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He sighed. Why hadn’t he called her?
Well, there was the small matter that he probably shouldn’t be seen out partying while he was fake dating Victoria Ashby to restore her reputation.
Sorry. Been busy.
I KNOW. I read NYMinute, u know.
Right. How could he explain this without telling her it was all a lie? Needless to say, Vic would kill him if he told someone with five million followers what was really going on. But before he could think of how to respond, she texted again.
Hey, ur biz is ur biz. I just wanted to know if u want to hang out?
Oh. Okay then. “Hang out” being barely veiled code for more than hanging out. Apparently, his supposed relationship with Vicky wasn’t an obstacle. Well, this he could answer.
Sorry, F. You’ll have to survive without me.
He was going for cocky with a side of charm, but when her next text came through, he knew that wasn’t her major take away.
Holy shit! I guess the NY Minute folks got it right. Never thought I’d see the day Ryder Prince was so whipped he got boring.
She ended with a kiss emoji to soften the blow. He responded with a shrug emoji, because what else could he say without disclosing the truth?
No more texts came through, and he slid his phone into his pocket, looking out at the city lights.
The truth.
What was the truth? That he couldn’t go out with another woman as long as he was supposed to be with Victoria. Or even stay in, for that matter, since there was no way to be sure someone wouldn’t spot her entering or leaving his place and sell them out to the press.
But more than that, if he was honest with himself, the truth was that spending the evening with another woman didn’t sound all that appealing to him right at the moment.
He sipped his drink and tried not to think about what Vicky was doing right then. He failed.
New York Minute
The Ryder/Vicky plot thickens! Mr. Prince and Ms. Ashby were spotted together shopping at Tiffany—Don’t freak, they were looking at gifts, not engagement rings—but on the other hand, maybe we should kinda freak, right? Because hello?! Since when does Ryder never-met-a-scandal-he-didn’t-love Prince do sweet, normal, boring domestic things like go gift shopping with a well-bred woman?
Could this mean—dare we even say it? Is the prodigal Prince giving up his wicked ways and going, for lack of a better word, legit? Huh. Not sure how we feel about that. Where else are we going to get that kind of entertainment?
(On the other hand, we do admit . . . we kinda like these two together. Check out these adorable pics of them browsing vases and candy dishes and such, captured by a mom from Minnesota on vacation with her fam. And stay tuned.)
Chapter Fifteen
Vicky held a takeout cappuccino in each hand. She threw her head back and tossed her hair, trying to loosen up. This sent her gym bag swinging on her elbow. She took a breath and fixed her gaze on the lights indicating the floor numbers as the elevator made its smooth, silent ascent.
This was fine, she reminded herself. It was fine. She and Ryder were partners right now, working on the same project. She didn’t know why, exactly, the urge to see Ryder had struck her, but it didn’t matter, did it? It was probably her subconscious trying to make sure they were in sync on their partnership. Their business arrangement. Nothing wrong with dropping in to touch base with your business partner. Which was exactly what she was doing.
Okay, yes, she could have called. But she actually had been in the neighborhood after her morning at the gym, so this just made sense. Right?
Right. She was being ridiculous. She was here to see her associate. Her friend. Not to mention she and Ryder really did need to talk strategy before the upcoming engagement party.
The elevator dinged, announcing its arrival at his floor. She stepped out, the plush carpet muting the sound of her heels as she turned and walked to Ryder’s door.
Okay. So. Here she went.
Crap.
How was she going to knock on the door with everything in her hands? Maybe she could use the crook of her arm to . . . no, that didn’t work. Or maybe she could just put her bag . . . ow! Coffee sloshed out of one of the cups, onto her fingers.
“Dammit,” she said, a little louder than she meant to.
