The Starfish Method

by JB Heller

Sam slowly leans back into his own seat, and I’m burning up like it’s the hottest day on record since 1913. I snatch a napkin off the table and fan myself with it.

  I must look like I’m going through the change, because Amy asks, “You okay, Han? You look a bit flushed.”

  It’s the first thing she’s said to me since Sam and Mr. English sat with us. I don’t even know my new boss’s first name because I’ve been so wrapped up in the man beside me.

  “Yep, just dandy.” It’s a big fat lie, but I smile through it.

  Amy gives me a knowing smirk. I narrow my eyes at her, silently telling her to keep her damn mouth shut. She turns her attention back to Mr. English. Sam remains silent at my side, and I glance at him from the corner of my eye to see a pleased expression on his face. I’d be pretty damn proud of myself, too, if I could turn a person to mush with only one sentence.

  My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure everyone can see it trying to make a break for it right out of my goddamn chest. I place my hand over it and take a deep, calming breath and count to ten.

  Just as I’m getting it back under control, tingles erupt over my skin as the soft pads of Sam’s fingertips graze the skin of my nape. I whip my head to him and glare the best I can as he continues to torture me with his gentle caress.

  “Stop that,” I whisper-hiss.

  He raises a brow. “You don’t like it?”

  “I didn’t say that.” I lick my lips. “What are you trying to do?”

  A wicked grin tugs at his delectable mouth, and I can’t drag my gaze away from it. “I’m making sure you’ll give me your number at the end of the night . . . if nothing else.”

  Oh, he’s good. Real good. I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face at his words.

  We’ve got some intense chemistry going on, but I am not easy. I don’t do one-night stands, and if he thinks that is where this is heading, I’ve got news for him.

  I reach around behind myself and remove his arm from the back of my chair. “As appealing as the idea of giving you more than my number is, it won’t be happening. I’m just not that kind of girl, Sam.” I flutter my lashes with mock innocence as I release his arm.

  “And what kind of girl are you, Hannah?”

  “Why, I’m the very best kind.” I grin. “I’m fun.”

  His smile matches my own. “Oh, I bet you are. And wouldn’t you know, a little fun is exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

  This guy. I want to fan myself again but refrain.

  The waiter appears with our meals, and my mouth waters. I do love a good steak, and this one looks and smells amazing. After picking up my utensils, I cut a piece and pop it in my mouth, groaning as the tender meat melts on my tongue.

  Sam nudges me with his elbow. “I never thought I’d be jealous of a steak, but as I live and breathe.”

  I chuckle. “Nothing beats a good steak. Absolutely nothing.”

  “I beg to differ.” He snorts.

  Shrugging, I place another piece in my mouth. “Maybe you’ve never had a good steak. I’d offer you a bite, but I don’t share my food.”

  “And maybe you’ve never had a good f—” He stops himself then clears his throat. “What I mean to say is, there are lots of other things more enjoyable than steak.”

  I throw my head back, laughing. “Nice save there, Sammy boy. Nice save.”

  He just shakes his head and cuts into the chicken breast on his plate. “I was trying to be a gentleman,” he grumbles only loud enough for me to hear.

  I slip one of the personal information cards I use at marine ecology conferences out of my bag and slide it across the table, leaving it next to his plate. “And I appreciate that very much,” I whisper then go back to my delicious meal.

  The next morning, I’m impersonating a sea slug in its natural state. That is, I’m lounging around my apartment in my underwear when my phone chimes with a text from none other than Sam.

  My heart pitter-patters a little faster at the sight of his name.

  SAM ~I don’t subscribe to the ‘wait three days to make contact’ rule. It’s stupid and counterproductive. When can I see you again?~

  I chew my bottom lip as I contemplate my answer before my fingers fly across the screen.

  ME ~I agree. Life’s too short to waste a whole three days. How about tomorrow?~

  SAM ~How about today?~

  I blink at the screen. Damn, he’s keen.

  ME ~Can you say eager beaver? I’m busy today.~

  SAM ~So am I. But I can make time if you can.~

  Saturdays are my day of rest; it’s a rule I never break. It helps keep a little distance between me and whatever guy I’m seeing at the time. I’m never available on a Saturday—ever. Avoiding meeting their families is also a must. It makes things smoother, allowing for a clean break when our time is up.

  SAM ~Hannah . . .~

  ME ~I’m thinking.~

  SAM ~What’s there to think about? Come have breakfast with me, then you can do whatever it is you had planned.~

  I frown. What is the time anyway? Glancing at the clock on my phone, I’m not surprised it’s only five-thirty. I’m physically unable to sleep in, but what’s Sam’s excuse for being awake at this hour?

  ME ~Why are you awake this early on a Saturday?~

  SAM ~Meet me for breakfast and I’ll tell you.~

  I shouldn’t. It’s not a good idea. I have these rules for a reason. I am kinda hungry though . . .

  But no. I can’t.

  ME ~Sorry, no can do.~

  SAM ~Why not?~

  ME ~Told you. I’m busy.~

  SAM ~What could you possibly be doing at 5:30 in the morning?~

  Well, shit. What am I supposed to tell him? I can’t say I have to work—all it would take is him asking his cousin and I’d be found out. I gnaw the corner of my bottom lip. The poor thing is getting a workout this morning. Aha! I’ll throw Amy under the bus. He’ll be none the wiser.

  ME ~I’ve got plans with Amy.~

  SAM ~Oh, really? Because I just walked into Tom’s place, and I’m pretty sure this is the shirt she was wearing last night . . .~ *Picture Attached*

  I stare at the picture of a black-and-red polka dot T-shirt hanging off the tip of Sam’s finger. Tom, aka Mr. English, offered to walk Amy back to her car last night when we left the bar. That dirty little tramp got busy with my boss, and now I’ve been caught out in my lie. But I’m already committed to it, so I push forward.

  ME ~That could be anyone’s . . .~

  I run a frustrated hand through my shower-damp hair. I didn’t expect Hannah to reply to my message until later this morning. Not many people are up as early as me, especially on the weekend. I was pleasantly surprised when she replied straight away, and I figured why not ask her out right now.

  Her refusal to give me a reason for declining breakfast is driving me nuts. Any other woman would be all over the chance to share a meal with me. But apparently, not Hannah. I drop her friend’s shirt on Tom’s kitchen counter and text her back.

  ME ~We both know it’s Amy’s. Come have breakfast with me. I’m starving.~

  HANNAH ~I can’t.~

  Snatching the milk out of Tom’s fridge, I stalk back across the hall to my place. We share the penthouse floor of the apartment building our grandfather gifted us for our twenty-fifth birthdays.

  I drop the milk on the counter while I reply to Hannah.

  ME ~So you keep saying. But you still haven’t given me a valid reason.~

  I’m being pushy. I know it, and I don’t care. I decided last night that I want her, and damn it, I’m going to have her. I finish making my coffee while I wait for her response.

  HANNAH ~Because I said so, Sam. Just leave it at that. I’d be happy to have breakfast with you tomorrow, but today is not a possibility.~

  My teeth grind. Tomorrow. I can wait until then. I just don’t want to.

  ME ~Fine. I’ll pick you up. What’s your address?~

  HANNAH ~Bahahaha. I’m
not telling you where I live! You could be a psycho with a fetish for rummaging through other people’s trash. I’ll meet you.~

  I blink. Then I blink again. Did she. . . I stare at the screen, and despite myself, I laugh. Nobody has ever said anything like that to me before.

  ME ~I assure you I have not, and will never, rummage through trash.~

  HANNAH ~Meh. There’s a first time for everything.~

  Settling onto one of the stools in the kitchen, I sip my coffee.

  ME ~True. But not in this instance. Can I at least send a car for you?~

  HANNAH ~Nope. Just tell me where to go. I can find my own way.~

  ME ~Stubborn woman.~

  HANNAH ~Stubborn, but fun ;)~

  I shake my head then send her the address of my building and tell her to be there by six. She might not want me to know where she lives, but I couldn’t care less if she’s aware of where I live. The restaurant downstairs will do just fine for our breakfast date.

  Taking my coffee to my room with me, I stride into my closet and dress for another day in the office. Technically, I don’t need to go in, but I have issues letting go of control. I can’t help it. The need to see for myself that everything is as it should be is a compulsion.

  On more than one occasion, I’ve been accused of being a workaholic, but the truth is, I simply haven’t found anything I’d rather be doing. So, I work. I continue to build the family portfolio with new and interesting ventures that attract my attention and pique my curiosity.

  I leave things like taking the family jet on spontaneous trips to Europe or sailing the yacht around the Bahamas for a month to Tom. That’s more his style, although he does work hard when he’s in the office.

  He’s suggested it’s time I took a leaf out of his book and learned to relax. But honestly, if I were to take time off, I’d be bored out of my brain or stressing about how things were being run while I was away.

  I reach for a white undershirt and slip it over my head before tugging a button-down from a hanger and sliding my arms in. As I take another swig of coffee, my mind goes back to Hannah. Behind my closed lids, I can see her gorgeous face and that pink hair of hers. A smile curves my mouth.

  She is so damn pretty. I was instantly attracted to her last night, which caught me off guard—bright, outrageous hair doesn’t generally do it for me. But it only served to make the aqua blue of her eyes stand out more.

  Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I take a pair of jeans from the shelf and put them on. Drinking the last of my coffee, I give myself a quick once-over in the mirror and run my hand over the stubble coating my jaw. Normally, I’d shave before going into the office, but I have a feeling Hannah will like it, so I leave it and head out for the day.

  Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

  What does one wear on a breakfast date?

  I searched the address Sam sent me, and it looks like we’re eating at a fancy restaurant located on the ground floor of one of the most prestigious apartment buildings in the city. Tapping my finger on my chin, I peruse my closet in search of an appropriate outfit.

  What could be fancier than glitter?! I snatch my glittery black capris from their hanger and pair them with a gorgeous crisp white, long-sleeve, silk blouse I’ve been dying to wear. It’s still cool enough in the mornings to get away with long sleeves, thank goodness.

  Now for shoes. I go back to tapping my chin as I run my gaze over my extensive shoe collection. Ha! My Jimmy Choo knock-offs will go beautifully with my outfit. Grabbing them from their perch, I check the time: five-twenty. Crap. I lay everything on the end of my bed then jump in the shower and clean myself off quickly.

  Luckily, I washed my hair last night, so all I need to do is throw it in a quick braid that hangs over my shoulder.

  When my hair is as good as it’s going to get, I apply a light coat of foundation, some mascara, and gloss.

  I order an Uber then throw on my clothes before giving myself a quick survey in my bedroom mirror. Not too bad, if I do say so myself. Another quick look at the time tells me I’ve only got ten minutes to make the twenty-minute trip. I forego waiting for the elevator and dash down the three flights of stairs to the lobby. Pushing through the front door, I’m pleased my ride is already waiting.

  Sliding into the back seat, I smile at my driver. “Morning!”

  She gives me a slight chin lift in acknowledgment, but that’s all I get. She’s obviously not a morning person, so I don’t bother trying to fill the silence that permeates the car. Nervous energy surges through me when my phone chimes with a text from Sam.

  SAM ~I’m trying to decide if I’m being stood up or you’re just running late.~

  Crap. He’s obviously one of those people who are never late. And I’m the complete opposite. It doesn’t matter how much time I give myself to get ready, I’m never on time. Except for work.

  ME ~Sorry. I’m on my way . . .~

  SAM ~Good. I’ll wait for you out front.~

  My knee bounces as the next five minutes drag by incredibly slowly. And then we arrive, and I’m out of the car with a hurried, “Thanks,” to my driver as I slam the door.

  Sam’s dressed in a pair of dark-wash jeans and a white V-neck T-shirt. I admire the fact that the slight stubble that coated his jaw the other night is now thicker as he stands outside the most luxurious apartment complex I’ve ever seen. And somehow, he’s even more devastatingly handsome in the daylight.

  My heart rate spikes when I take him in, a dreamy little sigh slipping past my lips.

  His eyes light as they rake over me from head to toe. “Wow, you look gorgeous.”

  I blush. I know I wasn’t beaten with the ugly stick as a child, but hearing Sam say those words warms my insides. “Thank you,” I murmur as I take his offered elbow and he leads me inside.

  We’re shown straight to a secluded table in the back, and I give Sam the eye. “Did you book this table before I arrived?”

  “This is my table. I have breakfast here almost daily.”

  Rolling my eyes, I chuckle. “What, like you own this table? What if someone else was seated here before you arrived? Would you make them move?”

  An impish grin pulls his delicious lips to the side. “Actually, I own Zenith. Well, Tom and I do. And nobody else sits here but myself or Tom.”

  I blink at him dumbly. Did he just say he owns this building? I take in our surroundings with new eyes. Holy. Shit.

  “Now would be a great time for you to say something,” Sam says, nudging me with his foot under the table.

  What am I meant to say? I thought he’d picked this place for the food, not because he lives here. Let alone that he owns this whole damn building. What do I do with that?

  “Hannah,” he murmurs. “Is this okay? We can go somewhere else if you’re uncomfortable.”

  Shifting in my seat, I lick my lips then look back to him. “I’ve made this awkward. I’m sorry.”

  He shakes his head. “No, I should have picked a different restaurant.”

  “This is fine, Sam—better than fine. I guess I wasn’t expecting you to, well, own it.”

  “Is that a problem?” he asks, his vivid blue eyes searching mine.

  Is it? Not really. It makes no difference to me if he has a bazillion dollars in his bank account. It’s not like we’re in this for the long haul. We’ll hang out for a couple of months, have some fun, then go our separate ways—if it even goes that far.

  Smiling at him, I say, “Not at all. I guess you caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting it, is all. Sorry for getting all weird on you.”

  He tilts his chin, his gaze assessing. “You sure?”

  I smile wider and shimmy forward in my seat before leaning my elbows on the table. “Of course. So, what’s good here? I’m starving.”

  And just like that, the air of awkwardness I instigated evaporates, and we fall into comfortable small talk as we order our breakfast.

  I can’t stop staring at her.

  Hannah isn’t l
ike the other women I usually spend time with. For starters, her hair is pink and her pants are covered in glitter. I don’t know much about fashion—okay, I don’t know anything about fashion—but I do know that none of the women in my social circle would be caught dead in those pants or with that hair. It makes me like them even more.

  I can’t quite get over the way she speaks to me, either. In fact, I quite like it. Nobody else has ever refused to share a meal with me or threatened to feed me to a tank of sharks. She’s light and airy; it’s easy to be around her.

  Even now, as she shovels her Eggs Benedict into her mouth like she’s never eaten before, I can’t take my eyes off her.

  “What?” she asks. “Is there something on my face?”

  All I can do is shake my head. “No, I just like watching you.”

  “Way to sound super creepy.” She chuckles and wipes the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

  “I can’t say I’ve ever been accused of being creepy before.”

  Her eyes sparkle with humor. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  At this point, she has my mouth set in a permanent smile. “I can’t reveal all my dirty secrets on our first official date.”

  Her brows arch, and a smirk curves her lips. “Is that what this is? A date?”

  I nod. “What would you call it?”

  She shrugs and takes a sip of her coffee. “I don’t know. Two people getting to know each other.”

  “Otherwise known as a date,” I supply.

  “Potato—potawto. Doesn’t really matter what we call it, does it?”

  I relax in my chair, stretching my arms back then lacing my hands behind my head. “Not really. But I still don’t know much about you, Hannah, except that you work at The Aquarium with the sharks. What else should I know?”

  Hannah takes a moment before answering me. “There’s not much to know, really. I’m an only child whose parents have sadly both passed away. I’m twenty-eight, career-focused, love starfish, hate toadfish, and I share an apartment with a lobster named Levi, short for Leviathan. He’s quite the little charmer. You’ll have to meet him sometime.”