I scanned the room one more time when a tall, dark-haired man in a three-piece suit breezed by. It wasn’t him.
“You’re falling for this guy,” Coco said. “I can tell. It’s written all over your adorable little face.”
I glared at her. “I am not falling for him.” She knew me better than anyone in the world, but I would never cop to falling for Wilder. Even if it might be true. “The sex is just really, amazingly good. That’s all.”
“Sure, Addison. Whatever you say.” She leaned back in her seat, staring at me from the corner of her eye.
“Anyway.” I had to change the subject. “Mom still hasn’t told me about her new man.”
“She will. You know how she is. She gets us confused so much anyway, she probably already thinks she told you.”
“I’m just surprised she told you first,” I said. Coco was very opinionated and wasn’t afraid to give our mother an earful when she disagreed with her life choices. Though lately, Coco was so wrapped up in launching her career that she didn’t seem to give a shit about our mother’s personal life anymore.
“You and me both,” she sighed.
* * *
“Want to split a cab?” Kyle asked as we left the office later that afternoon. I checked my watch. We had thirty minutes to get to Butter, where we were meeting Mr. Van Cleef. The idea of riding in a cab and being in such close proximity with Kyle was less appealing than plucking the hair off my head one strand at a time, but it made only sense.
“I guess,” I said, walking quickly to keep a few paces ahead of him. I flew to the corner and hailed a cab, and he climbed in behind me.
“Do you know anything about this guy?” he asked.
“Nope. You?”
“Not a damn thing,” Kyle said. “Hope you brought your A-game.”
“You can cut the crap, Kyle.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t have to be so ‘on’ all the time.” I stared out the window at the passing buildings, wishing I were anywhere but in that cab with him. “You don’t have to be all slimy salesman around me.”
“God, you’re such a bitch,” he said. “No wonder we didn’t work out.”
“We didn’t work out because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.” I briefly thought about jumping out of the cab at the next stoplight and walking the rest of the way. “Or did you forget? God, it feels like a lifetime ago.”
I lied. It felt like yesterday. I fell out of love with him the day I discovered the cheating, but the sting of betrayal stayed fresh, lingering on me like a stench I couldn’t wash off no matter how hard I tried.
Any relationship I ever tried to forge would be tainted from the start, thanks to the asshole sitting beside me.
The cab pulled up outside of Butter and I climbed out, heading in without waiting for Kyle.
“I’m meeting a Mr. Van Cleef,” I said to the lithe young hostess dressed all in black.
She scanned her computer screen. Her eyes lit up like the Fourth of July. “Ah, yes. Wilder Van Cleef?”
Wilder? How many Wilders could there be in the city?
“Right this way,” she said, ushering us to a dark corner of the restaurant where a very striking gentleman sat with his back to us.
The dark hair.
The suit.
The bold-faced Cartier watch on his wrist, which rested on the edge of the table.
It was him.
“Here you are,” the hostess said with a smile before handing us menus.
I took a seat next to him. I wanted to throw up.
“Mr. Van Cleef,” Kyle said, campy confidence oozing from his every pore. “I’m Kyle Maxwell of Bliss Agency, and this is my esteemed colleague and former mentee, Addison Andrews.”
Mentee? I wanted to kick him in the junk right then and there, but I refrained from doing so. He was lucky.
Wilder stood up, not giving Kyle a second glance. His crystalline eyes glowed in the dim lighting of the restaurant as they locked in on me.
“Very lovely to meet you,” he said, extending his hand to me first. He shook Kyle’s hand, though only for a half second.
Kyle began to ramble on about the weather and something about the Hamptons this time of year, but Wilder appeared to tune him out.
Our table was small and intimate, more appropriate for a date than a business meeting. My knees brushed against his under the table, instantly reddening my cheeks as I recalled our night before.
“Our boss tells us you’re looking for an agent who can help you find investment properties in the city,” Kyle said. “Can you tell us more about what you’re looking for? Are you wanting commercial properties? High rises? Condos? Rentals?”
“A little bit of everything,” Wilder said. “I like to diversify my real estate portfolio.”
“Have you heard of Gotham Investments? Hillary Holdings? Pinnacle Heights Rentals?” Kyle said.
“No.” Wilder scrunched his brow.
“Really? Their signs are all over the city,” Kyle said. “Anyway, I’ve worked with all of them. I’ve taken companies who’ve started with a little bit of seed money and grown them into multi-million dollar empires.”
“I’ve already got an empire,” Wilder said. “I’m looking to expand it.”
“And you’re looking at the man who can do that for you,” Kyle said.
Kyle lifted his briefcase to the table, whipping out pamphlets and documents and charts and graphs he’d made, all of them putting his work into numbers. He rambled on about his connections and shared anecdotal stories about sales that almost didn’t happen until he slid in and saved the day.