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  Eventually she sighs and sits back in her chair, seemingly put out. She lifts a hand and hooks the first finger. “Last man was Jamal. Built, NBA player. God in the sack. The problem there was he wasn’t just fucking me. He was screwing half the cheerleaders on the team.”

  I shake my head, my mind instantly flicking back to when Kayla did the same to me. Except Kayla did it with my best friend. At least now with Skyler I don’t have to worry about cheating girlfriends ever again.

  She hooks another finger. “Before him was Trey. Perfect on paper. Actually, met him through a friend of a friend. She’d given me his resume.” She furrows her eyebrows and purses her lips, a bit of attitude coming out in her tone. “Brother played me for a song. Turns out he was broke, practically homeless, and wanted to move into my house within the first two weeks of dating. We’d only gone on four dates. When I asked why he was so eager to move in with me, jumping several hurdles in our relationship, he said he’d spent all his money on our dates and was stone broke. I get that a man comes up on some hard times, but to spend your cash on a woman and then expect her to take you in from the cold?” She shakes her head. “What kind of crazy fool did he take me for?”

  “I couldn’t say,” I respond, when, in my head, I’m cursing the brother out. This is the type of man ruining the playing field for all our kind.

  Royce groans. “Ruining it for brothers everywhere.”

  I grin, wanting to fist-bump my friend but remembering to keep it professional. “And the one before that?” I ask.

  She huffs, her chest jerking with the effort. “Worst one yet. I thought I loved him and he loved me in return. We talked about marriage and babies. He was the perfect man.”

  I cross my leg, resting my ankle on my knee. “What happened? He lied about wanting marriage and children?” I surmise.

  “If only. Lord . . .”

  “What’d he do?” Royce sits up, a machismo in his tone we do not need right now. Like the man could up and find the guy and beat the shit out of him for playing a pretty woman.

  “Oh, he was honest about the marriage and children . . . he already had both. A wife and two children. Was living two lives. I was with him for close to a year before I found out the truth. He gave me a promise ring and everything.”

  “Say what?” Royce growls.

  “Damn” slips through my teeth as I grind my molars so I won’t convey what I really think of the scumbag. She doesn’t need me to commiserate with her; she needs me to help her out of her funk when it comes to finding a good man.

  I know exactly what she’s going through. Kayla played me for the ultimate fool. Studied with me. Slept in my bed at night, talked about how many kids we were going to have and what we’d name them . . . all to get me to put a ring on her finger. And I did. Schmuck of the century. She had me wrapped around her golden lies as she was banging Greg and planning to break it off with me. Apparently Greg wanted her to wait until we’d set up the business before announcing she was leaving me. So while she openly planned our wedding and I prepared for the brightest future with what I thought was the ideal woman, she was actually living a lie.

  I push all thoughts of Kayla aside. She’s no longer part of my life. Kayla can’t hurt me, and Skyler never would. Her soul is pure and her intentions sound. I believe she very well could be the woman that changes my life forever.

  “Mm-hmm, except I got him back in the end. Told his wife all about his lies. She’s taking his ass to the cleaners in divorce court right now.”

  “As she should.” Royce sneers. “Man like that should have his balls cut off, even if I can see why he’d do it.”

  Rochelle and I focus our gazes on him. “Excuse me?” she says at the same time I give a baffled “What?”

  Royce rubs at his chin. “I said, I can understand why he’d do it. Risk living two lives.” His voice is clear and concise.

  Rochelle sucks in a breath, obviously about to interrupt, when Royce keeps going.

  “He probably took one look at you, all you had to offer, and wished he had a different life, was a different kind of man. Instead of doing the right thing by you and his wife, breaking it off with her or never going there with you, he took the lazy man’s route and did nothing. Man probably looked over his shoulder all the time, which means he never got to fully experience the beauty that is you.”

  Rochelle’s eyes are coal black and piercing as she stares at Royce. “No, I don’t suppose he did. What would you have done, if you were in a similar circumstance?”

  He purses his lips but doesn’t move an inch otherwise when he responds. “I mean no disrespect, Rochelle. You’re a mighty-fine woman, and any man, including me, would be lucky to have you as his own, but I hold the commitment of marriage in the highest regard. I wouldn’t have strayed. If I were lucky enough to have a wife and kids, they would be my everything. Nuthin’ could break that bond.”

  The tension in the room thickens so much I swear I could karate chop that shit as Royce and Rochelle have a stare-off. I’ve seen staring competitions between pro wrestlers last for a shorter length of time, and they’re paid to build the intensity. Finally she cuts the tension and speaks first.

  “Good answer.”

  “It’s who I am,” he says automatically.

  “I think I like who you are, Mr. Sterling.” Her tone is unmistakably flirty.

  “Feelin’s mutual, Chellie.” He licks his lips and smirks.

  Chellie? A fucking nickname? He’s known her all of five minutes. This is going to hell in a handbasket real quick.

  I clear my throat until the client looks at me. “Now that we’ve established what you don’t want, let’s get to what you’re looking for and how International Guy can help.”

  She sighs as if the entire thing is draining, even though she’s the one who approached us.

  “For starters, I need a man who’s confident in who he is. Not a liar. Had enough of those.”

  I nod. “Any ethnic preferences we should know about?”

  She clucks her tongue a bit suggestively as she eyes Royce once more. He’s a tall, six-foot-four African American who undoubtedly could grace the cover of any magazine with his good looks.

  “I’ve always preferred black men, but I’m not going to cut my nose off to spite my face by reducing the pool of prospects because they are white, Latino, or otherwise.”

  “Noted. Work, career?” I nudge her because her entire focus is on Royce. Hell, maybe I should let them have a go at it and tell her to call me when it falls flat. I’m not getting a match here other than intense attraction. If this woman wants her forever, as Royce recently stated he’s in the market for, she’s knocking at the wrong door. He’s not going to leave Boston or his mother and sisters. As the sole male in the Sterling family, he watches over his women like it’s his second job. He’s a family man, regardless of his success with IG. The difference between us and other corporations is we make the rules to enhance the lives of our employees rather than regulate those lives. If he wants to build a family and work from home a couple of days a week, he can do that. If he wants to travel less, he can make the choice. Still, it does not mean he’s going to move three thousand miles away for a woman, and by the looks of this woman’s office and her success on the West Coast, I don’t see her moving either. And those are not the only red flags.

  “White-collar career would be preferred, because a lot of times I need to attend black-tie events and hobnob with the big dogs in my industry. I need a man comfortable enough in his own skin and around other businessmen to shoot the breeze when required, not just talk beer and baseball.”

  I choke down a laugh. I personally can talk beer and baseball all night, and so can Royce. It’s one of the many things we brothers have in common. Although you wouldn’t know it from our business acumen, which leads me to believe she may have preconceived notions about men in general.

  “Again, Ms. Renner, it would help tremendously for you to give me your top-tier desires as they pertain
to finding the perfect mate. If we’re even capable of such a thing. Love is tricky; it doesn’t follow rules and regulations, and people don’t wear signs over their heads saying ‘compatible.’” I speak straight from the heart, because every word is true. Love is the most complex thing I’ve ever experienced. From being destroyed by Kayla to being lifted higher than the galaxy by Skyler, I know how extreme the differences can be. Especially if one has been burned, which Rochelle and I have in common.

  Rochelle tips her head back and laughs heartily before placing her hand on her chest as if to catch her breath. “Oh, Mr. Ellis. You misunderstood my request. I want you to find me the perfect mate. No one ever said anything about love, though it would be a huge bonus. Hiring a service to find me love would be preposterous, don’t you think?”

  “You’d be surprised what we’re hired to do.” I grin and clasp my hands, thankful that Rochelle’s expectations of finding a love match are realistic. It took me several years to be open to love again, and finding it even longer. I don’t know if I would have even come this close if Skyler hadn’t come along.

  “Fair enough.” She sits back in her chair, where she crosses her long-ass legs, her skirt riding up her shimmery mocha-colored thigh. I glance at Royce, who’s clocked the move, nostrils flaring as he swallows slowly.

  “If you’re not looking for a love match, lay out your parameters. What is it you want in the perfect mate?”

  “Like a laundry list?” She chuckles.

  “More like your absolute must-haves. Don’t pretend you don’t have a list already going in your head. You’re an intelligent woman, and you didn’t call us in for nothing. What is it you desire, Ms. Renner?”

  “For starters, tall, black, and beautiful.”

  “Got it. Next?” I urge.

  “Has a job but doesn’t need to make a lot of money. I make plenty to provide. Doesn’t have a lot of bad habits, like expecting me to cook his meals and be home every night at six.”

  “Working and independent. Next?”

  “Can stand by my side at functions without complaining. Contribute to conversations eloquently or be silent as needed.”

  I have to grin at that last one, because Royce is not the type to sit back and watch his woman work a room without participating. Hopefully he’s seeing some of the differences between them and isn’t too blinded by her looks.

  “Well-spoken but not intimidated by his woman’s success. Anything else?”

  She nods. “Doesn’t have an overbearing mother. Ugh. I can’t stand dealing with momma’s boys.”

  I glance at Royce. He’s tugging at the collar of his shirt and readjusting his tie.

  Score one for my superior instincts. Royce is the biggest momma’s boy known to mankind.

  Maybe this client won’t be an issue after all.

  2

  The bar is barely filled with patrons when I pull out a stool and place my tired ass in a seat. We picked a spot right in front of the big screen at the bar so we could catch the Giants playing the Brewers without our view impeded. These days, it feels like I never catch a game as it’s happening. My DVR is practically maxed out. I need to spend a weekend at home burning through nothing but the games I’ve missed. My mind immediately adds a fuckhot blonde curled against my front while we lie on my leather sofa and take in the game.

  I think Skyler would appreciate the serenity of sitting around and loafing on the couch. Eating hot dogs, chips, and nacho cheese followed by some rowdy sex. Yep, I’m certain my girl would be up for it.

  “Hey, man, you know what the end score was for the Red Sox by any chance?” I ask the bartender as he approaches.

  He nods and wipes his hands on a towel. “It was awesome, man. They won eight to five against the Orioles.”

  I lift my hand and high-five the guy. Man code. I could tell by the enthusiasm in his tone he was happy the Red Sox won. “Sweet! Can I have a pint of the Almanac IPA? Gotta drink the local brew while I can.”

  “Same for me.” Royce lifts his chin and maneuvers his big body onto a stool. He’s obviously taking a break from his normal whiskey neat, which isn’t unusual when he’s having a meal. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if he switched after dinner.

  “Two Almanacs coming right up. You want a menu?”

  “Sure do. Thanks,” Royce says.

  When the bartender leaves, Royce doesn’t hesitate before turning toward me and leaning against the bar. Almost the same exact body positioning Bo took in Copenhagen when I was spewing my fears about Sky and me.

  “What?” I frown.

  “Wasn’t Rochelle the shit?”

  I’m pretty sure I look like one of those stress dolls with the bulbous eyes that bug out when you squeeze it really hard. “Dude, seriously? What was with the nickname?”

  Royce rubs at his chin. “Man, what you talkin’ about?”

  “Chellie. When did she become Chellie and not Rochelle, or hell, even Ms. Renner, since she’s a client.” There’s no hiding the irritation in my tone; it’s like a live wire running through me.

  “Says the man who fucked not one, but two clients in the past few months.” He holds up two fingers to emphasize his point.

  I wince and suck in a large breath, planning to let out what I’ve got to say quickly and, I hope, painlessly for us both. Still, he’s nailed me to the wall. He’s got me stuck, at war between needing him to see the truth in this scenario—how it’s going to turn out all kinds of bad—and acknowledging what I did. “I get this is a pot-and-kettle vibe you’re feeling, but man, this woman, she is not for you.”

  He scowls. “Not that I want to go there, but I’d sure as fuck like to know why you think you’ve got a lock on why she’s not the woman for me? Seeing as I met her, have been talking to her for the past three weeks, and got to know her pretty fuckin’ well. What, just because I grew up with a shit-drunk father in a shit-hole two-bedroom house, working at the age of fifteen to help pay bills, does that mean I’m not good enough for a woman who’s living the high life? You don’t think I can play ball with the bigwigs or somethin’?”

  A sledgehammer to the face would have hurt less. My entire body locks down, preparing for battle. “Fuck no! Jesus, Roy. Your upbringing, brother, it’s something to be proud of. Taking care of your sisters and mother when you were only a teenager. Helping make ends meet any way you could while still pulling in the grades? I have more respect for you than any man I know.”

  Royce seems to firm his jaw as he focuses his gaze straight ahead. Him not making eye contact burns like a white-hot poker to the heart.

  “I know what you went through growing up. Father who put you in the hospital, mother who worked till her fingers bled, taking care of four kids.” I shake my head. “Mad respect. Though part of your history is what makes me see that Rochelle is not like you. She has zero interest in settling down for the long haul.” I note the obvious from our conversations with her.

  “So? What does that have to do with anything? Besides, she said she wanted a kid.”

  I nod. “Yeah, to set her legacy in place, to hand over her company one day. I do not see that chick taking time off work or even being a typical working mother. Nannies will be raising any child she has. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s not you. You come from a tight-knit family. The loyal, get-in-your-face type, like mine. You gonna tell me that’s not the type of woman you want for the future?”

  He shrugs. “Not sure what I want. All I know is there’s something between us. I can feel it in the air.”

  “It’s lust, Roy. Believe me, I know it when I see it. You’re hot for her. As you should be. Every man in his right mind would be bending over backward to get in there.”

  Royce rubs at his bottom lip with his thumb. “The woman sure is fiiiine.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, she is. She also wants to find the perfect man to play housemate with her so she’s not lonely at night. Wants to look good at events with a trophy on her arm. Roy, she doesn’t want an alpha-male typ
e like yourself, even if you push one another’s hot buttons. She wants a submissive man. Someone who worships her and caters to her every need.”

  “What makes you so sure? Just because you’re in good with Skyler, for the first time in fuckin’ forever, you think you’re the expert on love now?” He scowls. “’Sides, I didn’t get that from her feedback.” He grabs one of the pints the bartender sets down in front of us.

  I try to ignore the jab he threw, and continue undaunted. He needs to see what I see. Open his freakin’ eyes to the obvious. “You weren’t reading between the lines. Part of what I do in my role is figure out what the client really wants, even if they don’t know it, or think they know it, and I have a pretty good track record, as you know.”

  He shrugs.

  “Roy, I’m telling you, she wants a submissive male. Mark my words. You go there with her, not only will we lose a client, which I can handle—risked that myself, as you pointed out—but I don’t want to see you losing your heart in the process.”

  The bartender interrupts by handing us both menus.

  “Do you have a pulled-pork sandwich?” I ask without looking at the menu.

  “Course.”

  “I’ll have that with fries.” I hand back the folded piece of paper.

  “Same for me.” Royce passes his menu too.

  When the bartender leaves, I watch the big screen, allowing Royce a few moments to collect his thoughts. The Giants score a run with a runner on second base.

  Royce sips his beer and then rubs his bald head with his free hand. “Not sure how I can avoid the heat between us, Park. Not sure I even want to,” he admits, concern coating his words.

  I nod. “Feel ya, brother. Still, I think it’s in your best interest to fight it.”

  He purses his lips and nods succinctly. The two of us continue our evening watching baseball, drinking beer, and eating a helluva good pulled-pork sandwich. The silence isn’t as comfortable as it usually is, but it’s my cross to bear. One I will willingly take on for what I believe is the greater outcome.