Page 5 of How to Date a Younger Man
Since I’m not sure what else to say, I go with the obvious. “You do realize I’m a lawyer, right? Aren’t we supposed to maintain some level of professionalism here?”
“Based on what I’ve seen in this building, you do corporate law. So, unless you’re about to facilitate the acquisition of the company that pays my rent, I think we’re good here.”
I chuckle, taken aback by his awareness of what I do. Something tells me there’s more to him than meets the eye. But that doesn’t mean I’m about to stick around to find out what.
As I watch, he efficiently folds up the table and gathers the discarded sheets.
“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He shoots me one last smile, setting his card on my desk before walking out of my office, and lets the frosted glass door shut behind him.
What the hell just happened?
Pushing my fingers through my hair, I sit back down at my desk and desperately try to remember what I’m supposed to be doing. But, honestly? I’m having a little trouble focusing.
Do women in their mid-thirties really get asked out by twenty-something hunks in tight black T-shirts? The longer I try to push it out of my mind, the more the whole thing seems like a weird dream—or a bad porno with me being the lead actress.
But before I can imagine how that particular scenario might play out, my phone beeps once and Sabrina speaks over the intercom.
“Layne, I have Susanna from Fir Industries on line two for you.”
Taking a deep breath, I roll my shoulders and center myself. I need to get back in the zone. I’m a lawyer—a damn good one—and I refuse to let a sexy as hell distraction distract me from what I do best.
“Thanks, Sabrina. I’m ready, you can connect me.”
The rest of the day goes by in a blur of conference calls and contract negotiations, but I’d be lying if I said my thoughts didn’t keep wandering back to that massage. Every time I move my arm to pick up the phone, I get a waft of the lavender-scented body oil he so expertly used, sending me right back to that table.
As I’m packing up my things, Sabrina pokes her head in my doorway, a nosy, sheepish smile on her face.
“So . . . how did it go?”
“The contract is almost finalized. We just have a few more tweaks to make in the morning.”
“We both know I’m not referring to the contract. The hot masseur, how did that go? I’ve heard rumors about the kind of hunks they employ over there, but wow, your guy was something else.”
I blink trying to find the right thing to say without giving too much away. “He was . . . young.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me there wasn’t some part of you that wanted to take him home and show him who’s boss.”
I pause to arch a brow at her.
“With his consent, of course,” she adds quickly.
“Glad to see all that HR training is really taking root.”
She shrugs and crosses her arms. “I know you’re this high-powered businesswoman, and don’t get me wrong, I’m the first to support you being all ethical about how you use your power.”
“Sabrina . . .”
“But you’re still allowed to have some fun, you know.”
I don’t respond, instead giving her a knowing look and slinging the strap of my leather tote over my shoulder. “Good night, Sabrina. I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow morning.”
“Goodnight, Layne.”
As I walk through the parking lot toward my car, I can’t ignore the nagging feeling that Sabrina has a point. It doesn’t matter if the massage therapist is young, or less than settling-down material. He was freaking hot, and surprisingly smart and kind. Plus, he asked me out, which meant he was into me too.
But just because Mr. Hottie Pants has a secret MILF fantasy doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon my master plan. I know exactly what I’m looking for, and he definitely isn’t it.
3
* * *
LAYNE
Once I’ve pressed SEND on my last email of the day, I check the clock in the bottom corner of my screen. It’s a few minutes after five already.
Shit. I’m going to be late.
After quickly packing my things into my black leather tote bag, I check my reflection in the dark computer screen before leaving. I mastered my everyday lawyer-lady makeup look years ago—a clean, classic, no-fuss eye paired with a natural rosy lip. But lately, I’ve been wondering how well it transitions to the Friday night happy-hour scene.
I fish a slightly deeper red lipstick out of my bag and tap some onto my lips, blending the pigment with my finger. It doesn’t make a huge difference, but at least it’ll look like I put a little effort into my look.
It’s not until I’m sitting in my car, on my way to meet my friend Kristen for happy hour, that I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s Friday, and I’m sure as hell glad this week is over. Not that it was any crazier than any other week, I’m just thankful for a couple of days to sleep in and regroup. Although, if I’m honest with myself, there’s no way I won’t spend at least three hours a day this weekend catching up on paperwork.
