So far I'm two for three. The first job wasn't bad, but that second lunatic was enough to make me want to walk away, beaucoup bucks be damned. However, I'm not the type to give up so soon either, so I'm sticking to my original plan of taking three jobs. Christine might be giving me an assessment, but I was giving her—and myself—one too.
Which is why I'm currently walking into a private event in Bryant Park, looking for a man with salt and pepper hair standing at a table with a drink. I thought it would be difficult, but I spot him immediately from behind and stop in my tracks.
He can't see me, but I can see him. He's tall, thankfully taller than me, and built like an ox. With hair dusted with heavy streaks of silver—way more than the salt and pepper Christine described—I imagine he's much older than I am. He’s dressed in a tailored navy blue suit, casually leaning against a tall, round table with a snifter in his hand. There’s something suave about the way he spins his glass, the amber liquid hardly moving… then I catch sight of the thick gold band on his finger.
Married. Naturally.
Natalie did say ninety percent of her clients are married, but was it normal for them to attend public events like this without their spouse?
Exhaling a deep breath, I strut toward him, mentally preparing myself for another one of Christine’s decoys.
Personal test number three, here I come.
Licking my freshly painted red lips, my nerves are quelled by the Percocet I’d taken earlier. I’d skipped the vodka shots since the pill is strong enough on its own. I wasn't sure how mixing both would affect me. The last thing I want to come across as is white-girl wasted.
My stomach flutters with anticipation as I draw closer to him. I shake my fingers out and then place a hand on his back, feeling his strength underneath his suit. He stands tall as I round him to face him.
"Valentina?" he asks, his voice making something inside my belly swirl like the smoke trails of a cigar.
I smile and nod in response.
"Fuck, you're stunning. You're… I have no words." His voice is low and in the back of his throat, and it washes over me like warm caramel. He doesn’t enunciate his Rs, which tells me he’s a born-and-bred New Yorker.
Men—not boys—with heavy New York accents are my weakness. It's sexy as hell and gives me goose bumps every time.
His eyes rake the length of my body and it feels like he's picturing me naked. He takes my hand into his and pulls me close to him, kissing my cheek like we're old lovers.
This is probably my biggest—and if I had to guess—last test from Christine based on what Natalie told me.
Not only is his body solid as a brick against mine, but he smells divine. His cologne is like an aphrodisiac and I want to bathe in it. I catch the slightest hint of lemon and some fancy wood with a dash of bergamot, which I happen to love, even though most people hate it. Sophisticated, yet sexy. On top of smelling delicious, he's rocking a full beard and mustache that just works for him. His eyes are matured with knowledge that comes from age and experience.
Christine sent me this silver fox on purpose. I know she did.
Too bad I'm going to crush her test.
"Hello," I say, my voice a little husky.
His cornflower blue eyes take in my face like he's pleased, and my smile deepens. I almost want to look away when my cheeks flush with heat. He laces his fingers with mine, the seductive brush of his skin making my stomach dip. His thumb gently strokes the top of my hand. He's forward, I like that.
"I'm James Riviera," he says, unable to tear his eyes from mine. "Are you cold? Let me give you my coat."
He goes to break our contact but I instinctively step closer and place my hand on him. Heat sizzles beneath my fingertips as my palm moves across his broad chest, letting him know I'm okay. My body acts of its own accord, surprising even myself.
"There's no need. I'm not cold."
His brows furrow. "Are you sure? I don't mind."
My eyes soften at his concern. "Nothing a good drink can't warm up anyway."
For the love of God, get me a drink before I faint to the ground. Something tells me my nerves will never go away with any of these jobs, especially not when the client is actually attractive. And James… He's a hunk of a man making my blood simmer with lust at first sight.
James slides his drink toward me. "Cognac?"
My smile is a bit shy, and I hope he doesn't notice.
"I've actually never had cognac before."
He tilts his head to the side, his striking gaze taking me in. "Try mine. If you like it, I'll order you one. If not, you can order whatever you like."
As I bring the low ball glass to my lips, I hesitate just as James leans in to whisper, "I'll give you my coat whenever you wish, but I'm glad you declined. It would be a shame to cover your beauty. That dress compliments you. You remind me of the Greek goddess Aphrodite."
My lashes fall to my blushing cheeks. His fingers tighten around mine. He's still stroking my hand and there's something sweet I find about that. I was excited when I got to put the dress on this morning. It's the orange and green scarf dress I’d fallen in love with when Natalie and I had gone clothes shopping. The material floats across my legs and the top fits my breasts just right. It makes me feel sexy.
Time to put my game face on.
"Aphrodite? I think you can do better than that."
The corners of his eyes crinkle. "Peitho. Goddess of seduction and persuasion." He pauses. "She was handmaiden to Aphrodite."
"James… I bet you say that to all the girls," I say coyly.
The top two buttons of his crisp white shirt are undone and I catch a glimpse of his chest hair.
The shake of his head is resolute. "I don't. I don't sugarcoat either. I'm very close to asking who designed it so I can have customs made for you. I bet you could entice the Devil himself in it."
My brows lift and I turn, giving him a view from behind. His gaze intensifies as he takes in my backless ensemble and a pleased smile slips across my face. The dress comes up just above my tailbone, leaving my back mostly bare, save for the thin, crisscross strings holding it together at the shoulders. James groans deep in the back of his throat like he's in a state of bliss seeing me like this, and fuck, that was hot. I know I shouldn't feel this way, but I do. The way he's looked at me in under a few minutes makes me feel absolutely gorgeous inside, which was something I didn’t know I needed until this moment. His reaction veils the revulsion I was feeling for myself earlier, and I relish in it.
"You're trying to kill me with this dress," he says, leaning in toward my ear. “You are so fucking sexy, princess.”
Princess. I giggle. I hate that nickname, but it works with the way he says it.
"I'm glad you like it. You look pretty dashing yourself, if I'm being honest."
I make sure my eyes slowly take in the length of his body, showing him that I actually mean it.
He leans in closer to me, whispering against my ear. "It's a good thing we're in public right now or else I would be ripping that dress off you." His beard tickles my skin as he speaks, and I lean toward him, savoring the feeling.
It’s another line I'm sure he says to all the girls, but I take the compliment anyway. I need all the praises I can get.
"I'm happy you like it. I'm in love with the floral print and material."
"I'm in love with the way it looks on you." James clears his throat and gestures to my hand still holding his drink. "I want to know what you think of the cognac. Tell me what you smell and how it tastes on your tongue."
I glance at my hand. I'd forgotten I was holding the glass, but I find it interesting that he's trying to have a real conversation with me.
Our eyes meet and I smirk from behind the glass. Swirling the liquid around, it coats the sides of the glass the way any good alcohol should, and the fragrance hits me quickly. "Is that lavender?"
James almost looks proud. "Lilac."
"That's the last thing I expected. I know there's s
"Fair enough."
I can't stop smiling, and I realize with surprise that I'm actually having a good time. Taking a sip, I decide I'm going to be humorous about it. I lick my lips like I'm trying to be sophisticated and whip out the best English accent I can muster.
"The smoothness is a surprise and it leaves a pleasant aftertaste. The light notes of oak reveal candied fruit that's been stomped on with bare feet, then scooped into a barrel and hidden deep within the folds of eighteenth century wood. Out of five stars, I give this spirit a four point seven."
His blue eyes are gleaming. I'm going to call it early and say that he's happy with my performance.
"Aye, sir. What say you?"
His mouth twitches. "Did you just switch from English to Scottish?"
I pause for a moment, then burst out laughing. A breeze of wind rustles my hair. I'm giggling so hard I have to hold my stomach.
"I dinnae ken whit ye, mate."
He's positively ecstatic now, and I just love it. I did switch accents without realizing it, but he seems to think it's funny. If only every job were this easy.
"Dinna fash yer pretty wee self."
"Where did you come from?" he asks, the corners of his lips curving upward. James takes my hand and guides the drink to his lips, his gaze never breaking from mine. We hold the glass together, and he takes a deep sip, his Adam's apple just making an appearance from behind his silvery beard.
"The loins of my father," I say with the faux English accent.
James barks out a lively laugh and then I'm grinning with him. It wasn't a fake laugh either, but one that's good-natured.
"Well, you aren't far off. It's originally from the nineteenth century and aged for twenty years. I'd rather buy a bottle of Rémy Martin and ditch this event just to hear your opinion of it. Unfortunately, I have to stay and suffer through it."
I sober up and glance over my shoulder at the lavish brunch dresses and oversized hats, the pricey suits and Gucci loafers. Contrary to the other ritchies, James seems almost bothered by the glitz and glam surrounding us.
"How long are we here for?"
"A couple of hours. Is that okay with you?"
I blink, surprised he’s taking my feelings into consideration. After all, he’s the one paying big money for me to be at his beck and call, so it’s not like I’d have any say in the matter anyway.
His shoulders are tense, and I realize with a start that I want to soothe him. I smile and slide close so our bodies are touching, then I take our joined hands and wind them around my back so he has to hug me. He gives my fingers a little squeeze. His eyes shift back and forth like he's studying me. My heart is beating a little faster than usual, sending butterflies of sensation all over me.
"I'm here for however long you want. So tell me, what's this shindig about?"
His lips twitch and he unwinds a little. I can feel the tension in his shoulders loosen.
"It's an event to celebrate the most influential personalities representing New York City, the ones who will be recipients of Super Lawyer. It's for the lawyers who provide vital support to the community with the way they collaborate and create change. It's an honor to be invited, since less than five percent get a nomination."
My brows raise. "You're a lawyer?" He nods. Another dime-a-dozen attorney in New York City. I should've known just by looking at him, but he didn't seem pompous at hello, so I was caught by surprise.
James leans into me and lowers his voice. "It's basically a snooze fest and I'd rather be anywhere but here, but since I'm a partner, I have no choice."
I focus on the way his mouth moves, how he enunciates his words in the back of his throat. He’s a true New Yorker, but he's also extremely collected. I find that insanely attractive.
He finishes the drink with a final sip. He lifts his arm in the air and waves for the waiter to bring us two glasses, then but pauses. "Did you want a glass or would you like something else?"
"No, I'll have what you're having. Thank you." After he gives the waiter two fingers to place his order, I ask, "Have you ever been a super lawyer?" I don't even know if I ask that correctly because I've never heard of it. James nods his head. "How do you become one?" I'm not a dumb girl, but this mumbo jumbo talk isn't common knowledge either, and I'm curious.
"It's a four step selection process based on specific indicators and how many points are accumulated. There's research and evaluations." He pauses and I watch his Adam's apple bob. "I've been one for about ten years in a row, which isn't normal."
"Wow. That's impressive."
He studies me. "What do you do?"
I decide not to use the preschool teacher job after the way Madam Christine had reacted and go with something else instead.
"I'm a pastry chef."
"So you're sweet and good with your hands?" He lifts one brow and I chuckle.
"I'm sweet where it counts," I reply, making sure he gets the point.
As he's about to respond, a man who looks older than James makes his way toward us with a woman attached to his side. James’s arm tightens around me, stiffening in protection. I eye him warily, but his focus is on the stout man closing the distance.
I feel a vibration rumble in his chest and try to ease his tension by grabbing his hand and squeezing it in silent support. He gleams down at me, then much to my surprise, he kisses my forehead. "Ignore everything he says. Got it?"
I nod.
"Ah, James. New flavor of the week?"
Unintentionally, my fingers tighten around James’s. I look at the man. His black eyes roam my body and I quiver inside. I wonder if this little egg-shaped man is part of the test.
The creep’s comment rubs me the wrong way. I don't like being called a whore. If men can sleep around and get away with it, so can I.
I'm going to assume this Humpty-Dumpty man is referring to James’s playboy ways since he doesn't know me from Adam. I also have to remind myself that I signed up for this, that I'm not being forced into anything. It's a choice I made, and idiots like him come with the job.
Grammy always said you attract more bees with honey, and I know how to kill 'em with kindness better than anyone else.
Twenty-Two
"Philip. Can't say it's a pleasure seeing you here," James says tightly, and I kind of like that he did. "This is Valentina, a friend of mine."
Philip's wife, or I assume that's who's next to him, is staring me down, but I don't give her the time of day and show her no attention. I just glare at Philip and wish I could stomp on him with my shoe.
"Of course her name is Valentina," the woman says, then offers me a forced smile.
I ignore the jab and instead compliment her on her hideous hat that's so big it could give her husband shade. It reminds me of the ones worn at the Kentucky Derby.
"I love your hat. It's so…wide."
"A custom design from friend Suzanne Millinery."
Whoop-de-fucking-do whoever that is.
Philips says, "Is that how you congratulate a fellow nominee? You should be offering a bottle of your finest to us to celebrate. After all, I got the deal on one of the biggest clients my firm has ever seen. Possibly bigger than the Wilson Energy one you closed."
Pompous ass face.
James licks his lips, veiling a slight grin. He huffs under his breath but doesn't say anything. This silver fox is controlled silence, and that's a major turn on.
"A five-hundred-dollar bottle of cognac is reserved for people I actually like," he says.
Philip grunts in reply.
"I think it's an honor to be recognized, honey," the woman with the hooked nose says. It's like she's trying to soothe a child, only she looks frightening. "It's a big achievement and shows the years of success you've had." She turns to me and her eyes soften like I'm a total idiot. "It's for lawyers who display excellence in their field."
"I'm aware, thank you very much." I find myself saying with a sugary voice, and smile. "James acquired the nomination early in his career, and has since multiple times."
"And you didn't get a bigger client than I did, Philip. I'm not sure if you're aware yet, but Packer Resources and I came to an agreement. We signed off on the documents early this morning," James says, lifting his glass toward me in a silent toast.
Philip noticeably pales and his wife looks constipated, but she quickly excuses herself to go speak with friends.
"How much are you paying for this one?" Philip asks, nodding toward me, seemingly using me as a target. I grit my teeth, reminding myself yet again that I’d signed up for this.
"Some things you can't put a price tag on," James says. "The interest you take in my personal life flatters me."
Philip’s eyes harden. "I'm not interested in your personal life. You only say that after you got the Packer case anyway."
"I could say it before, actually. We both know that. I'm simply better at what we do. You always want what I have yet never attain."
A smile spreads across my face, one Philip takes note of. I like the way James handles the situation—reserved, and one step above the other asshole. The old tension between them is obvious.
Philip’s gaze one me turns to a glare, but I don't flinch. I might still be a little unsteady on my feet with this job, but there’s one thing I’m confident about: I eat men like him for breakfast.
"You know this isn't a movie, right? You're not going to get lucky in the end and marry the rich man. You're going to wake up a cheap whore tomorrow like usual, looking for your next meal ticket." He glances at James, then looks back at me. "When you're done with him, come find me so I can show you the way you're meant to be used. I'll even pay double."
Oh, that sets me off. Before I can think better of it, I respond, my voice low. "Philip, you can't afford me, and even if you could, I still wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole. I can see why you'd want to be with me after seeing your washed-up, haggard wife, though. I bet you can't even get your little pecker up with her. But when it comes to James, no one has ever fucked me the way he has. The rumors are true. He's hung like a stallion and fucks like a beast."
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