Never going happen, sweetheart. I’m never going to fall for that.

Letting out a slow, frustrated breath, I turn my naked back to her and walk into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I unroll the condom, tying it off before dropping it into the waste basket and turn my head, catching my face in the mirror. My eyes are empty, matching the hollow feeling that always follows a rendezvous like this.

No woman, irrespective of who she is or what she does, deserves to be used by a man while he imagines being with someone else, and that is exactly what happened tonight. It’s never happened to me before.

I walk into the shower stall and turn on the water, standing underneath the thudding stream as it turns from cold to hot.

I’m not completely heartless. I tried to make sure Jodi knew what tonight was. Meeting her downstairs beforehand, we shared a bottle of Merlot in the bar before heading up to the room. I hoped that she had long given up any aspirations she had of becoming the next Mrs. Alexander, something I now have to be very aware of. Not with Jodi—who I won’t be calling again—but with any woman that approaches me. I question their motivation out of instinct, pondering what they might want from me, what they serve to gain from associating with me.

What resonates with me so much is how that one, albeit brief, encounter with Lucia last week is consuming me.

For some reason, her eyes and that knowing smile—fuck, even the swing of her hips and the curve of her ass as she walked away—all of it has stayed with me. And then I fucked another woman wishing it were her. Can it get any lower?

Meaningless sex with women like Jodi is easy. I can fuck them without fear of it going any further than I allow. Because if my control was to slip, even momentarily, the consequences would become tabloid fodder—that one journalist in particular baying for my blood, among other things. The downside to becoming an overnight success, some might say.

In reality, the truth is that I have not met that one woman I’ve been prepared to let my guard down with, a woman who I can trust enough to push the boundaries, explore fantasies with, take the next step with.

Maybe one day.

Burying myself in my work for the past month, I’ve been at peace. I find the actual design process cathartic, an outlet that liberates me.

Expectation weighs heavy on my shoulders as the anticipated delivery of yet another ‘Callum Alexander’ masterpiece draws closer. But keeping my head down has been effective in removing the unbidden stress that comes along with being me.

Our next project is very public and iconic—a pivotal design for a new national maritime museum in the heart of my home city. It will be my most visible work yet, with all eyes on me to create something beyond compare, and definitely a step up from the Boston fixture. The challenge is what I strive for, and I let it push me further, higher, and beyond even my own high expectations.

There have been no more hook-ups with Jodi and at the current juncture, that’s perfectly okay with me. Focusing on work means pulling my thoughts away from things that I cannot control.

After eight hours bent over my drafting table working on yet another concept, I’m ready to give up for the day when Grant walks into my office.

I turn to greet him, pausing when I see his telltale smirk.

“You’re looking happy, for someone who’s been in interviews all day.”

“You didn’t see the busty blonde that offered to blow me under the table to get the position.”

“You didn’t!” I say, jolting upright.

“Nah, I just said that to see the look on your face,” he says. “But thanks for the vote of confidence, partner.”

“Bastard.”

“Sucker,” he retorts.

“How did it go?” I ask.

“The usual mix of desperates, wannabes, and Team Alexander cardholders.” He walks toward my desk across the room, sitting down in my tall backed leather chair. “I’m not sure whether to be impressed or annoyed.”

“No Richardson fans?”

“Oh plenty of those too, but I’m not the golden boy, am I?” He waggles his eyebrows, making me chuckle.

“So any frontrunners?”

“One or two.” He rubs his thumb on his chin. “Hey, do you remember meeting a student at that college function last month?”

The only person I remember vividly from that function is Lucia. Shaking my head, I answer him. “I can’t think of anyone. Did I forget to call someone back or something?”

He glances over at me. “No, nothing like that. One of the applicants mentioned meeting you there,” he replies dryly, like he knows I remember at least someone.

I quirk a brow. “I meet a lot of people at those kinds of events. Some more memorable than others.”

“Like the hot brunette waitress?”

“What waitress?” I answer, feigning ignorance.

“Right, you’ll keep. So did you want to meet the short-listed internship applicants?”

“Do you need me to?”

“Probably not. I’m happy with my two choices—a delightfully attractive and eager female, and a rather conscientious and studious male. They’re both proud card-carrying members of the Callum Alexander fan club. There’s no accounting for taste, but I can’t hold that against them,” he adds with a wink.

“Jealous?” I ask with a laugh.

“So it seems.” He stands up and walks over to my crystal decanter of Hennessy Black, raising a brow at me in silent question. I nod in response and he starts pouring the cognac into two tumblers.

Stepping toward me, he hands me one of the glasses, then takes a slow sip for himself before sitting back down.

“Are we going to split them between us, like normal?”

“Sounds good. But in order to remove the temptation for a sexual harassment case, I’ll take the young woman,” I say, with a knowing smirk.

“Asshole.”

“I call that being smart,” I retort.

“Better to be safe than sorry, I suppose,” he concedes, “especially with the museum project in the spotlight.”

“Now that I agree with,” I say, tipping my glass toward him before downing it. “What are you doing for dinner?”

He stands up, putting his empty glass back on the drinks cabinet and walking toward my office door. “I was thinking we’d head to that Greek restaurant a few blocks over. I’ll just go call our new interns and tell them the good news I’ll be ready to go. Graves in particular was keen to start straight away.”

“Sounds good. I’ll just finish up this section and pack everything away.”

“I’ll come get you when I’m done then.” Grant gives me a grin and disappears down the corridor.

An hour later, Grant leads the way as we exit our building and start walking along the sidewalk.

“Met up with Jodi lately?”

“Definitely not. She’s called a few times but that ship has definitely sailed.”

I look up to catch him grinning at me. “Not even for another memorable limo ride?”

He starts laughing and I join him. “She didn’t seem to get the memo.”

Gasping in mock horror he replies, “They never do.”

We cross the road and come to a stop outside the front doors of a wall of windows lining the front of a restaurant called “Santorino’s.”

We walk through the front doors, and I’m surprised to be met by the same radiant smile that affects me just as much as it did the first time I saw it more than a month ago. The woman who has been the star of my dirtiest, most depraved fantasies recently is now standing just a few feet away from me.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I wasn’t expecting to have a celebrity in the house tonight.”

“Lucia, wasn’t it?” Grant asks, switching automatically into his usual charm offensive.

“Good memory. It’s great to see you again.” Although the comment is for the two of us, it’s only me who Lucia locks eyes with, an unspoken meaning being shared between us that piques my attention. “Is it just the two of you tonight or are you expecting company?” she asks, turning back quickly to Grant.