Surrender Your Love (Surrender Your Love #1)(2)

“So, Brooke. Tell me all about yourself.” He leaned forward, flashing me a drop dead gorgeous smile.

I inhaled a sharp breath, suddenly fuming. How dare he call me by my first name? And most importantly, how dare he look so darn sexy doing it?

“May I remind you this is a business meeting and not a date?”

He raised his brows. “Do you want a date?”

“What?” My cheeks caught fire, and my heart pumped just a little bit harder. “That’s not what I meant. I—”

His eyes twinkled with humor. “Apparently, you like what you see, and so do I. So…” He shrugged and trailed off, leaving the rest to my imagination.

I hated hot guys, and particularly those who knew just how gorgeous they were. “Trust me, there’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” My lie sounded ridiculous and he knew it. I could tell by the irritating, self-assured yet gorgeous grin he was sporting.

My temper flared.

This was supposed to be an initial attempt at finding out where our companies stood in terms of a potential partnership. The fact that Mayfield Properties would send someone who couldn’t even dress to suit the occasion was laughable. Why would Mayfield want to be represented by someone who clearly lacked any knowledge of what is acceptable when dealing with a potential business partner? Or maybe Mayfield didn’t value our cooperation, and this was his way of telling me to f**k off. Either way I wasn’t pleased, and I had no intention of making a secret out of my displeasure. Mayfield was known to be a real son-of-a-bitch. He was also known to take no crap from anyone. If I wanted to make it in this cutthroat business world dominated by men, I had to mirror his tactics, or give up on a career which was already going nowhere.

“Look, I appreciate your coming, Mr. Townsend, but I’d rather speak with at least a regional vice president. Please tell Mr. Mayfield to call me once he’s ready to reschedule. Good evening to you.” Grabbing my purse and coat from the polished counter, I jumped down from the barstool and headed for the exit when strong fingers curled around my upper arm. I froze in my tracks.

“Don’t forget your umbrella. We wouldn’t want that pretty face to get soaked,” Townsend whispered in my ear, sending another delicious tingle through my body. What was it with this man and whispering? Couldn’t he just talk like normal people? I reached blindly around me and yanked my umbrella out of his hand. Without a look back I marched out of the bar, keeping my head high. Only when I reached the parking lot twenty feet from the bar’s main entrance did I stop and finally let out a long breath.

The night air had cooled down. I shrugged into my coat and hurried to unlock the door to my Chevrolet. It was an old thing, but it had been a graduation gift from my stepdad, so I loved it.

I jammed the car into first gear and pulled out of the parking lot. My gaze brushed over the stranger towering in the bar’s doorway, watching me a moment before I drove past.

Did he follow me out? My heartbeat sped up but I didn’t halt. If anything, I floored the accelerator and the car spluttered forward. The engine lets out a drawn-out protest, but I didn’t care. Whatever Townsend’s business was, I decided he was a creep,and I had no intention of ever seeing him again. I was definitely not the kind of woman who’d ever succumb to a hard body and dimples to die for.

I reached my tiny apartment in Brooklyn Heights in less than an hour and parked the car opposite from the five-story building that had been my home ever since graduating from college two years ago. The street was damp and deserted. The street lamp in front of the building cast a golden glow on the steel door, which led into a narrow hall with a lobby area. Minding the large rain puddles, I fished my keys out of my bag and let myself in, then rode the elevator up to the fifth floor.

My roommate and best friend, Sylvie, wasn’t home. Ever since she landed the investment job of her dreams, she barely ever made it home before midnight. I had been taught to put one hundred and ten percent into everything I did, but Sylvie took working hard to a whole new level. She went so far as to sacrifice her hobbies, friendships, and health by doing unpaid overtime in an attempt to gain recognition for all the extra effort. Any attempts I ever initiated to make her realize just how unhealthy her stress level had become were futile so far, but I wasn’t going to give up.

Dropping the umbrella into a brass holder and my handbag and coat on the old coffee table in the hall, I kicked my shoes off and headed for the kitchen to pour myself a much-earned glass of wine. I was halfway through my second glass when the key turned in the lock and Sylvie’s blonde head popped into my line of vision.

“What a surprise!” I sat up and pointed at my glass. “Want one?”

“You better have a bottle.” She slumped onto the couch next to me and put her long legs up. I scanned from her striped skirt that rode just above her knee up to her face and damp, blonde hair. Something was different. Her mascara was smudged. The skin beneath her blue eyes was swollen and red as though she had been crying, which was impossible. Sylvie wasn’t the crying kind. In all the six years we had been best friends, I never once saw her shed a tear. She never looked anything less than perfect and happy.

I sat up, instantly feeling something was wrong. “What happened?”

“I got the boot.”

“What?”

She took the glass out of my hands and drained it in one big gulp. “They kicked me out. Said something about not needing another intern. Blah blah.” She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”