The Fix Up

by Kendall Ryan

  Now I’m just starting to get mad. Not once has she said she’s sorry. These are all flimsy excuses.

  I take a deep breath, making sure my voice is calm and in control. “I have work to get done, Anna. Is there a point to all of this?”

  She shifts her weight from one high-heeled foot to the other. “I just wanted to make sure you’re not mad.”

  At this, I almost laugh. And not because it’s funny, no. I’m talking a full-on maniacal Disney-villain laugh, because she’s clearly insane.

  “Mad?” I rise from my desk. “Let’s see. You deserted me at a work event to try and pick up a guy. A guy, despite all the mitigating factors, you knew I had feelings for. So, no. Mad doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

  Her mouth opens and she takes a step back.

  “I’m not simply mad. I’m furious at your behavior, disappointed at your lack of apology, and quite honestly, floored that you had the gall to show up here today asking if I was mad. We’re done, Anna. And not only that, but we’re done working together too.”

  “You’re firing me!” she cries, her voice rising in disbelief.

  “No, I’m not firing you. That was Olivia’s call. It turns out, when you want to keep a job, you should, I don’t know, do what you were hired for and not flake out on the people who are counting on you.” I’ve crossed the room so I’m now standing directly in front of her with my hands on my hips. “Good-bye, Anna.”

  With an annoyed huff, she spins on her heel and storms away, making a disgruntled noise as she goes.

  I heave in a breath, my knees trembling despite how composed I might have seemed.

  Just then Sterling rounds the corner, his hands moving lazily together and apart in a slow clap. “That was bloody brilliant.”

  My mouth twitches in a smile. It actually felt damn good standing up for myself. I don’t relish the idea of losing a friend, but as the saying goes, with friends like that, who needs enemies?

  Anna and I have been close since elementary school, though these last few years we’ve grown apart. Somehow, I know life will go on and we’ll each lick our wounds and eventually get over it. Hell, maybe we’ll even laugh over this someday over cocktails, but I doubt it.

  But I don’t have time to reflect on what just went down with Anna. Because Sterling is standing before me in a tailored black suit looking mouthwateringly, soul-crushingly, chest-achingly beautiful.

  Stay strong, Camryn.

  “Did you need something?”

  “Aye. I came by to speak with you about Saturday.” He’s breathless like he ran the whole way here. And maybe he did. His office is across town.

  My gaze drifts down to the red and green folders he’s holding at his side.

  Unlike Anna, he’s not here to make amends. He’s simply trying to follow up on our project—the shared goal we had of getting him married off. It seems he’s made his selections. The green folder is for those women he’d like another date with, and the red one holds the turndowns. It seems he followed directions well.

  As hard as the words are to say, I force them out. “Come on in.”

  I head back to my desk, sliding into the rolling leather chair while Sterling takes the seat across from me. He sets both folders on my desk. The red one is about five inches thick, bursting with head shots. The green folder looks like it could be empty for all I know.

  “I tried to reach you all weekend,” he says, his voice soft.

  I press my lips together, trying not to say something that involves the words fuck and you. Be professional, Camryn. Just get through this.

  “I’ll get this handled.” I reach for the green folder but Sterling flattens his palm against it, holding it in place.

  “I just don’t understand what happened,” he says.

  Inhaling deeply through my nose, I try to calm down. But after dealing with Anna, my tolerance for bullshit is practically nonexistent.

  “What happened was I’m an idiot. I have a job to do, and I let my emotions get in the way of that. It won’t happen again.” My tone is cold, and if I could pat myself on the back for sounding so aloof, I would.

  Sterling’s eyes are dark, stormy, and conflicted. “I was falling for you.”

  “And see, that’s where I call bullshit. I saw you and that girl Rebecca. Your ex.”

  His dark brows draw together, and his perfectly kissable lips part as his expression changes to one of confusion. “What exactly did you see?”

  What did I see, exactly? “There was a dress on the floor. And I heard moans.”

  He nods, not denying it.

  “Why didn’t you just admit to me from the start that you weren’t over your ex?”

  “I had no idea you saw that. The only thing I knew is that your friend Anna threw herself at me, and then you were gone.”

  I look down at my hands. “I saw, Sterling. And then I left, because I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

  “Let me explain a few things to you,” he says, his tone precise. “For some strange reason, my ex, Rebecca, was allowed through the screening process, which made little sense to me because I had previously communicated to you that I had no interest in her. As in, none.”

  He leans forward, his hands gripping the edge of my desk. I look up, and his dark eyes are filled with regret.

  “She came in, stripped out of her dress, and turned on a porn video on her cell phone. It was a desperate and shameless attempt to get under my skin. I opened the door, wanting her to be removed, but when I found the security guard gone, I went in search of someone to help. I knew Rebecca wasn’t leaving without a fight. And the last thing I wanted was to be in the same room with my naked ex, and have you walk in on that and assume the worst. Which is apparently what happened.”

  My windpipe threatens to close. Dear God . . . I thought they were in there fucking like rabbits. My eyes wouldn’t let me look.

  “And that was after I’d been proposed to eight times, and asked for my credit score, my blood type, if I was into double penetration or bestiality, was willing to have my palms read, and one crazy broad wanted to check my cock for warts.”

  “Holy shit. Are you serious?”

  “Deadly. It was quite a fucking morning.”

  “So you didn’t fuck Rebecca?”

  “God, no.”

  I take a deep breath. “Was there anyone nice and normal who you liked?”

  “There were a few who seemed like nice girls, but no, I didn’t like any of them. It turns out, I’ve already given my heart to someone else.”

  I swallow, so badly wanting to believe he’s talking about me, but I won’t let myself go there just yet.

  “And to top it all off, you were gone. Nowhere to be found.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I thought you were in there fucking Rebecca. And after what we shared Friday night . . .” My mouth goes dry, and I can’t continue.

  “I understand. I get it. It was just a really tough weekend to get through. I thought you weren’t speaking to me because of the whole Anna thing. And I want you to know, I had no interest in her whatsoever. Even less after I realized how little she values loyalty and friendship.”

  “It was a difficult weekend for me too.”

  Losing Anna was unexpected. But spending all weekend mourning the loss of the fragile foundation I’d built with Sterling was worse. I recall what Noah told me about Sterling having been known in the past to engage in random hookups with women he’d just met. And even though nothing happened this time, I’m still on edge about what that could mean, what kind of man he is underneath the shiny exterior I’ve gotten to know.

  “I want you to know that Friday night meant everything to me.”

  I can’t look up and meet his eyes. I don’t trust myself.

  Instead, I stammer, “No matter what happened between us, I vow to see this through till the end. I’ll be a professional and won’t let anything get in the way of you getting what you want—a wife.”

  “You really are an amazing wo
man, Cami.” He smiles at me fondly with that guarded tenderness I’ve grown to love.

  I motion for him to hand me the green folder. “I’ll get dates set up for this week with your finalists.”

  “Sure,” he says, handing me the folder before turning to leave.

  I draw in a long, slow inhale as my frayed nerves threaten to riot and send me into a tailspin. I’m thirty minutes into my Monday, and so far I’ve fired Anna and then had Sterling tell me that he didn’t lay so much as his little finger on Rebecca, let alone stuff his cock inside her. And I believe him. I just do.

  I stare at that folder for a long time. Then I set it aside and attempt to finish the e-mail I was writing.

  Fuck it.

  Knowing I won’t be able to concentrate until I see what’s inside, I grab the folder from my desk.

  Slowly, I open it and find the picture’s turned over, so only the back side of the glossy photo paper faces me. With trembling fingers, I lift one corner and flip it over.

  For several seconds, I just stare at it blankly, my brain struggling to comprehend.

  It’s me.

  The photo is one of me. Taken when I sat across from him and his mother in the booth at that ice cream shop, a dot of whipped cream on my lower lip and a smile in my eyes. He’d snapped it with his cell phone, and I never thought anything of it.

  But now it feels like everything.

  Except . . . what does it mean?

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Sterling

  I wanted to give Camryn some time, so I’ve kept myself busy with the mountain of work on my desk, but now it’s after five and my heart is in my throat.

  I grab my leather carry-all, cell phone, and suit jacket, and head out. The New York City streets are filled with weary commuters and cyclists and cabbies, all jockeying to get through the throngs. They long to be home with loved ones. There are wives to kiss, children who need a bath, crying babies who miss their mothers, and meals to be enjoyed at tables all around the city. It’s something I’ve never taken the time to consider, but on this cool fall evening, I feel more alone than I have in a very long time.

  I could call up a mate, go to a pub, enjoy a pint, and maybe even pick up a girl to bring home. But the only girl I want is Camryn. I could go visit my mother. Except what if she’s having one of her off days, and doesn’t recognize me? I don’t think I’m game for any more rejection right now.

  I’ve spent years telling myself I don’t want to settle down, that matrimony is for fools. But seeing these people around me, rushing to get home to loved ones while I have nothing, it’s a stark dose of reality. I hop on the train that will carry me to my building and check my cell yet again. Still nothing.

  I finally decide to text her.

  Sterling: Can we talk tonight?

  I stare at my phone for several seconds, hoping her response is positive and immediate.

  But my phone remains sadly silent. Briefly, I consider going to the gym instead of going home. I keep a spare set of clothes in my locker there. Lifting weights and jogging around the track would be better than sitting alone at my apartment, but I decide I don’t have the energy for that.

  I’m emotionally exhausted, and I’m beginning to think, maybe this is it. Maybe this really is the end for Camryn and me. A man can only hold out hope for so long before he gives up. But I’ve never been a quitter, and part of me refuses to accept this is the end.

  Just then, my phone buzzes in my hand.

  Camryn: I’m on my way home from work. But yes, I think we should talk.

  Her message gives nothing away, and of course I’m dying to know how she’s feeling, what she thought when she saw her photo in that folder.

  Sterling: I’ll meet you at home. That okay?

  Camryn: Sure.

  My heart starts pumping in earnest. I could fist-bump the guy sitting next to me, but I refrain. I haven’t been this fucking excited since she agreed to share my hotel room Friday night.

  By the time I trek all the way across town toward Camryn’s flat, it’s almost seven. I stop and grab a bottle of white wine and a pint of ice cream. We’ve both probably missed dinner, and in times of stress, there’s no better dinner than sugar and alcohol. At least, that’s my theory.

  When I finally make it to her door, Camryn answers, still in her work clothes—a royal-blue silk blouse that reminds me of the color of the British flag, and fitted black pants that hug her curves. She looks beautiful. The only change from when I saw her this morning is that she’s ditched the nude-colored high heels and is barefoot.

  Without those killer heels she favors, she looks so small and vulnerable. I hate to think that she was hurting all weekend after thinking I’d hooked up with Rebecca. Quite the opposite—I called security on her ass, and she left kicking and screaming obscenities at me.

  “Can I come in?”

  She opens the door wider. “Yes, sorry.”

  We’ve both sort of spaced out, our eyes drinking in the other after a long, weary day.

  I follow Camryn inside and set the shopping bag on her counter. “Have you eaten dinner?”

  She shakes her head, still watching me curiously.

  “I brought wine and dessert.”

  “For dinner?”

  I nod. “It’s not gelato, but it should do the trick.”

  “Sounds perfect.” She gathers two wineglasses and two spoons while I use her bottle opener to uncork the wine.

  We take everything out to the couch as if by unspoken agreement. Sitting next to her TV is a stack of DVDs of the reality show The Millionaire Matchmaker.

  “Really?” I chuckle, motioning toward the DVDs.

  She shrugs, digging her spoon into the now softened chocolate ice cream. “It was research.”

  There are so many things I want to say to her, but I have no idea how to begin, so for a few minutes we sit in silence, taking turns spooning heaping bites of ice cream directly from the pint.

  Setting my spoon aside, I pick up my glass of wine and take a sip. “How was your day?”

  She takes one more bite of ice cream, then sets her spoon next to mine on the coffee table. “After letting Anna go, and then trying to pick up where she left off with some of our clients, it was stressful. Thank you for bringing this by.”

  “Did you happen to look in the folder?” I ask, growing impatient.

  She takes another sip of her wine and then sets it down on the table. “I did.”

  Her tone is subdued, and I have no fucking clue what to make of that.

  “And?”

  She turns to face me on the sofa, her fiery green eyes looking sad. “And I have no idea what it means. You want to marry me? You want to date me?”

  I reach over and take her hands, folding them in mine on my lap. “I want a relationship. I want you in my life. After everything—getting to know you, introducing you to my mum, trying to deny my attraction—I’m done. None of those women held a candle to you. You’re the only one I want.”

  She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, looking unsure. “What about the inheritance?”

  Inhaling sharply, I squeeze her hands. “I don’t know, but I won’t live a lie or deny myself any longer. I want to make you mine.”

  Pulling her into my arms, I lean forward and kiss her, softly at first, then deeper as her body molds to mine.

  She pulls away suddenly, placing a hand on my cheek. “I have no idea if I’ll be ready to get married five months from now, and in fact, I doubt I will be. And besides that, the idea of marrying someone so quickly is a little insane, no offense.” Her hand falls away, and I miss her sweet touch almost instantly.

  “None taken. It’s scary. I get that more than anyone. Marriage is a huge leap of faith, and I never thought it was something I would take on.”

  “But now . . . because of the money?” Her tone is uncertain.

  “Fuck the money. I won’t be controlled by it.”

  “But what about your mother?”

&nb
sp; My gaze drifts away from hers. “I don’t know.”

  She nestles in closer to me, and I know we can both feel it. Love is scary and unpredictable, and neither of us wants to lose what we’ve just started to build. I tighten my arms around her possessively, unsure what might happen next.

  “I need you, Cami. Tell me if you don’t want this, say it. Tell me no.”

  She doesn’t say anything, instead she rises from the couch and takes my hand, tugging me up after her. Pulling me silently behind her, she leads us to the bedroom.

  Standing inches apart in the center of her bedroom, I meet her gaze with hungry desire. The last rays of the evening sun are gone, and the glowing lamp on the end table creates a dim glow around us.

  Taking my time, I strip us of each piece of clothing in turn.

  I remove her shirt, my fingers grazing the lace of her bra, then pull my own shirt overhead, placing her palm against my chest.

  Next her pants and silk knickers are stripped off, and I grip her cute arse in my palms, giving it a firm squeeze. Mine, I want to growl. Instead, I shove my trousers and boxers down, then bring her hand to my steely cock. Her fingers curl lightly around me, and I grunt out a breath.

  “Cami . . .”

  She strokes me lazily up and down like we have all the time in the world.

  “That feels really fucking good.” I groan, bending down to kiss her neck.

  Palming her full breasts, I enjoy the way her breath catches in her throat when my thumbs graze her perky nipples.

  Wanting more, I take her hand and guide us to the bed, laying her down before me. I plan to thoroughly worship her tonight.

  I taste her lips, feel them part and hear her groan when my tongue meets hers. Then I work my way lower, kissing her slender throat, the valley of cleavage I create with my hands, then her soft belly.

  She’s perfection. Every inch of her, inside and out.

  Reaching between her legs, I’m pleased to find her wet, and tell her so. A little whimper is the only response I get, not that I was expecting one. As I massage her clit with my thumb, her whimpers increase in volume, transforming into moans as I press harder.