Neon Vows Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors: Jessica Gadziala Advertisement1

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My heart lurched.

And for just a second, I had another flash of a memory.

I didn’t even know exactly where the store was, but I was standing in front of the window, looking in at the wedding gowns. And Harrison had his arms around me, his head pressed to the side of mine.

It was there and gone in a blink, but there was an unmistakable tug of… joy.

I’d been happy there.

With him.

On a sigh, I shoved the dress back into my bag and flopped on the bed, determined to stop thinking about him.

I mostly succeeded in those couple of moments right before sleep.

Then went ahead and dreamed of him.

CHAPTER NINE

I spent three days with Willa, trying to get to a point where I wasn’t so emotional and frazzled about the whole situation.

But when it became clear that I was hunkering down to try to avoid handling the whole marriage thing, I packed back up, thanked my cousin for her hospitality, and hopped on a train to Manhattan, where Willa said I would find Harrison’s office.

I’d always loved New York the way I loved Vegas. They had the same heartbeat, the same restless hum under the pavement. I felt it in Hong Kong and Macau too—in cities that never slept because too much money was too awake.

Technically, on paper, New York was not a gambling town. There were no full casinos full of spinning slot machines and windowless disorientation.

Though anyone who knew anything about professional gambling knew that there were many private poker clubs, backroom games, and invitation-only rooms.

It was the same game I loved, but with added stakes. And, often, celebrities at the table.

This was the first time I’d visited the city without a game in mind.

Anxiety thrummed in my veins as the train pulled into the station. I had yet another copy of the paperwork in my bag, sent over from my Vegas attorney and printed out at Willa’s office, in case Harrison did something stupid like throw his copy out.

I wanted no excuse for him to say we couldn’t do this if he had done the smart thing and changed his mind.

I made my way out of the station, pausing on the sidewalk to soak in the energy of the city. But for the first time in my life, New York felt too loud, too fast, too overwhelming.

With a sigh, I turned away from the yellow taxis sitting near the curb waiting for passengers and started walking.

Harrison’s office was in Midtown too.

And I guess that made sense.

It was where old money met modern wealth.

It might be the beating heart of tourism, but it was also home to a lot of private equity firms and hedge fund managers.

I fell into step with the crowds as we moved up the sidewalks and rushed across intersections.

Then there it was.

A tall glass tower, the hundreds of windows reflecting the buildings around it.

The Valentine Group.

I’d known Harrison was rich in Vegas.

And it had been confirmed by my cousin.

But knowing someone was rich and realizing they owned an entire building in Midtown Manhattan was a complete other thing.

This kind of building had to be worth somewhere between two and five hundred million.

Knowing what I knew about personal net worth, I had to assume that meant Harrison Valentine was the ultra-elite kind of rich. Meaning a “B” in front of “illion” instead of the “M” I’d been expecting.

No wonder my lawyer and my cousin both went wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the idea of a man like this being so reckless as to marry a stranger without first protecting his assets.

Harrison was a billionaire.

Which, according to the rings still on my finger, meant I was now a billionaire.

This guy was a straight-up idiot if he didn’t sign the annulment now that I knew what was at stake and was willing not to take him to court for half.

Sucking in a deep breath, I glanced at my reflection in the mirrored glass window, trying to finger-comb my hair back into order.

I hadn’t dressed up for the occasion.

Lightly flared jeans, a tee, a black leather jacket, and black combat boots were what he would be getting. I hoped that he saw it and realized how unfit I was for his life.

Maybe he’d had a different idea of me because I needed to be in a nice dress to be at the poker table.

But I was not a fancy dresser. I would never be the kind of arm candy rich men wanted to drag around to charity events and business meeting circle-jerks.

Rolling my shoulders, I made my way inside.

The lobby felt more like a gallery than an office. Light traced clean lines across the ceiling in precise geometric patterns, glowing against steel beams and polished stone. Everything was open and symmetrical, designed to impress without raising its voice to be heard.


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