Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109769 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Ready to see the Van Der Hout from the inside?” His tone light, his face impassive.
“I could go a lifetime without seeing the inside of this building, but fate brought me here.”
“Did it bring you to a specific floor?” His good mood was unwavering.
“Cromwell and Traurig,” I clipped out.
“With pleasure.” He flashed me a row of pearly whites. He was a good ol’ rich boy. I recognized them from miles away. The cigars. The golf. The Daddy-will-get-me-out-of-everything smirk.
As we waited for the elevator to arrive, I ran a hand over my dress, chastising myself for checking if this random stranger had a wedding band (he did not). I had bigger fish to fry. Mainly, the fact I was going into Dad’s first—and hopefully last—mediation meeting regarding his sexual harassment case.
Sexual harassment! What a joke. Dad was hot tempered, but he would never hurt a woman. He was merciless at his job, no doubt about it, but he wasn’t a sleazy Harvey Weinstein type. The kind of man to slip a hand under a woman’s skirt or ogle her cleavage. I’d been around the corporate block and could recognize predators before they opened their mouths to take a bite. Dad didn’t tick any of the corrupt-boss boxes. He wasn’t overly nice, never tried to charm his way in and out of social circles, and kept his hands to himself. His female employees adored him openly, oftentimes praising him for his devotion to me. He was his secretary’s son’s godfather, for crying out loud.
Hot Stranger and I both watched the red numbers on the screen above the elevator descending. I tapped my foot.
Twenty-two . . . twenty-one . . . twenty . . .
Was this man really the receptionist’s boss? That would make him the building manager, if not owner. He looked young. Early to midthirties. But seasoned too. With the flippant, tranquil air of someone who knew what he was doing. Old money opened doors to new opportunities; I was the first person to admit that. Just to be on the safe side, I decided to ask if he had anything to do with Cromwell & Traurig.
“Are you a partner at the firm?” There was no way Amanda had hired an associate.
His slightly crooked smirk widened half an inch. “No.”
I let out a relieved sigh. “Good.”
“Why?”
“I hate lawyers.”
“Me too.” His eyes flickered to his Patek Philippe watch.
Silence descended over us. He didn’t feel like a stranger. Not exactly. Standing next to him, I could swear my body recognized his.
“Terrible weather,” I commented. The rain hadn’t stopped for three days straight.
“I think it was Steinbeck who said the climate in New York is a scandal. New to the city?” His tone was airy yet undistinguishable. My instincts told me to watch out. My ovaries told them to shut up.
“Hardly.” I patted the chignon at the nape of my neck for stray flyaways. “You’d think I’d get used to it after so many years. You’d be wrong.”
“Ever thought of moving?”
I shook my head. “My parents and business are here.” And so was Aaron. I still visited him more often than I liked to admit. “What about you?”
“Lived here on and off my entire life.”
“Final verdict?”
“New York is like a fickle lover. You know you deserve better. Doesn’t stop you from sticking around.”
“You can always leave,” I pointed out.
“I could.” He adjusted his maroon tie. “But I’m not a fan of quitting.”
“Me either.”
The elevator pinged open. He stepped aside, motioning for me to get in first. I did. He swiped an electronic key over a pad and pressed the thirty-third button. We both stared at the chrome doors, our reflection twinkling back at us.
“Here for a consultation?” he asked. I had a feeling I was getting his undivided attention, but I also knew he was not flirting with me.
“Not exactly.” I examined my hot-red nails. “I’m here in the capacity of a PR consultant.”
“What fire are you extinguishing today?”
“A blazing building. Sexual harassment settlement.”
He tucked his phone back in his pocket, unbuttoning his peacoat. “Know what they say about big blazes.”
“Takes big hoses to get them under control?” I curved an eyebrow.
His smirk widened. My thighs informed me they were sold on this man and had no qualms about running off with him to Paris. I usually chose my lovers with the same pragmatism I chose my clothes in the morning and always went for the average-looking, gallant type. The ones low on drama. But this guy? He looked like a piñata full of crazy ex-girlfriends, rich-boy fetishes, and mommy issues.
“Sharp tongue.” He gave me a once-over.
“You should see my claws.” I batted my eyelashes. “It’s going to be swift and painless.”
The man turned around and looked at me. His teal eyes turned glacial, like a frosted-over lake. There was something in them. Something I recognized in myself too. Stubbornness born from bitter disappointment with the world.