by Vivian Wood
“You know what I mean,” he growled.
“Mr. Harris?” James asked, sticking his head in again. He tapped his bare wrist and raised his brows. “GQ,” he mouthed.
“Alright, alright,” Connor told him. “I’m coming.”
“Sandra, we need to talk about this later. I’ll text you the time and place to meet tonight and we’ll talk about this in person. Consider this a day off from appointments. I’ll explain to the clients that you had a conference all day today.”
“It’s Sam,” she said in exasperation.
“Yeah, yeah, you know what I meant,” he said.
From the door, James tapped at his wrist with more insistence.
“I see you!” Connor said. He hung up on Sam without saying goodbye.
“You’re just going to adore the E in C of GQ,” James gushed. “He’s fantastic, really.”
“E in C?”
“Editor in Chief,” James said slowly. “The last time I met him, he was wearing the most delicious pair of Helmut Lang trousers, and I told him—”
“James, if you don’t mind, can we keep the chattering to a minimum? It’s not even eight o’clock and I already have a headache.”
“Oh my! That’s my fault. We’ll swing by and I’ll get you your coffee to enjoy on the way. Americano with a dash of cream, one sugar and a shot in the dark. Correct?”
“Yeah, how’d you—you know what, never mind. That’s right.”
James smiled at him. “I know how important the ritual morning cup of coffee is,” he said. “Have you tried French press before? I personally find it to be quite…”
Connor sighed and let James babble on. By the time they pulled up in front of the building to meet with GQ, Connor was adept at tuning him out almost completely. In fact, James’ voice was quiet soothing background noise. Either that, or the coffee was working its magic.
As they walked through the lobby and James led him toward the tucked-away café in the back, Connor’s phone buzzed in his jacket. He pulled it out and there was a text from Sandra Brewer. WTF does your assistant need to know my bra size for?
He smiled to himself. James was nothing if not thorough, and probably oblivious of how intimate the question was. “Hey, James,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” James replied, eager to be of service.
“When you find out Sam’s bra size, can you let me know? I uh, want to surprise her with something for the anniversary of the day we met.”
“That’s so sweet, sir! Of course I will. But wouldn’t it be easy for you to just peek in her dresser?”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” he asked.
6
Sam
Sam shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The plush, velvet lining of the intimate booth at the Old Ebbitt Grill did nothing to soothe her nerves. The Victorian-era saloon was draped in swankiness. Even though the sun had barely set, already couples were tucked away in their own little worlds, making out. Single men in suits that cost more than her rent circled like birds of prey.
She’d gone over their brief phone calls and texts but couldn’t figure out why he wanted to meet with her now. Sam had the schedule, she’d carved out the majority of her time for him to bullshit with his pompous clients. What else could he want?
All she’d received was a text with the time and place. Thank God I looked up the place. She’d been about to show up in her work clothes, but after she read the reviews she’d rushed home and changed into a slinky silk red dress. I have to say, I fit in perfectly.
Finally, she saw him sweep into the room and head straight to the bar. Somehow, Connor had a way of filling up a venue with his presence. Women’s heads twirled to watch him—some of them pulled away from their boyfriends and husbands to do so.
She felt her heart hammer. When he turned and smiled at her, it went out of control. He’s ridiculously handsome. Way too handsome to be faking a marriage. It just doesn’t make sense. Unless… maybe he’s gay. Or dating somebody who’s way taboo.
Sam bit her lip and watched him maneuver through the crowd. One of the women’s boyfriends got upset and tapped her shoulder to peel her eyes off of Connor.
“Hey,” Connor said. “I thought you’d be at the bar.” A waitress already rushed toward them. The same waitress Sam had watched for the past ten minutes in hopes that she’d come and refresh her drink.
“What can I get you?” the waitress asked, breathless. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“Another champagne for my wife?” Connor asked as he looked at Sam’s empty flute. He stressed “wife” with a touch of meanness.
She blushed at the word and nodded.
“Actually, why don’t you make it a bottle for us to share. Perrier-Jouët Belle Epoque, if you have it.”
“Oh, I’ll check,” the waitress said, crestfallen.
“I think you just broke her heart,” Sam told him as the waitress left.
“I have a knack for that,” he said.
She frowned. The sudden meeting, the bottle of champagne. Was he planning on ending things before they really got started? She knew she shouldn’t have mouthed off so much this morning when he’d had that litany of requests.
“So, any brothers? Sisters?” Connor asked. She was surprised by the sudden interest.
“Um, a sister. Emma. But she’s away at school.”
“Does she look anything like you?” he asked. His eyes probed deep. “Sorry, never mind. Where did you really go to school?”
“Georgetown, local,” she said with a shrug. “It helped save money on room and board.”
“So you never did the whole sorority thing,” he said with a nod. “Major?”
“Math education.”
“Math? Then how the hell did you get into event planning?” he asked. The waitress arrived with the bottle and poured them both a glass. She stomped off without a word.
“Math education, it’s different. It’s, like, how to teach math,” she said. Sam lifted the flute, held his eyes and toasted.
“The question still stands.”
She shrugged. “I got burned out. Didn’t want to get my master’s in education right then, and you can’t really do much in regards to teaching with just a bachelor’s.”
“So you’re smart,” he said.
She nearly spit out the champagne. “What?”
“I’m guessing you have to have some intelligence for that degree. That’s surprising, you should lead with that more.”
“Excuse me? Lead with that?”
“Exactly. When you meet quality men, I mean.” He leaned back in the booth and surveyed her.
“If you’re referring to yourself, you and I met when I was trying to smooth over my fumbling coworker,” she said. “Apologies if I didn’t teach you the Collatz conjecture while making sure a five-tiered fondant cake in the shape of a swan was invoiced to the right address.”
“Eight,” he said.
“What?”
“It was eight tiers. And it was hardly a swan.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
“And you said Georgetown, so I’m guessing you grew up here.”
“Great Falls,” she told him.
“Really? That’s… moderately affluent,” he said.
“You seem surprised.”
“It’s just with not having a father—”
“I had a father,” she said sharply. “And he didn’t pass until I was in high school.”
“Sorry,” Connor said as he lowered his head.
The anger sloughed off of her. It wasn’t his fault that he could act like such a prick, really. Remember his family, or father? It’s a miracle he wasn’t a psychopath. Maybe he’s just curious about you! “It’s okay,” she said. “Sorry I snapped.”
He smiled. “Who’s your best friend?”
“I, um, I don’t want to tell you that right now. If it’s brought up at events, just say I’m too busy with work.”
“A secret,” he said as he lea
ned toward her. “But why?”
“I met her in college,” Sam said slowly. She finished her second glass. “She was a history major.” Shut up. “She’s, um, the sister of the president.”
“President of what? Which company?” Connor asked. He was inches away from her.
She raised her brows. “The United States,” she said.
“Oh. What? You mean your best friend’s—”
She hushed him. “Can we just move on?” she whispered. “How about you give me some information?”
“I think going to my parents’ place was plenty of intel,” he said.
“Okay, then what’s up with the schedule from hell? Why am I required to go to all these lunches and everything?”
“Good question! You should ask my father. It’s not my doing. I just showed up for my first day as COO this morning and was handed this schedule by the most annoying assistant ever.”
“You mean James? He seemed nice. If a little nosy.”
Connor groaned. “It turns out, I’m more the ‘face of Trezor’ than the COO. I don’t know, this is something I’ll have to address with my father. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, I’ve spent all day dealing with it. All I can tell you is that I don’t want to be on this ride any more than you do, but for now we’re both stuck with it.”
She felt sorry for him. He was willing to put on this big façade, pay her a generous amount to play along, and it turned out all his dad had done was slap a title on him before showing him around like a prize pony. “Connor, I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s terrible.”
“Thanks,” Connor said as he finished his own flute. “It certainly makes my father look good, though. So, back to you. How’s the love life?”
She looked down and felt a cold sweat as it broke out along her skin. What the hell was she supposed to tell him? “Not very exciting at the moment,” she said quietly.
“No? Why not, is there something wrong with you?” he asked.
She bristled at the accusation. “Wrong with me?” she asked. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. That’s your wife you’re talking about.”
He laughed and held up his hands. “Sorry! It’s just that you’re hot. You’re educated. You have a job. So, what’s the deal?”
She chewed on her cheek and debated how much to tell him. Somehow, she didn’t think he’d be very impressed if she said she’d only gone all the way once, when she was young—and that it was nearly traumatizing. “Just busy,” she said with a shrug. “What are you, some mother from the 1950s trying to get me married off?”
“I just can’t figure it out. That’s all,” Connor said. “So, you’re not dating—”
“That’s not what I said,” she replied quickly, covering. “You asked about my love life. The guys I’m dating don’t really qualify as much more than a little fun.” She smiled at him as she regained her footing in this odd dance.
“Guys,” he repeated. “As in plural.”
She nodded. “I mostly prefer models,” she said. Well, at least that’s true! “Which makes the pickings kind of slim in DC. But you know how it is.”
“Good on you!” he said. “I’m proud. Impressed.”
She shrugged. “They don’t ask many questions. They like to party, so it keeps things light.” Another tidbit of truth. You’re really on a roll! Connor doesn’t need to know that a lot of partying equates to not remembering what they did sexually… or not. Sam had no idea how many models stumbled around the city, sure they’d had sex with her.
She noticed Connor’s jaw twitch with that last comment, so she backed off and sipped some champagne. “Well, good,” he said. “I’m seeing people, too.” He sounded like a petulant child who’d realized he was losing his favorite game.
“I have no doubt,” she said with a laugh.
He eyed her. “I’m hoping, of course, that with all your partying and philandering with models, you can still be a professional with this arrangement.”
“Of course I can!” she said. Shit. Was this all a trap?
“I know I told you that when we’re not together, your time is yours to do with as you wish,” he said. “But honestly, that’s when I thought you were largely a homebody. If I’d known you were going out all the time, dating a bunch of people who were in the spotlight—”
“They’re male models, Connor. They hardly show up in PopSugar.”
“PopSugar?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s like a celebrity site. Never mind. I’m just saying, you don’t have to worry about me.”
“I certainly hope not,” he said. “I thought I was hiring a girl who could hold it together. And look good doing it.”
She blushed and wished she could take back some of her bragging. Especially since it was far from reality. “You did. You are,” she said.
“Excuse me for a moment, I’m going to get a club soda from the bar. Do you want one? Where the hell did the waitress go?”
She shook her head no and watched him as he made his way to the dark bar that shone so brightly it reflected the twinkling liquor bottles that lined the shelves. God, he’s so muscular. It’s evident even through the suit. Of course, given that the suit fit him perfectly, it was no surprise.
Connor turned quickly and caught her staring at him. He raised his shoulders in a gesture of annoyance as if asking her what she was doing.
Sam turned bright red and stood up. She grabbed her jacket and realized all that champagne had made its way into her head. How could I be so irresponsible? She needed to get out of there before he found out just how tipsy she was.
“I need to go,” she told him as she sidled up next to him at the bar.
“Oh, okay. Do you need a ride, or—”
“I’m good,” she said as she touched his arm. It was rock solid. “Thanks for the drinks.”
She made a beeline for the door, desperate to get out before she got herself in trouble.
7
Connor
“It doesn’t look good, us not arriving together,” he told her again as he headed toward the Hay-Adams hotel.
“I’m sorry, but I told you I had a client meeting! Besides, what kind of gala starts at six o’clock?” she asked.
He could hear the stress in her voice and tried to relax for both of them. “It’s okay,” he said. “And, to answer your question, the kind of gala that’s full of octogenarians hungry to open their pocketbooks for the right charity. This is like midnight to them.”
“You’re really selling this event,” she told him.
He smiled. “By the way, you’re wearing something James had delivered to you, right?”
She groaned. “Yes! And it seems ridiculously formal to be wearing when the sun’s still up.”
“It’ll be fine. I’m pulling up to the valet now. Text me when you’re almost here and I’ll come down and meet you.”
“Okay.”
“And you need to be on tonight.”
He’d only done one round of the room when her text came in. Connor was grateful for the excuse to do something. He’d already spied his father as he schmoozed with an ancient woman whose scalp shone through her white hair.
Sam was just taking the valet’s hand to help her out of the car when he got to the bottom of the stairs. She was absolutely breathtaking, and James had earned his keep. She wore a perfectly tailored emerald green gown with beading at the hem that made her green eyes even more striking. It looked almost modest from the front, but when she turned he saw it was completely backless. Her nearly black hair swept into a chignon highlighted the olive skin of her toned back.
Sandra had been pretty, but she’d never quite looked the part—as much as Connor hated to admit that. Sam looked it and acted it. Immediately, she gave him a huge smile and her professional veil was draped all around her. He offered his elbow, and she’d barely taken it when they were bombarded with people.
“Is this the fiancée we’ve heard so much about?” Connor couldn’t recall everyone’s names,
but it didn’t matter.
“Yes, this is Sam,” he said, and she turned into the ultimate socialite. Sam moved from group to group with ease. She passed out genuine compliments to the women, remembered details when they ran into them again hours later, and even managed to hold the men’s attention without flirtations. Everyone was hooked.
Connor watched her work the crowd, impressed by how she always managed to shine while she still made sure he was at the center of it all. He’d known some women like this, which included his mom years ago in her prime. Only so much of it could be taught. Like grace, it was largely natural.
Whoever I end up with, however many years from now, will have to be elegant like Sam, he thought to himself as he watched her lightly touch the arm of a trustee and laugh.
“Champagne?” he asked her.
“Yes, honey, thank you,” she said.
However, when he returned with the glass, she was alone for the first time that night. He handed her the flute, but she put it aside, disgusted. “What, no alcohol tonight?” he asked.
She turned red. “I’d rather not get myself into trouble, if that’s okay,” she said.
He was confused. Since when did she not drink at all? “Okay, if that’s what you want. You’ll need to at least have sparkling cider in a flute though. There are my parents,” he said. “At five o’clock. Don’t look.”
“Connor, you’re being ridiculous,” she said.
She didn’t even have a chance to turn around before his mom spotted them. From across the room, he saw his mom latch onto his dad’s arm as she started to drag him toward them. “And, action,” Connor whispered to Sam.
“Hello, sweetheart,” his mom said. She pulled Sam to her and kissed both cheeks. “Don’t you look lovely! This color really suits you. And Connor, of course, handsome as always.”
“Thanks, mom,” he said.
“Making good contacts?” his father asked gruffly. “I saw you with the Hoskings earlier. They seemed quite taken by your fiancée here,” he said.
“Yes, I think the evening is quite successful,” Connor said.
