Duke of Manhattan

“God, it’s so good to have you back in New York,” Cecily said as she opened the door to my office with a dramatic swoosh. “You should have said you’d be here and I would have cleared my diary this morning.”


I shook my head. “No need. I had a ton of things to get through.” I smiled up at her as she sat on the corner of my desk.

“We have so much to catch up on,” she said, her hands clasped as if she were holding herself together. “I just got a meeting with the beauty buyer for Saks.”

She didn’t sound very excited. “Are you kidding?”

She leaned across the table. “Can you believe it? I’ve been trying to hold it in all week. I wanted to wait to tell you face-to-face.” Her eyes were beaming and her smile was wide.

“Oh, my God.” I sat back in my chair, my arms flopping on the metal. “That is amazing. Well done, you.”

“Well done us, you mean. You were the one who told me it was possible. And the one who told me to get back to them even though they said no like four times already. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have given up.”

I grinned up at her. “We’re a good team.”

“We’re the best. We need to celebrate. Can you spend an evening away from that gorgeous husband of yours and sample some champagne with me?”

I held my smile in place despite the darkness that seemed to drift over me at the mention of Ryder.

“Sure.” My phone buzzed, reception lighting up the line, and I put it on speaker.

“Your hot-as-hell husband is on his way to see you. Did I mention how lucky—”

I hung up and jumped to my feet.

“What are you so jumpy about?” Cecily asked.

“Cecily, I don’t want to—” I couldn’t think. I looked out through the glass of my office to see Ryder coming toward me. What the hell was he doing here? Shouldn’t he be in England still?

“I’d love a man who brought me lunch, or even one who picked up the check.” I could just make out Cecily’s muttering under the booming in my ears.

“Fuck,” I managed to spit out as I stood, bracing myself for impact.

Cecily narrowed her eyes. “What’s the matter? Did you two have an argument?”

I didn’t have time to answer before he had his hand on the door to my office. Our eyes met through the glass, but I looked away and stared at Cecily as if she was going to be able to tell me what to do. The last thing I wanted was to add to my humiliation by having to come face-to-face with the man who had discarded me as if I were an old pair of sneakers.

“Hello,” he said as he walked through the door. The heat of his stare burned me. Why was he here? “Cecily, please, can you leave us?” he asked.

Jesus, he thought he owned the whole world. What an arrogant asshole.

Cecily looked at me apologetically but slid off the desk and left us, closing the glass door behind her. I watched her go, only turning away when Ryder said, “Scarlett.”

“Ryder,” I replied, sitting down and flicking through some papers, trying to do anything other than focus on the embarrassment cloaking me.

“Is that all you’re going to say to me? You leave England without so much as a goodbye and ‘Ryder’s’ the best you’ve got?” He said his name in a sing-song voice as if he were a nine-year-old boy pulling his sister’s pigtails.

“Why are you here?” I asked, looking him square in the eye. I had nothing to be embarrassed about. He was the one who’d been a jerk.

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his brow as if he were confused. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” he asked. His voice had softened and I felt my shoulders drop, just a little.

“What?” I asked.

He tilted his head. “You didn’t even say goodbye, Scarlett. You just left.” He spoke as if he was half mad, half frustrated. Like he was the one who’d been wronged. Unbelievable.

“Are you seriously going to pretend that you’re the wronged party here? When you didn’t have the balls to ask me for a divorce in person rather than having me served?” Shit, I hadn’t wanted to let him know that it bothered me. That it had hurt.

He slumped in the chair opposite my desk as if I’d shot him. The same chair he used to sit in when he brought me lunch three times a week. Goddamn it. How had I let him in enough to hurt me like he had?

“Darcy was right,” he muttered.

I didn’t quite know what to do. He was sitting in front of me not saying anything. “I have a lot to get through this morning. Surely, anything you need to discuss, you can handle through your lawyer.” I began to scroll aimlessly through the customer research that I had open on my computer screen, doing my best to ignore his strong, hard jaw and mussed hair. I missed touching him.

“I didn’t know that Giles had drawn up the divorce papers,” he said and my heart surged in my chest. That couldn’t possibly be true. “And I certainly didn’t know that he’d had them delivered to you.”

I turned to him, clenching my fists under my desk. “Lawyers don’t just draft divorce papers.”

He leaned toward me. “Honestly, Giles thought he was being helpful. I had no idea he was even thinking about drafting those papers, let alone had delivered them to you.”

He should have known. “We were staying in the same house. In the same bed,” I replied.

“I know. You must think I’m a total bastard.”

I raised my eyebrows. That was an understatement.

“But I don’t get why you would think I would. I mean, that’s not who I am and you know that,” he said, his brows drawn together. “I care too much about you to do something so callous.”

I closed my eyes, wanting to shut out everything he was saying. I didn’t want to hear how much he cared about me. I had to focus on how getting those papers had ripped the Band-Aid off. At least the inevitable breakup hadn’t been prolonged. It hurt, but I was clear on where I stood. I refocused on my screen, keeping silent.

“Why didn’t you say anything? How could you just walk out?”

I slammed my palms down on my desk. “Are you freaking kidding me? How is this my fault? Your grandfather died and my services were no longer required. Fine. I took the hint. Don’t you dare turn this around to try to make me feel bad about a situation I feel bad enough about.”

He reached across the desk, covering my hand with his, but I snatched it away.

“You better go,” I said.

“Scarlett, seriously, I’m sorry. But you have to believe me, I didn’t send you those papers. Divorce was the last thing I wanted.” He leaned close, reaching for me again.

“Sure it was. You can get back to screwing anything and everything. You are officially a free man.” I jiggled my mouse, but my cursor was frozen.

“What happens if I don’t want to be a free man? I don’t want a divorce.”

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