I give him an approving nod. I might not be asking for his headshot, but he’s earned a very generous tip.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t take a meeting here, a public place outside of my control. I might put up A-list clients at this luxury hotel, but I rarely come here myself. Still, I wanted to have this first meeting on neutral ground, not in my office or apartment. This seemed like a safe choice.
“Sorry I’m late.” A melodic voice carries over my shoulder. It’s immediately followed by a blur of auburn and deep blue as a tall woman pulls out the chair opposite me, smoothly slips out of her black wool trench coat, and falls into the seat.
I push to my feet to take her coat or help with her chair, but she’s already seated and the waiter is already here taking her coat.
She seems to barely register me as she removes her leather gloves and folds one leg over the other beneath the skirt of her high-necked dress. The shade of indigo plays off the copper tones in her hair in a way that would capture beautifully on film
I clear my throat as she orders herself a decaf cappuccino.
So, this is Maura Matthews.
The woman who, after today, will potentially become my fiancée.
I recognize her from the few photos that her father provided, though none of them were high quality. She always seemed to be turning away from the camera, distracted by something. Some of the photos even looked doctored.
There aren’t many to be found of her online, either. She has no social media presence, and Victor told me she prefers to live a private life, away from the press. I can’t blame her—if I could disappear from the public and still run my company effectively, I would.
But it did make me wonder if the photos I did find were the product of some very good AI generation, and maybe she wasn’t the great beauty her father described at all.
I can see now that the pouty lips, upturned brown eyes, and pin-straight hair are all the same as her photos, though in three dimensions, I can see that video would do her favors photos never could.
She’s beautiful, not that it matters for my purposes.
Once the waiter has left, I clear my throat.
“Thank you for coming.”
Her head tilts to the side when her eyes finally meet mine, like she’s examining me. Her gaze roams over my eyes, nose, and eventually, to my mouth. I say nothing and let her look her fill.
“Well, you do look just like your pictures,” she says finally.
I raise a brow. “Is that good or bad?”
She laughs, a low, warm sound. “Don’t fish for compliments. You know what you look like.”
Now, it’s my turn to be curious.
Does she find me attractive, then? That would make this easier.
Maura sits back in her seat, folding her arms, but lifting one to indicate the upper-class cafe and wine bar. “So, do you come here a lot?”
“No.”
When I don’t elaborate, she raises her brows.
“I thought we should meet in a neutral location, somewhere we wouldn’t run into our friends.”
“Ah. You mean Brinley and the gang of miscreant assholes you hang out with. Her words, not mine,” she adds.
I nod. It took me until a few days ago to put the pieces together and realize that Brinley Windsor, my friend Luke’s sister, is close with Maura. Good news, as far as I’m concerned. My marriage to Maura might be a business arrangement, but it would obviously be ideal for us to get along reasonably well. If our social circles overlap, we’ll at least have one thing to talk about—even if Brinley does despise me and my friends, her own brother included.
“Did they tell you anything about me?” Maura blurts. “Your friends, I mean.”
“They don’t know about us.” I did explain the arrangement to Ryan, one of my friends, but I didn’t press him for information on Maura herself.
She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Figuring out how to tell people about our situation. There’s not exactly a Hallmark card that says ‘I’m contractually marrying a stranger.’”
