Choosing Samantha (The Network #5)

1. Arch

one

Arch

“You signed me up for an escort service?” There are only four people in the world I completely trust—two of them are Lily and Lucy, my twelve-year-old nieces. My sister, their mom, is the third, and the fourth is my assistant, Miles. But now I’m reconsidering that list.

Miles leans back in the leather chair opposite my desk as if he had not just admitted to getting involved in my private life—a line he has never crossed. “I solved your problem.”

“You've made a new one.” The thought of going to brunch with my three business partners and their wives on Sunday isn’t something I’m looking forward to. Add hiring some strange paid escort as my date, and I’m ready to fire Miles on the spot.

“You have to have a date on Sunday,” Miles says matter-of-factly. “I solved that problem.”

“By hiring me a hooker?” Not that there’s anything wrong with someone selling their body for money, as long as all parties are consenting—it’s just not something I’m into.

“Elite Connections isn't that kind of escort service. It offers sophisticated companions for public events such as dinner dates, charity galas, and corporate functions.” Miles lists their services as if he's reading from a menu—which I guess technically he is.

“I know what an escort service is.” I recline in my chair and look at him—or, more specifically, I look past him at the floor-to-ceiling windows and the view of downtown Chicago from the forty-second floor.

My company occupies six floors of the Jamison Tower, but I never leave the executive level unless a security breach requires my presence. Which isn’t very often—I’m that good at my job. I can spot a malicious line of code among millions of legitimate ones—yet I can never solve the mystery of women.

My three business partners will be there with their wives, and Daniel has made it clear that the potential investor wants to meet the 'people behind BlackBox' in a relaxed setting. It seems 'relaxed' means expensive champagne and being asked to make small talk—something I despise.

“You could have asked me first.” I look back from the window to Miles.

“I did.” A smug look crosses his face.

“I thought you were talking about the reservation.” I vaguely remember that conversation.

“I’ve dealt with that too,” Miles says with a smile. “It’s at Provisions, eleven thirty on the private terrace.”

Realizing there is no way out of this, I ask, “What about my alleged date?”

“When the match is finalized, you’ll get her profile.” Miles taps something into his phone.

Pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and index finger, trying to hold off the headache building behind my eyes, I growl. "Cancel it."

“No.”

“No?” I quickly look at him. Miles never disobeys my commands—why is he starting now?

He crosses his arms over his chest. "You hired me so I could look after your schedule and make sure your personal flaws don't affect your business."

“My personal flaws?” I would be offended if he weren’t right. But I want to hear him say what they are.

“Your inability to date.” Miles holds up his index finger.

“I can date.” I’ve been on dates—it’s just been a while.

“You don’t date,” Miles says, pointing his finger at me, as if he’s speaking to a child.

“That’s a choice.” Work keeps me too busy to date—Miles knows it.

“It’s been three years since you last had dinner with a woman who was neither your relative nor your employee.”

“I’ve been busy.” I knew it had been a while, but has it really been three years?

“You’ve been hiding.” His words hit harder than I expected. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to date—it’s just that I don’t have time for it.

As my personal assistant, Miles might be familiar with my background, since my father left my mother when I was eight years old, which is common knowledge.

He also knows that my last serious relationship ended while I was in college because the woman I had trusted sold information about my family to a gossip website after learning that I was the heir to the Jamison fortune.

But there is no way he knows all the facts—no one does—I’m still a virgin.

That one serious relationship was only for show—we never kissed or even held hands, and we definitely never had sex.

“On Sunday,” he continues. “It’s just two hours—eat the overpriced eggs, introduce the beautiful woman as your date, and make an effort to act like a human being.”

“Fine,” I concede. “If it turns into a disaster, I'll fire you.”

“You say that every Thursday,” Miles says, with the confidence of a man who has heard that threat a thousand times and lived to see another day.

“It’s Tuesday,” I grumble, unwilling to admit I’ll never fire him. He’s the best assistant I’ve ever had—even if he hired me an escort.

“Then I’m ahead of schedule.” He stood and fastened his jacket. "Her name is Samantha."

Long after he leaves my office, her name lingers, stirring something in me, but I ignore the feeling and go back to the security report—or at least I try to.