2. Adrian
CHAPTER 2
ADRIAN
“The lack of pleasure was all mine?” I say to Leo with a headshake as soon as the mystery woman disappears into the library. “Do you understand what I meant?”
Leo cocks his head.
I’m smoother than that, and my idea of flirting is sniffing a bitch’s butthole.
“Oh, well,” I say. “Maybe I’ll say something smarter when she comes back.”
Leo lies down on the ground and looks at me skeptically.
I thought stalking was my thing, but whatever floats your two-legged boat.
“You got me into this in the first place,” I tell him. “The least I can do is offer to buy her clothes to replace the ones you ruined.”
Leo whines—which makes me feel like I’ve won the imaginary argument.
As we wait, I can’t help but picture how I’d paint the mystery woman. Or make a statue of her using the laser welding techniques I’ve recently mastered.
A smile curves my lips. To some, she might seem either dorky or like a sexy librarian. They might think she’s like the heroine in She’s All That— pretty but needs to take off her glasses and have a makeover. I think she’s reminiscent of the Mona Lisa, with a face as close to ideal as it comes, and her glasses expertly framing that perfection. In fact, I’d bet a million dollars that if I measured her face and divided its width by its length, the result would be the Golden Ratio. Same goes for her other proportions: the length of her ears would be exactly equal to that of her nose, the width of her eyes identical to the distance between them, not to mention?—
My phone rings.
It’s Bob, one of my army of lawyers who’s an expert at destroying my good mood. He’s the best at what he does, but he has an annoying habit of acting as though the upcoming hearing is the most important thing in his life, instead of mine. As if he found me so that he can help, not the other way around. Sometimes, I wonder if he believes all the bullshit his opponents are planning to say about me at said hearing—things that, unfortunately, a lot of people believe.
“Hi,” Bob says. “Did you hear from the agency?”
I frown. “None of the candidates they provided are any good.”
“Are you sure you’re not being too picky?” Bob asks.
“Oh, am I?” I rattle out the problems with the candidates that include, but are not limited to: a DUI, a racist rant on social media, and restraining orders from three different men.
“Hmm,” Bob says. “Maybe we should find a better agency?”
I scoff. “You think?”
“We’ve got to do this ASAP,” he says. “The relationship has to have lasted a while to sound believable.”
My jaw twitches. “Tell me something I don’t know—and make it good news for a change.”
“The judge we’re most likely to get doesn’t have much of a gender bias,” Bob says.
“That’s great,” I say, and my heart squeezes with hope. Ever since I saw my baby girl at the hospital—or maybe even prior to that—I’ve been doing everything in my power to be able to be in her life, which requires getting joint custody. The truth is, I’d even consider marrying Sydney, her manipulative mother, but not until I’ve exhausted every other possible venue.
“I’ve also heard from the company that scrubs the internet,” Bob says. “Their job is done. Just make sure not to give them any more work to do, and stay away from substances.”
I blow out a breath. “I haven’t touched mushrooms in a few months. LSD even longer. You don’t need to keep bringing that up.”
“Sorry,” Bob says. “You know how important that part is.”
Of course I do, and it’s not Bob I’m angry at, but myself. I mentioned micro-dosing hallucinogens for creativity in some interviews a year back, and Bob has reason to believe the other side might use that to make a case that I have substance abuse issues. Now, should they go that route, they’ll be disappointed when they try to get a hold of any proof of me having said that, and I also happen to be taking regular drug tests to prove I’m clean as the whistle of a referee with OCD.
“Anything else I should know?” I ask Bob.
He launches into the rundown, but I have to stop him before he’s done because I spot the mystery woman coming out of the library.
Judging by her forlorn expression, things didn’t go well at her interview, and if so, I owe her more than just a set of clothes.
“I’ll call you later,” I say to Bob and hang up.
The woman descends the stairs, lost in her thoughts. Then, when she spots us, she narrows her eyes to little specks of amber. “Are you stalking me?”
I gesture at Leo, and in “his” voice reply, “I messed up, so I’m making my human make amends.”
She closes the distance between us and juts a finger at my chest. “As I already told you, I’m not going to your place.”
“Right,” I say in my normal voice. “But there’s a clothing store nearby. How about I buy you a new outfit?”
She sighs. “Is that the fastest way to be rid of you?”
I nod, and Leo stands to his full height and wags his tail at her.
She smiles at the dog, and it’s not a Mona Lisa smile but a wide grin. “His fluffy face reminds me of someone,” she says. “But I can’t recall who.”
“Oh, he gets that a lot,” I deadpan. “He’s got one of those faces, you know.”
Her smile vanishes. “Where is this alleged store?”
I gesture toward Fifth Avenue. “Not far.”
“Fine,” she grumbles and starts walking.
I catch up, and as casually as I can, I ask, “What’s your name?”
She stops. “That’s not something I divulge to complete strangers.”
I extend my hand. “Just to remind you, my name is Adrian. Adrian Westfield.” I pull out my driver’s license and hand it to her. “See? Now I’m not a complete stranger.”
Frowning, she takes a picture of my license with her phone. “Now that’s in my cloud,” she says. “If you eat me, the cops will have some questions for you.”
Eat her? The part of my anatomy that she dubbed Yoda feels a great disturbance in the force, as if millions of vaginas have suddenly cried out in ecstasy.
Judging by her blush, she must realize the double entendre.
When I take the license back, my fingers brush against hers, and it’s like being hit with that Force lightning the evil Sith can shoot out of their hands. The energy flows right into Yoda—and unlike his movie namesake, my cock doesn’t harmlessly absorb it. Instead, I feel like Yoda may explode.
“Jane,” she says, and for some reason, her cheeks turn an even more delicious shade of pink. “Jane Miller. My mother is a huge fan of Pride and Prejudice .”
As we resume the walk, I ask, “The book or the movie with Keira Knightley?”
“The book,” Jane says curtly. “My mom couldn’t have named me after that movie because it came out after I was already born.”
“I’m not falling for that,” I say to Leo conspiratorially. To Jane, I say, “I want to make it clear—I wasn’t fishing to find out your age… Even if, by seeing my license, you already know that I’m twenty-seven.”
“What a gentleman,” she says with an audible eyeroll. “Since you’re dying to know, I’m twenty-three. Also, before you ask, I’m a hundred and five pounds.”
“I would never ask that.” I wonder if I should tell her she weighs exactly as much as Leo.
“I’m also five feet and three inches,” she continues. “Which makes my BMI nineteen and a half.”
“Seriously, I don’t need?—”
“My cholesterol is one fifty,” she continues. “I’m a Scorpio. My blood pressure is 115 over 75 most days. My shoe size is a five. Anything else you want to ask? If I have any moles? What my poop looks like on the Bristol stool scale?”
“I didn’t ask any of that, and you know it.” Though some of it will be pretty helpful if I make a life-sized statue of her—but I don’t mention this bit because she might twist it into something only a cannibal would say.
“Are we close to the store?” she demands.
I point at a boutique across the street. “There.”
She checks it out, then stops and shakes her head. “We can’t go in there.”
“Why not?”
She doesn’t seem like the type to be blacklisted for shoplifting, unlike one of the candidates the agency sent me.
“They sell the most expensive clothes in Manhattan,” she says. “They won’t let your dog in, and they will snub me, like in that scene from Pretty Woman .”
I grin. “If they do either, we’ll shop elsewhere and then rub their noses in all the commission they missed out on, like Julia Roberts did.”
For the first time, Jane smiles at me. “You’ve seen that movie?”
“I’m a movie fanatic,” I say as we cross the street. “I’ve seen everything. What about you?”
“I’m more of a book reader.” She pushes her specs higher up her cute nose. “Still, watching movies is something I do with my mom every chance I get, so I’ve seen many.”
There’s a pang in my chest. I’d give all my money to be able to watch a movie with my mom again, no matter how crappy.
“What kind of books do you like?” I ask before she somehow picks up on my thoughts and brings up something I wouldn’t want to discuss.
Blushing once again, she enters the boutique instead of answering.
Before following, I look down at Leo. “You have to be on your best behavior in there.”
Leo cocks his head.
What are the chances they’ll have a cat who dares me to chase it? Or a squirrel? Or my tail?
Sighing, I pull out my wallet and make sure I have my Amex Black Card so I can flash it if it looks like we might get kicked out. Then I step inside—and bump into Jane, who seems to want to escape.
“Leaving so soon?” I ask.
“They don’t have price tags on anything,” she whispers loudly.
I wave to a nearby saleslady. Given the way her eyes widen, I suspect she knows who I am.
“There’s been an accident,” I say. “We need to replace Jane’s outfit.” I point at a couple of mannequins. “She’ll try that on to start.”
The sales team swarms Jane like fashionista locusts.
Before I know it, Jane walks out of the dressing room in an Italian skirt suit, looking so professional she could get any job she wants, be it a CEO, an investment banker, or a mortician.
This is when it hits me. Another place where she would look great wearing that suit is by my side at the hearing.
Leo looks up at me with a lolled tongue. No doubt he can hear my heartbeat speeding up.
Great idea. Now go and pee around her, or do whatever it is humans do to mark their territory.
The more I think about this, the more excited I get. Thus far, from what little I know about Jane Miller, she’s light-years ahead of most of the candidates the agency has sent me.
What I like the most is that she has a wholesome girl-next-door vibe to her that would contrast nicely with Sydney’s cold beauty.
Is she single? Straight? Not a smoker?
If yes to all three, this is it.
Jane Miller is going to be my wife.