The Romance Plan - Lila Monroe Page 0,21

with a regular family,” I point out gently. “Believe me, I would know.”

“Really?” Liam looks at me sidelong. “I have to admit, I would have pegged you for the kind of kid who grew up in the suburbs. Two-car garage, a mischievous younger sibling, parents who were always embarrassing you with public displays of affection, some kind of daffy neighbor…”

“You realize you’re describing the plot of a Friday night sitcom from the 90s?” I say with a laugh. “And it was kind of the opposite, actually.”

Liam raises an eyebrow. “How so?”

“I mean, it wasn’t horribly grim or anything,” I say quickly. “Just… a little lonely, I guess? It was just my mom and me, and she wasn’t exactly what you’d call a sitcom mom. Lots of different boyfriends, lots of different jobs. She tried her best,” I add quickly, not wanting to be disloyal. “But things got tough sometimes. I spent most of my time with my grandma, growing up. She was the one who first got me into reading. Jackie Collins, Verity Lange… All the classics.”

I smile, remembering how the two of us would pass those long afternoons out on her back porch: A couple of books, a pitcher of iced tea, and a plate of cookies, just as a treat if I’d done all my homework in time. Disappearing into wild, fictional worlds was almost enough to make me forget how precarious my real life was.

“Grandma Dorothy was kind of strict and crochety,” I tell him, nostalgic. “But man oh man, did that woman ever love her HEAs.”

Liam frowns. “Her what now?”

“Happily Ever After,” I explain. “As opposed to just Happy For Now.” I lick a drip of ice cream off the side of my cone, and smile. “Gotta get hip with the romance world lingo, if you’re going to be publishing Verity Lange.”

Liam winces. “I will be sure to do that,” he assures me.

“I’m going to hold you to it.”

“I bet you will.”

I shake my head in amusement, enjoying the last few bites of my cone. I have to admit, between his smile and the ice cream and the cool, welcome breeze, I’m almost… Having fun?

With Liam Sterling?

Uh oh.

“So what’s up for this weekend?” I hear myself ask. “Any exciting New York City plans?”

I see surprise flicker over Liam’s face at the question. Was I really just fishing to see him in non-business hours?

Nope, I tell myself. I’m just being polite, that’s all.

“Nothing to report,” he says slowly. “Why, did you have something in mind?”

I’ve got a lot of things in mind, actually, and more than a few of them involve him naked in my bed—preferably with a second helping of ice cream—but before I can come up with an actual answer his cell phone rings in his pocket. “Sorry,” he says with a roll of his eyes, looking down at the screen and standing up. “I’ve got to take this.”

He walks back over toward the car as he answers. I try to mind my own business—well, sort of—but I can’t help but overhear. “No,” he says firmly, his voice harsh in the quiet night. “The agreement was to lay off the entire department and then outsource—yes, all two hundred of them. So, they should all be getting pink slips by—right. Okay. Call me if there’s anything else.”

I watch him talk in disbelief, and this time, even the cut of his pants as he paces isn’t enough to distract me from what he just said. He can’t be talking about Sterling, thank goodness—none of our departments are that large—but he’s shown me pretty clearly just what he’s capable of. Talk about a cold shower. I guess the friendly small talk only goes so far.

Beneath the charming smiles, this guy is a ruthless shark.

By the time finishes his conversation, any butterflies in my stomach have well and truly flown the nest.

“Sorry about that,” he says, tucking his phone back into his pocket as calmly as if he didn’t just ruin the lives of hundreds of people as quickly and confidently as I order a pizza. He’s even got the nerve to smile at me. “Just finishing up some old business from my last consulting job in California. Anyway, what were you saying? About the weekend?”

“Oh,” I try to hide my disappointment. I thought I saw something in him tonight—something real, something kind, something honest—but it’s clear he’s the same empty suit I thought he was. “Just making conversation. I should actually get back to the city, actually. I’ve,