It’s weird how you can know someone for years, but really not know them at all. I have no idea what his favorite candy is, what type of underwear he wears—or if he even wears any, or what type of movies he favors. I don’t know his hopes or dreams. But something tells me I’m about to learn all of that, and a whole lot more. I just don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.
Deciding it’s time to get to sleep so I’m fresh for my date tomorrow, I close my laptop and climb from the warm cocoon of my duvet to wash my face and get ready for bed. Toothbrush halfway to my mouth, I pause, my eyes flashing to the vanity mirror.
Tomorrow is not a date. There will be no dates with Sterling Quinn. That little pang of regret in my belly will just have to fuck off.
Chapter Six
Sterling
Most nights I opt for a take-away dinner from my favorite local deli, but tonight I’m straying from my usual fare for a very good reason. Stepping out of the shower, I towel off and pull on a pair of jeans and a navy button-down shirt.
Forced to yank one out under the warm spray of water was a necessity since I’ll be dining with a beautiful woman I have no chance of bedding tonight. A fucking travesty is what it is.
Most guys only want one thing, but my needs and desires are a little more complex. Yes, I blow off steam from time to time with a one-nighter, but truly, my mum is now the center of my world. She has early-onset dementia, and making sure she gets the best care possible has fallen to me.
My father turned out to be a self-centered prick. He might have promised to stand by her side in sickness and in health, but when her health started declining three years ago, he took off for greener pastures, saying he was suffering from a mid-life crisis and needed to find himself. Whatever that meant. He hauled off back to London to live with a woman he’d crushed on while in secondary school, while Mum was left to face her prognosis alone.
More than having to make health decisions and pay for her care, it’s had an even greater effect on me. My belief in love is totally fucking shot. My parents’ marriage was a long and happy one, and then poof, he was gone, like none of it meant anything at all.
I’ve spoken to him all of three times in three years. I know it’s up to me to take care of her without having to rely on one dime from him. While I make a good living, this is also New York City, one of the most expensive cities in the world. For now, Mum’s at an assisted-living facility in New Jersey, but ideally, I’d like to be able to move her into a better place, closer to the city. That inheritance means I’ll never have to worry about taking care of her ever again.
Releasing a heavy sigh, I slip my feet into boots.
I can’t fuck this up. I need to get to the end of this whole process married, just like I discussed with Noah. It’s the only way to make all this work.
Yes, I’ve fancied Camryn ever since I first met her years ago. She’s classy and smart and a little hard-nosed, as any good New York businesswoman is. But I’ve made my peace that since I never got off my arse and made a move on her, that ship has sailed. It’s done. Asking her out to a nice restaurant that’s sure to impress means nothing.
Running a bit of product through my hair, I chuckle to myself.
Yeah, fucking right.
Chapter Seven
Camryn
The restaurant is spectacular. Dark and moody with a sensual vibe, it’s easily the nicest restaurant I’ve ever been to. Anna wasn’t kidding around last night.
After I check in with the hostess, she instructs me to follow her and sashays off for the far end of the building. Apparently, Sterling is already here.
Cream-colored silk drapes cascade from the vaulted ceiling, giving each polished oak table its own private alcove. Supple leather loveseats that are way too big and cozy to be called dining chairs flank each rectangular table.
After passing by half a dozen tables, finally I spot him. Sterling must have requested a private table, because while they are all semi-private, this table is at the back of the restaurant with nothing on two sides but walls of windows overlooking the twinkling city skyline. Sitting beside our table, chilling in an ice bucket on wrought-iron legs, is a bottle of champagne.
Spotting me, Sterling rises to his feet. He anchors one hand to my waist and leans in to place a quick peck on each cheek.
“You’re looking particularly fit this evening,” he murmurs, sending a warm rush of tingles skittering along my skin. I was glad I’d chosen my formfitting black shift dress; it was neither too casual nor too dressy.
“Thank you. And you look . . .”
Sterling is dressed in a navy button-down shirt that clings in a distracting way across his muscular chest, shoulders, and biceps, and then tapers down to reveal a trim waist. Dark-washed jeans and laced brown boots complete the casual, yet sexy look.
When he raises his eyebrows at me, I realize he’s still waiting for the other half of that sentence. Handsome. Nice. Good. Sexy. Lickable. Worse, fuckable. I mean, holy shit, positively rideable.
“Appropriate,” I blurt.
A slight twitch in his jaw is the only reaction I get before he slides into his seat.
As flickers of white candlelight dance in the shadows, it takes me a moment to truly get my bearings. How in the world I’m supposed to wine and dine with this gorgeous man and talk intelligently about getting him married off, I haven’t a clue. Talk about an awkward situation.
Tamping down a wave of sudden nerves, I lower myself into the seat across from him and swallow the lump in my throat.
This shouldn’t feel like a date, yet everything I’ve rehearsed with Anna flies out the window the second he sits back in his seat and appraises me with those navy-blue eyes, the hint of a smirk still lingering on his lips. It doesn’t help that I’ve forgotten my notebook. Then again, maybe it was for the best. I don’t want to look like a total amateur, reading the notes I prepared the night before.