Page 5 of Not That Into You

Darling Sugar will sprout wings and fly before I choose to be anywhere near him again.

Chapter 3

Cameron

Red is not a color most women can pull off at a stuffy society event without appearing gauche or desperate for attention. But Cynthia Harlow is not most women. Her red dress brings out the warm undertones of her dark brown skin and perfectly matches her smiling red lips.

I admire the way her dress slides against her curves as she moves toward me.

“Cameron.”

We kiss each other’s cheeks before I pull back, grinning. “You look stunning.”

Her gaze travels down my body. “As do you. All James Bond leaning up against the bar with a cocktail in hand.”

“I try my best.” I glance at my drink. “Though I suppose this should be a martini if I’m going for the full effect.”

“Whiskey?”

“Scotch.”

“How stereotypically male of you.”

I snort out a laugh. “It’s a sipping drink, so I’m not liable to drink it very fast or drink very much.”

“Need to keep your wits about you?”

“You know it.”

She smiles.

I glance around the room in admiration. “You’ve done an amazing job here.”

Cynthia is the executive director of the Stanhope Foundation and responsible for its increased impact and reach. She also oversaw the planning and execution of tonight’s fundraiser.

She tips her glass at me. “That’s in part due to you. Thanks again for working with our marketing team.”

I smile. “My pleasure.” Cynthia and her marketing team already had everything well in hand, but I’m pleased I could help.

“If you ever want to move from the corporate side to the foundation side, we’d be happy to have you.”

I laugh lightly. I’m the corporate communications director at The Stanhope Group, the real estate development company my grandfather founded that my father now runs. If I hadn’t already invested considerable time and effort into positioning myself to be the next chief marketing officer, I’d seriously consider moving to the Stanhope Foundation.

Of course, my father would be appalled if I made the switch, which is almost reason enough to consider it.

“The offer is tempting, Cynthia, but I’m happy where I am.” An overstatement, but as a Stanhope, I’m expected to revere the company while merely tolerating the foundation as a necessary tax write-off, even if I think the foundation is the more admirable enterprise.

“Well, let me know if you ever want to spread your wings.”

I chuckle. “Will do.”

She glances around. “Where’s your date?”

“I’m flying solo this evening.”

She tilts her head. “Really?”

I shrug, ignoring a ping of irritation. Her disbelief shouldn’t surprise me. I usually show up to these events with a plus one. But lately, my reputation has begun to grate. It’s my own fault, of course. I’ve spent the last few years cultivating a reputation as a charming playboy and getting my picture taken at numerous events with the intent of adding more glamour to the Stanhope name. My father prefers to regard my reputation as a liability, but I’ve seen the numbers and I know public relations. My efforts have made The Stanhope Group become more firmly associated with contemporary luxury than stuffy traditionalism.

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