“Take the afternoon off!” Thomas yelled back.
“Thanks.” I had to look like a kid who’d walked in on his parents.
Since I was diving right into work, I figured I’d better get my ass home, my car unpacked, and settle in.
I planned to be there for a very long time.
Chapter Five
Hottie in Heels
Morgan
Ioversleptand missed my workout. I had to haul ass to make it on time to the Blue Martini. I texted Thomas in the morning, still slightly embarrassed, and told him I’d be in the office after my meeting with Ms. True.
Walking toward the restaurant, I peered down at my clothes, feeling out of place. While the rest of the crowd was wearing suits and business casual, I had my usual jeans and T-shirt on.
I stood in the doorway, surveying the bar and trying to pick Ms. True out of the crowd.
A woman peered up from her phone and looked back down.
Whoever she was, she was fucking gorgeous. She sat there with her spine straight, blond hair in a perfect bun, and a crisp black dress shirt tucked into a gray pencil skirt. Her high cheekbones almost kissed her deep-green eyes.
I wanted to saunter up to her, ask her for her number, and beg that on our first date she wear the red stilettos she had on, which made my cock instantly hard.
She glanced up, caught me staring, and waved me over.
Well, hell.Maybe she wanted my number too.
Keep calm and act natural.
Her eyes remained down, concentrating on her phone, as I approached.
“Mr. DeLuca, I presume,” she said, glancing up for a moment, her emerald eyes flickering. “Take a seat.”
Disappointment flooded me. The beautiful creature in front of me wasn’t calling me over to get my number. She was my new client.
“Ms. True?” I asked, letting my eyes linger on her legs for a little too long but not caring.
“Yes,” she said, still not making eye contact.
I grabbed the small pad of paper and pen I’d jammed in my back pocket and tossed them on the bar. “I hope you don’t mind if I take notes,” I told her, trying not to stare at her legs.
“I do, actually,” she said as she dropped the phone in her purse, pinning me with her fierce, green eyes. “I’d prefer if you remember everything I tell you. I don’t want a paper trail.”
The look on my face had to be one of total confusion, because she added, “I don’t want anything possibly getting into the wrong hands.”
“Okay.”
“Good. Let’s order and then we’ll talk,” she said as she snapped her fingers to get the bartender’s attention. “Do you know what you want?”
“Yeah. I come here all the time,” I lied.
When the waitress approached, Race placed her order filled with special requests. She didn’t like tomatoes but wanted extra cheese and only wanted grilled chicken.
I learned within five minutes that Race True wasn’t easy. She seemed uptight, controlled, and unwilling to bend.
“And you, sir?” the beautiful bartender asked.
