Suite on the Boss (New York Billionaires Book 5)

The new resort development in the Caribbean had stalled. Amanda had flown down, and I had to join her, together with a few others from the executive team.

But the negotiations take hours. More hours than I have, and by the end of the third day, I’m cutting it too close. I’ve missed my flight back to New York. And while it might be a crime to be on this island and not look twice at the brilliant turquoise waters, there’s no time. I’ve already used too much of mine.

I call my assistant. “I need to be in Midtown by noon tomorrow. Put together a few flight plans and book what you can.”

It ends up being an evening flight to Miami, where I spend miserable few hours at an airport hotel before my morning flight. I should be tired. Should have no problem getting a few hours of sleep. But memories compete in my head, each wanting a center stage.

Sophia had kissed me in front of my ex.

The sentiment had been kind, but it’s been years since Cordelia and I ended, and I doubt she’d care about me dating. I know I don’t give a fuck about her love life.

But Sophia didn’t know that.

Her lips on mine had been the best thing I’d experienced all summer, all damn year—soft and determined, and with just a hint of shyness because she wasn’t sure how I’d react.

And then, she’d taken it all back in the next breath and reclaimed the kiss as a favor. Just simple quid pro quo for what I’m helping her to do to Percy.

Painful to the ego, sure. But it shows her character. Kind and fierce, in the same clever package.

I run a hand through my hair and look up at the dark ceiling. She wants a math teacher and not another member of the social circle Percy belongs to. Not another him, in effect. I suspect she feels like she doesn’t fit in.

But she does, though. That’s the thing. She does, and I’ve seen it.

Percival Browne had been so damn lucky and then so damn stupid to have thrown it all away.

I turn onto my side, staring at the numbers on the alarm clock. She should be asked out properly. Not this half dating, just-for-show kind of thing. My instinct is to do just that, but I know it would only take me further away from her. I doubt Sophia is ready to date, and even if she was, I’m a damn far cry from a high school math teacher.

I flip onto my back again and force my breathing to slow. There’s only one solution. After the tournament tomorrow, and after I’ve gotten some illicit pleasure from winning against her ex, we’ll end this little fake relationship. It’s run its course. Percy is jealous, and I can tell her that my family is mollified.

It’s time to avoid the temptation who’s made it very clear she isn’t in the market to be tempted.

The next day, I arrive at the Grandview Club straight from the airport. My assistant is waiting outside, holding a bag with newly bought workout clothes, and I can see the handle of a tennis racquet peeking out.

“I’ve registered you for the tournament,” he says. “Your partner is on court four, and the two of you are playing your first game in fifteen minutes.”

I change and catch a brief glimpse of myself in the mirror. No sleep and two flights haven’t been kind. My eyes look haggard, and I need a shower.

But what I really need is to win. Despite the sleepless night, competition burns in my veins. It’s all too easy to remember Percy’s face and the expression on it when he’d taunted Sophia about his new relationship.

The club is buzzing, with the makeshift stands around the tennis courts selling lemonade and drinks. A lounge area has been erected, and in the distance, I see a band setting up.

Of course. A tennis tournament, but also an excuse to mingle and day drink, just like every event in the city. A few people cast curious glances my way. I’ve never frequented the Grandview, never wanted to mix my networking with my workouts.

“Winter?” a man says, someone I vaguely recognize from my father’s golfing days. “I didn’t know you’d be here!”

I nod hello with a polite smile and make my way to court four. Sophia’s already there, waiting.

She’s in a navy-blue outfit, a contrast to all the people wearing white. The tennis skirt is pleated… and short. Very short. I catch the full length of her toned legs and the perky swing of her ponytail.

She lights up when she sees me. “Isaac!”

“Hey, Bishop.”

“You made it. I was worried there,” she says and frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“There was a hiccup in the building of our Barbados resort that needed my attention,” I say, shaking my head. “But it’s been ironed out. Mostly.”

“You were just in Barbados?”

“Yes, briefly. We’re almost finished building.”

“I know,” she says, nodding slowly. “I’ve done my research about that. But I didn’t mean to pull you away from work, Isaac. If you need to be somewhere else, you know, you’re free to go.”

She says my name easily, rolls it off her tongue like we’ve known each other a lifetime.

“I promised I’d be here.”

“Isaac…” she says.

I hear what she’s not saying. That it would’ve been okay, that she would’ve understood, that she never meant for me to go to these lengths. But I wanted to, I think. I will never be the one to let you down.

I clear my throat. “So, what’s the score?”

“The first set of matches has been played. All their scores are being recorded over there.” She nods to a giant chalkboard on wheels, complete with drawn brackets of teams. All of them are listed, and there’s a clear path to the two empty spots in the center.

“We’re playing the second round of starters.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And who are we playing?”

“Them,” she says grimly. “Percy knows the guy who runs the club pretty well.”

“Ah,” I say. So he’d made sure he would play his ex-wife. I flex my hand and reach into my bag, gripping the handle of my racket. I can’t wait to beat him.

Sophia takes a deep breath. “I think we should’ve practiced together beforehand,” she says.

“We could’ve,” I say and regret not having that idea myself. It would have been another reason to spend time with her.

“I emailed your assistant about it,” she said. “With some proposed dates. But I think you were busy on all of them.”

I pause. “You did?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know about that.”

“Oh, well, I thought maybe you didn’t.”

“You could have called me,” I say. “Or texted.”

“I didn’t want to overstep. You’re busy,” she says and reaches for her own racquet. “Besides, I’m already grateful for your help with this.”

“You came with me to the Montauk party,” I say. “You kissed me in front of my ex.”

A faint blush creeps up her cheeks. “I did, yeah.”

“So, consider this me returning the favor.”

She smiles, and it sets the world to rights. “Literally?”

“If you’d like, yes,” I say. “If you want to rub Percy’s nose in us, make it clear you’ve moved on… then you can. What I said at the Montauk party still stands.”

“You mean that,” she says. It’s a statement, not a question.

But I nod anyway. “I do.”

“I was worried I’d overstepped.”

“You didn’t. I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

She chuckles. “No, I suppose you don’t. It’s refreshing. So many people do.”

“Yes, and then they pay the price for it,” I say and pull out my racquet.

Sophia eyes it. “You’ve played before, right?”

I hold the racquet like a frying pan. “Which way is up, again?”

She laughs. “Okay, so you have.”

“Yes. Anthony and I played growing up.”

“So, you’re good?”

“Good enough,” I say. It’s been years since I played just for fun. Years, really, since I made the time and effort for things of any nature, just for fun.

“They’re here,” she murmurs. I look across the net to see them, Percy and Scarlett, step onto the court.

He’s in all-white, and so is his girlfriend. They both smile and wave to us like all is normal and right in the world, and as if this won’t be a fight to the death.

“Oh my God,” Sophia murmurs.

“You’re not playing him,” I say. “You’re just playing the game. Don’t focus on who he is.”

She takes a deep breath. Fire flickers in her eyes, so clear I can almost see the flames. She doesn’t need to be talked down from her nerves, I realize. They’re giving her fuel.

“I have to win,” she says fiercely. “I want to win.”

“We will,” I say. “You will. But you know what will be a true victory?”

“What?”

“Walking away from here and looking happy, regardless of what happens during the game. That’s what’ll hurt him the most. You, thriving without him.”

Her mouth curves into a smile. “You’re good, you know. Very good.”

“It doesn’t take a genius,” I say, “to imagine how it would feel to lose you.”

Her smile falters, and the eyes on mine turn questioning. Damn. Too much, and if it wasn’t for my lack of sleep, I wouldn’t have let those words slip.

The game begins and saves us from the silence. The first few serves make it clear that Scarlett is a competent, if not a particularly ambitious, player.

Percy, though? That’s a different story. He’s not a wild talent, but from the very first ball, I see the hunger in him. He’s playing to win this, just like I am.

And just like Sophia.

They net the first two points, but we gain the next four. Then we miss the point because of a failure in communication. I curse. Sophia curses. And after that, we make sure to call it—always, and it doesn’t happen again.

She’s good. Great even, especially her backhand. It’s hard to master, but she makes it look effortless. The ball becomes a blur over the net, flying in quick crosscourt shots.

Playing feels good, the forehand swings and the twang of the ball great. We win the first set, but it’s close, and during the water break, I watch Percy give animated pointers to Scarlett.

Sophia gives me a fierce look over her water bottle. Her skin glistens beneath the overhead lights. “You’re really good,” she says. “Those serves? Damn.”

I shrug. “Anthony and I were forced to work on serves until we could do the movement in our sleep.”

“They’re hard. I can never quite get the ball toss quite right.”

“I’ll show you sometime,” I say.

She knocks my shoulder with hers. “I’d like that.”

The second set is far more intense than the first. Percy has kicked into a higher gear, and I find myself responding in kind, sending balls as hard as I can back to the other side. For a few glorious seconds, it’s just him and me, crosscourt forehand shots and the ball clearing the net by mere inches. I flick my wrist slightly on the next impact, and it skews just out of his reach on the other side.

Point us.

The game reaches a fever pitch. I can feel it on the court, playing beside Sophia, who hits every ball like it’s a tie-breaking shot. I can feel it in the sounds of the onlookers, too. For a brief moment I feel sorry for Scarlett, who’d likely signed up for a fun day of tennis and not a death match at the Colosseum.

But then I remember what she’d done to Sophia, and the pity fades.

The final set is close. We lose points three times in a row, but in the last second, Sophia plays a drop shot. Scarlett sprints but it’s too late, point us, and the game shifts in our favor.

And they never recover.

We win the final point with one of Sophia’s backhands, and it’s all over. The referee calls the game over and, absurdly, the people around us applaud. I wipe sweat off my forehead and meet Percy’s gaze from across the court.

He looks like he wants to lob his racquet at my head. I give him my most polite of smiles.

Sorry, asshole. You lost.

“We won!” Sophia says, and I tear my eyes from Percy’s scowl. She’s flushed and stunning, and she drops her racquet on the court floor. Then, she throws herself into my arms.

I swing her around. She smells good, like warm woman, and shampoo, and victory. “We won,” she murmurs into my ear. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

I tighten my arms around her waist before I let her sink back down to the floor. “My pleasure.”

Her smile is a beautifully bright thing. “Incoming,” she says, and then she kisses me again.

I ignore the people looking at us and, selfishly, take my time. It’s impossible not to with the softness of her lips against mine and the lithe waist beneath my hands.

But most of all? I ignore that she’s only doing this to get back at the man across the net.

Sophia pulls away first. “Now,” she murmurs, “we’re even.”

“You know,” I say, with the taste of her still on my lips, “I think I might enjoy being in your debt.”

She smiles, alight with life and victory. “Really? Help me win another game, then.”