Sweet in Love Read Free Page B

rigueur. Wallpaper and a plant or two in the case of the female staff. A few people had bought art prints in an attempt to lessen the toll of endless hours spent at their desks.
    But Pete’s walls were bare, his desk clear, not a single shelf had been installed. So long as he had a clean computer screen, good lighting and a comfortable chair, he was happy. None of the other stuff would have helped him to be more productive.
    A steaming cup of latte in his hand, Pete sat in his ergonomically correct Aeron chair, his office door open. He didn’t believe in keeping himself closed off at work. That was the surest way to miss opportunities.
    A little alert flashed on his monitor, and he chuckled when he saw the message.
    Gavin stopped outside and stuck his head in. “What’s so funny?”
    “Just made half a million bucks.”
    “Not bad.” He leaned against the door sill. His three-piece suit, unlike Pete’s, was hand-tailored in Europe—probably Italy. Pete had never seen Gavin in anything more casual at work, and everyone dressed to emulate him. “Which trade?”
    “That currency short I told you about.”
    “Nice.”
    “Thanks.” Pete beamed. “A good day’s work before my date this evening.”
    “Ah, that’s right. At La Mer.”
    “Yup. I owe you one.” Without Gavin’s help, Pete would’ve never been able to get a dinner reservation at one of the most exclusive restaurants in L.A. on such short notice.
    “No problem. So who’s the lucky girl?”
    “Brooke.”
    Gavin blinked. “Brooke. As in, Amandine’s best friend Brooke?”
    “The one and only.”
    “Huh. I never knew she was your type.”
    Pete’s mouth twitched up at one corner. “What do you know about my type?”
    “Tall? Blonde? Tits out to here?”
    Yeah. Leggy Nordic types. Pete had dated them so he wouldn’t think of Brooke every time he looked across a dinner table. He checked a few things and shut down his laptop. “I’ve waited eight years to make my move.”
    Gavin looked suitably impressed. “Sounds pretty serious. Good luck.”
    “Thanks.”
    * * *
     
    Brooke tossed another dress down on her bed. Good god, why was it so hard to pick out a decent outfit for a date? None of her clothes looked good enough for what she needed.
    Not that she wanted to impress Pete. That was
soooo
not it; she just wanted to look good at La Mer. Everyone who mattered ate there. She might not have any Chanel or Dior in her closet, but she still wanted to make at least a bit of a splash.
    She finally settled on a sleeveless magenta silk dress that reached about an inch below mid-thigh. A slim gold belt looped around her waist, emphasizing its smallness. Golden high-heeled sandals in the Greco-Roman style elongated her legs. She winced as the straps pinched a little, but took a breath and ignored the pain. Short girls needed every inch they could get. She dumped her driver’s license, credit cards and some small bills into a matching clutch. Two huge golden hoops dangled from her ears, and she put on a golden chain—her mother’s old jewelry. When her mother had passed away, Sandy and Brooke split everything fifty-fifty, and their father kept the wedding band. He’d aged a decade and never looked at another woman. Margaret Andersen-Kim de Lorenzo had been the only one for him.
    At six thirty sharp, the intercom buzzed. It was Pete.
    Very punctual, she noted with approval and a bit of curiosity. Just what had he done to get away from work this early? Give Gavin a kidney?
    He stood outside his Mercedes, the door to the passenger side open. A charcoal Armani suit was wrapped around his body, emphasizing his broad shoulders, trim waist and long legs. If he hadn’t been smart enough to get the kind of job he had, he could’ve been a model, capitalizing on youthful good looks while he could. L.A. was full of handsome men, but Pete had something extra that went beyond a pretty face.
    Now
,
now
,
don’t go looking too deeply into this
.
Keep it