Mister Manhattan: A Hero Club Novel Read online

  Mister Manhattan

  A Hero Club Novel

  Alexandria Sure

  Copyright © 2020 by Alexandria Sure and Cocky Hero Club, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Editor: Kyleigh Poultney

  Proofreader: Laura Sager

  Cover Designer: Designs by Dana

  Contents

  Foreword

  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

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Foreword

  MISTER MANHATTAN is a standalone story inspired by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s STUCK-UP SUIT. It’s published as part of the Cocky Hero Club world, a series of original works, written by various authors, and inspired by Keeland and Ward’s New York Times bestselling series.

  1

  Jurnee

  As I slipped into the booth, I glimpsed my reflection in the oversized mirror with the daily specials written on it in brightly colored markers. With no way to improve the situation, my fingers pushed my dripping reddish-brown hair back, revealing all the carefully applied makeup now running down my cheeks, making it look like I was crying.

  “I bet you weren’t expecting me to look like this. It’s raining, by the way.”

  “Clearly.”

  His voice was what I wanted whiskey to feel like as it slid down my throat—smokey, controlled, arrogant, confident. Unfortunately, whiskey burned every time I tried to sip it, and I suspected he burned whomever he touched.

  I gathered my wet hair and draped it over my left shoulder in an attempt to steady myself. “I’m so sorry I’m late, I’m usually prompt.” Strands of bangs fell over my eyes as I stared at his enormous hands cradling a tiny iPhone. The pink fullness of his lips against light brown skin sent a quiver through me as I imagined them on me. “You really downplayed how attractive you are.”

  When he didn’t answer, I cleared my throat. “Okay, I’m ready.” I waited for him to look up. He didn’t. I continued, “It’s been two-and-a-half years since I’ve had, well, you know, and I’m in New York for a meeting, but I am using the meeting as an excuse to hang out in the city for a month.”

  His sexy brown eyes narrowed as he dragged his glance from his phone to me. “What?”

  “My two truths. I thought that we were trading two truths?”

  His attention returned to his phone. I pulled at my wet clothes as I caught the first whiff of my date’s cologne, a mixture of peach, lavender, rosemary, and nutmeg. There was also a hint of sandalwood and flowers that strangely worked together into a sexy masculine scent.

  “You smell really good. P.S. you really downplayed your looks.”

  He glanced up at me again but said nothing.

  “On the website, you stated you were alright looking. I would definitely call that downplaying. Also, I’m not sure how you stayed dry, but I didn’t have the same luck.”

  His stare morphed into what I could only call extreme boredom. I tried again.

  “I’m curious to hear what your two truths are.” Then, I did the toughest thing ever… I didn’t say another word. I stared at him, scrolling through his phone. He clearly didn’t have basic manners. There would be no second date, I decided in those moments of silence.

  Clearing my throat, I lifted my brow, so he knew I was expecting something.

  “What?” He asked.

  The deep, commanding sound of his voice made me press my back against the booth. Girl, you are so addicted to assholes.

  “Your two truths.” Swallowing, I tilted my head to the side, waiting for him to recall what I was referring to. Regret was creeping in quickly as I mentally combed through the emails we’d exchanged over the last week. “You asked about this yesterday when we finalized the date.”

  He chuckled, but in a rude sort of way, like he was making fun of me. “Date?”

  “Our conversations. What is…?”

  “A conversation that you and I had?” He asked in a snide tone.

  “From the website? The dating app. Not into Looks.” Now I was getting upset. What the hell was wrong with him?

  A rail-thin waiter approached, looking like he hadn’t been in the sun in years, and gave me a once-over. “May I get you anything?”

  “May I please get a cup of coffee?” When I looked over at my date, he looked as surprised as the waiter that I had actually requested my own beverage.

  “And for the gentleman: coffee too?” The sarcasm dripping off him was thick enough for even a girl from the Midwest to grasp.

  I waited for him to reply to the impatient waiter. Instead, he dismissed him with a quick shake of his head. He returned his attention to his vibrating phone.

  “Still here. You want to share your two truths now?”

  He set the phone gently onto the table in front of him and stretched his legs out until they were no longer under the table. When he reclined, his gaze dragged over me. I squirmed under his scrutiny.

  “I got caught in the downpour, okay? I also got turned around on the subway train and went to the wrong restaurant. I’ve apologized for being late. Perhaps it’s time you apologize.”

  He rolled his eyes. His phone vibrated. He reached for it.

  “Seriously, are you going to be on that the entire time?”

  The waiter set the coffee in front of me. I didn’t need to lift the cup to my nose to tell that it was old and stale. He slammed a glass bowl full of creamer, artificial sweetener, and sugar packets down in the center of the paper placemat. Without another word, he retreated to wherever he came from.

  I held the mug in my hands for warmth as a chill started to crawl down my spine, and I fought to keep my teeth from chattering.

  “What would you have me to do?”

  “Well, you can start by giving me your two truths.”

  He set the phone back on the table and stared at the cup in my hand. “Never take a woman back to my bed and never ever
stick around for morning coffee.”

  His silky voice made the words hit me like a slap in the face. It hadn’t taken long to realize this blind date was going nowhere. “Manners count where I come from, and you definitely lack in that area.”

  Again, he gave me a once over and returned to his phone. I set the coffee on the table as the waiter returned to the table to ask if there was anything else he could get us.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

  The waiter looked over at my date, who shrugged.

  “Steve.”

  “Steve, may I have the check, please?” I politely responded and tossed in a smile.

  “Something told me you were only having the coffee.” Steve placed the check on the table, turning in a huff.

  The man that I had chosen to begin my month-long dating adventure with continued to scroll on his phone, unaware or ignoring that I was digging through my wristlet for money. “Five dollars for a cup of lukewarm, tasteless coffee.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I think it’s clear this isn’t a love match for either of us.” I placed seven dollars on the check and dragged my soaked body out of the booth. “Thank you for your time. Although, you may want to pay more attention to the next woman you ask out on a date. Just a thought.”

  The questioning look on his face threw me. It was as if he understood none of my words. Oh well, not my problem. You are not taking up space in my life, not on the short timetable I am working with. Nope. Not going to do it.

  The moment his eyes returned to his vibrating phone, I walked away. The man belonged on the pages of a magazine, but his lack of manners did nothing but turn me off completely. On to the next adventure.

  Opening the door of the restaurant, the smells of the city climbed into my nostrils. Derrick, my best friend, warned me New York City smelled like urine and garbage. In truth, it smelled more like dirty gym socks that had been abandoned in a locker over summer break, dipped in urine mixed with steamy hot garbage. I stood exhaling through my mouth and allowed the sun to warm my chilled body. Of course, the rain stopped.

  After four steps, I realized I was heading in the wrong direction and spun around only to run right into the chest of a familiar smelling man. Taking a step back, I looked up at him—the same look of boredom, but now on the busy sidewalk.

  Jesus, he looks even better standing up. His suit fit like a glove, but it was more than just a good fit. It looked like he was born to be wearing it, and nothing less would do. Then he crossed his arms and waited. Okay, still a complete asshole.

  “Excuse me. I was heading in the wrong direction again. My apologies.”

  He gave me one nod and continued past me toward a black town car waiting at the curb. A large man stepped out and opened the door in time for my failure-of-a-date to slip effortlessly into the back seat. In a matter of seconds, the driver was back in the driver’s seat, inching into the city’s evening traffic. He was gone. Good. You were super hot, but nobody needs that attitude.

  2

  Jurnee

  While the street and people on the sidewalk showed no signs of the earlier downpour, my clothes remained soggy. I was ready to escape back into the tiny sublet I had scored from a fellow Michigan State University alum. The sign on the corner indicated I was still in the Meatpacking District. But I was turned around and felt lost.

  Digging out my phone, I had two missed calls and a couple of texts from the one person who would find the silver lining in this experience. I didn’t bother listening to the voicemails or checking the text messages, scrolling instead to my favorites, and tapping on Derrick’s name. Of course, he answered on the first ring.

  Derrick was the reason I was here. I welcomed him on his move-in day with store-bought baked goods in a basket with the price tag still attached. Immediately, we were friends. Derrick worked as a professor. However, as a massive MSU fan, Derrick’s lack of team spirit continuously threw me for a loop. It was his only flaw.

  “Tell me everything. Start with why you are calling me thirty-two minutes after the start time of the date.”

  Six months ago, as he opened the second bottle of wine and moved my stack of ‘Welcome to Our City’ guides that I had been collecting for years, I was in a rut. With my work’s project nearing its end, the six-week break compensation and the next project had turned into a bigger plan to reshape my life.

  A smile spread across my face at the sound of his excitement. “Well, it was a major dud, but he was beyond gorgeous. Like made Ghost Guy look extra average–”

  “But…”

  “Total asshole. He may have said six words the entire time I was sitting across from him. Plus, he kept looking at me like I wasn’t worth the time of day. To top it off, the waiter was rude. And you were wrong. He wasn’t wet at all. Apparently, only the Midwest girl, where we drive everywhere we go and don’t carry umbrellas, got caught in the rain.”

  “Oh no. Again? Jurnee, I have told you a hundred times to pack the mini umbrella–”

  “Seriously, you’re picking this moment to remind me of the importance of an umbrella?” I caught my reflection in the window of a store. “Actually, I do look like a soggy dog. An umbrella may have helped the situation. But that probably wouldn’t have helped his personality. It didn’t get rained on.”

  “What’s his name? I’m Googling him.”

  Stopping in my tracks, the person walking behind me bumped into me. “Sorry.” I replayed our brief conversation in my head. “We skipped introductions. Wow! He is an ass.”

  Derrick laughed and resumed banging on his keyboard. “The first one didn’t pan out, not a problem, time to move on to candidate number two.”

  “I’m lost again.” Staring at the mobile map app of my iPhone.

  “Cross streets?”

  I stepped off to the side to allow the New Yorkers to speed walk past me. “14th and 9th.”

  “Jurnee, street and avenue become extremely important in the City. Give me–”

  “Sorry. Sorry. West 14th street and 9th avenue. The app says a subway train station is a three-minute walk from the restaurant–”

  “The train or subway, Jurnee. Never both. Did you switch it from car directions to walking?”

  “Oh. Woops. That made a difference.” I could feel his eye roll from a thousand miles away. “Ha. I’m close. Thanks?”

  Crossing with the mass of people, I headed down the block to the train stop. “So, are you ready to hit up candidate number two? I’m going to hit send.”

  “The meeting is tomorrow. I’m going to wait until that’s over before I give this blind dating thing another go.”

  “Has my sister reached out to you yet?” His voice faded at the end of the sentence. He had a bad habit of moving around his house without his phone.

  When Derrick mentioned my coffee shop idea to his sister, Avery, she suggested that I pitch the idea to one of the country’s most successful finance guys, Graham Morgan.

  “Avery said she was tied up but would get a hold of me as soon as possible.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “Derrick, we’ve been over this. There is zero chance Graham Morgan will be interested in a coffee shop. Let’s not get our hopes up.”

  His superpower was redirecting and guiding one to their next stepping stone, wherever it led. “Did you steam your outfit?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, no.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t stay after the meeting. I could spend the entire six-weeks at home in pajamas reading books. You know, and stuff.”

  “Okay, Crazy Lady. I have no idea how we got here, but let’s dial back on the dramatics.” He didn’t wait for me to respond. “You have wanted to experience New York City since before I met you. Like, you have a New York sign in your bedroom. And I want you to know I’m using my air quotes.”

  “But–”

  “I don’t think it’s your turn to speak. Think about all the Broadway shows you’ve talked about, visiting ever
y bridge in all the boroughs, spending hours in museums, walking Central Park—which I don’t even think is a possibility—don’t even think about running away from this opportunity.”

  “I’m at the subway train stop. Heading down the stairs. I’m going to lose you.”

  “Really, Jurnee? You’re really using the ‘I’m losing you’ trick on me? I taught you that trick.”

  Clutching my metro card, I tried to angle it just right to avoid a bottleneck and read the unfriendly instruction on how to feed the machine. “You did not. God, you will claim credit for anything. Bye.”

  “Call me after the meeting.”

  I moved to the far side of the platform to wait for my train back to Brooklyn. “You’ll be teaching.”

  “Fine. Text me when the meeting concludes. And, if you wear one of your many Old Navy knit tops with a pair of straight-legged slacks that you purchased online, I swear to God, I will kill you myself.”

  “Bye, Derrick. Thanks for your help with directions.” I was reaching for the end button when I heard him yell ‘again’ into the phone.

  The truth was, I wasn’t ready for this once in a lifetime meeting, and no outfit was going to change that fact. Scoring a seat by the door on the train, I removed the notecards of my presentation for my wristlet and began flipping through them. How do you prepare for a meeting with Graham Morgan? You don’t. Instead, you hope you don’t get thrown out for even being there.