Beautiful Secret Read online

  I followed the bellman down the hall and watched as he opened my door. In the center of the room was a platform bed big enough for at least four people, opposite a huge flat-screen television. There was a set of art deco chairs in one corner and a window that spanned the entire far wall with a long desk tucked just beneath it.

  The bed really did look like something out of a dream—crisp sheets and fluffy pillows—and my body sagged with how much I wanted to collapse, face-first right into it. Unfortunately, I’d learned the hard way how much jet lag sucks, and no matter how much I wanted to, taking a nap was exactly what I shouldn’t do.

  Dammit.

  It was the second time in the same day I’d bolted upright from a dead sleep. Drooling.

  The room around me was almost completely dark, and for a moment, I had no idea where I was. Then it hit me: New York. The hotel.

  Niall Stella.

  I remembered showering and changing into a robe, deciding to rest my eyes just long enough for room service to get here and, well. Here we were.

  I stood, groaning at my stiff muscles while I wiped my face on the sleeve of my robe. Man, when I slept, I slept hard.

  As my eyes adjusted, I pushed open the drapes and forced myself to find my phone. There were two texts from my mom wondering if I’d landed yet, and one from Lola checking in. Having been unplugged all day, I held my breath before checking my email.

  Meeting tomorrow: that needs a read.

  Thoughts from Tony: that can wait until morning.

  Sale at Victoria’s Secret: oooh, I’ll flag that one for later.

  Note from Niall’s assistant—wait, what?

  She’d attached our updated schedule for the following day, along with the time we’d meet in the lobby, and a few points he wanted her to pass along. There was also the number to his cell, “should anything problematic arise.”

  I stared at my screen.

  I had Niall Stella’s phone number.

  Dare I use it? Since I’d most certainly slept through my food being delivered, I could text him and see if he wanted to grab a bite to eat. But that didn’t really fall under the category of problematic, no matter how hungry I was. And if he hadn’t told his assistant to ask me about dinner plans, then I had to assume that was because he’d make his and I’d make mine.

  Only then did I realize I really had begun to imagine the next four weeks with Niall Stella and me together in the temporary New York office, or walking along Broadway, or passionately discussing work over meals at great, locals-recommended restaurants. I’d unconsciously imagined the way he would laugh at my new and witty inside jokes over a beer at the end of the day and how we would share knowing looks across the table at our flurry of upcoming meetings.

  But the reality was that I was most likely going to be sitting in the back of a crowded room taking notes, then returning alone to this hotel room for a month’s worth of room service meals.

  I couldn’t text him, and I definitely didn’t want to call room service again tonight.

  I checked my reflection in the mirror opposite the bathroom, and yikes: hair like a pile of hay, mascara smeared, pillow lines from temple to chin. I’d looked better after an all-nighter in college. Unless I wanted to spend time making myself at least minimally presentable, I’d have to settle for a vending machine dinner of chips and diet soda.

  With a handful of dollar bills and a stack of change shoved into the pocket of my bathrobe, I opened the door slowly and peered out down the hallway. It was surprisingly shadowed and unfamiliar (hey, jet lag!): the walls were covered in a dark-patterned paper and each door was illuminated with a tiny neon plaque and doorbells.

  I spied the sign for an ice machine in the distance and tiptoed out, letting the door fall closed behind me. The carpet was soft and thick against the soles of my feet, a subtle reminder that beneath the cotton of my robe I was completely naked. I tried, but couldn’t hear the blurred shape of voices in a neighboring room, or even the hum of a television. It was too quiet, too still. The hallway stretched ominously dark in front of me. I took a few steps past my room, narrowing my eyes to prepare for the appearance of anything unexpected in the distance.

  “Ruby?”

  I let out a high-pitched squeal of surprise, flinching, and then squeezed my eyes closed as I recognized the voice, debating whether or not I should turn around. Maybe I could run away. Maybe I could pretend to be someone else and he would realize his mistake and go back down to wherever his room was.

  No such luck.

  “Ruby?” he asked again, a hint of disbelief in his voice. Because normal people don’t run down the hallway in fancy hotels barefoot and in their bathrobes. And oh look, judging by the breeze sweeping up the inside of my robe, the air conditioner just kicked on, too.

  Nice touch, universe.

  “Hi!” I said—too brightly, far too loud—and turned on my heel to face him.

  Startled, Niall Stella took a step back, nearly stumbling into the open doorway, which, coincidentally, was right next to mine.

  Sharing a wall . . . maybe even a bathroom wall . . . where he showered . . . naked.

  Focus, Ruby!

  I went for casual. “What are you up to? I was just grabbing something to eat myself . . .” I said, lazily swinging the tie of my robe around before realizing what I was doing. I dropped it like I’d been burned.

  “Something to eat?” he repeated.

  I placed a hand against the wall and leaned there. “Yep.”

  Niall Stella looked around the hallway and then back to me, eyes lingering on my robe. And maybe, just maybe, if my eyes were correct, my chest. Where my robe was now gaping, possibly exposing some boob.

  We seemed to reach this conclusion at the same time.

  His eyes snapped to my forehead and I clutched the material in my hands. At this rate, Niall Stella would see me fully naked by the end of the week.

  “From the vending machine,” I explained, and reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, groaning when I remembered how I looked. “I was just going to grab some chips. I mean the American kind of chip.”

  He made a show of looking around. “Not sure a place like this will have Fritos,” he said, a pop of color staining his cheeks and a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Energy bars, perhaps? Caviar, definitely. Good thing you’re dressed for it.”

  He was teasing me.

  My brother was my best friend, his friends were my friends, and this is what I was good at. Banter. The give-and-take of joking with the guys. I could do this and not be an idiot. And not think about how I wanted to bang him. Maybe. Except he was wearing the charcoal suit—my favorite—and a dark shirt with no tie. I’d never seen him without a tie and it required superhuman strength to keep my eyes on his face, and not on that tiny stretch of skin exposed at the top of his open collar.

  He had chest hair and my fingertips tingled with the urge to touch it. Alas, he was still waiting for me to respond.

  “You’re lucky I even put this on,” I told him. “I usually eat Fritos pantsless on the couch.”

  His eyebrow did a cute little amused twitch while the rest of his face remained impressively stoic. “In fact, I understand those are the instructions on the package. Sadly, the same is not usually true of caviar.”

  “Or energy bars,” I added, and he laughed.

  “Too right.”

  Shrugging, I looked back at the door to my room. “I guess I’ll have another peek at the room service menu.”

  “I’m going to lay you down,” he said, “and make you come.”

  My eyes going wide as saucers, I whipped my head back his way. “You . . . what?”

  With a confused draw of his brow, he said very slowly, “I’m going to head on down; would you like to come?”

  “Oh,” I said, struggling to take a breath in, and let it out again. “You’re going to dinner downstairs?”

  “You said this is your first time?” he started, and both our eyes widen
ed before he added in a breathless rush, “In New York. Your first time in New York.”

  “Um, yeah,” I answered, and closed my robe more tightly near my neck.

  “Maybe you . . .” Niall started to say, but paused, reaching up as if to straighten a tie that wasn’t there. He dropped his hands again. “I’m meeting my brother. He and his wife live in the city, and I’m having dinner with him and a few business associates downstairs. Maybe you could join us.”

  His brother lived here? I tucked this bit of information away, along with how badly I wanted to go—certain I was going to hate myself for this later—and shook my head. There was no way I was going to intrude.

  “I think I’ll probably just—”

  “You’d be doing me a favor if you joined me, actually,” he cut in. “My brother Max is a bit of a handful.” Niall paused again as if he’d reconsidered, before giving a small shake of his head and continuing, “You’d be a welcome distraction.”

  Because I’m Captain of Team Clueless and intent on painting each interaction between us with either nudity or a shade of awkward, I stood there, speechless, blinking for far longer than was socially appropriate.

  “Of course, if you’d rather not—”

  “No, no! Sorry, I . . . can you give me ten minutes to change and—” I motioned vaguely to the disaster atop my head.

  “Ten minutes is all you need?” he asked skeptically.

  God, he’s teasing me again.

  “Ten minutes,” I confirmed with a smirk. “Twelve if you don’t want my skirt in my underwear.”

  Niall barked out a laugh that seemed to surprise us both before regaining his composure. “All right then. I’ll wait in the lobby. See you in ten.”

  No person in the history of forever has ever changed as quickly as I did.

  The moment the elevator doors closed behind him, I was off. My robe gone, I yanked a blue jersey dress from my suitcase and sprinted to the bathroom. I ran a washcloth over my face and raced to find my toiletries. I moisturized, concealed, and powdered at the speed of light. A dab of product in my hair and I turned on the blow dryer, smoothing out the bedhead one section at a time. My flatiron heated up in seconds and after just a few passes I unplugged it, setting it aside. Teeth brushed, blush applied, mascara swiped, lip gloss smoothed, I threw on my dress with five minutes left to spare. Unfortunately I’d forgotten to put on underwear, so I used the remaining time to pull a pair from my suitcase, find a portable charger for my phone, and slip into a pair of sensible heels.

  I reached for my bag, double-checked that the various parts of my dress were all where they belonged, and with a deep breath and a tiny prayer, walked to the elevator.

  FOUR

  Niall

  I stood, staring at where she’d emerged from the lift, and fell utterly speechless. She’d changed in under ten minutes, but looked . . . stunning. In an instant, I was both thrilled to be near her and resentful that this complicated wrinkle—the presence of Ruby—invaded what could otherwise be a dry, rote, and easy business summit.

  Swallowing, I motioned behind me to the entrance of Knave. “Shall we get a bite?”

  “Yes, please,” she said, and her enormous smile, her long silhouette slightly vibrating with excitement, pulled every remaining thought from my mind. “I could eat an entire cow right now. I hope they have a steak the size of your chest in there.”

  I felt my eyebrow lift in amusement.

  She laughed as she dug through her clutch for something, mumbling to herself, “I swear I’m normally more intelligent than this.”

  I wanted to protest that Ruby was ebullient and refreshing. But I held my tongue; this time, her observation hadn’t really seemed to bother her.

  “My brother will be there,” I reminded her. “And his friends. I hope this is okay. They’re good people, just . . .”

  “Guys?” she finished for me.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes,” I said with a smile.

  “Oh, I can handle guys,” she said, falling into step with me. I noted, perhaps not for the first time, that she had the ability to say things that might sound peckish had they come from my lips but sounded playful and lighthearted coming from hers.

  “I imagine you can.”

  Turning to look up at me at the hostess stand, she said quietly, “Is that a compliment?”

  Her eyes twinkled under the spots of overhead lights just inside the bar, and again, she seemed to know already that whether or not it was a compliment, it certainly wasn’t an insult. The truth was, it had been praise. What I should have said was that she seemed able to handle almost anything.

  “I wouldn’t dream of insulting any of your skills.”

  “See?” She shook her head a little. With a teasing smile, she said, “I can’t tell if you’re messing with me. You’re so dry. Maybe I should have you hold up a sign.”

  I hummed in response, giving her a wink before turning to the hostess. “We’re meeting some people here.” And as I spoke, just over her shoulder I spotted my brother and his friends. “Ah, there they are.”

  Without thinking, I took Ruby’s elbow and led her to a table surrounded by low, velvet couches and plush ottomans. Her arm was warm and toned, but once I realized how close to flirtation this had come I released it. It was the way I would lead a date to a table, not a coworker.

  Our approach was noted when we were still several tables away, and the men seated—Max, Will, Bennett, and George—stopped talking to watch us. Ruby was tall but slight in a sort of gangly way, but you wouldn’t particularly dwell on it. Her posture was perfect, her chin always straight. She had the grace of a long-limbed woman just barely inside the door to adulthood.

  Four pairs of eyes moved from Ruby’s face down her svelte body to her feet and back up before turning to me with renewed brightness.

  Bloody hell.

  I knew without having to hear one word from his mouth what my wanker of a brother was thinking. I gave him a subtle shake of my head but his grin only expanded.

  Everyone stood, greeting me and introducing themselves to Ruby in turn. Hands were grasped, names given, and pleasantries exchanged. A tangle of nerves clutched me. This no longer felt like a business dinner or even a social dinner with my mates. It felt somehow that Ruby was on display, that I was presenting her. That this was an introduction.

  “I feel like I’m at a job interview,” she said as she took her seat beside George on a red velvet sofa. “All these suits.”

  I swallowed, feeling my face heat in embarrassment and relief as I realized she hadn’t shared my sense about the evening. We hadn’t been flirting after all.

  I was rubbish at reading cues.

  “The danger of Midtown, I’m afraid,” Bennett said with an easy smile, and waved down the waitress to come take our order.

  “A gin and tonic, with as many limes as you can get in there,” Ruby said, and then glanced briefly at the limited bar menu. “And the prosciutto sandwich, please.”

  A woman with a fondness for gin and tonics, my favorite evening cocktail? Christ almighty. Even Max caught my eye, brows raised as if to say, Well, well, well.

  “I’ll have the same,” I said, handing the waitress the menu. “Though one lime is fine.”

  “So how do you all know each other?” Ruby asked Max.

  “Well,” he tilted his head toward me, “this one’s my younger brother, of course.”

  Ruby smiled. “I heard there’s quite a gaggle of you.”

  “That’s right,” Max said with a small laugh. “Ten of us.” He pointed to the men at his side. “Bennett here I met in uni; Will I met when I moved to New York and we made the poor decision to open a business together—”

  “Your wallet cries in regret daily,” Will said, dryly.

  “George here works with my wife, Sara,” Max finished.

  “I’m her Boy Friday,” George clarified. “In charge of schedule, refilling the flasks in her desk, and hiding Page Six from her whenever she and Max
get caught out and about.”

  With the five of us already acquainted, our attention justifiably fell to Ruby, though I suspect mine may have regardless. In the dim candlelight, and against the backdrop of mirrored walls, heavy velvet curtains, and the dramatic polished wooden décor, she seemed to nearly glow.

  “How long have you lived in London?” Bennett asked. “You’re clearly not British.”

  “San Diego native,” she said and reached up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.

  Bennett’s eyebrows rose. “My wife and I were married at the Hotel Del on Coronado.”

  “Gorgeous!” Ruby’s smile could light this room in the dead of night. “I’ve been to a couple of weddings there and they were stunning.” Ruby thanked the waitress when she set down her drink, and lifted it to take a sip. “I graduated last June and moved to London in September, so about six months,” she said. “I’m in the internship program for one year at Richardson-Corbett, but I’m attending Oxford this fall for graduate school.”

  “Ah, another urban planner?” Max asked, glancing over at me.

  “No,” Ruby said, shaking her head a little. “Structural engineering.”

  My brother sighed in mock relief. “So then you’ll agree with me that urban planning is the most boring profession ever created?”

  Laughing, Ruby shook her head again. “I hate to disappoint you, but I was an urban planning—public policy minor.” Max groaned playfully. “I hope to eventually come back to Southern California in a superhero costume and completely revolutionize the mass transit system there, or the lack thereof.”

  I found myself leaning closer a little, to hear her better.

  “Southern California is clogged with cars,” she said in the continued silence. “Everyone travels between southern cities by car and train, but there isn’t an easy way to navigate cities from within without driving. Los Angeles grew so fast and so wide without an integrated transportation system, so it will be about retrofitting an already complicated urban setting.”

  Looking to me, she said as an aside, “It’s why I want to work with Maggie.” Taking a drink then going back to the others, she explained, “Margaret Sheffield, the woman I hope to study under, helped design building infrastructure around established Tube stations and in tight urban spaces. She’s kind of a genius.”