Page 1 of The Billionaire's Second Chance
CHAPTER1
Samantha
“Alone at a wedding again, Samantha?”
My grip tightened on the delicate stem of my champagne flute as I stared out into the crowd of familiar faces sorted, two by two, into dancing couples.
I didn’t bother turning to the man who’d addressed me. He was only asking to provoke me: he knew my answer already, just as I knew the irritating smirk that I’d find plastered on his face were I to look at him.
Charlie Martin.
The mostirritatingman in the city.
“That’s right,” I said.
I didn’t bother elaborating. He wouldn’t understand. While I found himsingularly frustrating, New York’s society tabloids found himfrustratingly single: Midtown’s most eligible bachelor. He had a new woman on his arm every time I saw him, like an endless strand of pearls. That none lasted longer than a few weeks only made them cling, barnacle-like, to his arm all the more.
“You know, you could always hire someone,” he said in an undertone. “That way you could at leastpretendsomeone liked you.”
“That’s an idea,” I said, not bothering even to fake interest. “And how much did you pay Ryan to be his groomsman today?”
I looked over at Charlie flatly. Olive green eyes sparkled from beneath wavy brown hair. Straight white teeth gleamed from a lopsided smirk.
I’d read enough romance novels–or at least, their first thousand words–to identify leading man material in a single skipped heartbeat or caught breath. Ever since I was the agent for my friend Edie’s scandalous romance, my desk at the literary agency had been covered with similar manuscripts, my inbox filled to bursting with them.Dear Ms. Scott, Thank you for your time, Sincerely.All of them the same: a charming, handsome billionaire bachelor? Green eyes? Crooked smile?
Check, check, check.
Charlielookedthe part of a romance hero, alright.
But then there was the small problem of hispersonality.
Tonight, our crowd filled the historic hall of the New York Public Library, a place I’d loved fordecades–at thirty-three, I was old enough now for that to be true. But I’d known Charlie–and Ryan, the groom, and nearly everyone else at this wedding–for decades too, since we were children, attending the same exclusive schools on the Upper East Side together, our families meeting for parties and tennis and fundraisers. I’d watched them as they grew from lanky teens to career men, establishing themselves in their own right, just like I had.
Charlie had never grown up.
He’d just gotten…more Charlie.
“And weren’t you James’s best man just last year?” I added. “A few more of these things and you’ll have to mortgage the house in the Vineyard.”
“Ah,” he said, his grin widening. “James gave me a discount. Brothers. You know.”
“How charitable of him.”
“Oh, no,” he drawled. “There was a clause written into the inheritance: he gets the family business.” The Martins’family business, of which James was the CEO, was a billion-dollar publishing empire. “...As long as he’s nice to his baby brother.”
“Hmm. He thought that was worth it, did he?” I said, inspecting my nails, and he laughed.
“He did. Anyway, my accounts are safe. I only have so many friends on the bankroll, and this is two married off in two years, so by my calculations…” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him tapping a thoughtful–or mock-thoughtful–finger against his full lower lip. “I’ll be done with weddings soon,” he said. “And it’s safer this way, to be honest. No moreweddingsmeans no more weddingdates. And you know,” he intoned in a whisper, leaning in close enough I could smell his cologne, “both of those marriages started asone-night stands.”
“Did they?” I asked, his non sequitur catching me off-guard.
He nodded seriously. “Yes.Just one night, and then…” He jerked his head, and I followed his gesture with my eyes. Between the solemn marble columns, on the crowded dance floor, Ryan’s new bride Flora leaned into his side, beaming up at him and blushing lightly, radiant even amidst the bejeweled wedding guests. “Married.” He grimaced. “So I’ve sworn them off. One-night stands,” he clarified. “No weddings, no wedding dates…”
My eyebrows lifted–no wedding date fortheCharlie Martin? The Charlie Martin who’d mocked my datelessness?–and his grimace turned to a wry, acknowledging smile.
“...and therefore, no wedding date one-night stands. Didn’t you see?” He nodded toward the door. “The women of Manhattan are dressed in black.”
I pursed my lips. The women of Manhattanalwaysdressed in black. “You have a line of mourners out the door, do you? I must have missed them on my way in.”
