As if summoned by my thoughts, Mirabelle plopped on a deck chair next to me, her pink and black bikini seeming very mature for a girl her age. At least we were in the privacy of our own backyard. Were we to have company, she’d be wearing a cover-up, if I had any say in the matter. And I always had a say in the matter.
“Whatcha doing?” She peered toward my computer.
I swiveled slightly so that my screen was out of her view. “Nothing of importance,” I said. Then I changed my tune. “Actually, I’m working on a project. For a friend. Perhaps you could help?”
“Sure.” She grabbed the bottle of sunscreen that I’d brought out earlier and began slathering it over her petite body. “What is it?”
While I was sure she meant to sound aloof, I noticed the hint of excitement in her few words. If there were any reason in the world to learn how to love, it would be for Mirabelle. She adored me, as many younger sisters adored their older siblings. But unlike other big brothers, I did not deserve it. Yet she still persevered in her faith and affection. For that alone, I endeavored to try with her in ways I refused to try with anyone else. I went out of my way to give her attention—played tennis with her, took her for rides when the chauffer wasn’t available, protected her from our mother’s drunken ridicule. Asking her advice was just as much about boosting her as it was about helping me.
“Well,” I began, “he wants to know the best way to woo a girl—”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “And he asked you? Anyone with half a brain knows you know nothing about wooing anyone.”
I bit back the sting of her statement. It was true after all. “Exactly. So I’m asking you.”
“This isn’t really for you, is it? You aren’t interested in someone, are you?” She stopped rubbing the lotion into her arm and stared at me point blank. “You aren’t trying to woo Celia, are you?”
I made it a point to never lie. Even in my experiments, I had vowed to remain truthful. It was the way I maintained a bit of dignity despite my manipulative actions. So I spun my answer. “Now why would I try to woo Celia? You said yourself she wasn’t for me.”
“Just making sure.” She returned to massaging her skin. “Let’s see, women love the artsy, creative types of attention. Like write her a poem or draw her portrait.”
I blinked. I wasn’t artsy in the least. “Go on.”
“Then there’s the easy stuff—sending flowers, buying jewelry, giving gifts—”
I typed as she talked.
“But those are really lame if you don’t personalize them.”
I looked up from my screen. “What do you mean by personalize?”
“Don’t just give roses. Those are boring. Give flowers that you know she’ll like or that mean something to her. The jewelry should be unique to her or something she’s admired.”
God, it sounded like romanticizing was going to require more detailed investigation than I’d expected.
“Basically, all a woman wants is for you to spend time getting to know her,” Mirabelle said, confirming my thoughts.
I chuckled. “As if you know what it’s like to be a woman.”
“Shut up. A girl, then.” She smirked at me, an expression she had down to a T. “You know girls are just miniature women, don’t you?”
“I’ve heard that somewhere.” I scratched the back of my neck, noticing sweat had gathered while I’d been sitting in the sun. “Then all I—” I caught myself and started again. “All my friend has to do is spend time with this girl?”
“And then show that he’s noticed who she is.” She frowned. “Does that make any sense?”
“It does.” Actually, noticing people was one of my talents. While trying to understand basic human emotion and behavior, I’d learned to study people with a fine eye. The application of my finds was what needed work. “I’m sure my friend will appreciate this advice.”
Mirabelle put on her sunglasses and settled back into her chair. “I wish it were for you though. You’d make an awesome boyfriend.”
I forced a smile, swallowing the nasty taste in my mouth. “Tell you what—I’ll save the notes for when I need them.”
I needed them now, but not the way Mirabelle assumed. I’d never need them that way. She was a bright kid, but she was absolutely wrong about one thing—I wouldn’t make an awesome boyfriend.
But she’d never know that. I never planned to get close enough to a woman for her to find out.
Chapter Three
After
It’s been two days since the symposium at Stern, and I’m still thinking of the brunette beauty who entranced me that night. I’ve returned to the portfolio over and over to read her bio and stare at her picture. Her face is ingrained in my mind and I’ve not even seen her close up in real life.
I had tried to see her, of course. After ditching Celia, I’d rushed to the meet and greet, eager to find Alayna Withers. I intended to offer her a job on the spot. Whatever position she wanted, I’d give it to her. It was completely crazy and like nothing I’d ever done before, but there was something about her. I couldn’t shake it. I couldn’t lose the desire to know her.
Then she didn’t show for the meet and greet. To say I was disappointed was putting it mildly. I was also enraged and confused. Enraged because she’d wasted our time. My time. Who didn’t show to meet with the top professionals in the business? There were six candidates and ten execs. She would have received an offer. Hell, she would have received five offers. Ten, even. And I would have topped each and every one to make her mine.
There was where my confusion lay—why did I give a shit? I’m not a completely emotionless man, but nearly. The feelings I do have are tame, controllable. Practical. This irrational desperation for someone I don’t even know—it rattled me. It rattles me now, these days later when my desperation has increased.
Never in my life have I felt this way about someone.
Is it sexual? An overwhelming need to get laid? It has been a few weeks since I’ve had a woman in my bed. Maybe longer. I haven’t had the interest lately.
But now, as I study her picture and remember her assuredness, her vivaciousness, my c**k stirs.
I try to convince myself that’s what my interest is—physical. Or that it’s her mind. Maybe that’s it—I’m intrigued by her ideas, her innovative way of thinking, so much so that it arouses me. Because what else can explain her effect on me?