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I’m not sure what possessed me to contact Ryder Sinclair this evening. But here I am, in the East Village on Second Avenue and East Fifth.
It’s a wine bar, Italian, and not too over the top.
I take a breath. I’m looking forward to this as much as I look forward to a root canal. Still, I push open the door and it takes me about zero seconds to spot Ryder.
“Do you need a table?”
“I have a table.” I flash a smile I don’t feel at the hostess and make my way to the tall, slim table with the slender metal stools.
Ryder sits on one and a blonde is draped over the other. And my heart sinks because I know this is what he’s like, what he’ll be like, and I was swayed by money.
Make that root canal without the lidocaine.
He looks up and the blonde does too, but she dismisses me with a shake of her hair and her hand on his. Her red dress is the type I’d never wear, short and tight and imagination-free.
But Ryder leans in to her and says something and the woman gets up and prances off. He gestures to the seat and I take the other one.
“Are you some kind of dark horse or do you have a killer work ethic?” he asks. There’s a soft smile at play on his killer mouth and a glint in his eyes that says he knows exactly why I didn’t sit where his blonde babe sat.
“Because I wanted to see you now?”
“Something like that.”
The waiter comes by and I order a house white I’ve no intentions of drinking.
“No,” I say, when we’re alone, “I just believe in ripping the band aid off.”
“Ouch.” He smiles and gives me a low-lidded look that’s pure smolder and it hooks me down deep in my sex. “Maybe you’ll find maybe I’m not that bad.”
“You’re worse.” I give him my coolest glare that’s so arctic it’s a wonder he hasn’t frozen solid. “And stop flirting.”
“Darling Elliot, you’ll know when I decide to flirt with you.”
I can’t work with this man. But I have to. And this is why I called the meeting. I don’t usually do it so late, or before we’ve set up rules, but he’s different, and he has trouble all over him.
Me seeing my clients in their relaxed, natural state is something I have to do and I guess I’ve answered my own question on what possessed me. Ryder Sinclair is different from the others. He’ll hide if I go and set up the rules first.
Most people don’t hide. They don’t want to change. Or don’t want to pretend to change, even if they say they do. He’s no different in that. But Ryder’s a master at manipulation and hiding to get what he wants, when he wants. He’s the hottest man I’ve met, yes, but he’s got to be all that if he remains on good terms with the women he sleeps with. I spent a good few hours making calls and reaching out under the pretext of writing an article.
And every woman I spoke to sighed. Every woman had a smile in her voice. And every woman, even Lacey Fox, the one from his most recent scandal, all had nothing but good things to say about him.
Even Lacey. Whose marriage is blowing up all over media. Of course, that probably suits her and her husband, but still, she didn’t dish dirt to further her career. At least, not on Ryder.
“No flirting. That’s off the table.”
He gives me a pained look and sips his wine. “It’s in my DNA.”
“Get it out of your DNA.”
“I’m not sure I can do that, and how is flirting against the rules?”
My drink arrives and I resist the urge to play with my glass. “Flirting is when flirting always leads to more.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Isn’t it?” I give him a considering look. “You’re telling me you’d have turned her down if I hadn’t turned up?”
“I wouldn’t have been here.”
