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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Amber Leah Brock Player

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Crown, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  crownpublishing.com

  CROWN and the Crown colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  ISBN 9781524760403

  Ebook ISBN 9781524760427

  Cover design by Elena Giavaldi

  Cover photographs: (pool water) Pattern Image/Shutterstock; (woman) H. Armstrong Roberts

  v5.3.1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  To

  Tom

  and

  Sandra

  Kitty Tessler sat at the long wooden bar in the Palm on a chilly Friday evening, steadily losing confidence that her date deserved the seat next to her. Raymond had seemed like a true catch, the perfect fit for her meticulous plans. About five minutes after they ordered their drinks, however, he had begun flicking his gaze over Kitty’s shoulder with a frequency that suggested a fugitive searching the crowd for a plainclothes policeman. Perhaps a change of scenery would still his wandering eye.

  She waited until he paused the stream of names he’d been dropping since her rear hit the bar stool. “Raymond, don’t you think we ought to get a table?”

  “Oh. Oh, sure. Right.”

  Another glance over her shoulder. Who is he looking for?

  “Not to rush you.” She flashed him a coy smile. “Don’t want you to think I get too hungry for dinner at eight.”

  His brow furrowed in confusion, and she swallowed a sigh. “Never mind,” she said. “Why don’t I get our drinks?”

  “I can’t let a lady pay,” he said.

  “It’s on my father. He has a tab here.” She motioned for the bartender.

  “What? Nicky Tessler has an open account at the Palm?”

  Kitty turned her full attention on him. No one she knew would dare to call her father “Nicky.” “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “That’s usually based on a certain…status. At a place like this, you understand.” He sipped his drink, unaware of the approaching storm.

  “I see. And what kind of status would you say my father has?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. He’s done well for himself. But it’s not like he runs in my father’s circles.”

  “And remind me, where is your father spinning these days?”

  Raymond straightened his tie. “Well, he’s a partner at Dunham and Lowe, for starters.”

  “That’s right…aren’t they the ones who bungled that big corruption case that was all over the papers a few months ago?”

  He squirmed on his bar stool. She pressed on. “That’s right. Your father was the lead lawyer on the matter. The papers really made it sound for a while there like he was awfully tied up in the whole situation. Thank goodness there wasn’t more of a scandal. It sure went away quietly.”

  He scowled. “Hold on just a minute. You don’t know the first thing about it.”

  “Now, now. I’m saying it’s a good thing. He avoided losing any of that stellar reputation.” She turned to smile at the now-waiting bartender. “Won’t you be a dear and put my drink on my father’s account? Nicolas Tessler is the name. In fact…” Kitty glanced around and raised her voice. “A round of champagne for everyone in the bar. Something French and old.” She pointed a manicured finger at Raymond. “For everyone but Raymond here. He can’t stay.”

  His lips were a thin, tight line. He fumbled with his wallet, threw a five on the bar, and walked out without another word. She folded the bill. When the bartender returned with a sparkling glass of bubbly, Kitty handed him the five. “This is for you. And I’ll get Raymond’s martini on my tab. Poor fellow. Had a sudden upset stomach.”

  The bartender nodded, then shot her a knowing look. “I’m surprised to see Mr. Leighton here on a Friday. You must be a friend of his girlfriend Carol’s. Is she coming in with him on Saturday, as usual?”

  Kitty loved a chatty bartender. “Oh, yes. She and I are dear friends. And I’ll tell you what—the next time they come in, will you put Carol’s first drink on my tab? Compliments of Kitty Tessler. She’ll be so delighted.”

  The bartender winked and held the bottle aloft. “All right,” he said. “This young lady is buying champagne for anyone who wants it.”

  A cheer went up from a few patrons, who crowded around to claim their glasses. Kitty stewed. She had known Raymond was flawed. None of them were perfect, after all. But she’d held out hope he would prove a viable candidate anyway. All he had proven was that he was the same as the other men she’d gone out with lately: appropriately wealthy and connected, yet all with some disqualifying factor she couldn’t ignore.

  A meaty hand landed on her shoulder, making her jump.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said. Kitty scanned him. Hideous sweater vest, shoes not shined, greasy grin.

  “You don’t scare me,” she said, turning back to the bar.

  “Hey, that’s good, that’s good.” Ignoring all signs that he shouldn’t, he took the seat beside her. He stuck out a hand. “Joe Carlo.”

  “I’m not looking for company at the moment, Mr. Carlo. I hope you understand.”

  “Ah, yeah, I saw that guy leave. You had him pretty hot under the collar. But he obviously didn’t know how to talk to a classy lady like you. I’m glad you let him have it.”

  Kitty turned her head so her eye roll wouldn’t be obvious. “Listen, you seem like a nice guy, but I’m not—”

  “I noticed you recognized my name when I introduced myself. I won’t leave you guessing. Yes, I am that Carlo. The Muffler King is my uncle.”

  The confession signaled the final curtain on Kitty’s doomed evening. She downed her glass of champagne.

  “Oh, look at the time. I’d better go.” She hurried out. Sharing a drink with Joe Carlo, already an unappealing prospect, would only make her situation more impossible than it already was. She would never find the kind of man she needed to propel her i
nto the social stratosphere if someone she knew caught her consorting with the Muffler King’s nephew.

  She took a cab back to the Vanguard Hotel, barely seeing the city as it whizzed by outside the car’s window. Her mental list of acceptable mates was growing shorter with each disappointing Friday night. It wasn’t really about money. She had money. Even guys like the Muffler Prince had money. She needed the warm, cocooning protection of good breeding. And that kind of security could never be hers until she had a venerable and appropriately Anglo-Saxon name attached to her own. The trouble was, only a thimbleful of New Yorkers had the right lineage to counterbalance Kitty’s own pedigree. Even more troubling was the fact that the children of those respected families had an irritating tendency to marry each other. Though she moved in their social world, the dismissive way people like Raymond still said her father’s name was a constant reminder of how far the Tesslers still had to climb.

  The cab pulled up to the curb in front of the Vanguard. Kitty considered going into the club on the first floor, but her mood was too sour. Instead, she took the elevator up to the top-level suite that she and her father called home.

  The suite was a unique space. The diamond-shaped living room offered double the view of the area surrounding the hotel through two sliding-glass doors that led to a triangular balcony. If Kitty leaned over the point of the triangle, she could see down to Herald Square. She rarely went out onto the balcony these days, since they’d parked the bar cart in front of the windows. Nothing like a glittering view of city lights while mixing a drink. The door leading to her room and bathroom was on the wall just to the left of the balcony, while her father’s bedroom door was mirrored on the other side of the room. Thick, cream-colored rugs and a brocade couch with heavy pillows satisfied Nicolas Tessler’s preference for a classic look. The chaise longue had been Kitty’s choice, since she liked to have her feet up when she rested. He’d also given in to her request for a television, though he hated the clunky box.

  A clattering of claws on the wooden floor meant Kitty’s little dog, Loco, had heard the key turn in the lock. She bent down, and the cocker spaniel leapt into her arms. Kitty laughed as she stood up.

  “Oof. You’re gaining some weight, pretty girl. Time for that diet. Nothing but cottage cheese and lettuce for you from now on.” The dog licked Kitty’s face until she set the wriggling bundle of enthusiasm on the couch.

  Fresh start tomorrow, Kitty thought, going into her bedroom to change.

  * * *

  The phone rang the next morning just as Kitty returned to the suite from taking Loco out. She launched herself at it, hoping it might be a last-minute invitation for a Saturday night date. Not that she could accept under those conditions, but she liked knowing she was in demand. Instead of a potential beau, it was her father’s secretary, Miss Jones, on the other end of the line.

  “Miss Tessler, your father would like to meet with you immediately. Should I tell him you’ll be in his office at ten?” Miss Jones had a stuffy voice that always made Kitty think of a dour schoolmarm.

  Kitty glanced at the clock. Nine forty-five. Not nearly enough time. “You can tell him that, but it won’t be true,” she said, her tone falsely sweet. “I’m taking Loco to the groomer’s, and then I have a hair appointment. I can see him at three o’clock.”

  “I would recommend you reschedule your appointment. Your father said the matter is urgent.”

  “Oh, it will be fine, Miss Jones. I’m sure it can wait a few hours, whatever it is.” Kitty plunked the receiver back into its cradle with Miss Jones’s now-tinny voice protesting all the way down. Loco’s appointment was real, but Kitty’s was fictional. Still, if her father was in the kind of mood that had him using his secretary to schedule a meeting with his daughter, Kitty needed to brace herself. She decided to treat herself to lunch at the Colony. Sitting among the well-dressed ladies always made her feel more composed, and it allowed her to dream of the day when she’d at last be able to walk into the Colony Club across the street.

  When she returned to the penthouse, feeling refreshed, she chose her outfit with care. The combination of a white button-down blouse with a Peter Pan collar and the fluffy skirt with large purple pansies would give her the sweet, girlish air most likely to soften her father’s heart, especially after keeping him waiting. Properly dressed, she went down to the first floor of the hotel late in the afternoon. It would have been near the end of another businessman’s workday, but her father was just hitting his stride by three o’clock.

  As soon as Kitty entered the office, she could feel the heat of her father’s glare. She kept her own expression cool, dropping into a maroon armchair and sliding off her shoes before the secretary even had the door closed. Her father leaned across his enormous mahogany desk as she rooted around in her beaded handbag for her cigarette case and lighter.

  “You can’t smoke in here,” he said, his face beginning to redden.

  Kitty pointed. “Then why is there an ashtray?”

  “That’s for people more important than you. People I can’t say no to.”

  She pulled the crystal dish closer and lit up anyway. “May I ask why we’re meeting in your office? You must really be trying to scare me this time.”

  “Maybe I am.” Her father watched the pale gray tendrils of smoke as they wafted toward him. He ran a hand across his slicked-back hair. Kitty could remember when it was solid black, like ink. Now it had threads of silver. Every few weeks, her roots reminded her that her hair was the same pitch black without dye. Thank God for blond in the bottle, she thought, pulling on one of the platinum curls that framed her face.

  “If you haven’t scared me once in twenty-five years, it’s going to be hard to start now,” she said.

  “Oh, I think this will do it.” He slid a long piece of paper across the desk to her. “Do you know what this is?”

  The Palm’s logo topped a long list of numbers. Kitty’s throat tightened. “It looks like a bill.”

  “It sure does. It looks like a very high bill. It’s also something else. Can you guess what else?”

  She smelled the trap, so she shook her head wordlessly.

  “It’s also the last straw. This nonsense ends here and now. You seem to have no interest in making a life for yourself, so I’m giving you a push.”

  “I just wanted to have a little fun, Papa. I won’t do it again.”

  “Doing this again is not the problem. It’s all the times you’ve done this before. You’ve had too much fun, but that’s partly my fault.” His brow wrinkled. “Maybe mostly mine. I keep paying these bills, after all. But now I’ve got the solution.”

  “You’re making it all sound so dire. It’s not like I’ve been running wild.”

  “Believe me, I know the mistakes I’ve made with you. But after what happened in January…”

  She dropped her gaze to the gold geometric patterns in the rug under her chair, but looking away didn’t help. She still saw her father, only in her mind he was thin and sweating against the crisp linens of the hospital bed. Her papa, the tough, sophisticated businessman, being fed oatmeal by a nurse in a starched cap. He hated oatmeal. Kitty squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, and the image evaporated.

  “I’m fine now. I am. Never felt healthier. But an episode like that makes a man evaluate. And something like this?” He tapped the bill with his finger. “Something like this makes him certain. You’ve had enough fun. It’s time to get serious about your future.”

  Kitty leaned against the back of the chair and smiled, hoping she looked more languid than she felt. “We both know you’re going to live forever, Papa.”

  “The fact is I’m not going to live forever.” His sharp tone wiped the smile from her face. “I need to be sure you’re settled when I go. You need someone to take care of you.”

  She fanned the lingering smoke in front of her and stubbed out her cigarette
. “Is that all? I’m planning to get married at some point.”

  “No, that’s not all. I’ve got to consider what happens to everything I’m responsible for. Everything I’ve built. You’re my only child, only real living family. Everything will be yours, and you’ll need someone to help you.”

  Kitty shrugged. “What, do you think Andre will quit? He’ll never leave.”

  “Exactly.” Her father pressed his palms together and was quiet for a long moment. “I think you should consider Andre, Katarina.”

  She frowned. “Consider keeping him on? Why wouldn’t I? He’s the hardest-working man I know, second to you.”

  “No.” He sighed. “Consider marrying him.”

  A cold shock ran to the tips of Kitty’s fingers. Andre, built like a tank from her grandfather’s beloved Mother Russia. Andre, with all the smooth sophistication of a bear in the woods. She saw herself, a kerchief smushing her golden curls, ladling out borscht for the rest of her life. “Papa. No.”

  Her father’s jaw set at the word. “Yes. It solves my problem, and you don’t have any problems to solve, so you don’t get a say. That way I know you and my properties are taken care of. You need to start seeing Andre socially.”

  Kitty folded her arms across her chest. “Or what?”

  Her father’s eyes widened. “One way or another, these hotels and clubs are going to take care of you. If you won’t accept Andre, you’ll learn the business the way I did. You’ll work your way up, starting with cleaning toilets.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “It’s time for you to settle down. Andre is a perfect fit. He’s only a few years older than you, he’s a good man, and he’s from a respectable family. And he’s been working for me for years. It’s not like you have any other serious prospects from that tennis club set you run with.”