Foreign Love (An International Sports Romance) (Love in Shades)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  After hanging up with Mackenzie, I’d called Willow and told her to pack me a bag real quick because I’m going to Brazil to get my man, goddammit. I’d then gone online and purchased the last ticket on the only flight heading to Rio de Janeiro tonight. The taxi quickly dropped by Willow’s apartment to scoop her up and the driver kicked the gas all the way to the airport.

  “Fuck – do you think we’ll make it?” I yelp, tossing a glance at her over my shoulder.

  The poor girl is red and breathless but her pace never slows. “We…we’ll…make it…” she pants, eyes focused on the ticket counter up ahead.

  Once Willow has helped me check-in and carted me to security, it’s time for us to go our separate ways.

  “Good luck, Jules,” she says as she bends to hug me and kiss the top of my head.

  I smile at her, my heart beating so fast I half-expect it to tear a hole straight through the middle of my shirt. “Thanks, Willie.”

  She gives me a small wave as she turns to walk away.

  “Willow!” I call after her.

  She spins around to look at me. “Yeah. Did you forget something?”

  I shake my head, then I say. “Thanks for not biting my head off when I acted like a total jerk to you earlier at the physiotherapist’s office.” My voice is small. I hate apologizing.

  She gives me the softest smile. “I told you, Julia – when you can’t be strong, I’ll be strong for you because we’re best friends.”

  I reach out to her and we exchange a quick hug just as the security guard yells at me. “Move forward, ma’am. Move forward. Time is money.”

  Chapter 36

  Julia

  I’m pretty wobbly as I move through first class, my eyes darting from face to face, searching for Lucien.

  When I finally come to my seat, A-25, the airhostess helps me store my bag in the overhead compartment. Thank god I’m on the aisle because my leg is bothering the hell out of me. I definitely over-exerted it today. My doctor would be pissed.

  I settle in my seat and continue to glance around, looking for Lucien.

  And then, I notice a bearded figure sitting in my row, next to the window on the other side of the aisle. His trucker cap is pulled low over his eyes and his full watermelon-pink lips are slightly parted as he sleeps.

  He’s here, I breathe a sigh of relief. My heart is about to burst out of my chest.

  I dig into the pocket of my sweatshirt and come up with an orange lollipop. I poke the stoic-looking gentleman next to me, looking like a goddamned insurance salesman in his beige suit and appalling comb-over. He gives me a skeptical look as I prompt him to pass the lollipop to the sleeping man at the end of his row.

  When he finally builds the nerve to disturb the sleeping giant, Lucien’s eyes blink open. Mr. Insurance Salesman hands him the lollipop and Lucien’s face immediately lights with understanding. He pulls the cap from his head and eases up in his seat, looking around frantically.

  I give him a small wave and a smile, trying my best to fight back my tears when his gaze falls on me. The flecks of gold in his copper eyes glint bright when he sees me.

  “Julia…”

  JEWH-lyah.

  I want to hear my name said like that forever.

  Epilogue

  Lucien

  Seven months later

  “If it’s a girl, we should name her Olympia,” I whisper against Julia’s cheek as she rubs my hand over her growing belly.

  She rolls her eyes up at me despite the smirk on her lips. “Ugh. Will you stop it with the horrible, horrible Olympics-inspired baby names?” she groans. She tugs gently at the gold medal hanging proudly around my neck.

  I laugh. “But…how about Goldie?” I joke.

  She scoots out of my arms and totters off of the bed before waddling her way to the kitchen. “Winning gold has really gotten to your head, huh mister?” She sticks her head into the fridge and comes out with a tub of chocolate-mint ice cream.

  “You know that one day we must explain to our child that he or she was conceived on a treatment table in a physiotherapist’s office, yes?” I love teasing her. She’s the cutest pregnant lady I’ve ever seen.

  She glares at me. “No, we will never, ever, ever mention the things that happened in that office. The poor kid would be in therapy forever…How much does psychotherapy cost over here in France, anyway?”

  I laugh. “The child will not need therapy. Sex in public places – that is our thing. He or she will embrace it…It is his heritage.”

  She groans as she sits on the bed. “Ugh. You’re being weird.” She rubs her hand over my beard before she pops the lid off of the ice cream and takes a huge scoop.

  I pull her back into my arms. I love having her wrapped up against me. “So, when do your classes start?” Julia just enrolled in one of Paris’ most prestigious fashion design academies. She still grieves the loss of her ballet career but it’s getting easier the more immersed she becomes in her sketching and fashion design.

  “I’ll have to double-check my calendar,” she says between spoonsful of ice cream.

  I kiss her on the temple. “Well, we are going back to Théoule-sur-mer before you start your courses because my mother is dying to see you again and I am dying to see that sexy, pregnant body in a bikini.”

  She laughs. “I love you. You know that?”

  I feel phenomenal each time she says it. “Je t’aime…pour toujours.”

  A Very Eager Intern

  (The Esquire HEAT Series)

  Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  I feel like an absolute idiot.

  As I stare down at the printout of the email I’m gripping in my hand, I decide that I’m way too embarrassed to ask the other interns for help again. By now, they probably all think that I’m a total dud. Just today, I had to ask for directions to the washroom twice.

  Now, here I am, at 7:45 in the evening with this email telling me to immediately report to Liam Cartwright’s office and yet again, I have no idea where the hell that is.

  “We’re taking off, Jazz. Have a good night,” Hailey Lundeen chirps as she hauls her gym bag over her shoulder, moving in the direction of the elevators.

  “Bye, Jasmine. Don’t work too late your first day on the job,” Nadia Chester says with a smirk as she stuffs her sneakers into her oversized purse and follows Hailey.

  Okay – it’s now or never. I have to ask for directions right this minute or spend the next 45 minutes going door-to-door looking for the lawyer that I’ve been assigned to work with this evening.

  “Wait – do you guys know where Liam Cartwright’s office is?” My voice comes out in a desperate, high-pitched squeal.

  The interns stop dead in their tracks. Nadia’s eyebrow shoots up and she tosses Hailey a quizzical look. The expression on Hailey’s face is one of pure surprise.

  “Liam Cartwright?” Hailey asks, taking a step towards me.

  I glance down at the email again. “Yes. Liam Cartwright. I searched the law firm’s website and intranet and I couldn’t even find a photo of him, let alone his office location.”

  Nadia snatches the sheet of paper from me and reads it herself. “Holy shit!”

  These girls are starting to make me nervous.

  “Well, I heard that his office is on the 11th floor. But as far as I know, Liam Cartwright is an urban legend,” Hailey explains, “He works in seclusion. There are lots of rumors about him, but nobody really knows him. Apparently, he’s one of the founders’ sons. He usually works at our Texas office but he’s been here in New York working on a huge renewable energy deal for the past few weeks. I heard he fought in Iraq or Afghanistan and has PTSD or something. He never hangs around people. He never even meets with clients in person. I’ve never seen him, but I heard that his office is up on the 11th floor.” She’s rambling on at a mile a minute.

  My stomach twists into a nervous knot. “Oh,” is all I can say as I swallow past the lump in my throat.

  “I thought that the firm’
s archives are stored up on the 11th floor,” Nadia remarks, “I didn’t even know we had offices up there.”

  “From what I heard, Liam’s is the only one,” Hailey informs us.

  Great! Just what I need on the first day of my internship here at Cartwright Moretti Stevenson – working with the boss’s traumatized, reclusive son in some deserted corner of the building.

  Nadia glances at me. “Girl, good luck with that,” she says under her breath, shoving the printed email back in my direction. She tugs Hailey by the elbow. “C’mon, Hailey – we’re gonna be late for our spinning class.”

  “Let me know how it goes, Jazz,” Hailey tosses over her shoulder with a concerned expression on her face as Nadia hauls her off to the elevator.

  Shit!

  My hands tremble nervously as I scoop up my yellow notepad and pen. My knees knock together as I wobble over to the elevator. I hit the call button and the doors open immediately. I’m awarded a few moments of privacy when the doors glide shut. I use the time to stare into the mirrored paneling on the elevator wall and give myself a pep talk.

  “Jasmine Alicia Santiago – you can do this. You’re brilliant, you’re confident, you worked hard to be here,” I mutter as I look into my dark brown eyes. “You’re so charming that you were able to convince HR to hire you even though rumor has it that the firm is going through financial difficulties. You can do this – you can work with Liam Cartwright and you’ll impress his socks off.” I smooth over the fabric of my black, knee-length pencil skirt and adjust the collar of my peach blouse. I feel better, more confident until…

  The doors slide open on the 11th floor.

  It’s quiet. Too quiet. The hallway is dimly lit and a bulb flickers overhead. I nearly trip over an empty janitor’s bucket sitting right next to the elevator. There’s not a soul in sight. Only piles and piles of banker’s boxes line the walls and cast shadows throughout. The sound of my three-inch pumps clicking against the dusty floors echoes through the corridor and I swear I saw a mouse scurry behind one of those damn boxes.

  Finally, I come to a scuffed, dark wooden door bearing the name “Liam Cartwright” on a scrap of paper stuck to the door with masking tape. I attempt to steel my nerves despite the insistent pounding of my heart against my ribcage. I knock confidently.

  “Open.” The gritty baritone carries out the door.

  One deep breath later, I push past the heavy wood and am standing in a large, quaint office. The room is rather dark, illuminated only by the slivers of light penetrating between the blinds and a single Edwardian-style lamp. I can see that the heavy cedar furnishings are dated and quite dusty. My eyes sweep across the expansive room, but Liam Cartwright is nowhere in sight.

  “Hello?” I squeak hoarsely.

  Just then, the large crimson-colored executive chair swivels away from the bank of windows overlooking Union Square and Liam Cartwright comes into view.

  He eases slowly to his feet.

  He’s tall. Real tall. He hovers somewhere near six feet four inches. I can barely make out his facial features in the dim room but I note that his silky black hair falls in thick layers around his face. His dark brow casts a shadow over his cloudy gray eyes. His beard is well-groomed and emphasizes the plumpness of his full lips.

  I gasp softly, admittedly taken aback by his attractiveness.

  He clears his throat. “Hello.”

  And just like that, my pussy quivers at the grit of his deep, raspy voice. I swallow hard, even more nervous now that I’ve actually put a face to the name, Liam Cartwright. Here I am, face to face with the man behind the mystery.

  Despite his overwhelmingly powerful presence, there’s something restrained about him. Apprehensive, even. I can feel it as his eyes dart over me quickly from head to toe.

  “Are you the intern?” he asks. In the dim lighting, it appears that he’s grimacing. Maybe he was expecting someone else. Someone more put together. Someone who doesn’t look so lost and disoriented.

  I’m determined to prove his first impression of me wrong. “Yes. Jasmine Santiago. I’m eager to assist you, tonight, sir. With whatever you need.” Jeeze – where did that come from? I couldn’t sound more awkward if I tried.

  He just stands there silently observing me for an agonizingly long moment. I feel so self-conscious. I’m suddenly painfully aware of how snug my suit jacket is. Too snug. It’s unprofessional. And my hair must be a brown, frizzy mess right now. Plus, I really think that my shoes make my ankles look fat. No. I’m positive that these shoes make my ankles look fat.

  Liam finally adjusts his tie and sinks back into his seat with the grace of a panther. “Please – Sit, Ms. Santiago.” He speaks without lifting those cloudy gray eyes to mine.

  I quickly sink into the patterned armchair facing his desk.

  He clears his throat again as he picks up a pen sitting on his desk. “I have a pretty straightforward task for you. Our client, X.U.S. Industries, is negotiating its way out of a 20-year supply contract with West Texxoleum Oil, in favor of a shorter term contract with a renewable energy supplier out in Albany, New York. The settlement contract has already been drafted but West Texxoleum has made a few modifications. I need you to go through the new draft and highlight all the changes that West Texxoleum has made. Simple.” He taps his pen against the desk. “I’ll print out a copy of the contract for you so I can explain a few of the more important points before you begin.”

  He fiddles around with the printer sitting behind his desk and gets nothing but a loud, beeping error signal in response. He sighs in frustration.

  “I apologize, Ms. Santiago, but I’m having some difficulties with my printer this evening and it appears that all the workers on the firm’s tech support team have gone home for the night. If you don’t mind, I’ll move to the chair next to you and we can go over some of the finer points of the contract on my laptop.”

  My breath hitches in my throat as he lifts from his seat with his laptop in hand and rounds the desk before sinking into the chair to my right. The warm, musky scent of his skin creates a force field around him and I instinctually feel my body straining towards his as he rests the computer on his lap. His body language is so natural and unassuming. It’s as though he has no idea how alluring he is.

  Gosh – he must be so good in bed.

  Again, I swallow hard. The contrast between his unassuming nature and his stunning good looks has me off-kilter. I would expect a man as gorgeous as Liam Cartwright to be arrogant and pompous. But, him…I don’t know…there’s something reserved about him…and it’s a major aphrodisiac.

  Liam opens a file and begins explaining to me the issues to look out for in the contract at hand. His hair falls in layers around his face as he trains all of his attention on the document in front of him. I take notes as quickly as my quivering hand will allow. Things are going as well as can be expected until I look up and catch a glimpse of his supple, juicy lips.

  And I find myself staring.

  I know that I’m staring but I can’t stop. I can’t stop imagining how those lips would feel gliding down the sensitive skin at the back of my neck, grazing along the valley between my breasts, skimming the edge of my lace panties –

  “Don’t stare at it!”

  I’m jolted out of my daydream by the harsh rasp of his voice. I bring my eyes to his and see nothing but rage there. “E—excuse me?”

  “Don’t stare at my scar!” he demands, his thick fingers jumping to his cheek. He quickly pushes to his feet and sets the computer down on his desk.

  “I—I’m sorry. What scar?” I have no clue what he’s talking about.

  “This scar!” he growls, pushing his hair off of his cheek and pointing at the patches of shiny pink scar tissue interrupting his thick beard on the left side of his face. “This ugly, hideous scar!”

  Wait – That’s his secret? That’s why he hides out, far away from the world?

  I can’t deny that, even in the dim lighting, the damaged flesh is visible n
ow that his thick, hair has been pulled away from his face. But I honestly hadn’t even noticed it until he pointed it out.

  “I wasn’t staring at your scar. I didn’t even notice it,” I say in a mousy voice as I recoil, slightly intimidated by his sudden outburst. I could never have imagined that this reserved man housed the potential to explode in such a manner.

  “Don’t insult me,” he roars. He lowers his head and walks slowly over to the window. “I know when someone’s staring. Someone’s always staring…”

  No.

  No. No. No.

  This is my big chance to work on a meaningful file and cement my position here as an asset to the firm so that when the approaching wave of layoffs hits, I won’t get carried out the door with the tide.