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Back in the day when I'd go to clubs to find hookups for a few hours or a night, I'd never had someone approach me like the stranger had. And with my luck, I was probably thinking about the boyfriend of one of the employees of the company I worked for—I had been at a company party, after all. I kept trying to tell myself that he'd just tried to have some fun while his partner was distracted. The mess of a crying man was an easy target for him.
"I heard someone had a weakness for caramel lattes with three shots of espresso."
I jerked my head up so quickly I made myself dizzy to find the stranger in question leaned in my doorway with a large to-go cup of coffee. The same seductive smile he wore the night he kissed me arched his full lips.
"How did you find me?" I almost shouted the question and felt my cheeks heat with embarrassment.
"Aw, baby boy, have you been thinking about me?" he asked as he stepped into my office and approached until he could set the cup on the file I'd been trying to study for the past hour. "I'm Stanton Sander."
My blood froze in my veins at hearing his name. Stanton was a fodder for gossip around the building. His antics were legendary. Stanton was the only child and in line to take over the Sander Empire, and I'd kissed him. No, he'd kissed me, I hadn't asked for that.
"And you're Brian,” he continued. “Do you know how hard it was to track you down? I had to search every floor for you, baby."
"I don't have time for your games today, I have work to do. Thank you for the coffee, but no thank you." I picked up the cup and moved it to the edge of the desk.
"Have you had lunch yet? You're a bit cranky. I can order you something." He lowered into one of the two chairs in front of my desk and crossed his legs.
I looked past him to see if there was anyone was in the office I could use as an escape strategy, but it was lunchtime, and everyone had cleared out for an hour. Which left me alone with the too-handsome man who was currently looking as if he were about to make himself at home. Shit. What had I done in a past life to deserve the annoyingly confident young man?
"I'm not hungry or thirsty, I'm busy." I focused on my files while pretending I wasn't checking Stanton out from under my lashes. He was inappropriate before but even more so since I'd discovered who his parent was. My life was falling apart, my job was all I had left, and I didn't need the much-younger heir to the company throne showing an interest in me.
"Haven't thought about me once since the party?" he asked.
"No, not once."
"Why don't I believe you? Because I've done nothing but think of you since. I'd love to pick up at the point we were interrupted."
"Mr. Sander—"
He shook his head to cut me off. "Stanton."
"Stanton, I'm sure you're a great person, but I don't date younger men. I refuse to be an amusement, and that especially means I'm not going to get involved with my boss's son. I don't do casual."
"Good, because I was never really great at sharing. I'm not affiliated with the company in any way other than my name on the building. So, there's no conflict of interest at play here. I simply want the chance to buy you dinner. What could be the harm in that?" He paused and I was about to answer until he started speaking again. "And you're the most beautiful man I've ever seen."
A bitter laugh slipped free as his bullshit came fully to the front and when I raised my gaze to look at him, he wasn't smirking or amused in any way. He looked not mad, but disappointed.
"Brian, one thing you'll learn about me is when I say something I mean it. In no way was me telling you that you're beautiful a joke. Drink your coffee. Have a good day, baby."
My eyes widened as he circled my desk until he pinched my bearded chin and tipped my head back. And just like the night of the party, the press of his lips onto mine was soft and sweet, the tiniest nip to my lower lip. His lips curved against mine in a small smile.
"Just as sweet as I remembered," he said, dropping one more kiss onto my upturned lips.
When he stepped away it was like there was no more oxygen in the room. My chest ached as I watch his slim form disappear through the door, and I couldn't look away until he stepped into the elevator. He gave me a small wave as the doors closed and I collapsed back into my chair, scrubbing my hands over my face.
Damn. I'd never felt anything like it, this attraction to Stanton was seductive and odd—the need I felt for him scared me. I couldn't even remember a time in my past where another man, not even my husband had kissed me so lightly.
Stanton was assertive, I'd give him that, there was also an edge of pushiness, but it wasn't overpowering. His disappointment when I laughed at his compliment made me uncomfortable, almost as if I wanted to apologize for the insult. I was of a school of thought that men who looked like me and were my age weren't beautiful. I'd been called handsome on occasion, good-looking, but never beautiful and I'd reacted like I'd assumed I was supposed to.
I straightened and my focus instantly locked on the cup I'd moved to the edge of the desk. Picking it up, I leaned back and noticed writing on the side. I almost ignored it, thinking it was just the order, but then I noticed the neat, elegant scrawl.
Call me, beautiful—Stanton, it read, and there, below it, was his number.
Why did I suddenly feel as if I'd done the wrong thing by sending him away? Shouldn't I feel flattered that a man like Stanton would bother even searching me out after an interrupted kiss? There were so many questions and none of them had easy answers. I didn't want to give into seeing him just because my ex-husband had completely destroyed my confidence, and I was starving for the attention of someone that made me feel the self- worth I’d once had.
But I couldn't use someone like that. That didn't seem fair if the young man wanted to see me again. Yet suddenly I missed things I hadn't had in years. Intimacy and affection. There was a time when my husband had called me his boy too, but one day it had stopped, and then no more endearments at all. How had I become such a sad old man at barely forty-five?
"Mr. Asher."
