Satisfaction Guaranteed(9)

I turn around, my heart squeezing with a myriad of what the fuck do I do now emotions as Sloane walks to our table as if on cue, looking as fascinating, as beautiful, as alluring as she did the night I met her seven years ago. I’d been singing karaoke at the fundraiser, and I’d nearly stopped in the middle of Isn’t It Romantic?, jumped off the stage, and made sure she didn’t leave. She stayed though, and it wasn’t even her beauty that demanded my attention, though of course I noticed her face. It was something in her eyes. A sparkle, a glint. Something intriguing that said there was so much more to her than the surface, and I had to know what was beneath.

Every time I’ve seen her since, it’s the same. The light’s on her, only her.

Like it was the other night on the street when she kissed me.

My dick stirs at the memory. Well, dicks do like kisses. All kinds of kisses.

That’s really fucking inconvenient—a semi when I need to stand up, say hello, and act like I don’t want to do bad things to her.

Not as inconvenient, though, as the rug being pulled out from under me.

“Nice to see you again, Sloane,” I say, stripping my voice to a monotone as I extend a hand.

She shakes. “Good to see you again too, Malone.”

We’re so business-like. I’m looking forward to receiving my Oscar for nonchalance.

“Your names rhyme,” Doug remarks. “That’s amusing.”

“Yes, it sure is,” I say, and honestly, isn’t the rhyming names proof enough that nothing should ever happen with us? Sloane and Malone sounds dippy.

Doug rubs his hands together. “Let’s dive into things, and then we can order. Sloane, why don’t you start with what we discussed earlier today?”

She squares her shoulders. “It’s always been my dream to save all the animals, so I started an animal rescue. It’s been going well.” She knocks on the table. “But you know how hard it is to stay afloat in that business. Well, I presume you do.”

“I get it. It’s tough,” I say, since it’s not an easy field to be in, but it’s such a vital one.

Doug wraps an arm around his daughter’s shoulders, and I wince a little bit at the reminder of who she is to him. Just, you know, his offspring.

“She’s been running it from a little storefront in Brooklyn, and the rent is going up, and the landlord is terrible. I thought we could bring her in-house, and we’ll handle all the spays and neuters. It’ll come from my cut,” he says, and he’s thought of nearly everything.

And clearly this is all he’s been thinking about discussing at dinner. Not my future hopes and dreams.

“I don’t mind providing free spay and neuter,” I say, still flummoxed that my expectations were knocked to their knees tonight. Wait, make that knocked to their ass.

“Nonsense. I’ll take care of it. I insist. But I do hope you’ll be okay with Sloane running the operation from my office,” he continues. “It’s all foster-based, with no animals kept on-site. They’re all placed with volunteers who foster them till they’re adopted, so it’s not a question of space. I should have asked you first, but honestly, I was so damn excited.”

He should have mentioned it to me, but he’s still the senior partner. He started the practice years ago. He hired me as an employee seven years ago and brought me on as a junior partner three years later. But at the end of the day, he’s still the big kahuna.

He still has more say.

But what was her say? Did she know about this plan the other night? Was her kiss designed to soften me up?

Well, it didn’t work.

It made me hard instead. So there.

Doug shares more details then asks if this is all okay.

“Sure.” What else can I say that doesn’t make me sound like a supreme douche? Besides, I have to admit—it’s a great idea for her rescue, and as someone whose father dreamed of going into business with his son once upon a time, I understand why he’d want this too.

Sloane smiles, and it’s full of gratitude. Maybe relief too. “Thank you. I was so worried Best Friends wasn’t going to make it. This gives us a shot in the arm for the next year, and I’m confident I can have everything built up and solid by then.”

Doug lifts the bottle. “Why don’t you have a glass of wine, and let’s all toast together?”

She shakes him off. “You know I don’t like red.”

He arches an eyebrow. “You don’t like red?”

“She prefers champagne,” I cut in, and then I want to smack myself. How the hell would I know that from the occasional run-in with her? I only know it because of our time together.

Doug doesn’t notice though.

“Let me get you some white instead.” He flags down the waiter and asks for a glass of chardonnay.

The waiter brings it over, and the three of us raise our glasses. I take a hearty swallow. Hell, maybe I ought to get drunk tonight. Nothing makes disappointment go down quite like alcohol.

We peruse the menus quickly and place our order. When the waiter leaves, Doug remains eminently pleased.

“What could be better?” Doug asks, a satisfied grin on his face. “Can you think of anything better than this?”

“I can’t,” Sloane answers, and her smile matches his, but I can detect hints of surprise and a little bit of discomfort in it. “I definitely can’t think of anything better than this. I just didn’t realize that you were going to have Malone here at dinner.”