by Leslie North
Yet now that the fog had cleared and her rational mind had returned later that afternoon, the truth was settling in.
That man wasn’t an angel. He was just a businessman who’d found her on Google.
One and done.
End of story.
Mila checked the clock on her laptop and sighed again. Almost four o’clock and she still had three more boring hours to while away in her storefront. The longer she spent languishing without sales, the easier it was to get lost in her own anxieties and speculations and doubts.
Maybe it was the location. Or maybe it was the fact that she was doing her advertising wrong. Maybe she’d been secretly blacklisted by the fashion industry in San Francisco, having inadvertently pissed off someone within the mafioso-like hierarchy of clothing.
It could be anything. And she almost hoped it was one of those reasons—even if it involved the mafia. Anything to avoid the sneaky, staining truth that it might be because of her. That her family was right to condemn her decision to open her own business. That somehow, they’d been able to see her inherent incapability and had tried to warn her off, but she’d chosen to ignore them and do the dumb thing of believing in herself.
Tears threatened at the edges of her eyes and she took a deep breath, swinging her gaze out toward the big bay window looking out at the parking lot. Something needed to change—that much was for sure. She just needed to figure out what. Part of her wished that businessman would come back so she could pick his brain. He looked like he knew what he was doing—or maybe that was just because she’d dressed him that way.
Isn’t there a place in the world for my talents? This question had been returning to her more and more recently.
The shop phone rang and she jolted at the unexpected noise. She hurried to answer it, wiping away the lone tear that had spilled before picking up the receiver.
“Moments with Mila,” she said.
“Hi. Is this Mila?” The warm tenor on the other end of the line sent sparks skating under her skin. He sounded familiar somehow, though she couldn’t place where she’d heard his voice before.
“Yes, may I ask who is calling?”
“I’m Grayson Finlay, I stopped into your store earlier today needing an emergency makeover.” He laughed softly. “Do you remember me? Maybe you’ve done that so many times today…”
Her eyes fluttered shut. If only she had enough customers to get them confused. He’d been the only one today. Not that she’d ever forget him. “No, no, of course I remember you. Did everything work out? Or are you calling to complain?”
He chuckled. “Not to complain. The opposite, actually. The outfit was a hit. It’s clear to me that you know what you’re doing. That’s why I want to run the app by you. Like a consultant, let’s say. Plus, I owe you one for helping me out on such short notice.”
Her heart started racing but she wasn’t sure why. Maybe because his words were bursting with the promise of seeing him again. “You don’t owe me anything. I mean, you paid me. That’s enough.”
“I’d like to take you out to dinner as a thank you,” Grayson continued. “And that will allow me to show you the app, as well. That way, I can pick your brain as a talented stylist.”
She blinked what felt like a hundred times before she could find her voice. “Dinner?”
“Yes. Nothing wild. Just a regular old dinner.”
“I don’t…but…” She pinched her eyes shut. She should accept the offer. If anything, it would be a nice distraction from the pity party she’d been hosting for herself the past week. “When?”
“Tonight. In a few hours, if you can. If not, we’ll set another day and time.”
She swallowed a knot in her throat, glancing at her planner laying open on the countertop. Tonight was wide open…as was basically every night of her life. Save the odd night out with her girlfriends, she didn’t do much other than create style boards on Pinterest and watch her business slowly fail.
She nodded vehemently, even though he couldn’t see her. “Yeah. Yeah, tonight’s great. Just tell me where to meet you.”
Grayson rattled off the name of well-known restaurant with a famous view of the Bay and told her to meet him there at seven thirty. When she hung up the phone, her hand was trembling.
She officially had a date with one of the hottest men she’d ever assisted, or even looked at within a thirty-foot radius.
“Grayson Finlay,” she murmured to herself. Was it possible he was a celebrity? She wandered over to her laptop and typed his name into a search engine. The screen filled with results, even popping up with a small picture and mini-bio about him on the right-hand side.
TECH MOGUL. SOFTWARE GENIUS. CEO.
Those were just some of the words used to the describe the man who had set foot in her store earlier that day. The man who she was now officially slated to have dinner with.
Her heart rate picked up again, this time accompanied by butterflies. Maybe searching his name had been a bad idea. Knowing exactly who he was—how powerful, how successful, how rich—might make it impossible for her to relax or be normal around him. And really, how could she hope to impress him when her own business was failing?
Mila scrolled further through the links. The word ‘billionaire’ popped up no fewer than five times on the first page of results. Apparently, ‘wildly successful’ didn’t even paint the whole picture. Mr. Grayson Finlay was poised to become one of America’s wealthiest men under thirty, according to one article from a premier business magazine.
And wouldn’t this just be the most laughable dinner of his life, then? One of the world’s wealthiest men, dining with a woman who could barely make rent.
Mila took a deep breath to calm her nerves. She had to find the perfect outfit for this dinner. Because even if she was the least successful businesswoman out there, she at least wanted to look like the opposite. That’s what she’d opened the shop for, after all: to help men and women look the part for whatever they wanted most. Whether it was successful businesswoman or seductress extraordinaire, Mila believed that every person deserved to flaunt their best look to the world.
She spent the next couple of hours thumbing through dresses and pairing potential outfits. After yet another evening without customers, she closed shop a half hour early so she could get a head start trekking to the restaurant via the BART system. She felt sexy and confident in a flowing, seafoam green dress with three-quarter sleeves, paired with suede booties and large pendant earrings.
The restaurant was a quarter-mile walk from the subway station, and she managed to make it to the huge front doors without breaking a sweat. Beyond the small hill, the Bay sparkled in the waning sunlight. A shiver rippled through her. Yes, this was exactly what she needed. An evening to forget about her worries and struggles.
As soon as she entered, she was swept away by the delicious aromas. Silverware clinked and voices murmured as the hostess took her through the restaurant, back toward the corner of the restaurant flanked with floor-to-ceiling windows. Grayson sat a table for two, looking out at the Bay, and he didn’t notice her until the hostess dropped her off at the table.
“Mila,” he said, hurrying to stand. He looked startled somehow, like maybe she’d interrupted a deeply pensive moment.
“Hi, Grayson.” She shook his hand when he offered it, and he gestured for them to sit down. She eased into the chair facing him, both excited and unnerved by the way his gaze bounced all over her. Like he was drinking her in from top to bottom. Except she couldn’t tell if he liked what he saw.
“You look amazing,” he said at last. His words sent tendrils of desire curling through her body. He was probably only being polite, but deep inside, she wanted his words to mean more.
“Thank you,” she said, hanging her small purse on the discrete hook under the table. “So do you. Who dressed you? Some sort of professional stylist?”
“You’re right, actually,” Grayson said, effortlessly following her lead. “She’s the best on the
west coast. Maybe you’ve heard of her? She’s got a boutique full of moments.”
She tried to fight the silly grin that threatened to cover her face, but it was hopeless when he smiled back at her. A dimple flashed, and for a moment she felt like they were old friends—or maybe even lovers—coming back to each other.
“I’ll have to look her up,” Mila teased, smiling up at the server who approached the table to take her drink order. She asked for the wine list and immediately spotted her drink of the evening—a Washington pinot noir.
Once the server departed, leaving the two of them grinning at each other like fools, Grayson leaned forward.
“Everything is on me tonight. I owe you after how you saved my ass today.”
“I told you,” she insisted. “You more than repaid me.”
“No, it was more than just selling me clothes.” He paused, tapping his finger against the fork handle. “I can’t tell you how awful it would have been if I’d showed up today in that ruined outfit. You see, I was on my way to meet the new investors of that app I was telling you about. My appearance was part of the package I was selling because they think my app picked them.”
“Uh oh,” Mila said, feeling strangely thrilled. She was implicated in his business deal, if only distantly. “Are you going to tell them that it was me?”
“Well, my original outfit was selected by the app. And while they were impressed by what I was wearing, it wasn’t enough to cinch the investment package I was hoping for. I need this app to make a splash—to make a statement about my company and its place in the market.” Grayson’s gaze dropped to the table, an unknown emotion clouding his face.
“What were they looking for from you?” It felt good to talk business with someone like him. Peek into his world. Especially since she knew way more about him than he realized, thanks to her internet search.
“I’ll get the money I need if I can find a marketing strategy to make the app go viral,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair.
“Ah. No big deal then, right?” she teased.
“Exactly.” He laughed, watching as the server returned with her wine. She took an appreciative sip, her eyes fluttering shut as she relished the fruity undertones.
“How is it?” he asked.
“Exceptional.” She took another sip and set the glass down. His gaze sizzled on her, the sexy smirk on his face pushing her mind in a direction she wasn’t sure she should follow.
“That’s what I thought. Though you should take another sip, so I can see that face you made again.”
She stopped breathing for a moment. “Are you—”
“Trust me. It was gorgeous. The sight of a beautiful woman enjoying herself? It doesn’t get better than that.”
His words echoed through her, leaving her warm and needy. She wasn’t misreading things. He was hitting on her. Elegantly, even. So this was how a rich man operated—wining and dining with classy come ons.
If Grayson was open to taking things in the direction of a one-night stand…
Then sign her up.
She just needed to make sure that she didn’t get attached to Grayson, his easy grins, or his impeccable wine taste.
3
Many oysters and three full glasses of wine later, Mila was feeling absurdly smitten with Grayson.
He made it too easy. Joking around with him was a breeze. He was thoughtful and suggestive. Each time a new round of wine arrived, they discussed the undertones and tannins. When appetizers arrived, they took turns feeding each other, and when their main courses arrived, Grayson took the time to remind her what everything on her plate was.
Grayson was the hottie rich guy of her fantasies. If she ever fantasized about hottie rich men, that is.
When the bill arrived, Grayson made sure to snatch it up before she could so much as breathe on it. By the time the server whisked it away, he leaned forward with a conspiratorial glint in his eye.
“Dinner is over,” he said in a low voice, “but I think we should take our party elsewhere.”
His meaning streaked through her. He wanted more of her. Just like she wanted more of him.
“Where do you suggest we go?”
“My house. One last drink.”
Lord help her. His meaning wasn’t just clear, it was freshly cleaned crystal. But she supposed when you were Grayson Finlay—gorgeous, rich, and used to getting your way—there was no need to play coy. She couldn’t fight the smile. She wanted to walk in his world for one night. Even though she shouldn’t. But really, it’s not like she was going to marry him.
Hell, she wasn’t even going to date him.
She could have one amazing, fun, ritzy night and call it quits.
Once she agreed to his offer, it was like the evening moved along at double time. In the blink of an eye, they were getting their jackets. And then they were piling into his impossibly shiny and new black sports car. And then suddenly they were in the lobby of his high-rise building, making eyes at each other as they waited for the elevator.
“Mila.” He stood so close to her, his breath came out hot on her earlobe. Her forearms prickled with anticipation, and she tipped her head back to find his gaze.
“What?”
“I’m going to kiss you once we get inside that elevator.” His hand found the dip in her waist, the heat of his palm nearly burning her through the thin fabric. She drew a shaky breath, searching his bright blue eyes.
“I don’t think I have a problem with that,” she whispered.
“Good,” he said, “because I’ve been waiting to do this since the second you showed up tonight.”
The elevator doors slid open and he guided her backwards until she touched the wall. He twisted to press the button for his floor, holding her in place by the hips. Mila’s breath evaporated as she waited for the doors to close. Waiting for more of him. Waiting to finally, finally see if he kissed as good as she suspected he might.
The doors closed, painfully slowly, and once it thudded shut, Grayson cupped her face in his hands. Something unspoken shivered between them, an entire conversation’s worth of feeling, and then he surged forward, pressing his lips to her in a crush of velvet and heat and cedar-tinged masculinity.
It wasn’t just good. It was better than she could have fathomed. It was like she was being kissed again for the first time, all over again.
A flurry of kisses erupted, each one deeper and more intense than the last. She clutched at the back of his head, tangling her fingers in the length of hair there. If Grayson presented as a smooth businessman, then he kissed like a rough and dirty one. Because he got right down to business once their lips were locked, his heated moans and exploring fingers pushing her over the edge.
Moisture surged to coat the lining of her panties, need pulsing inside her. Just a few kisses in and she wanted him inside her. Was this a sign of some sort of otherworldly sexual chemistry…or had it just been too long since she’d gotten some? It was too hard to think, in the midst of this mind-numbing embrace. Grayson pressed his body to hers, the thick ridge of his cock making itself known against her hip bone. Her breath shuttered, and he buried his lips in the hollow of her neck.
“Am I moving too fast?” he asked, his lips grazing her collarbone.
“No,” she breathed. “Not at all.”
He growled and resumed his kisses, leaving a damp trail along her jawline until his soft lips found hers once more. The doors opened suddenly behind him, a fact she only registered when he pulled away to twist and see behind him.
“Oh look,” he said, his voice sounding a million miles away. “We’re here.”
A hallway stretched behind him, but there were no doors except for one at the very end. He grabbed her by the hand, leading her off the elevator. He fished in his pocket, brought out a key fob, and touched it to a black square. The door slid open silently, revealing an enormous apartment within.
It was only after she’d taken five steps inside and caught the floor-to-cei
ling windows lining the entire western wall that she realized this wasn’t just any old apartment.
This was a penthouse.
With one of the most coveted views of San Francisco and the Bay Area.
“Holy—” she began, but Grayson swallowed the rest of her words in a kiss. He guided her back through the open living room and down onto a leather couch. She sank into the buttery soft material, a sigh escaping her.
“We should have that drink,” Grayson mumbled between kisses.
She groaned, her legs splaying open as he nudged himself on top of her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, loving the weight of him, the way that cedar scent consumed her. Yes, it had been far too long. But already Grayson was better than any lover or boyfriend she’d taken.
Maybe that was the fine wine talking. Or maybe the penthouse. Either way, she was here to relish it.
“Why drink?” she managed to ask as his kisses slid down the arc of her neck.
“You’re right.” He groaned as his lips met the line of her cleavage. He dragged his tongue down over the exposed tops of her breasts, his heated gaze finding hers. “Fuck the drinks.”
She giggled as he pushed his hands underneath the hem of her flimsy dress, his palms scorching up the length of her thighs. All of her thoughts dissolved when his hands reached the tops of her thighs, fingertips dancing at her panty line. His heated gaze held a heavy question.
“Do it,” Mila urged, bucking her hips as if this might convince him. A mischievous smile crossed his face and he eased her panties down over her hips, all the way down her legs. Her heels popped off once he slid her panties away. He tossed them across the room and then guided her to sit up. He carefully tugged her dress over her head, and then let it crumple to her side. He pressed a kiss to the top of each breast before unhooking her bra. Once it fell away, his eyes went hooded.
