Foster
My fingers fly across my laptop keys. The hours of eight to ten in the morning are my prime hours to get work done without the interruption of half the department.
Sure, my assistant Vicky briefs me exactly at eight, but after that, it’s my time of solitude with my laptop and the expensive view of Chicago from my corner office.
“Knock, knock.” I hear the voice of a cheery Celeste, who’s head of our legal department.
"Yes?" I barely pause my typing, keeping my eyes on the screen.
“We have a problem.”
That snaps my focus. I look up at her. We're the same age, and she’s all business in a gray suit, hair pulled so tight it could snap. “That’s not a sentence I want to hear.”
“Adam has kidney stones, which happened over the weekend, so he’s out.”
"Shit. He's one of our best lawyers."
Her face screws up in agreement. “Yeah. It also means he won’t be working on the Klink account.”
I sink into my custom leather chair. “They’re still just a prospect—we haven’t even finalized the contract yet,” I remind her.
They need to transport ever-updating computer chips and could become our biggest client, given their constant product flow.
Julian invested significant effort to get them into our sphere.
Now we must settle pricing, workload guarantees, and payment timelines before signing.
I can't do this alone; I need one of our in-house lawyers to draft a strong liability clause and an iron-clad termination clause.
She crosses her arms while standing in the middle of my office, purposely ensuring her cleavage is lifted.
“I’m well aware. It’s your job to come up with the figures, and it’s our job to ensure the contract is solid so there are no arguments later when unexpected costs arise.
Also, to remind you that compliance exists for a reason. ”
I steeple my fingers, elbows on the armrests of my chair. “What’s your solution? It’s your department. Figure it out.” I might sound clipped, but it’s the truth.
“You were supposed to work with Adam on legal, but his replacement was easy to find. I have someone who just finished onboarding. She's sharp, too.”
A smirk tugs at my lips. I can already see where this is headed. I should probably bolt, but I’m not about to. “Do go on,” I play along.
“Sutton Rhodes will ensure everything is bulletproof.”
There we go.
Hearing her name already lifts my mood. Sutton hooked me from the start—her quick wit, the way she flicks her hair, how she pulls me in and teases out my flirty side. Conversation with her is effortless. The chemistry is undeniable, and I’m not fooling myself.
Why am I obsessing over the thought of her? I keep circling back to Sutton, caught between what people might say and the fact that, technically, company policy is on my side—even if I hesitate.
“Tell me more about this Sutton Rhodes,” I request, partly for entertainment and partly for intel.
“What is there to say? She’s a straight shooter. No BS. Still, everyone on the team enjoys having her around. I’ve already scheduled a meeting for you two. You might have to guide her on things, as she’s still new. This is your lead, and she will follow.”
"Will she now?" My tone hints that I'm pleased, though my face stays neutral.
I should be dreading this shake-up. I coach myself: stay sharp, think like a CFO, tackle the challenge head-on.
But none of that is happening. The opposite, actually.
“Be nice. Recruitment put in great effort so that she went with us and not the two other offers she had on the table.”
I stand and rebutton the blazer on my three-piece suit, tailor-made for me the other week, as I saunter to my floor-to-ceiling window. “I’m always nice.”
She chuffs a laugh. “Are you? I hear mixed reviews.”
"Unpredictability is sometimes the key to success."
“Sure,” she replies blandly. “Anyhow, I’ll inform Sutton, and you’ll see her at four.”
"Looking forward to it," I murmur as she leaves.
Staring across the city skyline with clouds hiding the tips of the taller skyscrapers, I recall the weekend—starting with a shitshow of a family lunch, then pep-talking a friend in need, feeling relief during a short time with Sutton, and ending with the cherry on top: a work fiasco.
Only one thing stands out, though, which causes me to smile to myself.
It’s her.
I’m starting to think Sutton is a test I’m meant to take. Every instinct tells me she’s a prize worth chasing.
The day drags on, lunch forgotten. Time blurs until I spot my office door ajar as I return after a team meeting—a sure sign someone’s waiting inside.
I glance at my watch. I already know who's there. Her rose scent lingers. I slow as I enter and see Sutton, hair draped down, one leg crossed over her knee as she sits opposite my desk. In contrast to her director, Sutton's dress is respectable but rises to reveal her knees and gray heels.
Yep, sexy and imprinted in my mind.
"Here for your tip?" I announce. She turns with an easy, soft smile as I pace a few steps and set my tablet on my desk.
“Not exactly. I hear I’ve been assigned to work with you.”
I unbutton my blazer and decide to perch on the front edge of my desk. I’m close to her, and I intend it to be that way. I rest my hands on the smooth surface and cross my ankles to appear casual. “You don’t sound pleased with that,” I joke.
She rests her elbow on the armrest and relaxes as she leans back slightly, her tiny smirk still perfectly pasted. “Depends.”
"Well, here we are. Guess it was inevitable." Our eyes tether together.
“Who knew it would be so soon?”
"Ready to conquer with me?" I love how that can mean two things.
Her cheeks rise and tighten as she struggles to fight a smile, giving herself a moment to relish the sentence. She clears her throat and drops our eye contact. “About the contract. The owner of Klink seems like a real hard-ass.”
Business—of course, that’s why she’s here. Still, I stay put, refusing my usual seat. I want our orbit tight, her magnetism close, neither of us able to break free from this pull.
“Dennis insists on a high force majeure threshold, as if we control hurricane season, just because he needs to get his goods across the Gulf. If the world is on fire, he still wants us to pay.”
"I’ve noticed. It's easy to work around. External insurance policies exist for a reason, and the contract requires them to have one."
I'm not pleased with his idea of delayed payment rights. It doesn't allow enough planning leeway.
Sutton has already done her research, and it shows.
Her nails thrum against the leather armrest. “Those are all tiny issues, to be honest. The termination rights are the biggest concern, especially with a six-month implementation term once they become a client. I have a few suggestions that would be fair and hard to debate. You might have to give a little grace.”
I chuckle deeply. “Believe it or not. I’m capable of that.”
Her eyes find mine again. “I don’t doubt that.”
Her lashes frame those blue eyes perfectly. She’s effortlessly beautiful—no extensions, no heavy makeup. I can’t look away. I’m hooked, and I wonder why she gets under my skin like this.
“Look, the best approach is to list the points, then we can discuss them at our next meeting,” I suggest.
“Agreed. I’ll get them to you by the end of the week, as I want to comb through a few laws of compliance.”
I clap my hands together. “Great.”
She nods her head with her droll smile returning, agreeing that this is probably the end of this professional meeting. There's not much point in dragging it out; she knows what she’s doing, and we can’t dive deeper until she presents her fixes for the issues.
Standing, she announces, “Well, with all of that clear, then I’m going to let you be. I’m sure you have a lot to do.”
“Always,” I sigh, pushing off the desk and circling behind it as she walks—no, sashays—out of my orbit.
Towering behind my desk, it only takes a millisecond for me to backtrack.
She starts to turn, and I hesitate. Something stirs low in my gut, rising until words threaten to spill out.
“Sutton,” I begin, and she pauses in place, glancing over her shoulder with doe eyes.
My lips press together, and I knock my knuckles gingerly on the desk, a move that my father would do when business was going in the direction he wanted.
Except, I’m thinking on a personal level right now.
“Listen, I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day.
Would it be so crazy to ask you to join me for dinner?
” She seems surprised. “I owe you for a tour, remember?” I justify with a ridiculous cover.
She turns, wags her finger, and tsks. Even that gesture is sexy; her dark red polish would look perfect gripping my skin if she ever needed to hold on.
“Not even going to start with drinks and then work your way up to dinner?” Sutton teases. “I think we both know that dinner between us is a bad idea.”
I grin because she’s right. “Is it?”
“We’re both smart people.”
We are, and that’s why we have already agreed on facts. It’s also true that I’m a direct and frank communicator, and she has no fear of being blunt. I’m not going to chase around the obvious. “I’m not crazy, am I? The chemistry?”
She runs her tongue along her bottom lip to the crease of the corner. “You might be crazy if you asked me that, considering our professional connection.”
Lifting a shoulder, I’m not quite ready for defeat. “Fine. I’ll put it on my company credit card, and it’s a work dinner.”
Sutton’s laugh is uplifting, along with her cheeks flexed from her wide smile. “Found a loophole, huh?”
“No. A loophole is that it’s a professional dinner, and as the senior on this project, I demand your attendance. But I’m not going to use that power play.”
Her head bobbles slightly side to side. “So you’re a gentleman, I guess.”
“I can be.”
She clicks her tongue, eyes narrowing—maybe, just maybe, I’ve got her. Then her face softens, gaze sliding away. “A raincheck, perhaps.” Her smirk is pure temptation as she saunters off, fully aware of her effect. Even after she’s gone, my eyes linger on her path.
Left alone, no victory in hand, her presence still hangs in the air.
Better luck next time.