the cotton T-shirt, at least I think so, but it’s embarrassing either way.
“May I help you?” he says, and in those four words I hear a deep Southern drawl. While his eyes express acute interest, his tone is considerably more reserved.
“I’m looking for Christopher Bardot.” My voice comes out strong, which is impressive when you consider the carnal appetite in this man’s eyes would make a siren blush. If I weren’t riding high on righteous anger I’d probably stammer and stumble like every other female of the species must do when faced with a man as clearly alpha as this one. Some evolutionary instinct grabs hold of my ovaries and says, this man will hunt and protect and fuck.
“He’s not in the office at the moment, but if you want to sit down a spell, you can tell me what he’s done to piss you off. Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”
“Do you have a piñata shaped like him and a bat? That would help.”
He stares at me for a moment, and I think he’s about to throw me out on the street. That would probably be the right thing to do considering he doesn’t know who I am. Instead he throws his head back and laughs. “I like your spirit, even if I can’t condone your methods. My business partner has many annoying qualities, but even so, I would like him intact.”
“Your business partner?”
“Sutton Mayfair,” he says, standing as he introduces himself with old-world manners. There are stacks of papers surrounding him on the glossy conference table. Clearly I’ve interrupted him at work, but he doesn’t look impatient in the least. There’s something deceptively casual about him in his slightly rumpled suit and blond hair an inch too long. The kind of deception that would make his enemies underestimate him.
“So you must know where I can find him.”
“You can leave a message at the front desk.”
“And lose the element of surprise? I’d rather not.”
A small smile. “I know where he’ll be tonight. There’s some party happening, and we’re supposed to go. I wasn’t looking forward to wearing a penguin suit for the rich and powerful in Tanglewood, but the evening will be a whole lot more interesting if you’re there.”
My eyes narrow in suspicion. “Why would you help me?”
“Perhaps I want to see you in an evening dress.”
I’ve been asked out a hundred times before, but never with the blunt self-assurance that this man conveys. It’s a strange combination of courtesy and outright lust. “Are you taking advantage of the situation, Sutton?”
His blue eyes dance with humor. “I’m an opportunist, and I think you might be one too.”
“Fine, I’ll take it.”
“I’d much rather pick you up. Maybe have dinner first.”
Have a date with Christopher’s business partner? He would probably have a heart attack at the idea that anyone would treat me as a woman instead of a child. “A gentleman would add my name to the guest list.”
“Did I give you the impression that I was a gentleman? My apologies.”
“Now I can see why Christopher went into business with you.”
He places a hand on his heart, and even a few yards away I can see the roughened skin of him, the calluses and the faint white scars. Those are the hands of a working man, for all that he wears a suit and works in a high-rise now. “Ruthless,” he says.
“If that means I have my own invitation to the party.” There’s something alluring about Sutton Mayfair. If I met him in New York City, if he asked me out in a bar, I would say yes. But I can’t trust him knowing he’s tied to Christopher Bardot. Not even for one night.
Really, there’s no end to the things Christopher will ruin for me.
“On one condition,” he says. “Show me what you’re holding.”
The paper. I’m wearing my power boots and a T-shirt that says, Feminist AF. Of course he would have noticed my one weakness. It’s the reason I’m here in this office. Here in Tanglewood. The reason I need an invitation to the party tonight.
Swallowing down my shame, I toss the crumpled ball onto the cherrywood. He picks it up and smooths it out, his large fingers unerringly gentle with the worried bill.
“Looks like someone didn’t pay this,” he says, one square-tipped finger running down the credit card statement. I have a prickling sensation that tells me he would be able to recite its entire contents despite his good-old-boy demeanor.
“And that someone will have to answer