“For a job? You were going to an interview . . .”
“Bookkeeping. Waitressing. Birthday clown.” She shrugs and blushes again. “Whatever it takes to pay the bills.”
No telling me she’s waiting for her big break. No, “my last campaign was for Victoria’s Secret and you can find me in their ads.” No, “I’m in between jobs and can you help me since you’re such a successful man?”
Nope. Not a mention, even in a town full of people trying to throw their names around and make a spot for themselves.
She averts those multicolored eyes of hers and shakes her head. “You know what? Thanks for bringing these back. I should get inside.”
“I have connections.” Brilliant, Zane. Fucking brilliant. That’s how you get her to not run away from you? By giving her a sleazy line? “Maybe I could help you find something.”
“I couldn’t care less about your connections.” She hangs her head and when she lifts it, I watch her reign in the pride I feel like a dick for bruising. “I’m sorry. That was rude. Like I said, thank you.” She holds up the papers and offers a reticent smile.
“Look . . .” I take a step toward her, more than aware that I don’t want her to go just yet and questioning why I’m even bringing this up. “I have an event I’m holding at the end of the week. You should come. I could introduce you to some people. There might be some job opportunities there.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not that kind of girl.” The roll of her eyes has me realizing how she took my comment.
My laugh makes Lula lift her head. “That’s not exactly what I meant, Harlow. I run a matchmaking website, not an escort service.”
“Good to know. So basically that means you cherry pick the women you want to date after you scope out all their information. I assure you now I can sleep better at night knowing this.”
“You’re exhausting.” And she is, but in the most fascinating of ways.
“You’re one to talk.” She crosses her arms over her chest and lifts her eyebrows.
I hold my hands up. “All I was trying to say is connections matter in this town. You and I both know that. My event . . . there is going to be a lot of people there. Industry people,” I say more than aware I just let it slip that I looked her up and know she works in the industry.
“Good. Great. Can you go now?”
But there’s a crack of a smile on her face. A chink in her defensive armor that tells me I’m getting somewhere.
“You have to take opportunities when they present themselves.” She doesn’t say anything but the slight smile remains. “Zane Phillips. Nice to meet you.” I stick my hand out. She looks down at it and nods but doesn’t shake it.
Fuck, she’s stubborn.
And goddamn gorgeous.
“And you’re Harlow Nicks.”
“Considering you had my electric bill, I guess that means you know how to read.”
“I do.” I nod. “And I also have your email address from your interview paperwork.”
“Should I worry that you’re stalking me?”
I shake my head and sigh. “I’ll email you the information about the party—”
“—don’t bother—”
“—it’s on Friday night. Cocktail attire. Lots of networking.”
“I won’t read it.”
I flash a megawatt smile at her and then turn to walk away. “Yes, you will.”
And she will.
It’s rare that a woman resists me. She’s trying but I’ll win in the end. It just seems for the time being that I have my work cut out for me.
I’m a man who always has an end goal in mind. Always.
There’s no point in setting a goal if you don’t plan on smashing it.
Question is, what in the hell am I aiming for when it comes to Harlow Nicks?
“YOU SHOULD GO, MIJA. YOU need to live in the now.”
“Mom,” I sigh her name in exasperation and look her way. Live in the now. How many times in my life have I heard her say that one? My spitfire of a mother, who never backs down, never lets me settle, and who would do anything in her power to help me succeed. “Going to some hoity toity event isn’t going to help pay the bills.”
“I told you I have it covered this month.” She pulls up her mocha colored hair into a clip, sinks back in her chair, and points to my laptop. “Look at him.”
“I have looked at him, Mom.” Tons of pictures of Zane—more than I should admit to. At charity events. At business functions. At parties with celebrities who are so well known they are typically referred to by their first names only.
The headlines and bylines clutter my mind. CEO of the up and coming online matchmaking site SoulM8.com. A native of Brisbane, Australia, who moved here when he was twenty to pursue his entrepreneurial goals. The man who began his fortune by making some lucky trades on stocks, then by buying failing businesses and then selling them for a ridiculous profit after revamping them.
Must be nice to have the Midas Touch, as one article called it, all the while being a prick.
“He’s tall. Handsome. Successful.”
“And an asshole,” I grumble.