CHAPTER TEN
Annie wasn’t just blowing smoke up my ass when she told Sutton about my position in the city. I love this town, everything about it. It’s not made for skyscrapers and fancy new glass buildings. It’s made of cobblestone, gas lanterns, and spirits, both dead and the liquid variety.
It’s important to me that New Orleans maintain the rich culture that so many people love, so I sit on several boards and occasionally am asked to consult with city officials and those in the tourism industry on revitalization projects. It’s kind of old hat by now, but even when I’m the guest speaker, I hate coming to the things.
It’s basically a lot of bootlickers and bullshit political types, whose opinions change as quick as the New Orleans weather. I swear there is no other city in the world where you can go through all four seasons in a day. Of course, our idea of winter is fifty degrees, but still. I’d gladly take that temperature today. It’s hot as hell in New Orleans in the summer.
I’m spending the day at a revitalization conference. Funny enough, it’s being held in one of the nondescript ballrooms of a chain hotel. The irony! There are probably a couple hundred people in the room, all dressed to impress. Connections are important, even more so in New Orleans. We may be a larger city, but we have a small-town feel, which includes the rumor mill, the handshake deal, and doing business with those you know.
The cool air of the ballroom is a welcome relief, but it’s short lived. My body temperature rises about a hundred degrees as soon as my eyes land on Sutton. Her brown hair is pulled up into a bun, no doubt because of the humidity outside, and her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth. She’s got a pen, some papers, and her phone all placed in front of her, like she actually expects to learn something today. She’s a sexy woman, but that just makes her cute as hell.
Lucky for me, the seat next to her is free, but I know that won’t last long. There are more men than women in this room, and it’s only a matter of time before one of them makes his move. Avoiding getting pulled into any conversations, I make my way over to her and pull out the chair. She looks up at me, her eyes wide, but a little smile on her lips.
“You following me now?” she asks.
“I was about to ask you the same thing. After all, I am one of the speakers today.”
Her mouth drops open, and she reaches for a brochure in front of her. Sure enough, my name is right there. Her head shakes. “I must’ve missed that.” I take a seat next to her. She looks the other way for a second before turning to me and asking, “Can I help you with something?”
“Just wanted to say hello,” I say, but that feels too safe, too much like we will only just be passing acquaintances. So at the risk of getting kicked in the nuts, I take a risk. “You look really beautiful today.”
Here’s the thing. Some men are assholes. I’m one, so I should know. We don’t call when we should or remember important dates. We don’t commit. But some men can be downright criminal—groping women, harassing them, and far worse. There’s a big difference between the two. Those fuckers make life damn difficult for the rest of us. A man should be able to tell a woman she’s beautiful without fear of coming off like a creepy douchebag, but with everything going on in the world, I understand why women are leery.
So I completely expect both her eye-roll and her tone when she says, “Woman aren’t made to sit and look pretty for you.”
“I know that.”
“Let me ask you something,” she says. “Have you ever been with a woman who’s your equal?”
I open my mouth to say something smooth, but unexpected honesty comes out. “No, they’re all better than me.”
Something about that makes her whole body soften, and she’s not looking at me like I’m the enemy anymore. Her cheeks grow pink. “So what topic are you speaking on?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
“Just a hint,” she flirts.
“I did offer to help you out, and I seem to remember you . . .”
“I think that offer was more about helping me out of my panties,” she whispers.
“One can always hope.”
She laughs. “You don’t have a chance, Pierce.”
“Oh, I think I do,” I say, giving her a wink. “Even if it’s just a little one.”
She laughs. “Relentless.”
“What I want, I’m willing to work for.”
“I believe the saying is: What you love, you’ll do the work for. At least that’s what my father always says.”
“He have any other pearls of wisdom?”
“Love means risking it all,” she says softly. “Love is an act of bravery.”
A lump forms in my throat, and it’s abundantly clear that Sutton is a white picket fence woman. She wants love, a family, a house, the whole shit pot. This is a big ass red flag. I should be bolting, but for some reason, I’m still sitting here.
“Are you a risk taker?” she asks. “Or do you just pretend to play the game and fold under pressure?”
“Sometimes it’s just fun to play the game,” I say. “Not play for keeps.”
“And that’s why you don’t have a chance,” she says. “I play to win.”
“I seem to recall you admitting you only date guys for a month,” I say. “Seems like you’re the one that folds under pressure.” Her eyes cast down, and in that one gesture, I know some guy has done a number on her. “Bad relationship? You got hurt?” I ask. She just nods. “Sutton?”
She looks back up at me. “Look, you just want to have fun, screw around. That’s fine. It’s just not me.”
“I’m not looking to use you.”
“When’s the last time you had sex?” she asks.
“Why does that matter?”
“Because you’re sitting here hitting on me,” she says. “You think you can bang some broad at lunch then have me for dinner?”
“It wasn’t at lunch,” I say, chuckling. “It’s been a few days.”
She rolls her eyes. “Big difference.”
“How long?” I ask.
“How long, what?”
“How long do I have to abstain from other women before you’ll give me a chance?” I ask.
“Are you serious? I don’t know.”
Much to my displeasure, Dr. Lorraine flashes in my mind. “A month?”
“This is crazy,” she says. “I’m not negotiating entry into my vagina with you.”
I can’t help it and bust out laughing. “A month and then you play my game, my way?”
She leans into me, her warmth drawing me closer. “A month and then you play my way?”
A loud voice comes over the speakers. “Please help me welcome Pierce Kingston to the stage.”
Smiling, I get to my feet and head for the podium, pulling out my phone on the way and sending Sutton a message.
Maybe I’ll see you in a month!