Chapter 7
LANEY
I n Gwen’s open-concept apartment over the Pilates studio, I watched my friend pull a bunch of dresses out of her closet for me to choose from. I sat on her bed, picking at the massive rollers in my hair and seriously questioning my sanity for getting dressed up for this dinner.
Ultimately, however, if Sterling was offering a way for us to work together that didn’t ruin the business my family had started so many years ago, then I was going to have to suck it up, let Gwen make me look decent, and go to eat some fancy food.
“Do you really think he might help you save it?” she asked as she held up a slip of a little black dress and almost immediately dropped it in her no pile.
“Everything I’ve read about him says this is highly unusual, and in the last twenty-four hours, I’ve read everything about him I’ve been able to get my hands on. ”
“I know.” I fidgeted with another roller. “I haven’t wanted to do too much reading because I can’t afford to get too intimidated, but it doesn’t look like he does this often. I have managed to find a few businesses he’s kept going though, so maybe. I just don’t know.”
Gwen ran her gaze over a purple mini-dress and grinned as she turned to me. “This might be the one, and don’t you dare say no until you’ve tried it on.”
I eyed the scrap of material and shook my head. “This is Sterling Westwood I’m going to dinner with. If I wear that, people will think I’m a high-end escort he hired for the night.”
She laughed. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. The kind of place he goes to probably judges people if their asses are hanging out. Any idea where he’s taking you or what you’re expected to wear?”
I shook my head and playfully batted my lashes at her. “What does one wear when sharing a meal with local royalty?”
“ Hot local royalty,” she correctly lightly, turning back to her closet. “Is he as much of a jerk as you thought he was? You’ve spent some time with him now, right, so what’s he really like?”
“He’s more of a jerk than I thought he was, but you’re not wrong about him being hot.” Devastatingly so, actually.
Just because I hated him didn’t mean I was blind—and Sterling Westwood was objectively freaking gorgeous.
Those eyes were bluer than blue, the way he carried himself speaking of generations of authority, and confidence, and command.
When I’d first seen him that day on the street, I’d thought his hair was black, but I’d realized yesterday in the store that it wasn’t. Not completely.
When the light hit it just right, there was glimmer of gold in the strands that hinted at a rich, deep brown. His cheekbones and jawline deserved their own places in the Hall of Fame and those broad shoulders? Whew, they would really give a girl something to hang onto.
Gwen chuckled and pretended to fan herself. “Do you know there’s a Facebook page dedicated to his ass? It’s all just pictures of him from behind and GIFs of him being spanked.”
“God, the things he’d do to anyone who tried to spank him, but I understand the instinct.” I giggled, but I seriously felt the person who had created that page.
It was a pretty great ass, all tight and toned.
On the other hand, it was his eyes I’d found myself hung up on ever since his unexpected visit yesterday. More specifically, the little sparkle that had been in them when he’d looked at me. I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“Hot as he might be, just don’t go to bed with him after dinner,” Gwen said, wagging a finger at me. She pulled a navy-blue, knee-length cocktail dress from the closet. “Do you hear me, young lady? It’s not proper to bang a prince on the first date.”
I burst out laughing. “I don’t know who you were trying to imitate there, but it didn’t work. Besides, on what planet would that ever happen? I’ve seen pictures of that dude with literal princesses and he seems to hang out exclusively with people who have been beaten with the beauty stick.”
Gwen smirked. “You might’ve met your match, Laney Rhodes, even if you just don’t know it yet. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a knockout.”
My nose wrinkled. “I’m cute in a girl-down-the-street sort of way. Even the girls-next-door always wind up being too hot. I’m not like them.”
“No, this isn’t like you .” She rolled her eyes so hard, she should’ve done some stretches first. “Do not, I repeat, do not let him get to you like this. You’re gorgeous and you know it.
So what if he’s got money? Forget everything I said about his family and treat him like you do everyone else.
More importantly, remember your own worth. ”
I nodded, drawing in a deep breath and letting her words wash over me like I was taking a bath in confidence.
Gwen was right. I was perfectly fine looking.
No crooked teeth or wonky nose—and it didn’t matter what I looked like anyway.
This wasn’t a date; it was a meeting. I had already been treating him like I treated everyone else and I wouldn’t stop now.
Not even if he did sort of hold my future in his strong, well-manicured hands.
She thrust the navy dress at me. “Say yes to it. This is the one.”
I let my gaze roam over the soft lace overlay and the cute cap sleeves, and then I nodded. “Yes, dress. I pick you.”
Gwen squealed and handed it over, and thirty minutes later, I left her apartment with a beautiful blow-out and wearing borrowed heels with her dress. Ready for action, I went back to the store and did some work on my laptop, anxious for the moment to arrive when Sterling would pick me up.
Precisely on time, there was a knock on the door and I found myself smiling. Look at that. A business partner who knows how to read a clock.
I got up, but when I opened the door, a man I didn’t know was standing on the other side.
He wore a black suit—with a freaking hat in his hands like this was colonial England.
“Ms. Rhodes? My name is Steve. Mr. Westwood sent me to collect you. He’s been held up in a meeting and he didn’t want you to wait. ”
So he sent a driver to pick me up? Fabulous. What a pompous prick. Like I’m just some errand to run. Like I’m his dry cleaning.
Since it wasn’t Steve’s fault that his boss was an asshole, I offered him a polite smile. “Thanks. Let me just grab my purse.”
He inclined his chin in a nod. Once I left the shop, he was already waiting with the door of a black town car open. A little ticked off by being sent for like a takeout order, I climbed into the car and leaned forward once Steve was behind the wheel.
“Is Sterling planning on murdering me?” I asked. “Or worse, is he part of the Illuminati and I’m going to be sacrificed and eaten?”
Steve laughed as he eased us away from the curb. “It doesn’t sound like you’re going to believe this, but he’s really not so bad.”
“You still didn’t say no,” I grumbled. “That means murder and being eaten is still an option.”
“It’s not,” he assured me, smiling as his gaze met mine in the rearview mirror. “Quite the opposite, actually. I’ve been asked to take you to Luna’s.”
“Luna’s?” I frowned. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Because you’re not supposed to,” he explained. “It’s like Rao’s in New York. They don’t allow reservations or walk-ins. You have to know someone with a standing or long-time reservation to get in.”
I sighed and glanced down at myself, relieved that Gwen and I had chosen a beautiful but conservative dress for the occasion. When Steve pulled up outside a somewhat dingy-looking Italian restaurant though, I revisited my Illuminati suspicions.
The place was little more than a heavy wooden door in a rather neglected-looking wall. Steve walked me to it, smiling and once again reassuring me that I wasn’t about to be murdered. “Enjoy your evening, Ms. Rhodes.”
“Thanks, Steve,” I muttered. “You too.”
Before I could even knock, the door swung open and I was met with an older man on the other side. “Ms. Rhodes, I assume?”
I gaped at him. “How did you know?”
“Steve.” He nodded at the driver who was walking away and it dawned on me that somehow, even from behind the closed door, he’d seen me with the other man.
Man, rich people are weird. I sighed but nodded. “Westwood, party of two?”
The older guy swept a hand out ahead of him and I walked in, surprised by how luxurious the interior was given the state of the exterior. A dimly lit dining room stretched out ahead of me. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and a plush carpet welcomed my feet.
Almost every table was full. The low hum of chatter and laughter drifted through the air. Classical music flowed from the speakers and the scent of garlic wafted to me. My stomach rumbled and I desperately hoped no one else heard it.
“Ms. Rhodes.” A young woman, probably around my age, appeared at my side and smiled, motioning for me to follow her. “Let me show you to the bar. Mr. Westwood will be here shortly.”
Of course, he’s communicated with everyone except the person he’s supposed to be meeting with. Splendid. Just fucking peachy.
I nodded at the woman, though. It wasn’t her fault either. “Thank you. And maybe you could rustle me up some breadsticks while I wait?”
“No breadsticks but I can grab you a fresh loaf out of the oven.”
I grinned at her. “My hero.”
At the bar along the far wall that had probably seen deals being made between presidents and dignitaries, I ordered a glass of wine and forced myself to inhale a calming breath. The woman brought me some steaming bread with olive oil drizzled on it.
“Good luck,” she told me before heading off.
The bread was divine and it helped settle my nervous stomach a little. Why had the woman wished me luck, though? Did she know something I didn’t? That seemed to be the running theme of the whole evening.