I want to believe her, but there's this voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like my father, suggesting there's more to work. I'll admit, what he was suggesting sounded nice for a minute. Like maybe there is something more in life to want than just a career.
“What if coordinating isn't enough?” I ask. “What if my family's right and I should just join the family business, work at the hotels like everyone else?”
“Are you kidding me?” Stella's voice is sharp with disbelief. “Brandon, you've built an incredible career doing what you love. You don't have to quit what you love for the family business.”
“Will you keep this between us for now?” I ask. “I need time to figure out my next move.”
“Of course.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “But Brandon, I want to help. This is what I do for clients all the time. Career planning, positioning for transitions. Let me help you figure out your next steps.”
The relief that washes over me is immediate. This is why Stella's so good at her job. She doesn't just see what people are—she sees what they could become.
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. “Seriously, Stell. I don't know what I'd do without you.”
She smiles at me over her glass, then hesitates. “Okay, well…if you really want to return the favor…”
I raise an eyebrow. “Uh-oh.”
She laughs. “It's not a big deal. I know we've been joking about you giving me lessons, but…”
I wait.
“Look at how I act around Mason,” she says, picking at the edge of a napkin. “I keep freezing every time he talks to me. But it's not just him; it's every guy.”
A sly grin creeps across my face. “You want me to teach you to flirt?”
“I don't need toflirt,” she says a little too quickly. “Well, okay. Maybe I need to learn that, too. But all the stuff that comes after that. How can I get his attention and talk to him so he'll actually ask me out?”
“Stella, you don't need help with that,” I say carefully. “Trust me. Any guy would be lucky to get your attention.”
She waves off my compliment like she always does. “You have to say that. You're my friend. But clearly, I'm missing something. Look at these girls.” She gestures at the paused TV screen, where some reality show contestant is lounging by a pool in a bikini. “They know how to get guys interested. They're confident, sexy, flirty.”
“You're all of those things.”
“No, I'm polite. There's a difference.” She grabs the remote and fast-forwards to a scene where one of the women is clearly trying to seduce someone. “See? Look at how she moves, how she talks to him. It's like she knows she's irresistible.”
I watch the screen, then look back at Stella, who's studying the interaction like she's preparing for a business presentation.
“You want to act like that?” I ask.
“Why not? If it works…” She stands suddenly and pulls her sweatshirt over her head, revealing a black sports bra underneath. “I do this, right? Because boobs. You have to see them. I know guys like that.”
What the fuck is happening right now?
Why is Stella taking off her shirt? She's completely comfortable, like this is the most natural thing in the world, and I'm trying very hard not to notice that she has a really great… Focus, Brandon.
“You're always saying confidence is sexy,” she continues, and before I can process what's happening, she's climbing onto the sectional, moving up from where my feet were to where I'm lying, settling between my legs with that analytical expression still on her face. “So, something like this would be hot, right?”
I swallow hard. She's close enough that I can see the determination in her eyes, the way she's treating this like abusiness problem to solve. Which should not be as attractive as it is.
“You basically just narrate everything you're doing, right?” she says, her voice dropping to that purr again. “Your chest is so hard and smooth.” Her palm slides up my t-shirt, and I feel my breath catch. “And I love the way my fingers feel running through your hair.” Her fingertips graze my scalp, sending electricity straight down my spine. “And your lips.”
When her thumb brushes across my mouth, every coherent thought I've ever had evaporates. I grab her hand before I do something monumentally stupid.
“Okay, yes, I get the idea,” I manage, my voice rougher than it should be. “See? You don't need any help at all.”
She sits back on her heels, still between my legs, completely oblivious to the fact that she just short-circuited my brain and made me semi-hard.
“Yeah, but I wouldn't be that comfortable with anyone else,” she says matter-of-factly. “I can't even talk to guys without freezing up.”
