Business and Pleasure (5 page)

“So, Elizabeth, are you going to tell me
what this booty call was about? I’ve never seen you like this.”

I look into his big, brown eyes. There’s no
way I can actually tell him I needed release because another man
got me all hot and bothered. I
definitely
can’t tell him I
was thinking about that same man
while
we were having sex,
so I go for my usual response.

“Nothing. I mean…no particular reason, other
than the fact I needed sex. I was at the bar and had a few
drinks…and I wanted to get laid.”

He eyes me like he doesn’t believe me. Maybe
he
does
know me too well.

“Okay, if you say so.” He sighs and sits up.
“If you need it again, you know my number. I’m going to head
home.”

“Okay. Thank you, Steve.”

He bends down and places a kiss on my
forehead. “As always, Ms. Elizabeth, it was my pleasure.”

He gets up, dresses, and once I hear the
door shut, and I allow my eyes to drift closed.

*****

“Good morning, slut! Wake up!”

Alright, I love my sister, but at this
point, I want to kill her.

“Becca, are you crazy? What time is it?”

Something falls on my backside—my still
completely naked backside, visible because I’m lying on top of the
covers on my bed.

“It’s time to get up. We need to go shopping
for your big date tonight with Mr. Hottie. Plus, you probably need
a manicure and a waxing. Now, there is your towel…and there’s a cup
of coffee on the side table. Get up. You have thirty minutes before
I come in here and drag you out of that bed.”

This is not how I wanted to start my
Saturday morning. On the one hand, I appreciate the thought, but on
the other hand, I want to smack my sister and go back to sleep. But
in the end, I catch a little of Becca’s excitement, and I decide to
give in. I sit up and take a sip of my coffee. After the night I
had, the hot, fresh brew tastes divine. Divine…and really
strong
. Becca doesn’t drink coffee very often herself, so
she has never really mastered the art of making the perfect pot.
This time, it tastes like she added a couple shots of espresso, for
good measure. I finish the whole cup before I climb out of bed and
head into the bathroom for a shower. Afterward, as I stand inside
my walk-in closet and stare at my wardrobe, I can understand why
Becca says I need to go shopping. I really don’t have anything
other than business suits in here. A few casual clothes but nothing
really date worthy. I throw on some jeans with my Louis Vuitton
heels and a black, off-the-shoulder top, and I’m ready to go.

For the next hour, Becca drags me up and
down Madison Avenue then Fifth Avenue, until we finally find
ourselves at Saks, which has always been one of my favorite stores.
Becca hands me a sequined, black mini skirt, and I hand it right
back.

“Just try it on, Lizzy. You want to look hot
tonight.”

“Yes, I want to look hot but not like a
hooker.”

“Hookers do not wear this stuff, Lizzy. My
goodness. You know, sometimes you can be downright prudish.”

Becca turns and walks away to shop some
more—hopefully, for something a little more reasonable—while I try
on a few things myself. Everything I pick out is black or gray or
some other equally dark color. Maybe Becca’s right, and I’m in a
clothes rut. But I can’t help myself; I always feel more
comfortable in dark colors. As I frown at my reflection in the
mirror, Becca comes running up to me with something in her
hand.

“I found the perfect thing! Here! It’s
black, but it’s so hot, and you will look amazing in it!”

Becca hands me an asymmetrical dress by ABS.
The cut looks very form fitting, with sheer sleeves covered in
jewels. Although short in the front, the dress hangs long in the
back, so I figure I’ll give it a shot. After all, Becca’s right.
The darn thing is gorgeous. I try it on and instantly go from drab
to fabulous. I look as if this dress were made for me. I rarely
wear skirts or dresses that show this much leg, but right now, as I
study my reflection in the full-length mirror, I can’t tell you why
I don’t. My legs look a mile long, and if I do say so myself, I
look rather amazing. I step out to show Becca and get a second, a
little less partial opinion, and she just about comes out of her
chair.

“Yes! Oh, Lizzy, you
have
to buy that
dress. He won’t be able to keep his hands off you!”

I can’t help but laugh. “I agree. I’m buying
it.”

She claps her hands, obviously overjoyed.
It’s hilarious to watch her reaction; she’s like a little kid, and
you’d think she were the one going out with a handsome new guy.

I buy the dress—along with a few other
colorful things that I’m hoping will get me out of my fashion
rut—and we head out to lunch. We stop in Cafe Fiorello, one of our
favorite places, since Becca and I both love Italian, and the
restaurant is close by.

“So, tell me the truth…are you excited about
tonight? What are you going to do?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I still can’t even
believe I said yes. I mean, what was I thinking?”

“You were probably thinking about how hot he
is and asking yourself why the hell you shouldn’t say yes. I mean,
you don’t seem to have any problems with any of the other guys you
sleep with. Why him?”

“Alex is intimidating. He’s different. He
almost seems like the male version of me.”

She lets out a loud laugh, and most of the
other customers turn and look our way.

“Why, Elizabeth Hamilton, you finally met
your match.”

She laughs again, but I don’t join her.
Something about her statement sets my nerves on edge, and I quickly
change the subject by asking her about school and her grades.

A short while later, we’ve finished lunch,
so we head over to the salon. We get our nails done, and I get a
trim, since I haven’t had my hair done in ages. Finally, we both
get a waxing—a full-body waxing, at Becca’s insistence—and I
complain nearly the entire time. I can’t help myself; that shit
hurts like hell. Finally, at three in the afternoon, we decide it’s
time to head back home. As we are riding up in the elevator it hits
me that I never asked Becca what she did last night.

“So,” I say, and grin, “how was your night
with…what was his name? Doug?”

“Yes. And it was fine. Same thing, different
guy.” She lets out a laugh.

“Are you going to see him again?”

“I don’t know. He mentioned he’d like to go
out sometime and gave me his number. I’ll think about it.”

“Becca, you do realize you’re never going to
have a meaningful relationship with anyone if you don’t give them a
chance.”

“Says the pot, as she calls the kettle
black.” She winks at me.

“Touché, dear sister.”

We enter our apartment, and Becca goes
straight to her room, no doubt to pass out. I wish I could take a
nap, but I just know there is no way I could sleep right now. I am
definitely too nervous about tonight. Why does he even want to go
out with me? I can’t stop myself from wondering what this date is
all about. He promised we wouldn’t talk business, so I doubt it has
anything to do with his attempt to take over Hamilton Publishing.
So, what’s going on? Maybe he feels the same heat that I feel when
we’re near each other. On second thought, men don’t think like
that, right? I decide to kill some time by reading a couple
manuscripts I brought home from work. But before I make my way
through a chapter, my phone goes off.

“Be there in an hour to pick you up. I am
looking forward to seeing you again, Elizabeth.”

My heart comes to a stop, and I suddenly had
a hard time breathing.
He’ll be in here an hour
! I jump out
of my chair and run as fast as I can to my bedroom to get ready.
Luckily, I already have my makeup on, I just need to do a quick
touch up and slip into the dress I already have laid out on the
bed, along with my black, peep-toe heels from Dior. I am ready
within twenty minutes, which leaves me with nothing else to do but
wait. As I sit and look out over the beautiful, Manhattan view, I
stuff my shaking hands beneath my legs in an attempt to still them.
Why am I so nervous? Probably because he intimidates me a little.
Should I sleep with him, or not? Under normal circumstances, I
probably would…after all, he’s an attractive man, and I’ve always
done exactly as I please when it comes to satisfying my sexual
urges. But no. I won’t sleep with him. I can’t sleep with him. Not
the first night, anyway.

Decision made, I feel a tad better. Sleeping
with him the first night could spell disaster. Who knows? Maybe
that’s all he’s interested in. So if I sleep with him, he might
lose interest before he has a chance to get to know me. No…no sex.
Tonight, we’ll talk, and that’s it. I don’t know him…don’t even
know if I can trust him. The buzz from the intercom shocks me out
of my thoughts. Becca’s running footsteps sound from the hallway;
she must be racing to get to the intercom before I do.

“Hello?” Becca shouts, and I cringe.

“Hello. I’m here to pick up Ms.
Hamilton.”

“She’ll be right down.”

I stand, just as Becca comes bouncing into
the room. Her excitement hits me like a physical punch in the gut,
rattling my already shaky nerves. You would think
she
was
going out with him.

“Are you ready, Lizzy?”

“I
guess
so.”

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t worry. Just go out and
have a good time. No expectations. No disappointments.”

“Okay.”

I grab my purse, my keys, and my cell phone,
and then hug my overly excited sister.

“Have a good time.” She squeezes me
tightly.

“Okay,” I say again and pull back. “See you
later.”

Becca grins. “Oh, you will definitely see me
later.”

She pushes me toward the door.

The entire elevator ride down, my heart
races. What the hell? You’d think I’d never been on a date before.
But this one’s different. For one thing, the man owns half of
Manhattan. What could he possibly want with me?

The elevator doors open, and I see him. For
a moment, I can hardly breathe. He is totally, absolutely gorgeous
in his charcoal gray Brioni suit.

“Good evening, Ms. Elizabeth Hamilton.”

He picks up my hand and gently presses his
lips to my knuckles. Although very old fashioned, his behavior
makes me feel cherished and respected, and I eat it up.

“Good evening, Mr. Alexander Preston.” I
answer him just as formerly.

“You look absolutely stunning tonight.” He
gives me hand a light squeeze.

I manage an embarrassed “thank you” as he
leads me outside to his black limousine. We settle into the back,
but he still hasn’t released my hand.

“I am very happy that you decided to come
out with me tonight. You won’t regret it. I have a wonderful
evening planned, one I sincerely hope you enjoy.”

My voice is gone. I can barely breathe, much
less speak, so I smile and nod and then spend the next few seconds
struggling to gather my composure. Alex must sense my need for a
moment to myself, because he gives my hand another squeeze, and
then directs his attention to the driver. “We can go now.”

As the car pulls out, I finally manage to
speak. “I’m sure whatever you’ve planned will be lovely, Alexander.
Thank you.”

He releases my hand, only to brush his
knuckles down my cheek.

“Alex. You’re to call me Alex, remember?” He
gently reminds me.

“Yes. Alex.”

He sighs quietly and then nods toward the
street in front of us. “We’re almost there. Another block.”

We arrive at the restaurant within minutes,
and when I see where he’s taken me, I once again have to fight for
composure.
Holy shit. He’s brought me to
Maze by Gordon
Ramsay. I’ve never eaten here before, but I’ve heard it’s amazing.
We walk in, and everyone takes notice. I’ve always hated feeling
like people are staring at me, but I quickly realize it’s not
exactly me they’re staring at; it’s
him
. The hostess walks
us toward the back of the restaurant to the chef’s table, and I
feel like a kid on Christmas morning. We have our very own chef’s
table at
Maze
! It’s hard to wrap my mind around the idea. I
sit in amazement and watch them cook and work in, and as I watch
them, I realize Alex is watching
me
.

I turn to him, brow raised. “Is something
wrong?”

“Wrong?”

“Yes… you’re staring at me.”

“Yes, I am…but no, nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why are you staring?”

“You enchant me, Elizabeth.”

A delighted smile claims my lips. Damn, the
man knows exactly what to say to make a woman blush. I lower my
gaze, hiding my hot cheeks from his view, but it’s only a matter of
seconds before the talented chef once again draws my attention.

“Have you never been here?”

“No. I’ve never had a chance—or a reason—to
come here.”

As I look up, I see the waitress bringing us
our first course, butter lettuce salad with Pommery mustard
vinaigrette tarragon and pickled red onions.

The food is amazingly, melt-in-my-mouth
delicious, and as course after course arrives, I enjoy and savor
every morsel. The entire meal, from appetizer to dessert, is
everything I expected it to be. Throughout the meal, Alex keeps me
entertained with stories of the things he’s seen and done since
moving to the city. From the tales he tells, I come to realize he’s
one of those people who live life to the fullest—a participant, not
a spectator. When we are finished, and all the empty dishes are
cleared away, he turns to me and takes my hand.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

I nod, vaguely addressing his question, as
I’m once again distracted by a strange, vibrating zing that races
between our clasped hands. This evening has been one of the most
enjoyable experiences of my life, and suddenly, I don’t want the
experience to end.