“It’s confidence, my friend; it’s confidence.” He hoists himself up and offersme his hand.
I shake it. “I will date someone for at least a month.”
“Officially, and without straying… though I’m not sure how I would check that. And let’s put a time frame on it. I don’t want to wait for my winnings until I’m retired.”
“Six months. If I don’t start dating someone in the next six months, I’ll pay out.”
He smirks. “Easiest money I ever made.”
“Don’t count on it. I never lose.”
He laughs and returns to his rowing. I do one more set of squats, almost breaking under the weight, but enjoying every minute of it.
Perhaps I can call Sissy. Sissy Claremont is an heiress to the largest construction company in the country, and a lovely, if dull, companion.
She is hot, fun, and impeccably groomed to become a wife. For some reason, only her dullness comes to mind as I think of our last encounter.
But she lives far enough from here. A long-distance relationship would be the easiest one to win.
But knowing her, if I showed a bit more interest, she would move to Manhattan and start planning our wedding.
I take a nice long shower before Ireturn to the office.
“You need to leave for the luncheon in an hour.” Lindsay, my assistant, looks up and smiles.
Shit. I forgot about the schmoozing event we’re all attending. The networking part is easy—I don’t need to prepare for that—but the plus-one part is something I should have thought about.
Especially since the other three Merged partners will be there with their better halves.
Grabbing a remote, I plop behind my desk and turn on the news. The large screen on the wall across from me comes to life, with the markets’ green and red numbers ticking along.
Mindlessly watching the stocks—and more often than not engaging in the game—has always helped me to problem solve.
Not that there truly is a problem. I can easily call one of my regular hookups. I fish my phone from my pocket and stare.
Perhaps there is a problem.
I haven’t hooked up with anyone for a few weeks now—not that I would openly admit that. I have a reputation to uphold.
Unfortunately, I can pinpoint the exact day when all women on my usual roster paled into the background.
The stupid gala. Where Cora Winslow made itclear she’s not interested, and I decided not to fuck up my non-existent chances by not kissing her.
That was a first for me. A normal, grounded man would just give up. Take a clue.
Me? I haven’t stopped thinking about her.
The way she descended the stairs in her black dress, all curves and grace, completely unaware of her beauty: her wild ginger hair tamed; her face glowing; her green eyes sparkling; and her body cased in black velvet.
That fucking dress… It wasn’t anything special, but its simplicity only added to the allure.
So yeah, it’s safe to say I haven’t stopped thinking about her. Which is annoying, because the only person I’ve ever allowed to have a hold over my thoughts has been my father. And that clusterfuck of dysfunctional is frankly enough for several lifetimes.
Cora Winslow, the temptress. An elegant fox.
Goddammit.
I jump up and rush out of my office, and collide with our office manager, Roxy.
