Mister Romance (Masters of Love #1)

As soon as I’m in the safety of a stall, I pull out my phone and jab Max’s number. I hope I haven’t missed my opportunity to lock down an interview time.

“Miss Tate. I was beginning to think you were avoiding my calls.”

“Not at all. I was just ... busy. Sorry.”

“Do you have a moment to talk about my conditions for agreeing to your interview?”

“Absolutely.”

“Just to be clear, if you want full disclosure from me, these terms are non-negotiable.”

“I’m listening.”

“Earlier, you said you thought I was an asshole who’s conning my clients out of money, but you swore that if you’re proven wrong, you’ll change your narrative.”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“Then I’m going to need you to have more of a stake in the truth. If I prove that what I’m doing is helping and not hindering these ladies, you have to promise you’ll drop this story and forget you ever heard of me.”

That stops me dead in my tracks. “What?” Dropping this story isn’t an option. How does he not know that?

“That’s my condition. Take it or leave it.”

Shit. I need to find a workaround. “Okay, assuming I’m open to this, how do you plan on proving me wrong?”

“Easy. You become one of my clients. If you agree to go on three dates with me with an open mind, I’ll offer you as much interview time as you like.”

Laughter bubbles out of me. “Oh, wow ... I don’t think that’s a good idea –”

“Miss Tate, you claim you’re able to be impartial. This is how you prove it. Now, from what I know of you, I’m the one who’s likely to lose on this deal. You’ve made your disdain for me and my clients clear, not to mention your contempt for romance in general, and you seem pig-headed enough to stick to your guns no matter what evidence I offer to the contrary. So, what do you have to lose? If you remain unconvinced of my good intentions, you get to print your story as you see fit, names included.”

“Seriously? You agree to give me your client list?”

“Yes. If you expose me, there’s no way I can continue servicing clients anyway. I’ll be ruined. I’ll leave it up to your conscience as to how much detail you reveal in your article and hope you’re kind enough not to destroy innocent lives.”

“Well, the whole innocent issue remains to be seen.” God, Derek is going to love this. The entire pie, handed to me on a silver platter, and all I have to do is pretend to date him. Easy. There’s no way he’ll be able to prove he’s some altruistic angel, and if he thinks his tacky playacting will have me swooning and falling over myself, he clearly doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.

“Okay, Max. You have a deal. I agree to your conditions, and in return you’ll give me full disclosure, yes?”

“Within reason. Every answer I give will be truthful, but there may be questions I refrain from answering.”

“Sounds doable. Would you like me to draw up a legal document?”

“That depends. Can I trust you?”

“Yes,” I say. “But keep in mind if I was going to betray you, I’d say the same thing.”

He pauses. “That’s true. I guess I’ll have trust my gut and take you at your word.” I silently punch the air. “Goodbye for now, Miss Tate.”

I sit up straight. “Wait! When can we talk?”

“I’ll make contact soon. Answer your phone next time.”

The line goes dead, and I slump back against the wall in relief. I got him! I actually got him.

The elation is equal to having secured a sit-down with the mythical Sasquatch.

I shoot off a quick text to Derek explaining that I’ve locked in the interview then head out to wash my hands and check my face. I’ve been in here for so long Kieran must think I have some sort of bowel impaction. Great. Just what every girl wants her hot Irish date to think.

I sway a little as I fix my hair. I shouldn’t have slammed back those drinks so fast, especially on an empty stomach. Of course, the stupid heels don’t help.

When I pull open the door and attempt to strut down the hallway, I squeal when I run straight into Kieran.

“Shit!”

After smashing into his chest, my ankles buckle, and I’m on my way to a spectacular fall when he wraps his arms around me and pulls me tight against him.

As he pulls me up and braces against the wall, we both freeze. Adrenaline blasts through me, partly from the collision, but mostly because we’re pressed together in ways that make the epic sexual tension I felt across the table seem weak and pale in comparison.

He looks down at me, and his arms are so tight I can barely breathe. “When you didn’t come back, I got worried you may be sick, so I came to see if you were okay.” He searches my face, mouth soft and eyes dark. “Are you? Okay?”

“Yes ... fine.” My heart is thrumming in my chest, and I can see the pulse in his neck is racing just as fast. “Sorry. I seem to keep throwing myself at the floor whenever you’re around. I did warn you that my clumsiness was extra sexy in heels.” My voice is breathy, and he’s looking at me like he has no intention of letting me go.

“You did,” he whispers as he gazes down at me. “But if holding you like this is the result, then please throw yourself at the floor at every opportunity.”

For a moment, I feel like laughing, because there’s no way in the world Max will be able to even come close to Kieran’s levels of hotness. His heat, and smell, and rumbling whispers make me do something I never thought I would. I swoon. I wasn’t sure I even knew the meaning of the word until now, but I’m certain that what I’m doing right now is definitely swooning.

“Your voice is amazing,” I say. “So is your accent.”

“Thank you. Your lips are incredible.”

“Would you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Say ‘top of the mornin’ for me.”

He chuckles, low and rumbly in his chest. “You know that Irish people don’t say that anymore, right?”

“I don’t care. Say it.” I press against him and smile when he clenches his jaw in response.

“Top ‘o the mornin’ to ye, Eden.”

I close my eyes and moan. “God. So sexy.”

Before thinking too much about it, I put my hand on his chest and feel the hard planes of his muscles beneath his shirt.

“You know,” I say. “We could forget about dinner and go back to my apartment. My sister is working late. We’d have the place to ourselves.”

He drops his head back. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

He brushes some hair away from my face. “Because I told you last night I’m trying to date you, not get into your pants.”

“Can’t you do both?”

“Not unless I break several personal and professional rules.”

I lean into him. “Break them. I’ll make it worth your while.”

Unexpectedly, he sets me back on my feet and puts distance between us. “Eden, we can’t.”

“We can. Honestly, I’m really good at it.”