Beautiful Stranger

eyebrow. “You’re not her type.”
    “Come on, Ben. I’m not a nineteen-year-old wanker anymore.”
    He threw me an amused smirk. “Okay, but you’re talking to the man who saw you successfully hook up with three women in a single evening, without any of them knowing about the others.”
    I grinned. “You’ve got it all wrong. They were all very well acquainted by the end of the night.”
    “Are you shitting me?”
    “Just give me her number. We’ll consider it a thank-you for the loan of my gorgeous villa.”
    “You are such an asshole.”
    “I believe I’ve heard that before,” I said, standing. “Sara and I, we had . . . an interesting conversation.”
    “A conversation. Sara had a conversation with you. I’m skeptical.”
    “A rather enjoyable one, yes. She’s intriguing, that little one. Unfortunately, we were interrupted before I could get her name.”
    “I see.”
    “What luck I had, running into you lot and all.” I raised my eyebrows expectantly.
    “Lucky, yes . . .” Smiling, Bennett took his seat again, looking up at me. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to find your luck somewhere else. I’m quite fond of my testicles; I’d like to keep them. I’m not going to smooth the way for you here.”
    “You always were a prick.”
    “So I’ve heard. Lunch Thursday?”
    “You bet.”

    I left Bennett’s office intent on having a look around the company’s new quarters. They’d taken over three floors of the building and I’d heard they’d already had quite a bit of work done. The spacious atrium was breathtaking, but the office areas were just as lush, with wide hallways, travertine floors, and plenty of natural light coming through windows, glass block walls, and skylights. Each office seemed to have a small sitting area—nothing to match Bennett’s, but perfect for sit-downs that didn’t call for the formality of a conference room.
    That said, the conference room was breathtaking: a wall of windows looking out on midtown Manhattan, a wide polished walnut table that seated at least thirty, and state-of-the-art technology for presentations.
    “Not bad, Ben,” I murmured, walking back into the hallway and staring up at a large Timothy Hogan photography installment. “Good taste in art for a total wanker.”
    “What are you doing here?”
    I looked up to find a very surprised Sara frozen halfway down the hall. I couldn’t help breaking into a grin; this really was my lucky day.
    Or . . . not, if her expression was any indication.
    “Sara!” I sang. “What a lovely surprise. I was just at a meeting. I’m Max, by the way. Pleasure to finally put a name to the”—I dropped my eyes and studied her chest, and then the rest of her, through her snug black dress—“face.”
    Christ, she was hot.
    When I looked back up, her eyes had grown to roughly the size of dinner plates. Honestly, the woman had the most enormous brown eyes. If they were any bigger, she’d be a lemur.
    She grabbed my arm, pulling me down a hallway, her fitted knee-high boots clacking on the stone tiles.
    “Lovely to see you again so soon, Sara .”
    “How did you find me?” she whispered.
    “A friend of a friend.” I waved my hand dismissively and looked her over. Her bangs were swept to the side and heldin place by a tiny red clip, which matched her full crimson lips. She looked like she had stepped right out of some sixties photo shoot. “ Sara is quite a lovely name, you know.”
    She narrowed her eyes. “I should have guessed you’re a psychopath.”
    I laughed. “Not quite.”
    A young woman walked by, ducking her head and muttering a timid, “Good afternoon, Miss Dillon,” before scampering away.
    And we have a last name. Thank you, terrified intern!
    “Aaah, Sara Dillon,” I crowed. “Perhaps we could continue this conversation in a more private location?”
    She looked around and dropped her voice. “I’m not having sex with you in my office, if that’s what you’re here for.”
    Oh, she was fantastic. “I actually just came by to welcome you properly to New York. But I suppose I could just do that out here . . .”
    “You have two minutes,” she said, turning on her heel and moving toward her office.
    We turned corner after corner, finally reaching another smaller reception area lined in windows overlooking the city skyline. A young man sitting at a circular desk looked up at us as we passed.
    “I’ll be in my office, George,” she said over her shoulder. “No