Pamela Yaye - Seduced by Mr. Right

“But he dismissed you shortly after you arrived at his estate.”

Sharleen winced, as if in physical pain. What the hell? Is Antwan my friend or not? She didn’t appreciate him talking to Mrs. Fontaine behind her back and planned to tell him just that the next time she saw him.

An idea came to her in a flash. Bingo! That was it! She’d have drinks with Antwan and Emilio at the Halftime Bar and convince Emilio to sign with her. It’s either that, or lose him to Brad-the-blue-eyed-schemer! Sharleen felt guilty about missing her uncle’s retirement party, but she couldn’t give Brad the upper hand, not with the VP position at stake.

“I’m meeting Mr. Tate and Mr. Morretti tonight to finish our consultation.” The lie came out of her mouth in a breathless, nervous gush, but she continued full speed ahead, before her boss could question her. “I’m confident Mr. Morretti will sign with us once I tell him more about our top-notch, award-winning agency.”

Her boss gave her a bewildered look and scratched her head. “I’m confused...”

Sharleen gulped. Her palms were slick with sweat, but she maintained her poise. She desperately needed another crack at Emilio Morretti. But when she opened her mouth to plead her case, Mrs. Fontaine raised a hand to silence her.

“I spoke to Mr. Tate at length this morning, and he never mentioned your meeting.”

“He’s a very busy man. It must have slipped his mind,” she said, shrugging her shoulders good-naturedly. The fib fell off her lips with ease, sounding plausible, convincing, too. “Since Halftime Bar is only a few blocks from here, I’m planning to head straight over once I finish my last session of the day.”

Her boss’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “You’re going to meet Emilio Morretti dressed like that?”

“Is there something wrong with my outfit?”

“Not if you’re going to a funeral!” she scoffed, her thin lips curved in disapproval. “Emilio Morretti is an international superstar and one of the sexiest bachelors in the world.”

“And?” Sharleen asked, puzzled. “What does his relationship status have to do with me?”

“I want you to knock his socks off, and that boring, navy blue suit isn’t going to cut it...”

You’re a fine one to talk! You always wear pantsuits!

“Your outfit does nothing to enhance your curves.”

Sharleen touched a hand to her fitted, three-button blazer. “But this is Chanel!”

“I don’t care,” Mrs. Fontaine snapped, sounding exasperated. “Put on some makeup, get rid of that hideous hair bun, and for goodness’ sake, show some cleavage!”

Sharleen cracked up. She couldn’t help it. Mrs. Fontaine was in her thirties and was a chic dresser with a unique sense of style, but the more her boss encouraged her to “sexify” her look, the harder she laughed.

“You have a great figure, but you dress like someone twice your age,” Mrs. Fontaine complained. She paused, as if deep in thought, then adamantly shook her head. “I take that back. My mother’s sixty-one, and she dresses way sexier than you.”

Oh, my goodness, she’s serious; I thought she was joking!

“I’ll give you one more crack at Mr. Morretti, but if he blows you off again, Brad’s in, and you’re out. Understood?”

Sharleen nodded and stepped aside to let Mrs. Fontaine pass. She was happy to see her boss go. Her next session was about to start, and now she had a business dinner with Emilio Morretti to prepare for, too. Mrs. Fontaine marched down the hall without another word and disappeared into the staff room.

Slumping against the door, Sharleen released a deep sigh. This was her last chance to impress Emilio Morretti, but she wasn’t going to dress like a Pussycat Doll to get his attention. She was better than that. And besides, she didn’t own any tight, low-cut dresses.

I’m not sexy, that’s why. I could never pull off that kind of look.

Sharleen dismissed the outrageous advice Mrs. Fontaine had given her seconds earlier. More determined than ever to prove her worth—and land that coveted VP position—Sharleen stalked over to her desk, snatched up her phone and punched in Antwan’s number.

Chapter 4

W here is everyone? Emilio glanced at his platinum wristwatch and scanned the waiting area for his golf buddies. He had a gnawing feeling that something was amiss and sent another text message to Antwan. His friends were thirty minutes late, and if his seafood appetizer hadn’t tasted so damned good, he would have left a long time ago.

Signed jerseys hung from the ceilings, country music blared from the overhead speakers and a tantalizing aroma consumed the air at the sports bar. Emilio was sitting at a corner booth, far away from the other patrons, but he felt them staring at him, watching him on the sly. A redhead sashayed past his table, switching her hips and flipping her hair, but he ignored her. He didn’t want female companionship. He enjoyed sitting alone at the back of the lounge—thinking about Sharleen Nichols.

For the first time in years, he didn’t ponder his nephew’s death or his overwhelming sense of loss. Instead, images of the bubbly life coach with the infectious smile filled his mind. The Southern beauty had an aura of youth and vitality, and if he hadn’t been in a miserable funk on Wednesday he would’ve spent the rest of the morning getting to know her better.

Emilio tasted his soda. Though his conversation with Sharleen had been brief, she’d made an indelible impression on him. She was full of personality—a bundle of excitement and positive energy that intrigued him. She was just that lively, that appealing and engaging. He didn’t date and hadn’t been intimate with anyone since losing his nephew, so his attraction to Sharleen shocked him.

Emilio considered what he’d learned about Sharleen in the past forty-eight hours after an extensive online search. The Duke graduate was everything Antwan had said, and more. She was active in the community, passionate about health and wellness and a self-described foodie. Her Instagram page was filled with recipes, pictures of her gourmet kitchen and her closest friends. He liked that she wasn’t obsessed with money and fashion like the women he’d hooked up with in the past, and he wondered if she was dating anyone.

Why do you care? You kicked her out of your estate, remember?

Emilio felt like an ass for the way he’d treated Sharleen. Her words returned to him, played in his mind. Was there any truth to what she’d said? Could she help him manage his grief and discover his purpose in life? Or was she all talk? He considered going to her office to find out—and to apologize for his behavior on Wednesday—but abandoned the thought. Who was he fooling? He didn’t want to risk getting in a scuffle with the media hounds if he ventured outside of Greensboro. Plus, he didn’t even know what he wanted to do with his life anymore. And he seriously doubted someone on his manager’s payroll would give it to him straight.

Whistles went up in the lounge, drawing his attention to the front of the restaurant. His gaze fell on the statuesque woman in the waiting area and he felt his eyes widen. Emilio shook his head, but the image still remained. It was Sharleen Nichols.

Desire consumed him like wildfire.

Their eyes met, and a radiant smile exploded across her face. Sharleen waved in greeting, then strode purposely through the lounge, as if she owned the place. He straightened in his seat like a pupil at the head of the class. Narrowing his eyes, he zeroed in on his curvy, moving target. His heart revved louder than an engine, and an erection hardened inside his dark blue jeans. Short of breath, sweating uncontrollably, he leaned forward in his chair. She’s even more beautiful than I remember. How is that possible?