Only once the doors to the lift close do I take a deep breath for the first time this morning. This is insane. Insane.
I check the text message on my phone to double-check the location of the conference room, and punch the button for the twenty-second floor.
Did I mention this was insane?
When the doors open, I stroll down the hall, desperately trying to keep a calm, neutral expression. I can’t let anyone know I’m rattled by this. Maybe after my appointment this morning, I can swing by and see Rebecca, take the edge off. Nobody knows how to take the edge off quite like Rebecca. She does this thing with her legs; she’s a fucking pretzel.
Shit. I need to clean up my image. Quickies in the men’s room of my office aren’t going to work anymore. I need to start thinking like . . .
My jaw ticks at the thought, and I suppress a shudder. Fuck.
A husband.
One little word shouldn’t make me break out in hives, but as one of New York’s best divorce attorneys, the idea of marrying scares the ever-loving fuck out of me.
Regardless, Rebecca is a habit I need to kick. She was someone who filled the void, but it’s unfair to let her live on the fumes of hope that she and I can be more. If the scene outside is any indication, I need to get my life sorted out, and that doesn’t include banging my ex when I have an itch that needs scratching.
When I pull open the door to the conference room, I spot a familiar and unexpected face. The hot as hell, and just as unobtainable, Camryn Palmer. Her tousled honey-blond waves rest just past her shoulders, and her glossy pink lips form a polite smile. When my family’s estate manager, my uncle Charles, said he was hiring a public relations expert, I never would have guessed it would be the gorgeous Camryn.
Just because I’ve made the decision to do this doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it. And the last thing I want is the one woman I can never have in my bed overseeing the whole thing. She’s driven and intelligent, but most of all, she’s beautiful, which is an added distraction I don’t need, one that could be disastrous in an already dicey situation. She also sees right past my bullshit.
“What’s she doing here?” I ask as I slip into the chair next to my uncle Charles.
Camryn’s wide-eyed optimism falls, and she pulls her lower lip between her teeth.
Shit. Now I feel like an arsehole. Her puzzled expression conveys her confusion and hurt.
Memories of the last time I saw her invade my head. It was at my best friend Noah’s wedding. She was the maid of honor; I was the best man. Everything about that night is still crystal clear. The light floral scent of her skin when we swayed on the dance floor during the customary wedding-party dance, her flirty smile and cheerful peal of feminine laughter when I said something undeniably British that amused her.
She was nearly irresistible that night in her long plum-colored gown, her hair trussed up in an elegant twist with fragrant curls framing her face. We shared a dance, some laughs, a glass of champagne. I was thirty seconds away from begging her to go home with me when I saw it.
The way she turned, eager to watch Noah and Olivia share their first wedding dance . . . the unshed tears gathering in her eyes as she looked on.
The excitement and blind faith in her expression was undeniable. She’s a true believer in happily-ever-afters, a slave to the idea of lasting love and forevers. I’m a jaded divorce attorney who can tell you every statistic on marriage and divorce over the past thirty years. I can also personally tell you about the lasting pain that endures for years after the split.
And even as jaded as I am, it was a beautiful moment. So I left her alone and let her enjoy it.
I knew a bit of her history. She’d recently come off a bad breakup, and since I refused to further destroy her belief in men, it was final in my mind. She was lovely, but she wasn’t meant to be mine.
Camryn will never settle for a one-night stand with a guy who has zero interest in commitment. She’s the type of girl who will want it all, and since I’m not the man to give it to her, I wouldn’t allow myself the pleasure of taking her home that night. As far as I was concerned, the petite, curvy, and enchanting Camryn was considered off-limits.
Except here she is, blinking at me, looking hurt.
Chapter Three
Camryn
“What’s she doing here?” are the first words out of Sterling’s full, pouty mouth as he slides into a rolling leather chair across from me.
I can’t help but flinch a little at his words.
Sterling and I have always gotten along well, even if he is a pompous player who’s too sexy for his own good. There was a time when I hoped he’d ask me out, when I thought maybe he was looking for more. We danced and laughed at our friends’ wedding, but that was months ago now.
“She’s the one who’s going to save your ass,” one of his advisors says.
“Morning, sunshine.” I grin at him. Fighting the urge to look away from those sexy dark-blue eyes, I hold his gaze, not wanting to let him know how very much his presence rattles me. I cross my legs and straighten the leather portfolio on the sleek mahogany table instead.
Yesterday afternoon, my boss and my best friend, Olivia Cane, CEO of Tate & Cane Enterprises, called me into her office. She’d been contacted by a wealth manager in London about doing some publicity work. I had no idea what it entailed, only that it involved our friend Sterling. I had a feeling the handsome Brit was going to be a major pain in my ass. He was known to be a huge playboy, which I have little time or respect for. But he’s stupid hot. As in, he makes smart girls act stupid, so I need to keep my defenses up, and most of all, my legs closed.