Flirty Thirty (Nerdy Thirties Book 1)

by Cassie Mae

  The skeptical part of me perks up, knocking at the corners of my brain. Maybe I’m seeing things. “Two floors up,” is all I can mutter, pointing one finger sky high. My brows knit together, studying his features as thoroughly as I can before he’s back on the elevator. Maybe it’s a totally different man. A doppelganger at the least. Does insanity come standard at thirty? I was told it only creeps up on those with “Mom” brain.

  He nods, taking a long step backward into the elevator and pressing the button on the side. I tilt my head, noticing how similar in body type, the hair, the smile lines—I won’t ever forget those smile lines.

  “Thanks,” he says. The doors start to close, his face morphing from casual to apologetic in the last second. “And I’m really sorry about yesterday.”

  The relief I feel in the realization that I’m not losing my mind is short-lived, quickly replaced by irritation. His apology is the last thing I see in his blue eyes before he’s on his merry way to the correct floor. No, wait! I have questions. Many, many of them.

  My reflexes certainly aren’t what they used to be—by the time I scurry over to the up button, the elevator has already ascended. I let my head fall against the metal doors and bang it a few times. What just happened was definitely not one of the steps.

  4

  Backfire Hire

  Improvisation is my forte, and you bet your bottom dollar I play it to my advantage. But Cooper Sterling has thrown me a massive curve ball, one I can’t seem to recover from even an hour after our encounter.

  “It was a level beyond awkward,” I tell Sarah, pacing behind my desk in my bare feet. “There’s not a chance I’m getting that commission.”

  Sarah bites her lip, most likely masking her amusement at the disarray of my appearance. The hour has given me ample time to pull my curled hair from its up-do, leaving it frayed and haggard. I’ve talked my lipstick clean off, my once crisp business look is now hanging loose, my top buttons undone in an attempt to breathe. This is how I deal with embarrassment, confusion, and when things do not go according to plan—destroy the wardrobe!

  “Well, you’ve got the open house,” Sarah attempts an encouraging sort of smile. I’m sure she’s pinning my reaction as an overreaction, but she doesn’t have all the information. Losing a big client happens every day—that’s not what I’m concerned about at the moment.

  I blow out a breath, setting my hands on my waist as I study the view from my teeny tiny office window. I used to have a direct line to the city park—trees, joggers, birds, a pond. It was all very cathartic until they built Almonte’s, a Mexican eatery that, while very delicious, doesn’t give off the same vibe.

  I tilt my head and snatch my cell from my desk.

  Any chance we can move the date to tonight? I can meet you at Almonte’s after work.

  It may not be the ideal place to woo a potential suitor, but it will ease my mind if I have plans tonight instead of dwelling on this insanity. I send the text off to Julie and then let the phone drop back on top of my messy desk.

  “Should we do lunch?” Sarah asks, dragging her finger across her open iPad. “We have a bit of time between 1:00 and 3:00.”

  “I thought Thomas was taking you out.”

  She laughs me off. “I eat with my husband every day.”

  I let out a small chuckle at her enthusiasm to ditch her hubs. Sarah’s in the honeymoon stage of her relationship as far as I can tell, even with the three kids—two with other men and the baby with Thomas. He slipped a ring on her finger late last year. He’s currently out of work, which is why Sarah finds herself with me more than him—she’s running herself ragged here—and I’m about to point that out when line one on my phone lights up.

  “Maya?” Garrison’s voice comes from the speaker. My eyes turn to full moons, and I flick them up to Sarah donning an equally moon-struck expression.

  “Um, yes Mr. Parks?”

  “Are you available to run up to my office?”

  Why? I feel like squeaking out at my boss. Instead I answer with a not-so-suave, “Sure thing,” and then the line goes dark again.

  “Maybe you were more memorable than you thought,” Sarah says, excitement making her spine straighten in her seat. My stomach feels like it’s about to drop straight out my ass.

  I take a deep breath and start toward the elevators when Sarah clears her throat and nods to my lack of footwear. Right… even if the boss wants something as menial as paperwork—which I doubt—I should probably show up in shoes.

  After slipping on my heels, I clack my way to the elevator, heart thumping in a cadence much faster than my gait. Perhaps Mr. Kissy Face has already left—meetings like his rarely take longer than an hour, and it’s the only thing somewhat calming the jitters crawling under my skin.

  The metal elevator doors shut me in, and a jolt runs through my stomach when I catch my reflection. I look as if I’m about to travel down the street in the infamous walk of shame. My fingers fumble around the hem of my shirt as I attempt to tuck it back into place, shakily trying to smooth out the fabric bumps in my pencil skirt. There is no hope for my hair. My stomach dips as the floor numbers tick upward, and I yank the pins from my frayed bun, bending at the waist and flipping my hair back and forth like a maniac, hoping that when I rise it gives off a wavy, relaxed effect. I only end up with a “just out of bed” version… which is a tick worse than where I was before.

  “Grabubble,” I growl, the intelligible expletive covered by the ding of the elevator hitting Parks’ floor. I hurriedly fasten my hair at the nape with my elastic, unable to see the outcome as the reflective surface disappears into the walls.

  “Maya,” my boss says, an unusual smile set on his clean-shaven face. It’s not as if Garrison and I don’t get along; it’s just normally, business is business, and I don’t get a such a friendly greeting. My eyes drift from my boss’s rare grin and stop on the man sitting in front of Garrison’s massive desk. I step off the elevator, wobbling in my carelessly strapped on heels. Cooper rises from his seat, a dimple creasing in his cheek. I’m reminded of the first time I saw that sucker, and I clench my knees together.

  “Mr. Sterling, this is Maya Baker.” Garrison chuckles. “Is she who you’re looking for?”

  My eyes widen, my spine straightening. Paranoia will kill me some day. I curl my shaky fingers into balls, begging them to calm down long enough to shake Cooper’s hand. His skin is rough, nothing I’d expect from a billionaire. Then again, his attire isn’t what I’d expect either.

  “Nice to formally meet you,” he says with a knowing grin, one that makes my skin run a degree hotter, but my blood ice over. I still have no clue what to think of him, and if he thinks money and a rugged demeanor will drop my guard, he better think again.

  “Maya,” Garrison interrupts as Cooper drops my hand, “Mr. Sterling is looking for a property up on Rose Summit.”

  My eyes swivel to Cooper, who finds my expression laugh-worthy.

  “It’s a long story, but there is a place I’ve had my eye on, but it sold before I could get my shit together and hire a realtor. I found another one yesterday, so…” He spreads his arms out. “Here I am… hoping it hasn’t been sold yet.”

  A wave of relief hits—this is business talk, which I can handle if I can get a grip on myself. I clear my throat and put on my realtor’s smile. “Are you not looking to build?” With a bank account like his, I expected to sell him property, not a home.

  The two men chuckle, apparently having already gone over this.

  “I’m not exactly thrilled about that idea.” Cooper scratches the back of his cap, exposing a toned tricep to match the rest of his upper body.

  I take in a deep breath and shake myself into business mode. “I’ll call the seller…” I say to Garrison, drifting off as I see him shaking his head.

  “Before you jump the gun, Mr. Sterling has a few conditions before he hires you.”

  I raise an eyebrow, and Cooper laughs.

  “He makes them
sound frightening.” Cooper reaches for his jacket hanging over the back of his seat. “I was just going to take you out first.”

  My paranoia rushes back, so much so that I trip backward into the elevator doors. “Um…”

  “I mean to brunch or something,” he clarifies with an embarrassed glint in his ocean eyes. “Talk about what I’m looking for. Maybe… clear up a few things.”

  Garrison levels me with a look, telling me silently not to blow this deal. I don’t need the encouragement, however. A chance to clear things up sounds golden to me.

  I straighten, smoothing my impromptu ponytail over my shoulder. “No.”

  Cooper’s eyes widen, a bushy eyebrow arched at my bluntness. I allow myself a small laugh at his expense—it’s nice to know I can throw him off his guard.

  “I’m taking you out.”

  5

  Wine and Dine

  There’s a place a few blocks south of the office, walking distance, really, which was nice because we took a car service and there wasn’t time for any conversation. Plus, having a witness in the front seat was appreciated. I excel at small talk, part of my training. Cooper, however, acted as if he’d never used a car service in his life. Doubtful—he probably is escorted everywhere he goes. Maybe I make him nervous. The thought is oddly satisfying.

  He looks up from his menu, placing it thoughtfully against the table. He hasn’t said much so far, and it doesn’t take me long to switch roles with him. I set my glass down with a suddenly shaky hand.

  “I’m a family man,” he says, throwing me in a spinning loop-dee-loop.

  “Okay…” I say, grasping at whatever direction he’s going. “So you want rooms for kids?”

  He smirks, the scruff on his chin catching my attention and sending an unexpected jolt near my bellybutton. “I do, but that’s not why I bring this up.”

  He settles his elbows on the table, reaching up to scratch his ear, and I tilt my head; I wonder if that’s a nervous tick of his. “I have a blurting problem.”

  “Apparently.”

  “And I say a lot of things I shouldn’t. I do a lot of things without thinking and then I over-analyze later. I’ve been jogging down your street for twenty-two days, and I’m not normally so flustered around a woman, but…” He waves his hand at me like I should know the end of his sentence.

  I give him a look like I’ve eaten something sour and prod, “But…?”

  He grins. “You are insanely attractive.”

  My nose rumbles, a snort billowing out just to emphasize how “insanely attractive” I am. I think about my order—a bowl of fruit and a glass of water—something light because I’m packing pounds that are usually frowned upon in today’s society. My hair is still left a mess from earlier, there’s a tea stain I hadn’t noticed until we were on the way here, and yesterday there was whipped cream painting my nose.

  I push from my seat. If he thinks I’m going to sit through this bullshit, he’s got another thing coming.

  “Wait… I’m scaring you, aren’t I?” he asks, his brows etched inward, giving off that “family man” vibe I’d first thought of when I saw him.

  I pause, halfway between sitting back down and standing up. “Yes, to be frank.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not good at… this part.”

  I ease my way back into my seat. “What part?”

  “Talking.” He laughs at himself, toying with the corner of his menu. “I’m a very forward person.”

  “You don’t say,” I joke, referring to not only his “blurting problem” but the kiss. The dimple in his left cheek dips in, and my stomach flutters start to relax. He seems to have found the casual air between us as well, leaning back in his seat.

  “What do you want in life?”

  “What?”

  He grins. “I want a family.”

  “So you said.”

  “A wife, kids. I want people to love and to spoil. I want to go on long road trips where everyone fights, yet we still have a good time. I want three dogs and a big backyard. I see people with those things, and I can’t help but think… yeah, I’m happy. But that? That’s joy.”

  I raise an amused eyebrow. “That’s quite the Hallmark movie you described.”

  He laughs. “Maybe.” He reaches for his hat, pulling it from his messy, blond head. His hand runs through the strands, temporarily distracting me from our conversation.

  “So… I come off a little strong,” he continues. “I’m not good at beginnings. Asking a woman out, dating, flirting… However, I think I’d be a great ender.”

  My eyes narrow as I process. His tactic feels like conversational whiplash. Have to say, never met one like him… and it’s… well, it’s adorable. “This isn’t a business brunch, is it?”

  An unexpected, yet very attractive blush rushes over his face. “It’s all tied together, I promise. I thought I’d clear things up first.”

  “Honestly, I’m more confused than enlightened at this point.”

  He sits up. “All right… here it is. I was running yesterday, enjoying the scenery and trying not to get consumed with thoughts of whether or not the gorgeous woman who lives on my new route would be outside. I seriously considered avoiding her street altogether until I caught sight of her, checking mail on a Sunday, dancing with her mug and her nose painted with whipped cream. She finally said good morning as I ran past, and I nearly fell on my ass. I’d never heard a voice so beautiful, so enchanting, that I just… well… I kissed her, partly out of fear that I was imagining things, mostly because I’d lost my damn mind.” He tilts his head as if he just spouted off something as trivial as the weather. “Now that I know she’s very real, I want her to know where I stand in case I don’t get another chance.”

  It takes me several moments to catch my breath, to process the words that are continuing to spin me around on a turn-table. I think I’ve found my exact opposite—a man with no pretense, no small talk or flirtatious dance. A man who just lays his entire hand on the table and hopes for the best. I admire that, even if I could never pull it off.

  My breath comes out in a shaky whoosh as I reach for my drink. “‘Forward’ doesn’t do you justice, does it?”

  He grins, his tight shoulders relaxing in a stance that makes me wonder how many people are put off by his social faux pas. “I’ve been told.”

  The waitress chooses that very convenient moment to take our orders—I change mine to something much heartier than I’d originally planned. If he can be himself, then I damn well will be myself.

  “Am I still scaring you?” he asks, concern swimming in his pretty blue eyes. If I found him attractive before, it is nothing to how I see him now.

  “No.” I let out a bemused chuckle. I used to dream of these impossible men. Men I’d convinced myself didn’t exist. I did such a good job selling the concept to myself that I hardly believe a word coming out of his mouth, and even if I did believe him, I’m set in my ways.

  I swirl my straw around in my glass of apple juice. “Interesting that you pick a woman who isn’t interested in family at all.”

  The corner of his mouth twitches. “You a cat person?” he jokes.

  “Yes, among other things.”

  “Cynic?”

  “Maybe.”

  He leans forward, sending a rush of warmth through my abdomen. “Does it scare you? The thought of family, something steady?”

  I take a sip from my juice to stall. Yes, the whole thing scares me. I’ve seen firsthand what that life looks like, how frazzled my siblings are with their little ones, how every day is scheduled around everyone else instead of yourself. I think of how I used to picture what Cooper described mere minutes ago—a Hallmark movie, and I wanted it. But as time ticked on and I had no prospects, I planted my feet firmly in reality. My career is my family. It sounds pathetic said out loud, but it’s where I found my happy ending.

  I set my glass back down. “No,” I lie, then let out a breath. “You’re not much for small talk, are you?” />
  He shakes his head at the table cloth. “Told you, I’m a real amateur at beginnings.”

  “You going to propose by the end of this meal?” I tease. “Tell me you love me?”

  He grins, settling back in his seat and stretching his arms behind his head. “You’re making fun of me.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s okay. I know I’m unconventional.”

  “Are we going to actually discuss business now?” I push a smile back, oblivious to the natural way it forms even during this “unconventional” conversation.

  He lets his arms drop. “I’m looking at the property up on Rose Summit, like Parks said earlier,” he says, surprising me by diving in without argument. A wave of disappointment rushes over me, but I shake it off and straighten in my seat.

  “I can set up a walkthrough,” I tell him, bringing my phone to the table.

  “I’m not married to it, though,” he says as I drag my fingers around my keypad. “I wouldn’t mind another property near that area if it becomes available.”

  I bite my lip in thought, pausing in my text message to the seller. That house is beautiful, and I don’t mind showing it, but there are several plots farther east that would give him privacy. Something quiet and spacious.

  “How firm are you on not building?”

  “Oh, I’m not budging on that.”

  “Why?” I go bold, since he’s already started us off on that foot. His mouth turns upward into a slow, amused smile, and I figure he likes my approach.