Page 5 of A Forgotten Promise

The woman’s face and body are on display on billboards and posters all around the world. She is stunning.

I’m intrigued by her interest in me. I’m prepared to return it tenfold if she grabs my interest.

Unfortunately, most women can’t keep my interest for too long. When the initial physical attraction runs its course, it just becomes a dull transaction.

“Okay, I’ll have a quick shower. She can wait a moment.”

After I let the hot water beat down on my muscles, I wrap a fluffy white towel around me. I enjoy having a suite at the Aman Hotel. Their facilities and services are state-of-the-art.

Their business boardrooms are perfect for my needs, and having a bedroom a few floors above is a good perk. Sometimes, I don’t even bother going down to the boardroom.

I purchased a house two months ago, but even at almost thirty, I’m not ready to leave this lifestyle yet. Perhaps ever.

I bought the house to appease my parents. To get Dad off my case.

Ever since his condition started deteriorating, he’s been preaching about not wasting my life.

From my perspective, I’m living it to the fullest, not wasting time, because what his diagnosis taught me is that life is too short.

Maybe I’ll rent the house. It’s huge for one person, anyway. When I’m not out or traveling for business, even this room feels like the loneliest place in the world. I can’t even imagine how a house would feel.

The movement behind the frosted glass of the double door suggests my visitor has already arrived.

Hastily, I open my wardrobe. I shouldn’t keep her waiting. Why bother with clothes for this visit, anyway?

Sliding the door open, I drawl, “Saar van den Linden, what a pleasant surprise.”

She whips around, smiling. It’s a smile I know well. I won’t pretend I didn’t admire her pictures before. I mean, I’m just a man.

She takes me in, and her smile fades as she blinks. Fuck, she is more beautiful in real life.

Curls of dark blond hair frame her face. It’s not the traditionally beautiful face. She has a sharp nose and cheekbones, almost masculine features. But somehow, they create an allure that draws me in.

Having dated models before, even famous ones, I shouldn’t feel this impacted by her.

And yet, she has this contradictory energy around her—confidence and vulnerability. She’s holding her chin high, but she’s fidgeting with her fingers.

And she is ogling me with wide eyes, raking her gaze down my torso. She seems half-surprised that I’m wearing only a towel, and half-attracted to what she sees.

I smirk, letting her admire until she catches herself, a pink hue rising to her cheeks. God, she’s adorable.

“Why are you naked?” she blurts out, flustered.

“I was running late for our meeting, so I thought I’d better find out why you are here.” I hold her gaze.

Her eyes twitch, and I can almost feel her need to look away. She fists her hands but perseveres, glowering.

“That doesn’t explain your lack of clothes.”

I keep her imprisoned in my gaze. I enjoy seeing her squirm, but I admire the fact that she doesn’t surrender to the uncomfortable feeling.

Women don’t even try to resist me—my charm or my demands. Not that I complain. But this woman is fighting with herself; I can see the war behind her eyes, and fuck, that’s refreshing.

“I just thought that we might move to your reason for this visit rather fast, and then the clothes will come off anyway.” I lean against the door frame, crossing one ankle over the other.

Her eyes widen. “You think I’m your booty call?”

I keep holding her gaze, trying to read her. Her eyes narrow slightly, lips pressing together—she’s clearly exasperated. But she’s not walking away.

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