I nod. We’re a lot alike. We both always have a plan. “Sounds good, but I don’t mind. I have a meeting I need to get to and some other work to attend to, but I’ll be home for dinner.” I stand up, straightening my skirt. “I’ll order something when I get home.”
“Or maybe I can cook, depending on what’s in the fridge.”
I stare at her, impressed. “You cook?”
She laughs and stands with Baz in her arms, his body nearly overtaking her small frame. “I’m trying.”
“We’ll get along just fine then. I’ll see you this evening. Call if you need anything at all.”
She nods, and I give Baz a hug and a kiss before I leave them in my home, one that they can call their own.
I know she misses Asher. I know he misses her.
When I intervened with Penelope and Lincoln, my hope was they would take the time apart to grow and then come back together stronger. And they did. Their love is fierce, and it’s a healthy, hearty love now.
When it came to Asher and Vivienne though, the thought of them together terrifies the living hell out of me. I was relieved Vivienne took me up on my offer and moved out here to live with me in California, fleeing from the situation with Asher that had grown dark and bitter.
And I only hope I can give them both the strength to stay far away from one another forever.
I’m late. I despise being late, but my talk with Vivienne this morning put me a bit behind, and then the traffic this morning was brutal.
It’s hot today as I climb from behind the wheel of my sleek black car. The sun beats down on my bare shoulders, the thin strap of my black top not covering them much. I smooth down my tight, white skirt and slide my black sunglasses up from my eyes to rest on top of my head, grabbing my black purse and swinging it over my shoulder. My black heels click on the pavement as I lock my car and yank open the front door to the coffee shop.
Apparently, Mr. West doesn’t have an actual office. Not very promising.
I wish Penelope was here. I prefer to meet new clients together, but she has a separate meeting this morning. Another reason I'm glad Vivienne is here—she plans to start working with us at our interior design business.
I look around the crowded café, unsure how I'm supposed to know who I'm meeting considering he’s a new client. I decide to put in my coffee order, and as soon as I'm finished paying, I see a shadow approaching out of the corner of my eye and turn to face the figure.
I nearly gasp as the man’s masculine, clean scent overwhelms me at the same time his brooding, good looks nearly steals the air from my lungs. His dark hair is styled perfectly, not one hair out of place. His jawline is all sharp angles, his dark eyes are intense and his lips form a disappointed line. He is, without a doubt, the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He’s wearing a black suit with a crisp white shirt underneath and a tie. His shoes shine, not a speck of dirt on them. I notice his suit barely fits his large, overwhelming frame as he towers over me, and I can’t stop staring at him like a mindless idiot.
“Lola,” he says my name in a deep, stern tone as if he already knows me.
“Mr. West?”
“Hayden.”
I nod stupidly, awe struck by his brutish beauty. I curve an arm around my waist nervously, feeling underdressed even in a skirt and camisole. “Right.” I hold out my right hand, trying to steady it as my other arm remains around my waist. “Lola Sterling.”
He doesn’t shake my hand. He seems annoyed as his eyes slowly scan my body, and I really wish I’d opted to wear a blazer, but it’s June in California, for Christ’s sake, and we’re meeting for coffee. “You’re late.”
“I apologize. Traffic was rough this morning.” I try my best to remain professional and add a smile, not too toothy but enough to show my regret for making him wait.
“You’ve lived here for how long?”
I quirk an eyebrow as I study him, wondering where he’s going with this. His question is not friendly, causing me to answer cautiously. “Around three years.”
“So, you are aware of the traffic at this time of day.”
It’s not a question, and I can’t believe his bluntness. “I am.”
He sneers, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “And I was told you had a partner.”
The barista hands me my coffee. I thank her, dropping my hand from around my stomach to hold my cup, facing the gorgeous, infuriating dick in front of me. I’ve been around men like him my entire life.
Rich. Entitled. Spoiled. He’s no doubt had everything handed to him his entire life and expects everyone to kneel before him.
He has no idea who he’s messing with.
“Penelope had a prior engagement, but I'm more than capable of sitting down with you to decide if we can help you out.”
His eyes flicker with frustration as he blows out an annoyed breath. “Fine.” He gestures for me to take a seat, and although I'm irritated, I’m not in the position to be turning down any opportunities at the moment.
I move through the tables and find one in the back, taking a seat. I place my bag on the side of the chair as the handsome and insanely rude stranger unbuttons two buttons on his jacket and takes a seat in front of me.
“So, Mr. West. What kind of service are you looking for? Will it be your home or your office we will be assisting you with?”
“Neither.”
Of course, he’ll be difficult. “Alright, so what can we help you with?”
“I own several hotels and have recently acquired three more. I’m looking for a decorator who’s efficient and can breathe fresh air into them.”
“Hotels?” I lift a curious eyebrow. “I’m not sure we can do that.”
“Why not? You’re an interior decorator. I need the interior of my hotels to be laid out in a new, stylish way that will attract the elite.”
“And your other hotels?”
“Are typical. Nice. Luxurious but not exactly what I’m thinking for these three. They’ll be something different.”
My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips, and I watch his eyes track the movement as I clear my throat, his heated gaze making me flush. “What will make these different?”
He straightens his back in the chair, his chin lifted and his eyes locked on mine. “You.”
His intensity makes it hard for me to breathe, and I remind myself to be professional. He’s a prick. That much is apparent, but there’s also an attraction crackling in the air between us, one I'm not used to. One that feels dangerous. I swallow, trying to fight how dry my throat has become. “And how can I do that? I’ve never worked for a hotel chain before.”
“It’s not a chain, first of all.” His hand lays flat on the table between our bodies, and I find myself doing a once-over of his large hand with trimmed fingernails and tanned skin. Absolutely perfect like the rest of him except for one pink scar running diagonally from his thumb to his pinkie. “Second of all . . .” My eyes move back to his face which I would expect to be clean-shaven to match the rest of him, but he has fine stubble covering his cheeks and chin only adding to his appeal. “The hotels only have fifty rooms each. I intend for them to be the epitome of luxury.”