Mid-Thirties Slightly Hot Mess Female Seeking Billionaire (Single and Sassy in the city Book 2)

Sarah

Dear Diary,

I know anyone reading this diary will wonder what caused my last entry. But I do not have time to dish on that right now because I have more important news to tell you about. Your girl had an O today. Yes, a capital O.

I know you want to know who, what, why, when, and where. But a true lady never reveals her secrets.

Lucky for you, I’m not a true lady, hehe.

Sexy Slamming Sarah

My phone screen flashes on and off, and I see it’s now noon. I’ve been standing outside Ethan’s building for the last hour and ten minutes. I got here far too early, and I’m not sure if it’s due to eagerness or nerves. I have no idea why he wants to see me in his home. This is not a typical request from the CEO of any company. Aside from maybe the company Christian Grey ran, and it’s been so long that I can’t even remember the name. Not that I’m an innocent college student about to fall into Ethan Rosser’s dominant trap. I’m totally not into that sort of stuff. Not that it’s ever been offered to me before.

‘Not like it’s going to be offered to you now, dumbass,’ I mumble under my breath as I enter the building and head toward the elevator. I’m surprised Ethan doesn’t live in a building with a doorman. I thought every rich person in Manhattan would do so. I guess that means Ethan is not like every other rich person, but I know inside, a part of me already knew that. Even though I don’t know any other rich people other than Colton Hart, Ella’s boyfriend, and if I’m being honest, I barely know him.

I push the button and wait for the elevator to arrive. My entire body is vibrating, and I ponder running out of the building and heading home. I can bury myself under the sheets, watch TV, and pretend that none of this is happening. I look back to the entrance and am about to leave when the elevator doors open, so I walk inside slowly. So slowly that if I were having a race with a tortoise, I would lose. I‘m nervous. Really, really nervous. I have no idea what is about to happen.

I could be fired. I could be asked to strip. I could be told to cook him lunch from scrap meats, though that is very unlikely. The only reason it popped to mind is that I’d been watching Chopped before I left my apartment to head over here. There is no way that Ethan is going to give me a selection of random foods and tell me to come up with a meal. Though, maybe he’s expecting to hear a jingle.

I tap my fingers against the wall and try to think of a cool beat. ‘Da dum, da da da, da dum,’ I sing in a high C octave. ‘Da dum, da, da, da, da dum,’ I hum again. ‘Get your lights, make it bright, treat your guests to a multi-fest, make it shine, treat them right. They are royalty,’ I sing and tap my foot to the beat. ‘Not bad,’ I mumble. ‘Not perfect, but not bad.’ I take a deep breath. My mind wanders to Ethan and his seriously handsome face. I wonder how many women would kill to be where I am right now. I can’t believe that I’m about to see his home.

What is this life?

A week ago, I was bitching that he didn’t even know I existed, and now I’m about to have a one-on-one with him about who knows what? I quickly pull out my phone and text Isabel and Ella. Even though I am mad at them, I want them to know where I am. Just in case anything crazy goes down. I’ve watched enough Dateline to know you can’t trust anyone. The elevator dings when it reaches the floor, and I step out hesitantly. My heart is racing now, and I feel both hot and cold at the same time. I pause as I exit and take a breath. I’m feeling slightly faint.

Am I making a mistake going to his home? Not that it really matters if I do think it’s a mistake because lord knows I’m not going back home now. I am going to see this thing through. I head toward his front door and am about to knock when it opens. Ethan is standing there with a towel around his shoulders. He’s wearing loose black shorts and a baggy gray shirt. His hair appears damp, and I wonder if he just got done working out.

‘You’re late,’ he says as he steps to the side to let me in. I walk in, and he slams the door closed behind me. My heart races as I stand there. Why did the door slamming sound so final? He is going to let me leave, isn’t he? A part of my brain is hardwired to think that he’s going to lock me up in a dungeon and keep me as a sex slave, but that may be due to all the dark romance TikTok videos I’ve been watching.

‘It’s noon.’

‘It’s twelve oh five,’ he corrects me with an attitude, like those five minutes are five hours.

‘I was here at noon.’ I think, earlier than that, but I’m not going to tell him that.

‘Yet, you’re only now inside of my house at twelve oh five.’

‘The elevator isn’t a space shuttle, you know. It doesn’t go from zero to one hundred in one second.’

‘Then you should have accounted for the elevator time when you made your way over here.’ Ethan is getting on my nerves, and I don’t respond as I follow him into a large, open space. His apartment is gorgeous, with a large kitchen to the left and an even larger living room opposite. He opens the fridge, pulls out a pitcher, and nods toward it. ‘Would you like some water?’

‘Yes, please,’ I say, even though I don’t want any. But it gives me an excuse to hold on to something and not play with my hair, which I often do when I’m nervous.

‘Lemon slice?’ he asks as he opens a cupboard door and takes out two tall glasses. He places them on his white marble countertops, then opens his sparkly white fridge again and takes out a lemon. I nod my assent, and he grabs a knife from a butcher block and a small wooden cutting board and cuts the lemon in half. His fingers are deft and fast, and I wonder if he likes cooking and if that’s something he does to show off to his female guests. If I find out he has culinary skills, as well, I will scream. Does the man have everything going for him? ‘So, you’re seeking a billionaire, are you?’ he asks casually as he hands me a glass, and I stifle a groan.

I should have known he was going to bring this up right away. I’m not ready for this conversation. How do I explain everything without sounding like an idiot?

‘You really do have a beautiful home,’ I say to Ethan, trying to be polite while changing the subject. He stares at me for a few seconds and I think he’s going to tell me to just acknowledge the bear in the room, and I brace myself for the response. He can’t really think I wrote it on purpose or with hopes of reeling him in, can he?

‘Thank you,’ he says with a thoughtful nod. He takes another step toward me, and there’s a supercilious smile on his face. He reminds me of a wolf sizing up its prey. I shiver at the thought that I’m his prey. I’m not going to lie; I quite like the feeling of him sizing me up. ‘I guess you finally get to see it, huh?’ Like I’ve been itching for years to get into his home. Pompous jerk.

‘What does that mean?’ I ask him, frowning. Just because I’m attracted to him doesn’t mean I’m going to allow him to talk to me like some desperado doing anything she can to get into his home. He’s lucky I showed up.

‘I mean, it sounds like you’ve wanted to see my place or a billionaire’s place for a while,’ he states like that’s a fact that can’t be disputed. Like he’s a reporter on CNN shelling out facts that everyone agrees upon.

‘How dare you!’ My voice is sharp, and I try to calm myself down. You catch more flies with honey, Sarah. ‘I had and still have no interest in seeing your place. You’re the one who told me to come over. I thought we had a meeting in your office today, which I was prepared for. It’s not my fault you canceled the meeting.’ I bite down on my lower lip as I realize I’ve walked into his trap. Or maybe I trapped myself. I don’t know. ‘I guess we should address the elephant in the room before we go any further.’ I lick my lips nervously and then take a sip of the lemon water. Why does rich people’s water taste better than mine?

‘There’s an elephant in the room?’ he asks, his eyes wide as he looks around. There’s an alarmed look on his face, and I want to tell him that he’s a pitiful actor. ‘Shit, where is it? How do we get rid of it? I hope it doesn’t destroy my furniture.’ He paces around, and I roll my eyes as he opens a drawer and grabs a rolling pin.

‘Very funny.’ I suppress a giggle. He really is a goof.

‘What?’ he says. ‘You don’t have a sense of humor?’

‘Let’s just say I’m not suggesting you quit your day job anytime soon and go into comedy.’

‘I’ll have you know that I’m a fine comedian and a fine roaster. Just ask Jackson Pruitt.’

‘Why, have you roasted him?’

‘Yep, when we were back at Harvard.’ He grins. ‘Those were the days.’

‘I didn’t realize you guys have known each other so long,’ I say, considering what I know about them. It makes sense that they are old friends though. They are always together. Everyone knows that Jackson is Ethan’s right-hand man.

‘Yeah. We’ve been best friends for a while.’ He nods as he puts the rolling pin on the countertop. ‘So, you said you wanted to address the elephant in the room?’

‘Well, I think it’s an African elephant,’ I say, smiling, and he chuckles.

‘So, about that post.’ His face turns stern, and he crosses his arms. ‘What was that about, exactly?’

‘Is that why I’m here?’ I ask, wondering why this conversation couldn’t have taken place in the office. ‘You want to fire me because I accidentally made a joke post? I thought you had a sense of humor.’

‘We both know that post wasn’t a joke. Give me some credit, Sarah. I’m a CEO. I went to Harvard. I’ve got brains. There’s no way you decided to write a post at one-something in the morning as a joke. For what? What would be the purpose?’

‘I don’t know. Just to test out the intranet system and…’ I sigh loudly, knowing it sounds false. ‘Fine. It wasn’t a joke. I mean, it was a joke, but not posted as a joke. Does that even make sense?’ I start playing with my fingernails because I know I’m not making sense. But I’m nervous, and I start to ramble.

‘No,’ he says, shaking his head with his brows furrowed. His blue eyes are keen as they observe my face, and I feel like he can see inside my head. He’s unnerving, and for some reason, butterflies in my stomach are doing somersaults. ‘Come on, let’s have a seat.’ He heads toward the living room and takes a seat on a large black leather couch. He sits back and rests his arms across the back. There’s an empty spot next to him, and I debate sitting there. My eyes move to his muscular legs and his gym shorts, and I swallow hard. The man has a body that could be in GQ.

I’m about to sit next to him when I notice a recliner to the right and decide to sit there. I don’t want to sit on a black couch next to Ethan Rosser. I don’t know what could go down. My fingers want to touch him, and I don’t trust myself to not run my fingers accidentally against his thighs.

‘So, you were saying?’ He turns toward me and leans forward, sporting a little smirk on his face. I wonder if he knows why I took a different chair.

‘I was hanging out with my friends,’ I say quickly in explanation. ‘One of my best friends, Ella, just got back from Europe. Her fiancé or boyfriend or whatever decided to take her on their first date and they just got back.’

‘What?’ He frowns, confusion apparent in his expression. ‘Okay, this story sounds like a lie already. I’m sorry, Sarah, but I’m afraid you’re not exactly Hemingway here.’

‘No, it’s not a lie. I know it sounds weird.’ I ignore his comment about Hemingway. I’m not going to take it personally because I know the story sounds fake, but as they always say, truth is stranger than fiction.

‘Yeah, it does sound weird that someone’s fiancé would take them to Europe on a first date.’ He pauses. ‘Like, how are they engaged if they’ve never been on a date? Unless you’re saying it’s some sort of arranged marriage? Or was she on that dating show, Married at First Sight or whatever?’

‘No.’ I sigh, though I find it quite funny that he’s talking about Married at First Sight. I’m shocked he’s even heard of the show. ‘She’s not been on a dating show, though maybe that would have been less dramatic.’ I don’t really want to get into all this, but I suppose I have to, to have it all make sense. ‘Let me explain a bit better. My best friend, Ella, is now dating her brother’s best friend. She’s known him for a long time. And while they were hooking up and stuff already, they also fell for each other, but they’d never really been on an official first date, nothing romantic, you know? So, Colton wanted to take her to Paris and London and wherever else they went, if that makes sense.’

‘I guess so. So, you’re saying the friends with benefits became more?’ He recoils as if the thought makes him nauseous. I guess he’s not someone who will find himself in that position. I’m not sure why that realization upsets me. It’s not like he and I are friends with benefits. Though, I know I wouldn’t even have to be friends with him to enjoy the benefit of his big hands. Stop it, Sarah. Focus!

‘Yeah, you could say that, though they weren’t technically friends with benefits, but… Oh, you know what I mean.’

He shakes his head. ‘Not really. I sure hope their story doesn’t get around the city, because I would hate to think any woman that I’m sleeping with thinks that there’s a possible engagement coming at the end.’ He shudders.

‘Okay, point taken,’ I say, shrugging. ‘If I meet any of your women, I’ll be sure to let them know.’

“Thanks.’

‘Lucky ladies.’ I roll my eyes.

‘Lucky them, indeed,’ he says, winking. ‘So, continue, your friend came back from Europe?’

‘Yeah, and we were drinking and having fun to celebrate her being back in the city. Us girls love to get together weekly and just let loose.’ I shrug. ‘I mean, I’m sure you and your boys do the same weekly or nightly?’

‘Rarely.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘I’m guessing your other friend was there, as well, the one from the bar that night?’

‘Yeah, Isabel was there.’ I nod my head. ‘So, it was Ella, Isabel, and me, and we were drinking tequila shots and—’

‘Maybe you guys need to stop drinking. First night you were drinking, I see you dancing on tabletops, pretending you’re a stripper called Slutty Sarah.’

‘It was Slutty Stripper, actually, and please don’t call me that again.’ I want to gag at the name. Yet again.

‘Sorry, I won’t say it again. So, one night you’re dancing on tabletops. And now you go drinking and you’re sending inappropriate messages to the company website.’

‘Intranet,’ I say, correcting him because his words are making me sound and feel like a lush. There’s no way he’s going to believe I haven’t had alcohol in a while before those two nights.

‘I know it’s an intranet,’ he says. ‘But what you did was inappropriate, Sarah. Do I need to sign you up for Alcoholics Anonymous?’

‘No.’ I let out a deep sigh. ‘I’m sorry. I really am sorry. It was a horrible lapse of judgment in both instances. Though, technically, I was dancing on the tabletop on my own time, and it was none of your business. I did that because I wanted to have fun and let loose.’ I don’t want to explain why I wanted the attention that night, so I move on quickly. ‘But anyway, that doesn’t matter right now. Last night, I wasn’t even the one typing up the message. There’s no way I ever would’ve posted something like that. I’m not that sort of woman.’ I feel indignant now. Granted, he doesn’t know me well, but does he really think I would post something like that on purpose?

‘So, who posted it?’ The disbelieving tone is there again. He’s so smug, it’s infuriating.

‘So, I got an email from Dave. You know my coworker in copywriting.’Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

‘I know him.’ He nods and hums a show tune, and we smile at each other for a few seconds.

‘Basically, he sent me an email with a link to show me that the company intranet was up. So, I guess I opened it and I didn’t close out of the site properly. And then, Isabel grabbed my phone and we were all joking around that I was going to make a personal ad because I’m single,’ I cringe slightly inside, ‘and I’m ready to mingle.’ I cringe even harder at my honesty. I wonder what Ethan is thinking about my comments. I wonder if he’s wondering what I mean by ready to mingle. My gosh, he’s going to think I’m trying to get laid.

 ‘Well, we thought it would be fun to write something goofy. I was never going to place the ad in the papers or anything. And I certainly was not going to post it on an online dating site, and I did not intend to put it on the intranet. Why would I do such a thing? I don’t even really know how it happened. Isabel doesn’t, either. I think she must’ve been super drunk, as well, and not noticing where she was typing, and I don’t know how it ended up getting posted.’ I pause. ‘I feel absolutely awful, Ethan. I really do. You must think I’m an idiot, an even bigger idiot than you already thought I was.’ My skin is burning up, and I feel like I’m going to cry. I don’t want this man to think I’m a dumbass.

‘I don’t think you’re an idiot.’ He shakes his head. ‘Would I have hired an idiot to write a jingle for me?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe if it was a jingle for idiots.’

‘It’s not,’ he says as he jumps up from his seat on the couch and heads toward me. He leans down, grabs my hand, and pulls me out of the chair. ‘Come on, I want to show you something.’

‘Oh?’ I stand up. What does he want to show me? Has he forgiven me? Does he believe me? The story was true, but I know how unbelievable it sounds. I hope he’s not taking me to his office for us to reread the ad as some sort of learning experience. That would be so demeaning. This entire conversation makes me feel like a little kid explaining why they painted on the wall by mistake or something.

‘I want to show you my art studio,’ he says as he heads down the hall. There’s an uncertain look on his face, as though he’s not sure if he wants to show it to me or not.

‘Your art studio?’ I ask him, surprised. He’s an artist? Is he going to ask me to pose for him? Or is his art studio really a dungeon? Is this the kinky part? Would I care? A certain part of me would quite like for him to have his wicked way with me. I must be crazy. Or just sex-starved. Or just really into him,

‘Yes.’ He nods. ‘Come and see.’

He takes me down a long hallway, and then we walk into a room. He turns on the light, and I’m surprised as I see several easels with canvases, some half-painted, some completed. I look around at the walls that are full of different oil paintings. I feel like I’m at the Louvre.

‘Did you paint all these?’ I ask in astonishment. There’s no way, is there? If he did paint these, he’s super-talented. How has no one at Rosser International talked about his artistic talent?

‘I did. I hope you like them.’ He smiles modestly. ‘I like to paint to relieve stress.’

‘You’re really good. Wow.’

I walk up to a painting of Central Park at night. There’s a couple sitting on a bench, looking like they’re in a very intense conversation. The faces of the couple look so realistic. A discarded bouquet of flowers on the bench is falling to the ground, and the petals look so real.

‘You’re really talented,’ I say, unable to think of anything else that can express how blown away I feel by seeing these paintings.

‘I’m okay.’ He shrugs and grabs my elbow. ‘I brought you in here to show you that this is my safe space. This is where I come when I’m stressed or need to think.’ He turns to me and smiles. ‘And sometimes I get drunk in here.’

‘Okay.’ I have no idea why he’s telling me this. His painting to relieve stress has nothing to do with me going to bars and doing idiotic things with my friends.

‘Sometimes, when I paint and I drink, I do stupid stuff,’ he says, laughing, obviously thinking about one of those instances. ‘I’m going to show you something.’

‘Okay.’ My eyes follow him as he walks over to a stack of canvases that are leaning against the wall. He sorts through them carefully and then picks one out of the pile. He heads back over to me and holds it up to show it to me. My jaw drops and my eyes go wide as I see the painting.

I’m pretty sure it’s a self-portrait of him in the nude.

‘Um…’ I swallow hard, trying to keep my eyes off of his engorged penis, but I’m finding it very hard to look away. Very hard, indeed. Stop blushing, Sarah.

‘I did this one night a couple of months ago.’ He chuckles as my eyes go wider and wider. Is he really that big? Should I be staring so hard at his cock? Granted, it’s a painting, but it seems so real.

‘It looks very real.’ I nod. ‘The reason you’re showing me this is because, what?’

‘Because I don’t do nudes, and I certainly don’t do nudes of myself.’ He laughs, staring at the painting critically. ‘But one night, I stripped off my clothes, and I took a photo, I printed it out, and I painted myself naked. This is not the sort of painting I ever do or want to do, and you’re the only person, I think, in my life I will ever show this to.’ His eyes take me in, and a feeling passes between us. I don’t even know what it is. An understanding. A mutual respect. A trust. Something unique, and I can feel my entire body warming in happiness.

At this moment, a certain amount of pleasure and pride passes through me. I don’t know why he’s showing me his art or if that means he trusts me, but I like that we have shared this moment. I like that he’s sharing something he’s never shared with anyone else. It makes me feel special. It makes me feel that we have a bond, even though I know that we don’t. I realize that a part of the reason he’s let his guard down is so that I don’t feel so badly about what happened. I find that touching. It shows that he’s compassionate toward others, including me. It makes me feel differently about him, as well. Does that mean that I am now also drinking the Kool-Aid?

‘It’s really good. I see nudes… I mean, paintings of nude models all the time at museums. I’m not an art nerd or historian or anything, but I love spending a lazy afternoon walking around a museum and then going to the cafe for some tea or coffee and buying souvenirs,’ I admit with a blush.

‘But do you really see nudes that artists have painted of themselves?’

‘No, I guess not. That’s very true.’ I laugh at his self-satisfied smirk. ‘You have me there.’

‘Anyway, my point is that I understand what it is to want to let out steam and end up doing things that are stupid and not really processing what you’re doing. But,’ he says as he puts the painting back down, ‘you’re going to have to make sure this doesn’t happen again, Sarah. You cannot post personal ads to the company intranet again, drunken night out or not. You do realize I’m going to have to have HR send out a memo to all employees. And while we won’t name you, it will be pretty obvious to anyone who has seen the memo, what you’ve done.’

‘I understand,’ I say, gulping. I wonder if Dave or Ginger saw the memo. I’m pretty sure they didn’t because I haven’t heard from either of them this morning. They are such gossips that I know I would have woken up to a plethora of texts and calls from them if they had seen or heard anything.

‘But here’s one thing, and that should make you happy.’

‘Yeah?’ I ask, looking down at the ground, feeling very embarrassed. Nothing about this situation is making me happy, besides seeing a painting of a naked Ethan. That had been pretty tantalizing and satisfying. I wonder if it’s true to life.

‘Less than ten people saw the memo.’

‘What?’ I blink at him in surprise. ‘But you have tens of thousands of people that work for you at Rosser International.’

‘I do,’ he says, ‘but you’re lucky that you sent it at one-something in the morning. I saw it, Jackson saw it, a couple of other people saw it and then I took it down.’

‘Oh, I didn’t realize that.’

‘Of course,’ he says, ‘it’s not like I could leave that up for the entire company to see. I don’t want to give people ideas.’ He chuckles, though there’s a pained expression on his face. ‘Plus, if that was your way of trying to get with me—’

‘I know it failed,’ I say, cutting him off. ‘Not that that was my way, of course. But if it were, it would’ve failed.’ I blush. I’m just making it worse for myself. Why did I say anything about it failing? He’s totally going to think that was my plan all along now.

‘You are one hundred percent certain that’s not what you were trying to do, right?’ His eyes are searching, and a thoughtful expression crosses his face.

‘I am positive. I swear, Ethan. I was not coming on to you. I was not trying to get you to buy me clothes or get me a penthouse or anything.’

‘I guess that’s true because the reality of the situation is that you don’t even want to be around me, do you?’

‘Huh?’ I ask, swallowing the lump that has formed in my throat due to the topic at hand. Will we ever stop talking about this awful post?

‘You didn’t want to come in to work on Monday morning, right?’

‘It was just a joke. I—’

‘And you think I’m an arrogant prick or whatever it was you said?’

‘I mean, not always.’

‘Fine. I’ll take you at your word.’ He taps his leg a couple of times and then nods. ‘Why don’t we get to work?’

‘Sure,’ I say, surprised that he’s changed the subject so quickly. ‘So, are we done with the personal ad or…’

‘I’m done if you’re done,’ he says, shrugging as if he wasn’t the one who made it a big deal in the first place.

I nod enthusiastically, like a puppy that’s just been asked if it wants to go on a walk to the park. ‘Trust me when I say, I’m sure. In fact, I am one hundred percent certain that I’m done talking about this with you for the rest of my life. So, just to be clear, you’re not going to fire me, right?’ I don’t know why I ask again. I don’t even know why I’m putting it in his mind. He hasn’t even mentioned firing me.

‘Not now.’ He smirks, knowing he’s not putting me at ease. ‘Especially not if you write me the best jingle known to man.’

‘Okay.’ I lick my lips nervously. ‘That’s a tall order.’

‘Well, have you been working on it or not?’

‘A little bit. You didn’t exactly give me the full information about the product. However, I have come up with a couple of things,’ I say quickly, just in case he thinks I’m not up to the job. If there’s one thing in life I’m good at, it’s my job. Even if it is boring and I’m being underutilized by the company. ‘If you want to hear what I’ve got, I could show you, if you want, of course?’ I’m nervous again. I’ve never presented my work, especially partial work, to the CEO of a company before. I want to impress him. I want him to think I’m talented. I want him to be happy that I’m a part of his organization.

‘Of course. Let’s go into my office. Because, to be fair, one of the reasons I called you here today wasn’t just to talk about the personal ad. It was also because I need a theme song created for a new department store that we’re opening, that focuses only on home renovation products.’

‘We’re opening a home renovation store?’ I wrinkle my nose in surprise. ‘What? Since when? I never heard of that from anyone. It hasn’t been in any of the company newsletter updates.’

‘I know,’ he says, a devious glint in his eyes. ‘It hasn’t been announced yet because we’re under contract to launch a new line with several external department stores. Our own stores are being kept hush-hush right now.’

‘But why?’ I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t we be blasting that information everywhere?

‘Because we’ve just signed a major deal with Home Shop Depot and part of that deal includes a clause that says nothing can be announced until products have been at Home Shop Depot for at least a month.’ He rubs his fingers together. ‘They are the number one home supply store in the country. It is important to keep them happy. They are making a big deal of this collaboration. It is worth a potential two billion dollars a year to Rosser International. Something we do not project to make with our own stores.’

‘I see.’ I nod as I think about what he’s said. Two billion dollars is a lot of money. ‘I guess it makes sense that they don’t want people buying our products at our own stores, instead of Home Shop Depot. They might just back out.’

‘Exactly.’ He points at me. ‘You get it. Is this why you’re trying to get into business?’

‘Me?’ I point at myself then and laugh. ‘Not at all. I would make a horrible businesswoman.’ I try to control my giggles. ‘But it seems to be the logical reason why you wouldn’t announce anything.’

‘Smart. That is why, but we are getting ready for a huge launch behind the scenes, and I feel like a great jingle will help get people into the store once it opens.’

‘Really? I suppose that could be true. What’s the store name?’

‘Ah,’ he says, a twinkle in his eye. ‘Why don’t you see if you can guess?’

‘What? How am I supposed to guess?’

‘I don’t know. Tell me what you think it would be?’

‘Rosser Home Goods,’ I say without a pause. I don’t think I’m right, as it’s very unimaginative, but I have no other guesses.

His eyes widen, and he bursts out laughing. ‘Well, well, well, you are a genius.’

‘No way. It’s not really Rosser Home Goods, is it?’ I try not to make a face. Boring.

‘It is, indeed.’ He smiles as he takes in my not-so-good poker face. ‘Maybe not the most original, but it fits with our brand.’

‘Sure, it definitely fits. So, you want me to create a jingle that goes with Rosser Home Goods?’

‘I do, as well as a jingle for Lord Chambers’ Lighting brand.’

‘I have a question,’ I say as I put on my work brain. ‘So, is this jingle specifically for Lord Chambers or is it for the Royal Lighting line as a whole?’

‘It was specifically for Lord Chambers,’ he says, pausing. He thinks for a moment and then continues. ‘But maybe, just maybe, we can do it for the lighting line and just throw in his name as part of the jingle so he feels acknowledged. You know how these royals are.’

‘Not really,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I’ve never met a member of royalty before in my life.’

‘I see,’ he says. ‘Would you like to?’

‘What? Meet a member of royalty, like the king or something?’

‘The king?’ He raises an eyebrow.

‘You know, King Charles or that new King of Denmark that has all this drama with his wife.’ I pause. I don’t want to admit to reading gossip websites.

‘No, Sarah, I’m talking about Lord Chambers.’

‘Oh.’ I feel like a bit of a fool, then, because, obviously, he’d be talking about Lord Chambers. Why on earth would we go from talking about Lord Chambers to talking about King Charles of England? It’s very unlikely that he’s designing a light to be sold at Rosser Home Goods. And when I say very unlikely, I mean hell would most probably freeze over, and dinosaurs would be back on Earth before it happened.

‘You know what, Sarah?’ Ethan says as we walk down the hallway to another room. I watch as he opens the door to a large study and walks inside.

‘What?’ I ask as I follow him into the room.

‘I believe you.’

‘You believe me about what?’

‘I believe that you didn’t write that personal ad to try to garner my attention and win me over into your wicked ways of lovemaking and—’

‘What?’ I say loudly. ‘Lovemaking, what?’

He chuckles. ‘Well, you know, your black widow web. Trying to catch me with your lovemaking skills.’

‘I already told you I didn’t attempt to do that.’

‘I know, but I still wasn’t sure. But I do believe you. I don’t think you’re that sort of woman.’ He smiles and then bursts out laughing. ‘You’re just very open and a little gullible. I can’t believe you thought I could introduce you to King Charles.’

‘I mean, now that I think of it, I know how stupid that sounds,’ I admit, and I can’t stop myself from giggling.

‘Not stupid.’ He shakes his head. ‘Just innocent. Like you.’

‘Oh, trust me, I’m far from innocent,’ I shoot back before thinking, and I want to groan as he gives me a knowing look. Why does my big mouth always get me into trouble?