Page 1 of False Introductions

1 Rhea

So many numbers to keep straight. I was staring at the pile of documents I had neatly arranged on the hotel’s desk. Generally the prospect of work would have delighted me. Although I had already gone through the data on the plane ride, I knew it was just nerves that drove me to want to examine the paperwork again.Come on, you already know everything front to back.My inner cheerleader held no sway over my critic, who desired to start in on the pile of papers.

Find something else to work on.My suitcase was unpacked and my clothes were either nestled in the drawers or hanging in the closet. I was nothing if not a neat freak. But once I had that side of me under control, I had been stopped by the desire to comb through the statistics and reports again. Looking around, there was nothing left to fuss over.

Glancing at my not too shabby reflection, an idea struck me. What I should be doing was practicing my spiel to the mirror. It never hurt to fake a conversation and practice fielding any objections that might arise. As I decided that was a better use of my time, I heard my phone chirp in my fingers. Glancing down, I saw that my father had replied to my text about landing.

Baba: Make sure to have a little fun while you are out there. All work and no play makes my Rhea a dull girl.

I shook my head. He knew damn well how much was riding on the meeting tomorrow. Shifting my shoulders, I cracked my neck before swinging my arms. I was stiff from the flight and felt like relaxing a bit.One drink can’t hurt. Checking the clock, I saw that it was after seven, a perfectly acceptable time to have a drink. Grabbing my clutch and my room key, I did a quick hair smooth before heading downstairs. My low bun had very few wisps out of place.

One drink. Ten minutes to practice mindfulness and clear my head.

Yeah right, who am I kidding? No sooner had I settled onto a bar stool then I was on my phone looking at the stock market report, before switching over to another analyst’s thoughts. I had chosen to sit outside, and the sticky air had covered my body like a second skin. When the bartender finally came to help me, I ordered Sambuca on the rocks, barely sparing the man a second glance.

The sound of a low chuckle came from another patron a few seats over. “Black licorice, really? Fuck that.”

Whipping my head up, I glared at the exquisitely tailored suit with a man in it. “You’re not drinking it,” I countered. His words had been spoken low; I probably wasn’t supposed to hear them. So my response caused a jerk of surprise from the scoffer.

“Thank fuck for that.” He flashed me a wolfish grin. By this point I had taken a good, hard look at this other customer. He was broad and presumably very tall when standing. His dark hair was combed back on the top, and short on the back and edges. But it was those eyes that were considering me from three seats over that I focused on. Their gaze made me want to squirm in my seat.

“I don’t know how people drink—or eat—anything black licorice,” he added.

“It’s an acquired taste.” I squared my shoulders and dropped my eyes back to my phone. I didn’t have time for handsome men in suits. Tonight, I had to work and alluring eyes should not interrupt me.He’s cute, I’ll give him that.But in my mind, I had already defined him and dismissed him.

“Ugh.” The man tried to regain my attention. “I can smell that from here.”

The retort was on the tip of my tongue. My phone, however, began to ring. I could engage with the devil sitting near me or I could take the call. Glancing at the screen, I pursed my lips.

“Hi, Seraphina.” I leaned back into my seat with my phone pressed to my ear and inhaled the aroma of my choice of drink. “What’s up?”

“Well, look who had time to talk. Dare I ask if you want to go out?”

I shook my head, but realized she couldn’t see me. “Can’t.”

“Always working,” Seraphina said before she shouted to her brother, Sebastian, that I was a no-go.

“Actually, I’m in Nashville right now,” I told her, the twinge of guilt lessening. My life choices were nothing I needed to be sorry about. So what if Seraphina was one of the few friends I had left who still tried to get me to come out? College was over and I wasfinallyworking for my family’s company.

“Why did daddy send you there?”

But instead of immediately answering my friend, I scrunched my brows together as I watched the bartender hand the non-Sambuca drinker three large take out bags. Anti-Sambuca man tapped his glass—the universal signal for another round—before taking the bags and leaving.Well, that’s not something you see every day.Clearly he was coming back, but what was up with three bags of food?

“Oh, you know,” I brushed aside the real answer and gave my friend a load of crap. It wasn’t like beauty queen Seraphina would know anything about acquisitions anyways. After a few more pleasantries and promises about catching up and going out when I returned, I ended the call. There was a wicked idea playing through my mind.

“Hey, Milton,” I gestured to the bartender, and in a conspiratorial whisper I asked, “If I gave you a Benjamin, would you fill his cup with Sambuca?”

Although the bartender laughed, he shook his head. “No, Reese pays me too well; I don’t want to lose his business.”

“A pair of Benjamins and I’ll take the heat,” I gave him my most dazzling grin.

I got my way—I always did.

When Reese came back to a full tumbler, I distracted him by asking, “So what was in those bags?”

To my surprise, the skin around his collar began to suffuse in the loveliest shade of red.What is he hiding? That inkling that served me so well suddenly was alert, and I wanted to figure out this man’s game. I was going to get to the bottom of this before I went back upstairs.

“Where did all that food go?” I prodded.

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