ownership over something he put so much of himself into.”

  My father loved that yacht. He would spend weeks at a time out on the water, which I’d always thought would get lonely. Little did I know at the time that he was never actually alone. When he died five years ago, he left the yacht to me, but it would always be his in my mind.

  “I’m sorry,” Cynthia looked down. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Actually, if you’ll excuse me I have a phone call to make,” I said. “My apologies.”

  I slipped away from Cynthia, not particularly caring if I hurt her feelings with my abrupt departure. I wasn’t upset, just bored. I’d had that same conversation with countless girls over the years. After a while, they all started to blend into one—just another young, pretty socialite with more money than sense. They weren’t all like that, of course. Some of them were quite intelligent and talented, but that didn’t make me any more interested.

  The aspect I enjoyed most about my mother’s parties was the relative anonymity they afforded. Few of the people here could spot me on sight, and those that could were generally distant acquaintances that didn’t have the nerve to come talk to me anyway. And there were lots of them.

  I did a couple rounds of the room, accepting well-wishes from the people I did know, then blending back into the crowd. All the while, I kept an eye out for Jeremy.

  I soon spotted him near the back corner of the room. He had a napkin of food in one hand and a drink in the other, and he looked bored as hell. He brightened up when he saw me.

  “For a lawyer, you’re awfully anti-social,” I mused when I reached him.

  Jeremy offered a weak shrug.

  “My job is to talk. I’d rather not do it in my spare time too if I can avoid it. Especially to your mother’s lot.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, with amusement. “You say that like they’re not your own lot as well.”

  Jeremy had grown up just as privileged as I did, only his father was a lawyer instead of a business tycoon.

  “Oh, you know,” he said as he gestured vaguely toward the mass of people in the ballroom. “They’re all so… stodgy. She picks them based on breeding and temperament, much like a person chooses a show dog. Where are all the playful little mutts?”

  I knew exactly what he meant. If just one of the girls my mother introduced me to had a spark of fire in her, perhaps I would be more interested. But she wasn’t looking to entertain me—she was looking to marry me off.

  “Oh shit.”

  Jeremy shoved the food in his mouth and stepped around me before I even had the chance to ask him what he was doing.

  I turned and saw why he’d made such a speedy exit.

  Paulina was headed straight toward me, her jaw so tight I wouldn’t be surprised if she cracked a tooth. It was her signature ‘pissed off’ expression, one that she’d cultivated and perfected over decades of dealing with my churlishness and my father’s antics.

  “Maximilian Augustus Westfield!” she snapped, her voice a little louder than I would have liked. “What in the name of all that is holy do you think you’re doing?”

  “Well, I was having a conversation with one of my friends at my birthday party, but it looks as though you’ve scared him off.”

  It irritated me when she called me Maximilian, but I got especially annoyed when she resorted to using my full name. Most of the time I tried to pretend my middle name didn’t exist. It was just like her to name her firstborn son after a Roman emperor.

  She let out an exasperated sigh. “You know very well what I mean. Cynthia Bronstein is a lovely girl and now you’ve embarrassed her.”

  “Embarrassed her?” I asked. “How did I do that, I barely even spoke to her.”

  “Exactly! What will everyone think?”

  I groaned, not caring how impetuous it made me sound.

  “Mother, I don’t care what everyone thinks. Isn’t this supposed to be my birthday party? Aren’t I supposed to be doing what I want?”

  “Maximilian, my nerves are running very thin. Do you want to give your poor mother a heart attack?”

  Oh boy. She was gaining momentum and was likely to spin up into a full-blown tantrum if I didn’t do something to stop it. I often thought she’d entered the wrong business. Rather than being the stay-at-home wife of a billionaire property investor, she should have taken her penchant for drama to Broadway. Then I wouldn’t have to be the only one dealing with her song and dance.

  “I’m not trying to give you a heart attack.” I placed a reassuring palm on her shoulder. “Cynthia was very nice, but I thought it best to save both of us some time by ending our acquaintance before it truly began.”

  “That wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t do it to every girl!” she moaned. “You’re thirty years old now, Maximilian. You need to start thinking about a smart match. You need to start thinking about an heir.”

  My eye twitched. “Why would I do that, when you spend so much time doing it already?” I cla
pped her on the shoulder.

  Paulina was not amused.

  “When are you going to start taking your role in this family seriously?” she said, downing the rest of her champagne flute, not waiting for me to answer. “I will find you a wife, Maximilian. Mark my words. I refuse to see the fortune your father built get divided amongst the snake den you call your cousins. Hear me?”

  “That’s a commandment for the ages, Mrs. Westfield,” said a smooth female voice from my left. “Possibly one of your best yet.”

  Rather than glowering at the newcomer, as Mother would usually do, she turned to the petite brunette at my side with a warm smile.

  “Haddie! My dear, you’re late! That’s not like you.”

  My personal assistant Haddie was my rock. I didn’t know what I’d do without her, especially in situations like this. She had an uncanny ability for defusing my mother, which was worth having her on my payroll all on its own.

  The pair air-kissed, and Haddie winked at me as they did.

  “I got a little caught up at home,” Haddie said. “Do you mind if I steal your son for a moment?”

  “Not at all, darling. Enjoy the party!”

  Then Paulina disappeared into the crowd, grabbing another glass of champagne on the way.

  I turned to my PA, smiling down into her brown eyes.

  “Remind me to give you a bonus for that. She was about to go nuclear.”

  Haddie chuckled.

  “I’ll remember you said that. Can I have a word outside?”

  We went out onto the patio, which was largely unoccupied due to the chilly spring evening. It wasn’t raining, at least. Haddie wrung her hands and pursed her lips, clearly about to say something she found uncomfortable.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She smiled, and stuttered, “Uh, well... I’m pregnant.”

  My eyebrows dove skyward.

  “That’s great news! Congratulations.”

  Haddie smiled weakly, but I had a feeling her being pregnant wasn’t the big news she pulled me aside to talk about.

  “Yeah, the only thing is that Dave and I are going to move to Virginia to be closer to his family,” she said. “So you’re going to be needing a new personal assistant.”

  My smile fell.

  Fuck.

  Chapter 3

  Emma

  My knee shook uncontrollably. I had to rest a hand on it to keep from jiggling against the person next to me, who had already proven herself to be far more suited for the job for which we were both about to interview. She knew it, too.

  It wasn’t my fault I didn’t have a high-end pant suit to rock on interview day. I’d spent the past couple of years as a waitress, and the only uniform requirement for that had been something that wouldn’t show stains. This was a whole new world. A new and scary world. If I got this job, however, I’d be well on track toward getting over Lance and moving on with my life. What said progress more than a well-paying office job at one of the biggest real estate firms in the world?

  Unfortunately, the other people waiting in the reception area had the same hunger in their eyes that I did. They wanted this job bad—but I wanted it more. It would push me way out of my comfort zone, yes, but it was the only interview I’d been invited to so far, at a place where I wouldn’t have to serve or make food. I wanted to start taking steps forward in my life, and this job was my golden ticket. Which of course made me even more anxious as I listened to the ticking of the clock on the wall and waited for my name to be called.

  The woman doing the interviews, and the candidate she’d just interviewed, came down the glass paneled hallway across from me and into the room. The woman glanced down at the clipboard in her hand, then looked up, searching.

  “Emma Valentine?”

  “Present!” I said, shooting up out of my seat.

  It didn’t hit me how idiotic it looked until I saw the interviewer’s lips curl into a smile.

  “Right this way,” she said.

  We passed down the same glass hallway that I’d watched three people before me traverse, then entered into a brightly lit office space. There were cubicles spread across the room, each one tastefully decorated to match the general artistry of the space. People in business suits milled around the room, either chatting with their coworkers, working at their desks, or walking from place to place. It was all a little overwhelming.

  Thankfully, the interview was held in an office at the back of the room. It was sparsely decorated, which led me to believe that perhaps it was the office of the person who had left, and thus provided a suitable vacant space.

  “Take a seat,” the brunette instructed, stepping around to the other side of the desk and sitting down.

  I sat as well, smiling in what I hoped was a pleasant, but not creepy or fake manner.

  “I’m Haddie Thompson,” she said, “Mr. Westfield’s current personal assistant, and I’ll be interviewing you today.”

  “Lovely to meet you, Haddie.”

  I reached over and shook her hand, which seemed to please her.

  “Before we get into your qualifications, Emma, let’s talk about why you’re here.”

  She shuffled the papers on the desk and nudged them to the side.

  “Why do you want this job?”

  I gulped.

  “I’ve always wanted to work in a professional office environment and I think it would be a good use of my skills.”

  Haddie raised a skeptical brow.

  “You’d be surprised how often I hear that.”

  Though evidently unsatisfied with my answer, Haddie was ready to move on. She pulled the papers back toward her, and I saw it was my resume she was looking over.

  Oh no. She already didn’t like me.

  What came next was the result of me having a major WWBJD (What Would Bridget Jones Do?) moment.

  “Actually, I applied for this job because I’ve been a waitress for the past two years and I’m trying this new thing where I better my life instead of taking steps backward because my crappy ex-boyfriend kicked me out of our apartment and I have nowhere to go but up,” I blurted.

  Haddie’s eyes met mine again and the panic rising in my throat slowly settled. It was almost impossible to believe, but she looked impressed.

  “That is unfortunate,” she said. “I had one like that. You’re right, the only thing you can do at that point is work on you.”

  With the faintest of smiles, she smoothly transitioned to my resume.

  The interview went on much longer than the others had seemed to. After we discussed the position and my qualifications, sparse though they were, Haddie and I just chatted for a bit. We both loved the pizza place down the street and she gave me tips on other places in the neighborhood worth checking out. I was feeling very hopeful about the whole thing, so by the time I hit the elevator, I was on another plane.

  I texted Willow, even though I knew she was at school and wouldn’t be able to answer for a little while. I told her that the interview had gone well and that hopefully I’d hear soon. She surprised me by texting back immediately, and I walked across the lobby downstairs with my nose shoved practically right against the screen. I was so excited about the potential job that I didn’t care how stupid it was to get so absorbed in my phone.

  I was just telling Willow that I would pick up a bottle of wine for us on the way home when the consequences of my carelessness hit me in the face. Well, more like I ran into them. Or him.

  The man whose shoulder I’d just clipped was about as solid as a brick wall. In my haste to back away, I tripped over my own feet and went sprawling on the marble.

  My knees hit the floor painfully, and I let out a small yelp without meaning to.

  “Are you okay?” a deep, male voice asked.

  I looked up at the man who I’d run into, and any words I’d been about to say dried up in my mouth.

  He was, without a doubt, the most attractive man I’d ever seen. His hair was so dark it was nearly black, and he wore i
t neatly combed back from his forehead. He had soulful cornflower blue eyes, now sparkling with mirth, and a wicked mouth that curved sensuously as I ogled him. He was leaning down toward me, extending a hand that I hadn’t noticed until now. I swallowed hard and took it, my skin burning where it touched his. From his wide jaw, dusted with a five o’clock shadow, to his long, aristocratic nose, this guy looked like he’d walked out of a fantasy built specifically for me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, and even when I was standing again I was hesitant to drop his hand.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “I noticed.”

  He reached down and plucked my phone off the tile, handing it back to me.

  How had I not noticed that I’d stood up without my phone? This was going from bad to worse.

  “Do you work here?” the man asked.

  I shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  This amused him, and his eyes narrowed on me.

  “You don’t know, huh? You can’t be that great of an employee, then.”

  “Either the best or the worst.”

  He chuckled and extended his hand, this time to shake.

  “I’m Max.”

  “Emma.”

  Losing his touch once was bad enough. This time, I had to do everything in my power not to hang onto his hand after the handshake. Was I going crazy? I certainly felt like it.

  “I only ask because I feel like I would have remembered seeing you around before,” Max said.

  “Likewise.” I shamelessly let my gaze slide down his towering frame, admiring the tailored fit of his charcoal suit and the white shirt stretched across his chest beneath. His leather shoes were shined perfectly, and everything about this guy screamed money.

  “Do you make a habit of bowling over innocent businessmen?” he asked.

  I smiled flirtatiously.

  “Only the cute ones.”

  What? This was a major WWBJD moment!

  “Cute?” Max made a face. “I haven’t been called cute in a good many years.”

  “What do people normally call you?”

  He smiled and said, “Depends on the person. If it’s my mother, ungrateful bastard is right up there.”