I stood and, for the first time in forever, my heart raced, and not because I opened the electric bill. This was a different kind of pulse; one I had forgotten existed. I didn’t like men as a general rule, unless I was related to them or I had been friends with them circa high school. I made a few exceptions if my friends happened to be married to them and were bearing their children, which was happening more and more lately. Beyond that, I didn’t have much use for men.
But this man I had kept by my bedside for over a year now.
Evelyn made it in before him. The man in question happened to have a little someone with him. That little someone was giving him fits, as little people often do. But what a cutie the whining boy was. He had dark, curly hair like the man who was now kneeling in front of him. Did he have a son? For all my admiring of his picture and reading the books he wrote more times than I was willing to admit, I had forced myself not to learn more about him, except that he was single and loved to play polo. I only knew those tidbits because of my friends.
“Listen, mate, if you’re good here, I promise we will go get ice cream afterwards. Does that sound good? Can you do that?” The man in question’s sexy British accent wafted my way, making my pulse tick up even more.
The handsome boy, dressed like a tiny royal in shorts, a sweater with a collared shirt underneath, and dress socks up to his calves, nodded and took the man’s hand. The man was also impeccably dressed in slacks with a dark blue button-up that brought out his aqua eyes.
Eyes I’d stared into too many times.
Never did I think I would get the opportunity in real life. Not that I wanted it. Okay, maybe I thought of having dinner with him a time or two, but it was only to discuss how brilliant his latest book was. That wasn’t exactly true either, but now was not a time to fall into one of my daydreams about him. Honestly, though, I would have loved to ask him how he dreamt up the complex character of Isabella Jones. I felt connected to her, almost as if I knew her in real life. We shared similar backstories—both middle children, once upon a time uninhibited, but life had gotten to us, making us reserved in nature and a tad snarky. I also wanted to know when the sequel to Silent Stones was coming out. It had been two years. How long could it take to write a book?
Evelyn, still fanning herself and red like she was having a hot flash, cleared her throat. “Aspen, this is Miles Wickham—”
Miles Wickham? I expected her to say Taron Taylor. I guess I was wrong. He wasn’t the man on the cover of the book that held a place of honor on my nightstand. I told my heart it could stop racing, but Mr. Wickham’s piercing eyes caught hold of mine. They widened as if he were surprised to see me, as if we were already acquainted. Then he tilted his head and began studying me from every angle. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but I reminded myself I was at work and to focus back on Evelyn.
“—he’s here to open a checking account. I thought you would be perfect to help him.” Evelyn gave me a covert wink. She was always trying to set me up with someone, including most of her grandsons.
I walked around the desk a bit shaky and held my hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wickham.” I had to stop myself from smiling. All I could think of was wicked Mr. Wickham from Pride and Prejudice.
Mr. Wickham held out his own masculine hand, still studying me. He swallowed hard. “The pleasure is mine, Ms.—?”
“Parker,” I stuttered like an idiot. Men weren’t supposed to have an effect on me. It was the British accent, I told myself.
“Ms. Parker.” He spoke my name with reverence while keeping my hand in his. “I feel as if we’ve met before.”
I looked at Evelyn, not sure how to respond. Not sure if I could. There was suddenly less oxygen in the room, or so it felt. Evelyn’s excited eyes said to say something flirty. I didn’t remember how to do that. More importantly, I shouldn’t be doing that. I was a professional and I didn’t like men.
I found some air and pulled my hand away from his. Oddly, it made him smile as if that’s what he expected.
“I think I would have remembered if we had,” I finally managed to say, which, unfortunately, did sound flirty even though it was true. I would have remembered him if we’d met before. To cover up my blunder, I knelt carefully in my pencil skirt in front of the little guy who had to be all of three. “And who are you?” I asked.