He flipped the visor up and adjusted his jacket sleeves. The more he wore suits, the less he felt like a fraud in them, but he missed the comfort of broken-in jeans and faded plaid shirts. No, they hadn’t been tailored to him, but they’d fit him better. Most of Connor’s current clothing had been purchased by Clay Landon as a welcome-to-New-York gift. Men still commented on the quality of his single piece leather dress shoes. When did men start caring about shit like that? They were nice, but in Connor’s opinion, not as impressive as his favorite pair of steel-toe work boots. I don’t even know where those are anymore.
He checked the time on his black Octo Finissimo watch—a gift from Viviana. Modern. Expensive. A statement of power and wealth. Who even needs a watch anymore? I used to check the time on my phone and that worked just fine.
Watches are statement pieces, Claire says.
Look at me, everyone, I can afford a watch.
Big fucking deal.
He sighed.
I can’t believe Bradford wouldn’t come with me. I would have gone with him.
As Connor sat there without opening the door, he conceded that Bradford likely hadn’t come for the same reason: he didn’t want to be there. Neither of them belonged at such a place with its immaculately manicured lawn and three-story glass building entrance. Security probably routinely threw people like them off the sprawling campus.
He’d come before the start of classes because he didn’t want to put himself in a situation where he’d have to interact with students before his speech, but realizing his was the only car in the front lot he began to think he’d played this wrong. I should have strolled in right before my scheduled talk—kept things rushed—and pretended I was late for another engagement. Now I have time to think about all the ways this could go badly.
A silver car, Connor recognized it as one of the subcompact electric base models, pulled up beside his. Hopefully it was the woman Claire had arranged for him to meet . . . Angelina . . . Oh, shit, I forgot her last name. Not Jolie. Crust? Crawl? I should have written it down.
He stepped out of his car and turned to greet her.
Then time slowed. Angelina Whatever-the-fuck-her-last-name-was emerged from behind her car and knocked all the breath clear out of Connor.
Light shone down on her between passing clouds, darkening her glasses but not before he had a glimpse of striking blue eyes. She was dressed in a long-sleeved, two-tone knit dress some might call conservative, but the term heavenly floated through Connor’s mind. It hugged her in all the right places but left some delicious areas to his imagination. Long blonde hair was tied back in a loose knot, adding a softness to an otherwise starched style. Oh, hang on . . . as his gaze moved down her long legs, her shoes brought a flush to his cheeks. Normally he was amused by how otherwise intelligent women chose torture devices for their feet when barefoot was just as sexy, but he had to admit hers completed his fantasy that she was all business at the office but one wild ride in the bed.
“Mr. Sutton. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” Her voice tickled over him, sending enough of his blood heading southward for him to need a moment before answering her.
He swallowed hard. Even before he was legal age, women had wanted him. He was a healthy man in his prime. Sometimes he said yes. Sometimes he said no. He had nothing against the idea of commitment or relationships, but for one reason or another things had never progressed that far. Either he broke things off or the woman did. Often his partners became friends over time. They said he was too nice to stay upset with even when things didn’t work out.
None of them had ever affected him like this.
He was feeling anything but nice as she stepped closer. His heart thudded in his chest; his cock was prepped and ready. His response to her was primal, left over from a time when a man could see a woman, decide she was his, toss her over his shoulder, and run off to his cave with her.
Fuck, it felt good to want someone that way.
“Mr. Sutton?” she asked, a small frown wrinkling the skin between her brows.
“That’s me.” He closed the door behind him with more force than he’d meant to.
She held a hand out in greeting. Heat spread through him as he wrapped his hand around hers. Small, delicate, but with a firm, confident grip. Too many images of where he’d like that hand to wander flashed through his mind. He released her hand and told himself to calm down.
“Everyone is so excited about your visit. Since you’re here early, would you like a tour of the campus? As an alumni myself, there’s a level of personal pride I feel whenever I introduce someone to it.”
She can introduce me to whatever she wants to. Consider me all in.
There was a time when he would have shared his thoughts with her, but he’d received a year of tutelage on how and why to keep them to himself. What would Bradford say? “If we have the time, I see no problem with that.”
She gave him the sweetest smile. “Speaking of time, I was wondering if you’d be willing to squeeze in some for our school’s soccer team. They are equally thrilled you’re here and there is very little crossover between the drama and athletic departments.”
“Meet them or give a speech?” One he could do. The other he wasn’t prepared for.
She searched his face before saying, “Nothing formal. Just a little motivational talk. Like any other group of children, they could benefit from hearing about good sportsmanship and the importance of taking pride in the gifts of others as well as their own.”
“I can’t see that happening today.” Yeah, no. It’s not like I never went to school. Sounds like you have some douchebag kids in need of reining in. I would love to help you with them, but you should have called ahead so Claire could have written an appropriate speech. You do not want the one my high school football coach used to give us. Something tells me no one has ever threatened to run these kids into the ground so hard their nuts get grass burn.
Her lips pressed together in a straight line. It shouldn’t have been a sexy move, but it made Connor want to kiss all that starch right out of her. “Of course. I shouldn’t have asked. Let’s start the tour in the main building. If we’re quick we can get out before the hallways fill with students.”
Her tone was polite, but her body language was screaming something much less friendly. Not the reaction he was used to from women. He couldn’t have offended her, he’d barely spoken.
The smile she gave him as she opened the door to the building was forced. If he knew her better he would have said something funny or acted the idiot until she relaxed and laughed. This wasn’t the place for that, so he followed her without speaking.
The tour felt a little like a sales pitch, which was odd since he was too old to enroll and didn’t have children. Still, the classrooms were nice. The cafeteria was bright and clean. She went into great detail about the anticipated improvements to the technology department.
Just as she’d promised, they were out of the building before the first bell rang. He followed her down a winding park-like path to a hill with a bronze statue of children playing. His attention wandered as she gave him an unabridged history of the school. She’d talked long enough that his initial boner was a distant memory.
Yes, she’s beautiful.
Her ass—perfection.
Her voice . . . addictive to listen to.