by Kendall Ryan
“Thank you. And you look . . .”
Sterling is dressed in a navy button-down shirt that clings in a distracting way across his muscular chest, shoulders, and biceps, and then tapers down to reveal a trim waist. Dark-washed jeans and laced brown boots complete the casual, yet sexy look.
When he raises his eyebrows at me, I realize he’s still waiting for the other half of that sentence. Handsome. Nice. Good. Sexy. Lickable. Worse, fuckable. I mean, holy shit, positively rideable.
“Appropriate,” I blurt.
A slight twitch in his jaw is the only reaction I get before he slides into his seat.
As flickers of white candlelight dance in the shadows, it takes me a moment to truly get my bearings. How in the world I’m supposed to wine and dine with this gorgeous man and talk intelligently about getting him married off, I haven’t a clue. Talk about an awkward situation.
Tamping down a wave of sudden nerves, I lower myself into the seat across from him and swallow the lump in my throat.
This shouldn’t feel like a date, yet everything I’ve rehearsed with Anna flies out the window the second he sits back in his seat and appraises me with those navy-blue eyes, the hint of a smirk still lingering on his lips. It doesn’t help that I’ve forgotten my notebook. Then again, maybe it was for the best. I don’t want to look like a total amateur, reading the notes I prepared the night before.
When I’m around Sterling, I feel unsure and uncomfortable. Off-kilter. Definitely off my game. With his chiseled jaw and perfect, full lips that are designed for long, sensual kisses, and hair just long enough on top to pull, it takes me a moment to pull myself together. He shouldn’t affect me this way, but it’s obvious he does.
Aiming to regain some of the upper hand, I square my shoulders and lean in. “So, what are your intentions?”
“My intentions?” His mouth twitches with the beginning of a smile.
It’s beguiling. Dammit.
“Yes.” I stiffen. “Are we talking Busty Bimbo Barbie who will stick around only long enough to get a piece of your inheritance, and then you annul the marriage and forget the whole thing ever happened? Or true love happily ever after?”
He chuckles, the sound warm and silky. Sensual, even. “It’s improper to talk business before we’ve even had our first cocktail.”
He lifts the chilled bottle of champagne from its resting place and pours us each a glass. The golden bubbles fizz and fade quickly as I lift the elegant flute to my lips.
“To working together. Cheers.” He raises his glass toward mine before taking a sip.
I nod, acknowledging his toast. Swallowing a sip of the cool champagne, I appreciate the crisp taste. “This has got to be the most unique project I’ve ever worked on.”
“It’ll be fun,” Sterling says.
The server swings by our table, and after a brief glance at the menu, we order the exact same thing, which seems odd given the vast number of choices. Steak, cooked medium-well, with green salad and a glass of red wine.
Once we’re alone again, I ask, “So, are you going to answer my question?”
“About my intentions, wasn’t it?”
I take another sip of champagne and give him a slight nod.
Sterling folds his hands on the table in front of him and leans in. I have no idea what he can possibly be thinking as his expression remains impassive, so as not to give anything away. “I want to answer that I don’t believe in true love. I want to tell you that it’s a crock of shit.”
“But you’re not going to?”
With a shake of his head, he leans back. “No. Given what I do for a living, and the fact that I see couples and families ripped apart and the pain it causes, the last thing I want to do is make a hypocrisy out of this.”
That’s not necessarily what I was expecting, but it’s admirable to hear him say that he’s open to this process. I figured it would be just about the money, and he’d only want the woman around long enough to get his cash in hand. Then he’d be free to continue his no-strings lifestyle.
“So you’re going to take it seriously?”
“Yes.” His tone is unequivocally confident and leaves no room for doubt.
I don’t know his motivations, whether they’re for love or money, but if he wants to do this, then I’ll be here to help him. I have a big job ahead of me, and suddenly I want to do it well, to help him as best I can, unconventional as it may be. It gives me a small measure of peace that I haven’t had over this whole situation, and I’m grateful.
Our meal arrives, and as we eat, I find the small talk flows easily between us.
Between bites of tender steak, Sterling fills me in on the basics. He moved to America when he was fourteen. His father had been relocated for work, and so off they set for the good old US of A. He met Noah in boarding school in Connecticut, and they’ve been best friends ever since. He’s close to his mother, but makes a sour face when I bring up his father, so we move along, avoiding that topic.
I wipe the corners of my mouth with my cloth napkin, careful not to wreck my berry-colored lipstick. “I’d love to hear more about what you’re looking for in a wife.”
Sterling coughs into his napkin as though the word is a shock. “That’s a good question.” He sets down his knife and fork and pushes his plate away. “And I’ll answer it as long as you agree to play along.”
“Meaning?”
“This will be an even exchange. If you want me to open up and share, you’re going to have to do the same, love.”
“And why would I do that?”
He smiles wryly at me.
“And don’t say because I said so,” I add, pointing my fork in his direction.
“Trust goes both ways,” he says in that cheerful accent of his. “If we’ll be spending time together, working together, I want to know what makes you tick. I need to know that you’re not just in this for the bonus money that was promised.”
My cheeks heat because that’s exactly why I initially agreed to take on this assignment. But I’m hoping Sterling can’t see through me.
“I’m a professional in everything I do. I’ve taken on your assignment, and you can rest assured, I will not back out.”
“I didn’t say you would. But as long as we’re discussing it, if you’d like to know what I want in a mate, I think you should have to disclose the same.”
I roll my eyes at him.
“Humor me,” he says.
“Fine.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean back in my seat. “I want someone driven, motivated, and hardworking. Someone who’s easy to talk to. Reliable. Trustworthy and honest.”
I take another sip of wine. It’s all true, even if I didn’t admit the most important, yet secret quality I hold in my heart.
Flashbacks of David seep into the edges of my brain. I knew from the start he wasn’t my Mr. Right, but he was an alluring Mr. Right Now. Obsessed with working out, he was muscular and fit beyond belief. My friends teased me that he was a meat-head, and maybe he was. But I didn’t care, wasn’t concerned that he waited tables and washed dishes for a living. I was caught up in the idea of him, and didn’t bother to pay attention to the fact that he wasn’t interested in building a life with me, that we weren’t actually compatible in real, deep ways.
“Your turn,” I say.
“A woman who works hard, knows what she wants, and isn’t afraid of a challenge.”
Sterling’s gaze is deep and penetrating, and I find it hard to dismiss that he’s looking at me with deeper meaning than just a cursory glance. It’s unnerving. But I shrug it off.
“I’ll find her for you.” My voice is tiny and unsure, but Sterling hasn’t so much as blinked, and I can’t escape the feeling that he’s thinking, Maybe I’ve already found her.
After a moment of tense silence, Sterling drains his last drop of wine. “How do you propose this will work?”
I dab my mouth one last time with my napkin, then lean forward. I almost forgot this was a business dinn
er. Taking a deep breath, I try to compose myself.
“Here’s what I’m planning. With all the initial interest your story drummed up, I don’t think it’d be difficult to find you . . . candidates, for lack of a better word. I think the key will be finding quality woman you’ll be interested in long-term.”
He nods once, his brows pulled together as though he’s hanging on my every word.
I lick my lips and continue. “I’d suggest we hold a recruiting event, sort of like women applying for the job of your wife, where they’ll need to pass through an initial interview with me before they get green-lighted to meet you.”
He chuckles, low and deep, and the sound goes straight to my nipples, making them harden into points. What the hell was that?
“Speed dating meets The Bachelor,” he says.
I nod. “Exactly. I’ll need about a month to pull the event together, and that will still give you five months to actually date the woman and be sure this is the right decision.”
“Makes sense,” he says.
“And you’ll prescreen the applicants before the event so we can make sure only the most qualified women will be there.”
“Brilliant. That works.” Sterling folds his hands in front of him on the table, and his long fingers are distracting.
“I’m glad you’re okay with it.” A warm blush creeps up my chest and neck, and I swallow. “But I do have a few rules you’re going to need to abide by.”
His interest piqued, Sterling pauses, still watching me.
“Your cock will need to stay neatly tucked into your . . .” I pause, and Sterling lifts one dark eyebrow. “Wait . . . You guys call underwear pants and pants trousers, right?”
“If by you guys you mean the British, then yes. We do.” His expression is one of amused reluctance. “It’s cute to see you get all flustered talking about my cock.”
“Keep it in your pants; that’s all I’m saying.” I can feel my cheeks heating and need to get off this topic. Shit. Get off is probably a bad choice of words. There will be no getting off anytime soon. Unfortunately.
“My cock is a big boy. Pun very much intended.” He winks. “I can handle it.”
“That’s good to hear, because I mean it. If I find you a good girl to go out with, I won’t have you ruin it by bringing your big boy out to play with her too soon.”
He looks amused. “What’s your next rule? You said you had a few.”
“My second rule is that you listen to me. My advice will all be in the interest of getting you married off, so it’d be wise to try things my way, even if it seems unconventional.” I’m trying not to sound too bossy, but Sterling merely chuckles.
“I told you; I want this. I need to get married, so I’m game to do things your way.”
“That’s good.”
“So, how did you feel when you found out you’d be working with me on this unique project?”
“Honestly?” I raise one eyebrow.
He nods.
“I was . . . pissed off.” A little chuckle escapes my lips, and I clamp a hand over them. Shit. Why did I drink so much? “I’m so sorry. That was inappropriate.”
Sterling raises his hand. “Don’t apologize. I asked how you felt, and I wanted the truth.”
Exhaling, I straighten my posture. “It’s just that I felt my skills and talents would be better suited to something more . . . professional.”
He nods once as if he understands. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re on the project.”
I wait, hoping he’ll continue.
And then he does.
“You’re talented, smart, more than capable. Extremely beautiful, distractingly so.” His voice is soft, barely above a murmur.
Wait. What? Is it possible that he’s attracted to me like I am to him?
That’s not something I ever considered, but he’s taken me here, been attentive and kind all night. And now he’s looking at me with dark, brooding, fuck-me eyes. Maybe this was his way of testing the waters, seeing if there’s mutual attraction and chemistry between us.
The thought is dizzying.
I’ll have to tread carefully, make sure I keep this strictly professional. It’s not that I’m opposed to a fling, simply because we work together and it may get awkward. No, I’m opposed to a fling because this man will be married in under six months’ time, if I do my job well, and I always do. I’m not going to be stupid enough to get involved with him and then end up with a broken heart when he rides off into the sunset with someone years younger, twenty pounds lighter, and of course, millions richer than I’ll ever be. No fucking thank you. My ego isn’t robust enough to withstand such torture.
Besides, I do have the bonus money to think of. Between the bill collectors calling me and being behind on my rent, I can’t overlook the fact that I’ve landed in a precarious situation, one I’m desperate to get out of.
“What’s next?” he asks finally.
“Now that I know what you’re looking for, I want to take some time to create a comprehensive game plan. Why don’t you come by my office on Monday, and we can go over everything?”
He pulls his phone from his pocket and checks his schedule. “I’m slammed at work next week. Are you free in the evening?”
“Yes, that might work perfectly. Meet me on Thursday at nine at Ex’s and Oh’s nightclub.”
“Fine. Thursday it is, then.”
It will actually give me the chance to see him in his native environment, understand which types of women he’s attracted to and watch him in action. And then I can develop a plan that will totally knock his socks off. Which is exactly what I plan to do.
“Shall we go, then?” he asks, and when I nod, he helps me from my chair.
There is just something so elegant about him. Maybe it’s because he’s British with his accented English and proper grammar, or it could be because he’s ridiculously attractive with his stylishly messy hair, square jawline, and tall, muscular physique.
His intelligence is sexy too. I know from poking around online that he’s a brilliant attorney who skated through undergrad and law school with impressive ease. Meanwhile, most days I feel like a hot mess. Sniffing the wrinkled clothes piled on top of my dresser to see if they can get one more wear out of them, and crunching on dry cereal on my way to work. I’m guessing that the deliciously well-put-together Sterling Quinn never has that issue.
I need to find him a classy woman. Someone smart and equally as well put together. He’s an educated man, and it’s refreshing to hear that he wants someone who is his equal. He’s not intimidated by intelligence; in fact, he welcomes it. The idea of someone to spar with, to hold a stimulating conversation with, excites him.
This will be my mission: to find him someone great. I just hope, in turn, it will force the not-so-innocent thoughts I harbor for him from my brain.
I shared more than I wanted to divulge tonight. Is it this sexy, sensual man who opened me up like a flower in bloom, or is the wine to blame?
Sterling kisses the back of my hand like a perfect gentleman, and tucks me inside a waiting taxi.
I watch, wistfully, as his form grows blurry in the distance.
Chapter Eight
Sterling
Thursday night, I head upstairs to the rooftop bar of the nightclub where Camryn suggested we meet. I’ve arrived early, wanting to get a table so I’m ready when she arrives.
It’s not a place I frequent regularly, but I’ve been here once or twice over the years. Its clientele is mostly single twenty-somethings looking to cut loose after a day at work. A sleek long stainless-steel bar top runs the length of one wall, bar stools lining it. Instead, I choose one of the high-top tables that sit under strands of white lights. The evening sky has turned dark, and the night air is cool but not yet cold.
This week dragged by at a snail’s pace. Between work and seeing the inside of a courtroom more times than I would like, I’m tired and on edge. It didn’t help that my uncle called almost daily in
quiring about updates, and hopeful women still flocked, following me wherever I go.
But then I see Camryn heading up the stairs, and my sour mood drifts away. Strange how she has the ability to do that without saying a single word.
I rise from the high-top table and raise my hand in a wave. She spots me and smiles, a wide grin that reaches her eyes, before catching herself and fixing her mouth into a line again. But I saw it, her raw and honest reaction to me.
“Hi, Sterling,” she says while I pull out her chair.
“Hello, love. You look lovely this evening.”
Her light floral scent drifts up to tease me while I help her into the seat. Her hair is loose over her shoulders, and she’s dressed in jeans and a black top cut low enough to let me catch a glimpse of the swell of tempting cleavage.
The waitress swings by our table, and Camryn orders a fizzy champagne cocktail while I request a gin and tonic.
We make small talk by discussing our work weeks, and Noah and Olivia, and then it grows silent for a minute.
“So I know we know each other, but tell me more about you,” she says.
“What do you want to know?”
“Let’s see. You’re British. You like drinking tea. Before he got hitched, you and Noah wreaked havoc on ovaries around the city.”
“True, true, and fuck yeah.”
“God, you are crude,” she says with a chuckle.
“Hey, you brought it up. But yes, love, I like pussy.”
Her cheeks flush, and I give zero fucks about making her blush. There’s something in me that likes getting a rise out of her. In fact, I’d love to rile her up even more.
“As riveting as it is to discover you like the hole between a woman’s legs—”
“You can say the word, princess,” I say with a laugh.
She rolls her eyes. “Pussy. There. Are you happy?”
Grinning at her, I lean back in my seat. “Very.”
“So you say you’re ready to get married, but have you ever even had a long-term relationship?”
“I have,” I say. But that’s a story for another time.