Page 7 of Tempted To Be Mine

Jeremy emerged from wardrobe looking gorgeous, as expected. The partially unbuttoned shirt showed off just enough of his chest to make the female assistant adjusting his collar blush. His dark hair had been artfully tousled, his five o’clock shadow groomed to perfection. The tailored pants showed off his long legs.

I watched him take his position next to the female model. The stunning brunette wore a flowing evening gown. They made a striking pair. Dark and light. Masculine and feminine. The kind of image that would sell a lot of very expensive clothes. Every woman would want to look like her and would absolutely fantasize about being the one on Jeremy’s arm.

The photographer called out instructions. Jeremy responded with the ease of someone who’d been doing this for years. A slight turn of the head. A shift in his stance. That smoldering look he could summon on command.

Between shots, while the crew adjusted equipment and the photographer reviewed images on his camera, Jeremy turned his attention to the model. I couldn’t hear what he said from my spot under the umbrella, but I could see her reaction. The tilt of her head. The way she touched her hair. The giggle that carried across the pool deck.

Effortlessly charming, as always.

No one was immune to Jeremy’s charisma.

I turned back to my laptop, scrolling through his upcoming bookings. The man never stopped working. Neither did I, by extension.

Another burst of laughter drew my attention back to the shoot.

Jeremy had moved closer to the model, his hand resting lightly on her waist as the photographer directed them into a new pose. She was looking up at him with that expression I’d seen on a hundred faces before. The one that said she was already half in love with him.

I understood. I really did.

Jeremy was objectively gorgeous. Those green eyes, that jawline, the body he maintained with an irritating combination of genetics and minimal effort. Add in the charm, the easy smile, the way he made everyone feel like they were the most interesting person in the room, and it was no wonder women fell for him like dominoes.

I wasn’t totally immune. I had eyes. I’d noticed the way his shirts fit. That smile of his was impossible to miss. I’d be lying if I said I’d never had a stray thought about what it might be like to be on the receiving end of all that focused attention. But I also knew better.

Jeremy flirted the way other people scrolled through their phones or read books. It was just what he did for entertainment. A reflex. A hobby. Every woman who smiled at him got the same treatment, whether she was a supermodel or a barista or a random blonde in a string bikini at a tiki bar.

It wasn’t personal. It was never personal.

At twenty-seven, he was living exactly the life he should be living. Young, hot, rich, and successful. The world was his playground, and he was enjoying every swing and slide it had to offer. I couldn’t blame him for that. I’d done my own version of it at his age, just with significantly less money. And a lot less polish.

But I was thirty-five now. I’d sowed my wild oats. I’d done the casual dating, the ill-advised hookups, and the relationships that had been fun but going nowhere. I knew what all of that felt like, and I knew it wasn’t what I wanted anymore.

If I was going to invest my time and energy into another relationship, it had to have the potential for something real. Something serious. Something that could actually last.

That would never be Jeremy.

He was my friend. My client. And honestly, that made everything easier. While every other woman within a hundred-foot radius was busy falling under his spell, I could stand back and see him clearly. The real him, not the fantasy. It was a surprisingly comfortable place to be.

I turned back to my laptop and opened my email. I needed to check in with my grandmother. I opened a new message and typed in her email address. She was better with technology than most people her age. And don’t even get her started about Facebook. She used it more than any millennial.

She lived in one of those retirement communities in Florida, the kind where everyone was over fifty-five and they all zipped around on golf carts like they were driving sports cars. She had a two-bedroom villa with a lanai. There was a community pool that you couldn’t pay me to get in. There was not enough chlorine. The community had a calendar full of activities that put my social life to shame.

Grams also had a new boyfriend. Harold. A retired dentist with a full head of silver hair and, according to my grandmother, “very nice hands.”

I didn’t ask for clarification on that one. I chose to believe she meant for rolling pasta.

I started typing.

Hi Gram,

Just wanted to confirm our Thanksgiving plans. You mentioned you and Harold are spending the holiday at his daughter’s place. Is that still the plan? I’m trying to lock down my schedule for the next couple of weeks. I need to know if I should plan on you visiting.

No pressure either way. I know you’re excited about meeting Harold’s family as his official girlfriend. Just let me know when you have a chance.

Love you, Lucy

Casual. Not at all like I was disappointed about spending Thanksgiving alone for the first time in years.

My grandmother had raised me after my parents died. A car accident when I was sixteen. One phone call, and my entire world collapsed. She’d given up her early-bird dinners to make sure I finished high school. She’d been there for every moment that mattered.