Billionaires in New York Boxed Set: Billionaires in the City Books 1-3 Laura Burton (books to read this summer .TXT) 📖

call me that,” Harry said. He hated his name. His schoolboy friends in England bullied him mercilessly for it. Since moving to New York, he was able to get away with just Harry, but certain individuals stuck with his Christian name.

“I’m your mother, you will always be Harold to me,” the mature woman said firmly. “Now are you going to be there or not?”

“I’ll be there.” Harry sighed and tugged at his collar. His neck felt like it was being squeezed by the Armani shirt.

“Good. You’ll be bringing a plus one, I assume? You know Ebony will be there….”

Harry swallowed. Ebony was his ex-fiancé. A feisty redhead who took an interest in the stock markets, and despite their engagement, ran off with Phillipe, her massage therapist. At first Harry thought she was going to those appointments because the stress of being in the pit was making her shoulders tight. Turns out, she was seeing him for more than a neck rub. Ebony broke Harry’s heart and married Phillipe two years ago. They moved to Surrey, and word had it that they had a couple of dogs in their country home and enjoyed clay pigeon shooting on the weekend. It now sounded as though country life with her masseuse wasn’t all grand.

“I’ll have a plus one, and it will not be Ebony, Mother. I can’t talk right now, I have a date.”

“Oh? What is her name?” Harry’s mother asked in a cheerful tone. Harry heard the slight skepticism in her voice that he was making it up.

“Julie,” he replied faster than his brain could compute. It was the only name on his mind. The name of the woman he was going on a blind date with. He knew hardly anything about her. Emily, the matchmaker, thought an air of mystery allowed for the date to feel less like a set-up and more like an organic meeting.

“Well, good for you. I assume I will meet her this weekend?” Harry’s mother asked innocently. Harry swallowed.

“Yes, of course.”

They exchanged their good-bye’s and he ended the call. Harry looked up at Benjamin who had one eyebrow raised so high it almost disappeared into his dark hairline.

“Great, just when I think there couldn’t be any more pressure to like this woman. Now I’ve got to persuade her to come with me to England this weekend.”

“You might like to make a good first impression, then.” Benjamin shifted his weight and opened the door for Harry. “Punctuality is always a good start.”

Harry gasped at his watch and took a breath.

“Right, let’s not waste any time,” he said and marched out of the door.

Chapter Three

A Blind Date

Julie walked into the restaurant and looked around the tables, scanning the room for her date. Emily had not even shown her a picture of the man she was to meet, which sent her anxiety into overdrive.

“You want this to feel as natural as possible. No Facebook stalking. Get to know each other, the real way,” Emily had said as she ushered her into the cab.

The restaurant was cozy, with low chandeliers and dark walls. A harpist played Chopin in the corner by a large pane window, and everyone spoke in dull tones. The blonde hostess looked up from her stand and eyed Julie carefully.

“Do you have a reservation?”

“Sure, my name is Julie Andrews.”

The hostess pursed her lips and surveyed the leather-bound book on the stand.

“I’m meeting Harold Jackson,” Julie added quickly, noticing she was having difficulty finding her name. The hostess looked up and raised a hand to her collarbone.

“Oh, why didn’t you say? This way––” She sauntered off with her head held high. Julie followed, holding her dress to keep from stepping on the material. She silently reprimanded herself for not adjusting the length, but Emily didn’t exactly give her much time.

“Here we are. Mr. Jackson has not arrived yet.” She gestured to a small table in a dark corner of the restaurant. Julie settled in one of the leather chairs and squinted at the menu. She could hardly make out the words in the dim light.

“Can I get you a drink?”

Julie looked up at the hostess. Her painted nails were drumming her hip bone, and Julie noticed that the hostess’ smile did not reach her eyes.

“Um,” Julie said as she glanced across the room. She caught sight of a man waiting by the front.

Is that him?

She blinked and looked back up at the hostess, who appeared to be having trouble resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Her brows twitched and she blinked hard as her smile grew wider.

“I’ll give you a few minutes to think about it,” she said, as if through gritted teeth. Off she went, leaving Julie alone in the dark. She shuffled around in her seat, smoothing out her dress. The lace overlay irritated the skin on her arms and collarbone; she wriggled her shoulders and arched her back. The boning offered very little movement, keeping her upright when she longed to relax her posture and sink back into the comfortable leather seat. The sound of footsteps caught her attention and she stopped fidgeting and looked up.

“Here you are, Mr. Jackson.” The hostess’ voice was sickly sweet now, and Julie noticed her eyes were sparkling.

“Thank you. Hello, Julie, I’m terribly sorry for being late––have I kept you waiting long?”

Julie rose from her seat and opened her mouth to speak but before she could say a word, the hostess jumped in.

“Oh no, no, not at all.”

Julie closed her mouth again and shot a quizzical look at her before refocusing in on the man standing with his hand held out. She took it.

“You’re Harold?” she asked shyly her eyes lingering on his face. His hair was wavy and cut short at the sides, a rich golden shade, almost like caramel. He had the darkest eyes Julie had ever seen and his hand was softer than cashmere.

“Please,” he began as they broke apart and took their seats. “Call me Harry.” His voice was slightly husky, and he