Page 37 of Ruthless Heir

My type.

Right now I’m not even sure what my type is but I smile back at her just to be polite. Like everyone else, she’s just helping me.

I already know I won’t like anybody on that list any more now than I did when I first looked at it.

Meeting these women is just a matter of dotting my i’s and crossing my t’s.

Chapter Eight

Asher

Date number one: Completed.

Status: Negative.

It was a complete no-go. Along with nearly two hours of my life I’ll never get back.

At least it’s not too late. It’s just past eight so the night isn’t completely wasted. I head into the living room and take off my jacket, relieved I cut my date short.

Jennifer Paxton was a smart, beautiful, successful lawyer. She had all the qualities I love in a woman but our entire date was like a role play of a fictional court case. Seriously, I don’t even think I could make that shit up.

From the moment she suggested the role play I checked out.

She was to be the prosecuting attorney and me the defense.

The fictional case she made up was of a man who’d stolen his friend’s intellectual property and claimed it as his own.

I stuck around for an hour only because she was Hunter’s top recommendation. The extra forty minutes came about becauseour food was late. I made my escape by telling her that I had an international business call to make that I couldn’t reschedule.

I’ve never been so bored on a date in my life. Or angrier at my brother.

How the fuck Hunter thought I’d likethatwoman is beyond me. There was a point where I wondered if I was being too picky. Then I imagined myself with her and realized I was being the right amount ofselective.

If all my dates are like tonight I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.

Nineteen more dates to go.

Tomorrow has to be better.I suppose if the worst-case scenario were to happen and I don’t like any of them by Sunday, I’ll still have two days before Father’s deadline to figure something else out.

I hope it doesn’t come to that but it’s the backup plan. As to what I’ll do during that time is anyone’s guess.

I look around for Harper. The house is quieter than usual.

Olga works a half day on Monday and most of the house staff have an easy day where they finish early, too. It’s because they know I’m likely to get back late.

It looks like I’m by myself.

I head to Harper’s room and confirm she’s not there. I don’t like not knowing where she is.

Deciding that I’ve had enough of the silent treatment, I grab my phone and call her.

To my absolute annoyance the phone goes straight to voicemail.

“Harper, where are you? I’m home. Call me when you get this.” I try to keep the irritation out of my tone but my voice is swimming with it.

She probably won’t call back, and when she sees me—if she decides to talk to me—she may say it wasn’t ten yet.

I decide to grab a beer and head out to the balcony of my room to smoke and drink. I need some downtime.

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