LITMIR.BIZ

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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

      Where 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?

      Emilio looked Sharleen over, gave his eyes permission to roam. She was fashionably dressed in a tunic blouse, straight-leg pants and black high heels. She moved with a poise and grace that belied her age. Her red eyeglasses brightened her face, made her stand out from everyone else in the room. The suits at the bar were drinking beer and talking trash, but when Sharleen walked by, they fell silent.

      Before Emilio could gather himself, Sharleen was at his booth, sitting down across from him. She smelled of jasmine and seemed to glow from within. Her inner beauty shone through, instantly seizing his attention. He was stunned to see her, and it must have shown on his face, because her smile dimmed.

      “It’s wonderful seeing you again. How have you been?”

      Emilio couldn’t speak. There was something magnetic about Sharleen, something so captivating he couldn’t get his bearings. His heart thundered in his ears, beat out of control. For the first time in his life, he was speechless, more nervous than he’d ever been.

      “You don’t remember me...” Disappointment flashed across her pretty oval face. “I’m Sharleen Nichols from Pathways Center. We met on Wednesday at your estate.”

      Emilio parted his lips and forced his mouth to move. “I remember you.”

      “You do?” Sharleen sighed in relief. “Thank God for small miracles!”

      Her eyes twinkled when she laughed, and the effervescent sound made him smile. The sun had zapped his energy during his afternoon jog, but he suddenly felt invigorated, energized. Sharleen looked genuinely happy to see him, and the feeling was definitely mutual. He was a great judge of character, always had been, and he sensed Sharleen Nichols was a nice girl.

      Yeah, a nice girl you want to do very bad things with in bed!

      The thought excited him, caused blood to surge to his groin. Sharleen was in her twenties, likely the same age as his sister Francesca and inexperienced in the ways of the world. He sensed it, felt it. Bits and pieces of his conversation with Antwan on Wednesday morning resurfaced. Emilio didn’t remember much, but he knew one thing for sure: his manager had the hots for her. And that was reason enough to keep his distance and his eyes off her perfect shape.

      That’s right, his conscience said. Dial it back,

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