Page 16 of Legally Yours
How had I forgotten just how handsome this man was? He still had that same ruddy complexion, the same slightly too-long, dark-blond hair that was combed back and curling around his ears. I didn’t usually care for the slicked-back style, but he made it work, mostly because it was clear he did it out of expediency and not vanity. He looked positively leonine.
“Skylar,” he said, standing up to reveal shoulders and neck almost too broad for his crisp blue shirt the color of a summer sky. A simple black tie fell to his tapered waist. His black jacket was draped over the back of his chair, but it was clear that the man looked good enough in a suit to eat. “Come on in.”
“Hello, Mr. Sterling,” I said as I wobbled my way in front of his desk.
Uncertain if I should sit down, I remained standing as he stared at me without speaking. He continued to stare while I grew increasingly uncomfortable.
“You sent for me, Mr. Sterling?” I reminded him.
He blinked and shook his head, grinning again. “Sorry, just caught in a daydream. I was about to make some tea. Would you like some?”
“Um, sure.”
I followed Sterling to the back of the room, where he gestured I should take a seat on the couch. The heels of my cheap shoes sank into the thick Aubusson carpet. My cheeks reddened as I recalled the last time I was sitting in front of a fire with this man, my feet cradled delicately in his large hands.
“Is the fire too hot?” he asked a few minutes later. He sat next to me and handed me a cup of hot tea. He also placed a small file between us. “Your face is a bit red.”
Sterling glanced down at the shoebox I had set beside me and frowned. I had to avoid flinching when I caught his expression. The friendly smile was replaced by a thick scowl.
“No, no, the fire is fine,” I said, pulling his attention from the box I obviously meant to return. “Perfect for a day like this. A bit unusual for an office, though.”
“This building used to be full of tenement apartments from the nineteenth century,” Sterling said, quickly reverting to his easy demeanor as he sat back. “We kept them on the partners’ floor. Sometimes I can sleep here when I have to work late.”
I tried and failed not to imagine him in bed, so I focused on my drink. The tea was just the way I liked it: strong with a bit of cream and honey. Strange that we had the same taste. Then I saw that his was black.
“How did you know how I like my tea?” I asked with a frown.
Sterling smiled again, that same Cheshire cat smile he had given me at his apartment to convince me to stay the night.Oh. Ana hadn’t just been asking for herself. How awkward for her to be spying for her boss. I wondered how often he got people to do his bidding with that smile.
“Oh, I found out quite a bit about you since Friday, Skylar.” Sterling put his tea down on the side table and picked up the file between us.
“Skylar Ellen Crosby,” he recited. “Born April 8, 1986, in Brooklyn, New York. Daughter of Daniel Crosby, city sanitation employee, and Janette Chambers, heiress. Parents divorced, mother remarried to Maurice Jadot of Paris, deputy CEO with BNP Paribas.” He stopped, his expression particularly quick and blue. “Guy’s a shark. Hope he’s nicer at home.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice. I could count the number of times I’d seen my mother in the last fifteen years on one hand, and I’d only met her fifth husband once. Christmas cards had informed me they had two kids together, Annabelle and Christoph. They lived outside of Paris in a house I had hoped to see when I had studied abroad in college. I’d never been invited.
You could say it was a sore subject.
Sterling cleared his throat and continued. “High school valedictorian, P.S. 117. Doubled majored in Business Finance and…Music?” He glanced up curiously. “Minored in Francophone Studies at NYU, where you graduated summa cum laude. Top-earning junior analyst at Goldman Sachs before receiving a partial scholarship to Harvard Law. Lives in student housing, I see—I went to HLS too, so I know the address. Speaks French fluently. Conversational German and…Yiddish, huh?”
“Jewish grandmother,” I said. “So. You know my resume and the contents of the background check you do on your employees. Doesn’t explain why you had your housekeeper do reconnaissance on my tea preferences, though.”
Sterling smirked, clearly enjoying whatever little game this was. “Ana’s a good spy.” His smile morphed back into a frown as his gaze again fell on the shoebox. “Why is that here?” he asked sharply.
I set my tea on the side table and picked up the box, which I offered to him. Sterling stared at it for a moment, then back at me with irritation. But he didn’t take it.
“What?” I set the box between us on the couch and pushed it toward him. “This is an incredibly ostentatious gift, and I work for you. Sir, it would be completely inappropriate for me to take it.”
“It’s a pair of shoes,” Sterling stated.
“That cost a month’s rent.”
“Are you planning to continue working for me?”
I paused. “No. Am I being offered a job again?”
“No,” Sterling echoed. He leaned in. “Not unless you’ve changed your mind.”