Beauty and the Brit by Poppy St. James
3
CAMRYN
“What’s she doing here?” are the first words out of Sterling’s full, pouty mouth as he slides into a rolling leather chair across from me.
I can’t help but flinch a little at his words.
Sterling and I have always gotten along well, even if he is a pompous player who’s too attractive for his own good. There was a time when I hoped he’d ask me out, when I thought maybe he was looking for more. We danced and laughed at our friends’ wedding, but that was months ago now. He certainly never called, never indicated he’d be interested in more, so I’d pushed it out of my brain. I wasn’t that girl. I wasn’t going to pine over some guy who wasn’t interested.
“She’s the one who’s going to save your arse,” one of his advisors says.
“Morning, sunshine.” I grin at him. Fighting the urge to look away from those sexy dark-blue eyes, I hold his gaze, not wanting to let him know how very much his presence rattles me. I cross my legs and straighten the leather portfolio on the sleek mahogany table instead.
Yesterday afternoon, my boss and my best friend, Olivia Cane, CEO of Tate & Cane Enterprises, called me into her office. She’d been contacted by a wealth manager in London about doing some publicity work.
I had no idea what it entailed, only that it involved our friend Sterling. I had a feeling the handsome Brit had possibility gotten himself in some hot water. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. He was known to be a huge playboy, which I have little time or respect for. But he’s stupid hot. As in, he makes smart girls act stupid, so I need to keep my defenses up, and most of all, my legs closed.
“So, what’s this big project you said I’d be working on?” I’m more than a little curious about what I’m supposed to help Charles and Sterling with.
The wealth manager, Charles, who also happens to be Sterling’s uncle, flew in from London yesterday. And he has one expression on his features. Sheer panic. I feel like I’m still trying to play catch up. Sterling stretches and covers a yawn behind his hand.
“As you may be aware, Sterling Quinn is the heir to the Quinn fortune. His great-grandfather Duncan Quinn built a sizeable wealth over the course of his life.”
My gaze cuts to Sterling. Heir to a fortune?
Wait. What?
Gulping down a huge breath, I try to compose myself. I only know Sterling as playboy, a sexy Brit, and a cocky lawyer who doesn’t believe in love.
“I had no idea,” I say, breathless.
Sterling winks at me. “Neither did I, until Monday morning.”
“His great-grandfather recently passed away, and according to his will, everything is to be left to Sterling upon the completion of a strict requirement. Actually, just one . . .”
Glancing up, I catch Sterling watching me. I wonder if he remembers that night as fondly as I do. The dancing had been wonderful, and so had the conversation. Distracted, I clear my throat and motion for Charles to continue.
“To receive his inheritance, he has to be wed. And we have six months to make that happen.”
I study Sterling’s expression, trying to make sense of his feelings on this. His smirk is amused, as if to say, Isn’t this a fine little mess we’ve found ourselves in?
I cross my legs beneath the table. He’s an attorney, so he makes good money; maybe he doesn’t need it. “How many millions are we talking here?”
Charles purses his lips. “Fifty million dollars.”
Okay, scratch that. Who’s going to say no to that kind of money? Geez. No pressure or anything.
My heart starts to gallop. “And you want me to . . .”
I leave the rest unfinished. Seriously, what is my role in this crazy scenario? An impending panic attack lurks under my cool facade. If they think I’m going to be the one to marry him, they’ve obviously lost it.
“I take it you saw the media circus and hordes of women out there?” Charles asks. “Everyone’s vying for a piece of the new millionaire bachelor.”
As I nod, my gaze drifts over to Sterling once again. I wonder how he feels about all this, about all the attention. Does he feel like a piece of meat? I would. Those women are nothing but gold diggers looking to cash in. Then again, maybe he’s loving it. Maybe he actually collects thongs as trophies. And sees this as his big opportunity to pillage his way through the city.
If so, gross.
“Your role will be to manage this entire process from start to finish,” his uncle says like that was so obvious. “We need some objective. Someone organized and good with a timeline…”
I take a slow breath and blink at him.
But Charles isn’t finished. “We’d like you to come up with and execute a plan that ends with Sterling married before the six-month deadline.”
Huh.So that explains what I’m doing here.
Sterling’s cocky smirk pulls into a full-on grin. “I have to be to court in an hour. Camryn will handle this.”
Camryn will handle this?Dude. What in the actual heck? Does he not understand that the this we’re discussing is his future, his wife? As in till death do you part … It’s a serious situation, even if he’s not going to take it seriously.
I’m a PR executive at one of New York City’s best marketing and publicity firms. I’m not the freaking millionaire matchmaker. Which is actually a good show.
Regardless.
I’m going to kill my friend Olivia for getting me into this mess.
How did she think this was a project I’d want to tackle?
It sounds more like a nightmare.