Suite on the Boss (New York Billionaires Book 5)

The Winter Hotel in DC isn’t as old as the original New York location, but it’s larger, built in a place where square footage isn’t a species on the endangered list. It has most of the same grand features, with a gym twice the size of the one in New York, but it’s clear it’s built more for utility than glamour.

“You can tell it’s designed for visiting dignitaries,” Jenna comments that morning, as we eat breakfast. “I saw them adding signs on the breakfast buffet in Mandarin.”

“Are they hosting a summit?”

She shrugs and reaches for her orange juice. “They sure might be. And with locations like this, I understand why they’re reluctant to give up some of the older decor. It’s served them well in the past.”

“Mhm. But their new hotel chain will cater to different customers, to normal families, to friends road tripping, to hip, young—you’re smiling,” I say. “Why are you smiling?”

Jenna laughs. “Because I’m on your team. I’m already convinced. The person you need to convince is coming later today, and he might not be so easy to impress.”

I look down at my plate of toast, fresh fruit, and an omelet that’s been cooked to my exact specifications. Yes, Isaac Winter is joining us this afternoon. Here on business just like us, after he’d graciously extended an invite to my team and me. Toby couldn’t make it, but Jenna and I? We packed our bags immediately. It’s not every day you’re staying at a Winter Hotel for free.

“You stayed late last week,” Jenna says. “Did you get everything sorted?”

“Um, yes,” I say. “I sent over a new brief to our graphics department.“

“A new direction for the logo?”

“Yes. I want us to have options.”

I hadn’t told Jenna about the dinner I’d shared with Isaac in the conference room. The moment belonged in that space, and spoken out loud, I feared it would lose its magic.

Jenna digs into the miniature acai bowl she’d grabbed from the buffet. “Well,” she says, “if we’re going to make a budget version of this, it will still be miles above the competition.”

I laugh and cut into my omelet. “I think that’s what they’re aiming for.”

We spend the rest of the day discussing strategies and touring the Washington DC hotel. A kind receptionist shows us all the different suite options. Jenna takes notes and I twist and turn ideas over in my head. How to incorporate a sense of luxury without the luxury price tag it takes to build it.

How do you sell a budget idea to a man with an eye for perfection?

By late afternoon, he still hasn’t joined us.

“Mr. Winter sends his apologies,” the kind receptionist says. “He’s been delayed and will be unlikely to make it tonight. Feel free to grab an early dinner and he’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? We have the midday flight scheduled,” I say.

The receptionist’s eyes widen. “Oh. Well, I’m sure he’ll be in touch, one way or the other. If you’ll excuse me…”

When we’re alone, Jenna sighs. “Well, nothing we’re not used to. We work in the shadows, and they talk to us when they have time. We still got great input.”

“Yes, we definitely did,” I say, ignoring the pang of disappointment.

And that’s how I end up at the hotel bar later that evening, alone. Jenna is taking advantage of the early evening to meet with an old college friend in the city.

I twist my glass of Chardonnay by the stem. A few years ago I’d discovered my love for the grape, and the grape’s love for me, and so far that’s one relationship that’s never failed me. I’ve finished half of it, and I’m debating whether I should order another one or go to my hotel room.

At least the walls will be a different shade of beige than the ones at home.

But then a deep voice cuts through the silence. “Miss Bishop. You’re still here.”

I turn to see him, familiar but unknowable, standing beside my chair. “Yes,” I say. “I take my job seriously.”

His lips tug. “So do I, although you’d be forgiven for thinking I don’t, with the delay today.”

“Where were you?”

Isaac pulls out the chair next to me at the bar. He undoes the suit button as he sits. “I had meetings with developers across town,” he says. “They ran late. I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you and your associate here.”

The wine and the wait have left me off-kilter, and with more courage than sense. “Jenna Nguyen.”

He nods. “That’s right. I apologize for forgetting. There are a… lot of people in my organization.”

“How many?”

“Too many for me to know the exact number,” he says, and raises an eyebrow. “What do you think about this hotel?”

I look away from the intensity in his eyes. “Stunning. It has a mellower feel than your main location in New York, lighter in color. It feels more… business and less vacation. People come here to recharge after a day of work, not after a day of boozy sightseeing. But it’s still built to impress, just in a way that’s less glamorous and more stately.”

“You have a good eye, Miss Bishop.”

“Sophia,” I say. It slips out. “Please call me Sophia, when we’re… well. I prefer it.”

“Sophia,” he murmurs. “All right.”

Nerves make my next words quick. “Thank you for dinner the other night, and the cab home. The tasting menu was incredible.”

He shakes his head and signals for the bartender. “Brandy, neat. Sophia will have…?”

“Another glass of Chardonnay, thank you.”

He drums his knuckles against the bar. “Also, two glasses of water—still.”

“Of course, sir,” the bartender says, already reaching for my now-empty glass.

Isaac clears his throat. “There’s no need to thank me for the food. It was research. So, which suites did you and your colleagues get?”

“The standard,” I say. “It looked lovely at check-in.”

His mouth tightens. “They’re decent.”

“Decent? There’s a pillow menu next to my queen-sized bed and a fully stocked minibar.” I smile at him. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but this is a five-star hotel.”

He snorts. “I hadn’t, actually. Did you do a lot of research before you booked it?”

“Oh yes. I spent a solid hour reading reviews and compared this place to every hotel on Pennsylvania Ave.”

“And what made you choose us?” He leans back in the chair. “You know, customer satisfaction is our main priority.”

My hand curls around the stem of my new wineglass. “Well, the reviews mentioned excellent personal service. It convinced me.”

His lips curve. “You want a personal touch?”

“Yes, I do.”

There’s a long beat of silence between us, and Isaac looks down at the brandy that’s appeared in front of him. His long fingers curve around the tumbler and I catch the hint of stubble along his jaw.

“You know,” he says, “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Before? Do you mean before we met in your lobby?”

He nods. “You were married to Percival Browne. Surely I would have run into you both together somewhere. Manhattan is small, and Percy went to school a few years behind me.”

“Oh.” I run a hand over my neck, finding my ponytail. I ease out the tie and let the hair spread around my shoulders, considering my answer.

Manhattan isn’t small. It’s enormous.

But just like my ex-husband, Isaac uses Manhattan as the name for their social circle. The small, insulated group of people that never live further than a few blocks from Central Park.

“Well, we didn’t go to a lot of parties together after our first couple of years. Percy preferred meeting his friends at the golf course or the club.”

“Ah,” Isaac says, and there’s a world of meaning in the word.

I sigh. “Yeah. It didn’t exactly help me make friends in the city.”

“Which club is the Brownes members of?”

“Grandview,” I say. It’s a famous country club with a location on the Upper East Side and one in the Hamptons. It has a waiting list that I’d only been able to bypass because of Percy, who’d had membership since birth.

Isaac takes a sip of his brandy. “You moved to New York a few years ago,” he says.

It’s a statement, but I nod regardless. “Yes. Marhill is a tiny place, and I always wanted to leave. New York was the dream. After college, I moved to the city, and despite all the things that are frustrating about it, I love it.” I shrug. “I met Percy at a bar during my first year in the city. I guess I was… never mind. Let’s talk about you instead of my ex-husband.”

Isaac’s eyebrows rise, and I want to take the words back. I’m talking to him like he’s a friend.

“Me?” he asks.

“Yes. Do you have an ex-wife we can talk about, to make things more even? Or was that a terribly inappropriate question?”

The hint of a smile curves his lips. When you get past the first impression, which is intimidating and distinguished, he’s handsome. Never approachable, I think. But handsome.

“I’m sure it was,” he says, “but I don’t mind.”

“Phew.”

“I don’t have an ex-wife,” he says, “and I’m not dating anyone at the moment.”

“That was fast. I figured you’d deflect on that one.”

“It was an easy question.” He raises an eyebrow. “I know the first answer for you, but what about the second?”

“If I’m dating anyone? No, I’m not. I mean, my divorce went through only a few months ago, even if we’ve been separated for almost a year.”

I’ve turned toward him, almost without realizing it, and my knee brushes his.

“I see,” he says, his eyes dark on mine. “Let me guess. You work too much. You mainly eat takeout in your apartment… your new apartment, right? You moved out of Percy’s but you haven’t fully decorated your new place yet.”

My mouth opens softly. “I haven’t had the time.”

“Right.” He nods, and twist the glass of brandy around. “No, you threw yourself into work instead, and it’s become your life. Dating again scares you, because it means trying at something again. Something that you might fail at, as opposed to work, where you know you can always perform.”

I stare at him.

His lips curve again, into that half-smile. “I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

“It’s all true. But how… Oh,” I say. “That’s you too. Isn’t it?”

His eyes sharpen, and the moment stretches into an eternity-long silence. But then he gives a single nod. “Yes.”

“That makes sense,” I breathe. “Who hurt you?”

Isaac takes a long sip of his brandy. I watch his throat shift and in the silence I realize what I’ve just asked him.

“God, I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m sorry.”

“Perhaps not,” he says. But then something softens around his mouth. “But after our meeting in the lobby, maybe we’re past things like shallow niceties.”

“I’ve never liked them much anyway,” I say.

“You don’t? You surprise me, Sophia.”

“I do? In what way?”

He lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. “You’re not who I expected you to be, after the first evening.”

“Not constantly weeping, you mean?”

“No, not that, for sure.” His eyes hold a challenge. Like he’s expecting me to be offended and he’s considering whether or not to say it.

“Go on,” I say.

“You were married to one of the Browne kids. I didn’t expect you to work, for one. And I didn’t expect you to be this… well. This is where I’ll insult you.”

“Please don’t censor yourself on my account, Mr. Winter. I think you’re the one who said you’ll never be offended by the truth? I won’t, either.”

He smiles. “Fine. The word I’m looking for is sharp, Sophia. I didn’t expect you to be this sharp.”

“Because I married Percy Browne?” That makes me chuckle, and I lift my glass. “You know what, I understand that. It wasn’t the smartest decision I’ve ever made.”

A smile spreads across his features. If his good looks were austere before, this makes them come alive, and I catch my breath.

“I’ll toast to that,” he says, and our glasses touch.

Warmth spreads through my chest, and I can’t resist teasing him. “Do you often think women are less intelligent?”

He gives a surprised chuckle. “I’ve never been asked that before.”

“Because the women you surround yourself with are usually too dumb to ask it?”

“Oh, I’d love to hear you say that around my mother or my sister-in-law.”

I laugh. “So that’s a no, then.”

“Definite no. And for the record, I don’t think women are unintelligent. I didn’t think you were.” His eyes glitter with teasing. “I made a snap judgement about your character based off what I knew of Percy’s. That’s all.”

I should let it go, but I can’t. “And what did you think of Percy’s character?”

“Let’s just say,” Isaac says, “that my opinion of him has increased a lot since getting to know you.”

I take a long sip of my wine and let the words float through me, like a rock settling into a lake. The compliment makes me warm. “So you went to school together.”

“Yes. But he was a few years behind me.”

“Not that many.”

“Enough,” he says. “Still, his parents and mine occasionally meet.”

“They’re friends?” I say, frowning. My former father-in-law, in particular, would have name-dropped the Winters every moment he could.

Isaac chuckles. “Not exactly. You know how Manhattan is. Many acquaintances, very few friends.”

I nod. That’s never been clearer to me than now, after my divorce. But I didn’t think Isaac would see it that way.

He’s married to his work, I think, looking at the way he takes up space so naturally in the hotel that bears his name. He’ll never work with anything else. Won’t dedicate himself to networking and social climbing the way so many other Upper East Side families do… because he’ll never need to.

He’s already a permanent fixture in that world.

“Sophia?” he asks.

“I must have seen you,” I say. “These past years.”

“We both must have.”

“In the lobby, I thought you looked familiar, but I had… other things on my mind.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

I shake my head. “Sorry. I never really fit into the world of Manhattan as well as my ex-husband had hoped. And by Manhattan I mean, very specifically, his social circle.”

Isaac nods. “It can be a hard one to crack.”

“Yes,” I say, and force my voice to lighten. “Do you know why they’re so obsessed with monograms?”

“Monograms?”

“Yes,” I say. I need to steer this conversation away from me and my divorce again. We end up there more often than I’d like, and I have the suspicion I’m the one who leads us there. The thought makes me feel pathetic. “They’re everywhere here. It feels like every home we went to for dinner would have a couple monogram proudly embroidered on the guest towels.”

He runs a hand along his jaw. “I think all the Winter towels are monogrammed. In the hotels, I mean. With the W.”

I laugh. “Of course they are.”

“It’s a personal touch.”

“Yes, very personal,” I say, and take a long sip of my wine. “That’s the personal service for you.”

“Exactly. Some customers say that’s important when choosing which hotel to stay at.”

“So I’ve heard,” I say. “Personally, I only look at the minibar.”

He chuckles. “Does it need to be stocked with Chardonnay?”

“Five bottles, minimum,” I say.

“Speaking of,” he murmurs, and nods to my glass. “Time for a refill?”

My second glass of wine turns into a third, and his glass of brandy turns into two. And as we talk, he angles his body toward mine, and I realize a number of things about this man.

He’s loyal to the company down to his very bones. His father is still on the board and he fully expects his brother’s children to run it one day, if, as he puts it, they’re not complete idiots.

A family legacy.

I also realize he truly does nothing but work. No wife and no girlfriend. And I wonder why that is, and if he’s ever tried, and if so with whom. The man in front of me doesn’t seem like he was made to live alone. No one is.

He’s a good conversationalist. A great listener, and when he comments on my stories, it’s tinged with a dry wit that surprises me.

I learn that his younger brother is part of the venture capitalist firm Acture, who owns and controls Exciteur.

That little factoid briefly blows my mind. I try very hard to keep my face professional, and years of training helps me succeed. The people who bought Exciteur had always been nameless and faceless in my mind. A vague and insanely wealthy conglomerate that likely had presidents on speed dial and four personal assistants each.

“Is that why you hired Exciteur?” I ask. My voice comes out casual, but my insides are anything but. That’s why he’s a special friend of the CEO.

Getting this project right isn’t just a matter of professional pride. It’ll end my career if I get it wrong.

“Yes,” he says. “It’s closer to mixing business with pleasure than I’d prefer, though. The two don’t mesh well.”

“That seems like a paradox, coming from the man who runs a family company.”

He chuckles. “Oh, I’m aware of the irony. Trust me, managing the family is often far more difficult than managing the hotel.”

I run a finger along the rim of my wineglass. “You must have… insistent family members.”

“I do,” he says.

I should end this, should excuse myself and call it a night, but I don’t want to stop talking to him. Tonight his handsomeness is approachable, the CEO facade down somewhat, and an intimacy has settled over our corner of the hotel bar.

Next week he’ll be a professional stranger again.

“I do too,” I say. “Not to mention insistent acquaintances. There’s a benefit in a few weeks that I’ve been badgered into attending by my tennis coach.”

“Benefits,” Isaac says, his mouth curling around the word like it tastes bad.

“Yes, exactly. But guess who’ll be there?”

He pauses with his brandy halfway to his lips. “He will?”

“Yes. I haven’t seen him since we signed the divorce papers.”

“Oh,” he says. “This wouldn’t be the benefit for the Museum of Contemporary Art?”

“It is, yes. Did you get an invite too?” I shake my head. “Sorry, of course you did.”

A slow smile stretches across his face. “I did, yes. I hadn’t planned on going, but you’ve given me an idea.”

“I have?”

“Yes. Let me take you.”

My mouth falls open. “That would look like…”

“Yes. I know your ex-husband, Sophia. Not well, but I know what he was like in school, and I’ve heard about him since. Seeing me by your side will be a blow to his ego.”

“You’d do that?” I ask. For me?

“He disgraced my hotel,” Isaac says, voice as calm as if we’re discussing a business project. “So yes, I’m in the mood for a little payback.”

The word flips over in my mind. Once, twice. Payback. To see his eyes widen in surprise when I walk in next to Isaac Winter. To make him feel just a smidge of something, be that jealousy or irritation or anger. To be the one in control.

So I touch my glass to Isaac’s. “To payback.”