Chapter 202: Chapter 202
An hour later, Wynter scrolled to Lucas’s contact information. He answered her call on the first ring.
“Ms. Ferguson.”
His voice was a gruff, unholy growl that rocketed awareness through her.
Damn it. Why did she have to be so responsive to him?
“An unexpected pleasure.”
Is it really?
“This is strictly business.”
He was silent for so long that she wondered if he’d hung up. She held the device away from her ear and looked at the screen to be sure they were still connected.
“Of course.”
Forcing herself to be professional rather than going weak in the knees, she strode to the window and took in the hustle of midtown a couple of stories below her.
“In consultation with Hope, I have two potential matches I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Does this mean you’d prefer I didn’t cancel my contract?”
Jittery, she paced the room.
“I hate for Prestige to have any unhappy clients.”
“So you’re going to continue as my personal handler?”
Wynter forced herself not to respond to the emphasized word.
“I’ll be working with you, yes.”
“In that case, I’m amenable to meeting to discuss your findings.”
“How about right now?”
“I do not talk about my business over the phone.”
She set her teeth.
“I’m happy to send over the profiles.”
“Email isn’t secure.”
Naturally he had no intention of making this easy for her.
“I was disappointed you didn’t join me for breakfast on Saturday morning.”
Had it mattered to him? Or did he not like the fact she bruised his ego? No doubt His Highness was not accustomed to women standing him up.
“I thought you didn’t discuss your business over the phone.”
“Dinner?”
Frantically she shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her.
A donut in hand, Skyler propped her shoulder against the doorjamb and eavesdropped.
“I have a three o’clock coffee appointment available.”
With a grin, Skyler took a bite.
“Eleven. My office.”
His counter was so quick that he had to have planned it.
“Americano. Large, please. Black.”
At every turn, he frustrated her. But she refused to let him know that.
“And I’d like you to get me a grande upside-down caramel macchiato.”
Skyler gave her a thumbs-up.
“Iced or hot?”
“Surprise me.”
“I plan to do just that, Ms. Ferguson.”
With that, he rang off.
She lowered the phone. Instantly her message icon lit up. From Lucas, with his address.
“We’ve had our share of high-maintenance clients.”
Skyler had been there long enough to have eaten the entire treat.
“But he’s in a class by himself.”
That he is. Wynter’s father was a Titan, as were most of his friends, so she was familiar with their arrogance. But she’d never met anyone like Lucas.
“Just checking on you. Sorry none of us could take him off your hands on Friday night.”
“Everyone’s roster was full.”
And they couldn’t have guessed he would ask her out.
“I’d say good luck to you, but from what I overheard, you have it covered.”
“I’m not convinced of that.”
He’d gotten what he wanted. They were meeting in person, on his turf. And she was still his company representative.
After Skyler left, she returned Lucas’s text.
We won’t be mixing business with pleasure.
For more than half an hour, her phone remained silent. Was he busy? Or keeping her on edge?
In that case, we’ll dispense with the business quickly.
The man had turned difficult into an art form.
Out of courtesy, she updated her online calendar, letting her colleagues know she’d be out of the office. Hope trusted that her associates would put in the hours required to get the job done.
At the law firm, Wynter’s life had been divided into incremental blocks of billable hours. Even though her decision to walk away from the legal profession had annoyed her father, she didn’t have any regrets—well, except for the number of pastries she now consumed on a weekly basis. Still, the more flexible schedule allowed her to hit the gym a couple of afternoons a week. Surely that made up for it.
Giving herself twenty extra minutes to arrive at his downtown office and find him a damn Americano, she grabbed her purse, then headed out.
After parking, she discovered there was a coffee shop nearby. The line was ridiculously long, and she was behind schedule when she pushed through the entrance into the skyscraper at 1, International Plaza. As quickly as possible on her heels, she crossed the marble-laden lobby to the bank of elevators and ascended to the thirty-seventh floor.
Inside the door marked Rutherford Consulting was a receptionist wearing a headset. He was an older gentleman with thick, silver hair. When she entered, he greeted her with a smile.
“You must be Ms. Ferguson.”
Impressive, made even more charming by his posh British accent.
“Mr. Rutherford apologizes, but he’s been unavoidably delayed. He asked that you make yourself comfortable while you wait.”
The gentleman pointed to one of the many offices. She went inside, leaving the door open.
His room was smaller than she expected, and sparse: a credenza, a phone, laptop computer, executive chair, and a battle-scarred desk with nothing on it—well, until she placed his coffee smack dab in the middle.
The lone place for a guest might have been purchased at a military surplus store.
The few shelves on the back wall were empty, and he didn’t have a single award or trophy or photograph anywhere in sight. A framed piece of paper hanging above the credenza drew her attention. Curious, she walked toward it.
It appeared to be an article about him, dated a few years ago, speculating that he would soon file bankruptcy.
“Motivation.”
With a gasp, she jumped, then slowly turned to face Lucas. He was holding two drinks, one hot, the other iced.
Smart. No matter which she preferred, she’d be happy. The man didn’t play fair.
“The piece was more accurate than I let anyone know.”
“Most people surround themselves with mementos of their finest moments and achievements.”
“What’s the sense in that? Look at it often enough, you might believe your own press.”
He set her two selections on either side of his Americano.
“But those words? They’re a reminder of how close I came to losing everything. First thing I see when I walk in here.”