Ridge,” I say.
“Your name?” Color spreads from her chest to her cheeks, and she adjusts her seat to sit taller.
“Cara Smith,” I say, giving her nothing more than basics.
She clicks on the computer keyboard and taps on the mouse, nodding her head at the monitor. “Please, have a seat. May I offer you a drink while you wait?”
Smiling kindly, I say, “Not necessary.”
Financial magazines and brochures rest on glass coffee tables beside the leather seats for guests. The waiting area is cold, minimal, and impersonal with boring art on the white walls and no sound but the click of the receptionist’s keyboard. But everyone is gone, like Inez promised.
“Your last appointment is here,” the girl behind the desk whispers into a phone. After a pause, she says, “Yes, sir. I’ll send her in.”
I inhale a breath through my nose into my belly and empty my mind of everything but the job at hand, becoming as indifferent as the design scheme. From top to bottom, unease melts away from my body with indecision and mistrust, and I’m an empty vessel with one goal in mind: money.
I was born for this shit.
I was born because of this shit.
“He’s ready for you,” the receptionist says, standing to her feet.
What I don’t expect to happen when I enter Talent’s office is to be hit with a rush of warmth and personality, but it’s exactly what happens. My eyes don’t immediately fall on the dark-haired man sitting behind the desk. First, I’m left breathless by the view of the ocean right over his shoulder from the wall-sized window. Next, the gray walls and golden light spilling from modern light fixtures envelop me. Unlike the waiting room, this room has texture and life, finished with dark wood and leather furniture, and a wet bar serving premium liquor.
Talent comes to his feet and clears his throat, and I can’t look away.
“You must be Miss Smith,” he says, motioning toward a chair in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat.”
My mouth feels full of cotton, but I confidently reply, “Call me Cara.”
Dressed in slacks and a black button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, Talent nods. “Can I offer you something to drink, Cara?”
Pictures online are offensive compared to how beautiful this man is in person. He’s tall, dark, and godforsakenly handsome. Talent’s eyes look opaque in photographs, but even from six feet away I can see they’re gunmetal gray. His head full of curly hair is worn like a crown, barely contained by the tapered haircut—almost unsuitable and too unruly for an office environment.
And his mouth…
Those lips…
“No,” I answer regretfully. “Thank you, though.”
He sits after me, and there’s a split second of dead space where we stare at each other without the delusions of politeness and proper introductions. I lift an eyebrow, and he smirks, but neither one of us has the other figured out.
“Have we met?” he asks, hurling us back into the here and now.
“We haven’t,” I confirm. I cross my legs.
Talent leans back in his seat, claiming it like a throne amid his kingdom. Which isn’t far from how he’s typically treated in Grand Haven.
“Your name appeared on my schedule this morning for an entire hour of my time and I didn’t recognize it. Not anyone can just walk in here. I almost had my receptionist cancel the appointment.”
“You’ll be thankful you didn’t,” I say. “I’m well worth your time.”
His eyes roam from my ankle to my knee, and he says, “What can I do for you, Cara?”
I didn’t take Talent Ridge as the role-playing type. I assumed he was a straight-to-the-point kind of fella. But I can handle the part of the naïve client to his dominant CEO if that’s what he wants.
“I need a lawyer,” I say. “I heard you’re the best.”
“Do you have a company you want to buy or sell? Otherwise, I’ll refer you to another firm.”
“No, I want you,” I insist. “In fact, you’re the only lawyer in the entire city who can give me what I need.”
The trace of a smile spoils his practiced persona, and I see the charm that’s earned him the title as Most Eligible Bachelor. Talent’s mastered the art at keeping his charisma at bay, but he’s never faced a woman like me.
“Please excuse me for cutting to the chase. I don’t typically have women as beautiful as you drop by my office without a lengthy, boring explanation as to why. What do you want?”
“Send your receptionist home for the night,” I