My firm is thriving in a way that makes competitors grit their teeth, wondering what the hell we’ve got that they don’t. The answer is me and a whole team of talented people I handpicked and trained.But I want James Lawson on my client list like a lion wants blood. Even if Phoenix’s warnings are still echoing in my head.
Betty just buzzed me a couple of minutes ago to let me know that James Lawson was in the lobby.
Seconds later, the handle turns, and he steps inside. He’s tailored within an inch of perfection, cuff links glinting like they’re worth more than everything I own.
From what I know, he didn’t build his empire himself. Daddy did, and Daddy’s daddy before that. But he wears that dynasty like a fucking crown.
“Mr. Lawson,” I say, stepping forward with my hand outstretched. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
“You too, Ms. Mitchell. I’ve been looking forward to this.” He takes my hand in his, holding it a fraction too long. “I was thrilled when you emailed me with your proposal. You’re the one everyone wants to work with.”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far.” I smooth the edge of my shirt as I step back toward the seating area. “But I’ve been lucky to work with some well-established businesses.”
“Humble,” he says, and there’s amusement in his voice. “I like that. You worked with one of my good friends last year, Samantha Morris,” he adds, following me with his eyes before moving to sit.
Samantha’s the aesthetic genius for the rich and famous. She had a waitlist three years deep, so she was able to drop cash on a rebrand the way other people buy shoes.
“Sam’s fantastic. I really enjoyed working with her.”
“She told me to say hello,” he says, lowering himself into the seat across from mine, his voice dropping just slightly. “And she also told me I wouldn’t be leaving here without a contract.”
“Well, you can tell her I said thanks for the endorsement.” I laugh, settling into my chair.
He smiles—polished, confident, the kind of smile that’s probably charmed its way through a thousand boardrooms and twiceas many beds—and sits back like he owns the space. Which, to be fair, men like him usually do.
Just not here. Not in my space.
But I don’t miss the way his eyes wander down my neck and across my collarbone. They linger on the open button below my throat, then drag back up to meet my gaze.
I brush it off because James Lawson is known for having a different woman in his bed every night. The tabloids love him for it. Each to their own, and absolutely no judgment from me, but I won’t be one of them.
Not that Phoenix would allow it. Even the idea of me meeting with James had him simmering, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider it for a second just to see his face and fuck with the beautiful, unhinged asshole a little.
“So you read my proposal. Do you have any thoughts? Is there anything you’d like to tweak or adjust? Something that doesn’t quite fit your vision?”
James just grins, leaning back, with his thigh pressed against the leather. “Nope. It’s perfect.”
“Really?” I try not to look too shocked. “You don’t have any notes at all?”
“I mean, I have some minor things we can iron out once you get started. But overall, it’s exactly what I was looking for.”
The me on the inside is doing a happy dance—fist-pumping, screaming, possibly crying. The me on the outside just landed the contract of a lifetime and is keeping it together with every ounce of professionalism I have.
“So… I got the deal?”
“You did. But I don’t think I needed to come here and tell you that in person. I was sold after reading your pitch. This was more about meeting the woman behind the work.”
“Well, I’m glad you came. It’s always good to meet face-to-face before diving in.”
“So what do you say?” He stands, buttoning his jacket. “Early lunch? My treat. We can celebrate.”
I hesitate for a second because this wasn’t part of today’s plan.
Meetings? Yes.
Contracts? Absolutely.
Lunch with James Lawson? That’s… a curveball.
