Part I - Prologue
Part I Prologue Landon I'm harboring an idiotic crush on my best friend's sister. The exact moment this absurdity struck me is etched in my memory. It wasn't during our first encounter, when I discovered her peculiar fondness for wearing tube socks with shorts. Nor was it the second time we crossed paths, as she exuded a sour, bitter demeanor that left me dumbfounded. Despite her intimidating nature, I found her alluring and intriguing, but a crush? Not at that point. No, it happened on subsequent occasions. I was a senior while she was a nervous sophomore in college. She reluctantly accompanied her friends to yet another frat party, like a fish out of water. I couldn't help but fixate on her as she clumsily bumped into drunken fools and stumbled over discarded beer cans, constantly readjusting her glasses that refused to stay put on her nose. She was unlike any girl I had ever encountered. Strong-willed, occasionally obnoxious with her sharp intellect, resourceful, and unafraid to stand her ground. She captivated me, holding my attention and fueling my desire to unravel the workings of her beautiful mind. I had to uncover her secrets. That night changed everything. Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through my veins, or perhaps it was the sheer curiosity ignited by the sight of a girl who seemed completely out of place. Whatever the reason, I was undeniably drawn to her. In that moment, I realized I had a choice to make: either remain seated beside Lauren Connor, enduring her mind-numbing stories, or summon the courage to leave the comfort of the leather couch and introduce myself to Delphine Roberts. Can you guess which path I took?
Chapter 1
Chapter One Landon No ordinary man would dare press the button for the eleventh floor that leads to my friend's apartment. They would walk away, tail between their legs, probably searching for ways to avoid becoming me. But I'm not like most men. I've never been. Sure, I have my moments. I enjoy money and power. That's why I own a significant amount of real estate in New York City and continue to invest, multiplying my wealth. At thirty-three, I could retire if I wanted to, but the real estate game is addictive, and I relish the thrill of finding the next best investment. I also have a fondness for sex. I mean, what man doesn't? I've had my fair share of random encounters, never seeking anything more, because no one has ever made me want to settle down... well, except for one person, but we'll get to her later. And like most men, I love sports. Football, baseball, basketball... college sports, professional leagues, even the Olympics. Hell, I'd even watch synchronized swimming if it was on. That's why I find myself in this predicament, walking towards my inevitable fate. "Hold the elevator, asshole," Thomas Ramirez's Irish accent echoes through the lobby just before he presses his large hand against the closing doors. I make no effort to hold it for him. That's the kind of friend I am. As he steps into the elevator, he scans me from top to bottom and starts chuckling. This is reason number one why I didn't stop the elevator. His eyes fixate on the twelve-pack of beer in my grip. Pointing at it, he asks, "Thought you could bribe us with beer, did ya?" We met Thomas, an exchange student from Ireland, at one of our frat parties during our sophomore year. Once we realized he could drink a keg's worth of alcohol in a night without showing any signs of a hangover the next day, he became an instant match with our group of friends. Thomas is one hundred percent Irish and has the fiery temper to match the Guinness running through his veins. Plus, how can you not be friends with a guy named Thomas Ramirez? It's impossible. "Nah, just making my contribution for the night," I reply. "Don't think we're going to take it easy on ya. A bet's a bet," he retorts. "I know." I hide the smile that wants to escape. A bet is a bet, and those assholes better hold me to it, especially since I have a plan. The elevator doors open, revealing a sleek, monochromatic apartment overlooking downtown Manhattan. A plush white rug spans the length of the living room, reminding me of all the nights I've spent face-planted on its soft surface. Despite our wealth and ownership of billion-dollar companies, we lack class. Perhaps that's why we're not invited to many events around the city. Thomas clasps his hand on my shoulder, pushing me into the apartment and guiding me towards the kitchen, where Milo is already cracking open beers and celebrating. "There he is," Milo calls out, looking in our direction. "Dead man walking." I place the beer on the counter, exhaling heavily, perfectly playing my role as the "actor" I am. Authenticity is key, after all. "Christ, how long am I going to hear about this loss?" I ask, slumping my shoulders for added effect. Milo, the winner of this season, glances between us and says, "I think you'll have to hear about it all year, just like the rest of us when we lost. You never let us live it down." True. I'm a sore winner. "Maybe you can take pity on me," I suggest. Milo shakes his head. "Not happening. I've arranged for a courier to bring you a reminder every day for the next month, just in case you forget how shitty you played this year." "How noble of you," I reply sarcastically, cracking open a beer and taking a large swig. "Who benches Russell Wilson?" Milo shakes his head at me. "I told you, it was an accident," I groan, although it was far from accidental. I deliberately sat him on the bench and even donated money to the children's hospital he visits because I wanted the good karma to seal my decision as the final nail in the coffin. It worked. Shaking my head, I make my way to the table where a bowl of chips and guacamole awaits. We still eat like frat boys - beer, chips, pizza rolls - it's all we need. No man ever truly outgrows that fraternity food, unless a good woman comes along and offers an incentive to eat properly. And we all know what kind of incentive I'm talking about. I scoop up a generous amount of guacamole onto a chip and devour it, chewing for a moment before swallowing. My friends watch me intently, their smug faces adorned with crooked smiles. I need to fuel the self-hatred, embrace the anger. "Will you assholes stop staring at me? I get it. I lost. Let's collect on the bet and move the fuck on," I snap. Milo steps up to the table, motioning for us to take our seats. "Boys, I think it's time we discuss the rules, don't you think?" "We do," Thomas replies, taking a seat next to me, resting his arms on the backrest. "Landon isn't leaving this apartment until we finalize every last detail of the bet." Although we may often act like a bunch of immature idiots, at heart, we are businessmen. When we make a bet, we ensure it is drawn up by lawyers and notarized. Having all attended Yale, we know the ins and outs of being shrewd and relentless, applying our business tactics to our bets. It ensures the loser follows through without any hiccups. When the contract arrived this year, I couldn't find a pen fast enough. "Okay, boys, are you ready for this?" Thomas rubs his hands together, oozing with confidence. Little does he know... "Can we add a stipulation to the contract?" Milo asks. "Something like him documenting everything for us?" That's not going to happen. "No stipulations," I interject. I don't want any part of my plan documented. Milo distributes legal folders to each of us, containing the bound contract inside, every page laminated. We take our betting seriously. "We already laminated them, so no stipulations," Milo declares. Lamination seals the deal, quite literally. "Now, please turn to page one." Milo takes control of the meeting, as usual. Milo, the smartest among us and the biggest tycoon, has always been our leader. A preppy yet sporty nerd, he brings innovative ideas to the table, possessing true business acumen. He's dangerous, ruthless, and incredibly intelligent, making him a force to be reckoned with in the business world. Over the next few minutes, Milo outlines the rules and stipulations of losing. I must fulfill my bet within the next week, providing updates and complying with all the requirements. And then, he gets to the exciting part. I struggle to contain my smile, my excitement bubbling beneath the surface. Finally, after a long time, I have a legitimate reason to talk to Delphine Roberts again.
Chapter 2
Chapter Two Landon I rub my hands together, staring up at Delphine's office building that overlooks Bryant Park. It's a modest space, just enough for her and her assistant, but she's paying a pretty penny for it so she can meet with her clients. Speaking of clients, I haven't even told you what Delphine does. Let me fill you in. Delphine Roberts, smart as a whip—I'd argue smarter than her brother, Milo, but he'd disagree—shy, but put a hoagie in front of her and she devours it like she's in a hot dog eating contest. She's got a PhD in behavioral science and wears the title of "Doctor Love" proudly. For the past eight years, she's been perfecting a dating program she created called "What's Your Color?" Intrigued? You should be. She's narrowed down the dating world into six general colors and their corresponding hues. In simpler terms, she's developed a dating program for intelligent, introverted women like herself who want help finding a man with diverse interests beyond crappy craft beers and video games. She encourages finding a sophisticated, worldly man who craves intellectual stimulation from his partner. Now, I know what you're thinking: Landon, you're nowhere near sophisticated or refined. Damn right, I already know that. But hey, I wear fancy suits, I've traveled all over the damn world, and I have no intention of dating anyone other than Doctor Love herself. So what was the bet, you ask? Can't you figure it out already? Thomas, the asshole of our group, came up with the brilliant idea that the loser of the bet has to give Delphine's dating program a shot. As self-proclaimed eternal bachelors, this was a massive wager to lose... well, for some of us. Last year, we upped the ante and had to endure a month of hot yoga classes, sporting those godforsaken leggings. Thank the heavens I didn't lose that one. Milo embraced it like a seasoned yogi and claims it's done wonders for his sex life. Something about improved flexibility and stamina. As the elevator ascends to the sixty-ninth floor—yes, I'm fully aware of the number—I feel a surge of nerves. Delphine has no idea I'm here to "find love." She also doesn't know that I have no intention of actually falling in love with any of her matches. And it's been six long months since I last saw her, so this unexpected visit is sure to throw her off. Ding. The elevator doors open, and I immediately turn left down a hallway towards a vibrantly marked door. WHAT'S YOUR COLOR? A small smile tugs at my lips before I enter the office. The space is filled with white furniture—chairs, coffee table, and desk—contrasting against the equally white walls adorned with solid-colored squares. Above these squares, The Dating Spectrum is written in bold letters, giving a glimpse into what Delphine's program is all about. I've known Delphine since the inception of this idea, when it was nothing more than a concept. To see her bring it to life and find success fills me with a sense of pride. Eleanor, Delphine's assistant, approaches me from the small kitchenette as I stand near her desk. "Can I help you? Do you have an appointment?" she asks. With one hand in my pocket, I shake my head. "No, but if you let Delphine know that Landon Green is here to see her, I'm sure she'll make time." I give Eleanor a wink and wait. She eyes me suspiciously, though we've met before, then picks up her phone. "Miss Roberts, there is a Landon Green here to see you." Eleanor nods and hangs up. "You can go in," she says, motioning towards Delphine's office. "Thank you," I offer a tip of my head and another wink before striding into Delphine's office. Confident and at ease, I push open the door, only to feel a jolt of reality as my eyes settle on Delphine. Damn. My heart races. She's focused on her work, head down, fingers typing away at her keyboard. That familiar furrow of concentration between her brows is barely hidden behind her thick-rimmed glasses. If I were at the right angle, I might catch a glimpse of the hot lacy bra I imagine she's wearing beneath her blouse. And I bet her panties match under that black skirt of hers because she's a lady through and through. Satisfied with whatever she's working on, she straightens up and looks in my direction as I let the door click shut. Her blue eyes shimmer behind her glasses, which she pushes back up her nose with her perfectly manicured fingers. They're never a specific color, at least not in the time I've known her. She always paints them a nude hue. When I once asked why she didn't opt for pink, she explained that she didn't want to change the color to match every outfit. Nude was easy. I think nude is easy too. Especially when it comes to her. Not that I've seen her in the nude, but I plan to. "Landon," she says, surprise laced with nervousness in her voice. "What are you doing here?" She smooths down her sleek blonde hair and fidgets under my gaze. "Are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to come give me a hug?" Being the shy girl she is, she takes a moment to gather herself before standing and making her way towards me, one short heel in front of the other. I close the distance between us and pull her into a full-frontal hug, none of that half-hearted side hug nonsense. No, I want to feel her breasts pressed against my chest and let my crotch whisper sweet nothings to hers. She's hesitant at first, not embracing me as I had hoped, so I tease her as I always do. "I won't explode if you squeeze me, Jules. Get in here." She chuckles quietly and sighs, pulling me in closer. "That's it, give me the good stuff." Her subtle perfume wafts into my nostrils, kicking my senses into overdrive. Damn, she smells good. But our embrace doesn't last long, it never does. Before I can fully revel in holding her, she pulls away and adjusts her blouse, pushing her glasses back up her nose. "Do you want to take a seat and tell me why you're here?" she asks, her professional demeanor taking over. She's not one for idle chit-chat. She's organized, efficient, and incredibly intelligent. Small talk about the weather or inconsequential matters isn't her style. Unless it relates to some scientific thought, she wants no part of it. In front of her desk, there's a seating area with two chairs and a couch on a deep blue rug. Delphine chooses the couch, and I follow suit. It's all about proximity. "Good to see you too, Jules," I say, adjusting my cufflinks. "How have you been?" "Fine," she replies. Even when I try to engage her in small talk, she keeps her responses brief. Some might find it awkward, but I see it as a challenge. "I like what you've done with the place. Is that rug from Pottery Barn?" I ask. She eyes me, hands in her lap, shoulders stiff. "My assistant found it." I lean forward and run my fingers through the fine threads of the rug. "Hmm, feels like Pottery Barn quality." She remains silent, so I continue. "I had this amazing beef pocket thing at a pub in SoHo the other day. It had potatoes in it and was absolutely delicious. They call it a pasty. Have you ever tried it?" "No, I don't believe so," she replies. "You're missing out, Jules," I say nonchalantly, picking at the arm of the couch. "Is it just me, or does the humidity in NYC feel like you have to part the air to walk?" She sighs loudly and relaxes into the couch, her tense shoulders dropping. "Landon, what do you want?" She's giving in too quickly. I was just getting started. But since I know she's busy and I didn't have an appointment, I'll get straight to the point. "I came here to find love." The room falls silent as Delphine slowly rises from the couch, her chest jutting forward as if pulled by some unseen force. Her reaction is understandable. I haven't exactly been known as the settling down type, so this must be coming out of left field for her. "Excuse me?" she asks, her voice laced with disbelief. I rest my forearms on my legs, meeting her gaze with seriousness. "I want you to take me through your program. I want to find someone to settle down with, and I can't think of anyone better than you to guide me through this journey." Her nostrils flare. Her jaw clenches. She crosses her arms over her chest. "Is this one of those stupid bets you make with my brother?" she accuses. Err... "Because football season is over and someone lost. Was it you, Landon?" What the hell is happening right now? "What?" I laugh awkwardly. The urge to pull out my phone and call out my friends is strong. Abort. Abort. The mission has been compromised. "How did he tell you?" I ask, trying to appear casual as I sit up straight and drape my ankle over my knee, running my hand along the back of the couch. Delphine gives me a pointed look. "What do you mean?" "I mean, how did he tell you about this 'bet'? Did he mention it during brunch yesterday?" She nods, her eyes lighting up. "Yes." "Aha." I practically leap off the couch like Sherlock Holmes solving a relentless case. "Bullshit. I had brunch with that guy yesterday. You've been caught, Delphine." She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "I don't have time for this, Landon." She starts making her way towards her desk, but I'm on her in an instant, pulling her hand so she has to face me. We're both standing now, and I stare at her, trying not to get lost in her ocean-blue eyes, eyes I've been lost in before. "I'm serious, Delphine," I say, pinning her with my gaze to show her how committed I am. And yes, maybe I'm not serious about going through her program—it's just a means to get closer to her—but I am dead set on finding love. I've already picked the person I want to find it with. Honestly, I'm making her job easier. But I'll keep that small detail to myself for now. "Why do you really want to go through my program? You're not going to be an asshole about it?" she asks. "I'd never be an asshole to you." Counting off on her fingers, she says, "The hot tub incident at Milo's place. When you stole my hot dog. The time I was blow-drying my hair—" "Alright, settle down," I interrupt, straightening my suit jacket. I hate that I've acted like an elementary school boy around her for most of our relationship, teasing and picking on her like I'm her older brother's best friend... which I am. "I'm not here to be an asshole. I want to try the dating scene. I don't want to pick up girls at bars. I want someone intelligent, sophisticated... beautiful." My gaze briefly falls to her lips before meeting her eyes again. She doesn't seem to catch my flirtatious move, showing no reaction on her face. But then again, I'm not surprised. Delphine has always had a great poker face. "You really want to date?" she asks, her voice filled with doubt. I nod. "Yes." "Fine," she concedes, spinning on her heels and heading towards her desk. Her professional veneer masks the girl who used to wear white tennis shoes to frat parties. "I can squeeze you in next Wednesday." I pull out my phone from my jacket pocket, ready to make my move. "On Wednesday? What time?" "One o'clock," she replies, clicking around on her computer. "Alright, but you'll have to come to my office." Her eyebrow quirks up. "Excuse me?" I type the appointment into my phone, including her on the email invite. Her computer dings as I slip my phone back into my pocket. "Wednesday at one, my office. I'll make sure my assistant has that beet salad you like cooled and ready for you." I start walking away. "Landon, I don't make office calls." "Can't wait to get down to business with you, Jules." "Landon." Over my shoulder, just before the door shuts behind me, I wink. "See you Wednesday." "Landon," she calls out one last time, a smile on my face. I give Eleanor a quick nod before pressing the button for the elevator. I'm well on my way to dating my best friend's sister. It may not seem like it, but Delphine is someone who needs to be eased into things. I learned that years ago. She's thoughtful and deliberate in her decisions, never rushing into something on a whim. She weighs the pros and cons, carefully considers her options, and when she's ready, she makes a choice. Knowing that about her, I'll take my time introducing the idea that Landon Green is looking for a committed relationship. Then... oh fuck... I'll surprise her, catch her off balance, and swoop in like a goddamn knight in shining armor to claim her as mine. Yes, because like Delphine, I create lists of pros and cons, weigh my reasons, and when the time is right, I make a decision. And she is my decision—I've known that for a while—but now it's time to make magic. Delphine Roberts has no idea what's about to happen to her.
Chapter 3
Chapter Three Landon Senior year at Yale University. "Chug! Chug! Chug!" I gulp down the last remnants of my beer bong, proudly displaying my exceptional drinking skills to the cheering crowd. Maybe I should add that to my résumé. Feeling a bit dizzy, sweaty, and full of pride, I stumble off the table and crash into my best friend, Milo. "Dude, I'm wasted," I confess. He turns around and wraps his arms tightly around me, and I reciprocate because he's my person. Yeah, you heard it right, he's my damn person, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. Guys can have persons too. It's not just a Grey's Anatomy thing. Since our freshman year, when we were forced to wear nothing but thongs, with our manhood barely contained in the tiny piece of fabric, dancing for our sister sorority, I knew Milo would be the one who stood by my side through thick and thin. And when we both bent over, exposing our bare asses to each other and a group of twenty women, the sound of the smack echoing through the humid air, I knew... this guy will be my person. Still holding me tightly, he whispers, "Ann Marie just showed me her tits. I think I'm going to cry." I squeeze him even tighter. "Damn, congratulations, man. Were they everything you hoped for?" "Small and perfect, just the way I like them." I push him away slightly and grip his shoulders, staring into his intoxicated eyes. Both of us wearing cardigans without shirts, our hair a disheveled mess, we're embracing our last year at Yale and owning it. "So why are you here with me instead of inside with Ann Marie?" "My sister," he says. Two simple words. All he needs to say. We've had countless late-night conversations, sitting on the porch with beers in hand, discussing our families. Milo loves his sister. And not just in a brotherly obligatory way, but genuinely adores her, worshiping the ground she walks on. He's shared numerous stories about her, praising her intelligence and predicting that she's destined for greatness, far more potential than he could ever dream of. The first time he spoke about her, I may have gotten a little excited, envisioning her in my mind. Smart women turn me on. Nothing turns me off more than a woman pretending to be dumb or acting stupid. Want to know how to kill my mood? Act like an airhead. It makes me cringe every damn time. And despite attending Yale, we've come across a surprising number of "dumb" women. "Delphine is coming? Here? Tonight?" I ask, my curiosity piqued. He nods. "She should be here any minute. It's her first frat party." He tries to tame his hair. "How do I look?" I give him a thorough once-over, hand on my chin, and provide an honest assessment. "Gotta be real with you, dude. You look wasted." "Nooo," he whines. "She's never seen me drunk. Quick, slap me or something, sober me up." "Tempting, but that won't work." I scan the surroundings, searching for a solution, but my drunken mind fails to conjure any ideas. The only thing that comes to mind? More shots! Before I can gather my thoughts, Milo grabs my shoulder and shakes me, causing the beer I just chugged to slosh around. Whoa, the room is spinning. "Coffee. I need coffee. Doesn't that sober you up?" "Eh, I don't know." I sway from side to side. "When is she supposed to—?" "Milo?" A soft voice interrupts our conversation, drawing our attention to a timid-looking girl with fair hair standing nearby, her expression filled with concern. Before Milo lifts her up and spins her around, I catch a glimpse of beautiful eyes behind black-rimmed glasses. Wavy blonde hair cascades over her shoulders, and I can't help but glance at her ass, accentuated by a pair of denim overall shorts. Maybe not the most suitable attire for a frat party, but somehow, it works. Who am I kidding? The outfit is awful, and are those white tennis shoes and tube socks? Tube socks. Damn tube socks. Bold move, but if she's going for the "stay away from me" vibe with her outfit, she has nailed it. I doubt any guy here can handle a girl in white tube socks that belong on an old man playing racquetball. But even though she looks like she stepped out of an episode of The Golden Girls, I can't help but stare. Her entire look captivates me in the best way possible. The frumpy appearance should repel me, but instead, it ignites a desire to unravel her layer by layer. "Juuuuliaaaa!" Milo places his sister on the ground and pulls her into a tight hug, resting his chin on top of her head. Huh, she's short. I like that too. "I'm drunk. Don't hate me." She chuckles, her laughter sweet to my ears. "I know you drink, Milo." She steps away from him and adjusts her glasses. "Since when?" "Since last year when you stumbled into my dorm room, drunk as a skunk, claiming it was just dizziness from exercise and dehydration. Plus, you're twenty-two." "Well, the dehydration part was accurate." He laughs and then points at me. "Delphine, I think it's finally time to introduce you to my other half, the man of my dreams, the peanut butter to my jelly, my lifelong best friend, Landon Green." I couldn't have said it better myself. I extend my hand as Delphine stares at her brother, a furrow forming on her forehead, a questioning look in her eyes. When she turns towards me, I notice her for the first time since her arrival. My hand is outstretched, waiting for her to take it, and I watch as she assesses me quickly before hesitantly grasping my hand. She gives it a firm squeeze before letting go. "Nice to meet you. When my brother first told me about you, I thought you were lovers. Then I walked in on him and some girl during Christmas break his freshman year and realized he just had an intense bromance with you." Deadpan. Completely deadpan. This girl. I casually slip my hands into my pockets, letting the wind play with my cardigan and reveal my impressive chest, but her gaze doesn't wander downward. Interesting. "I can't control the kind of passion your brother has for me. All I can do is nurture it and make it stronger." "It's true. He's captured my soul." Milo wraps his arm around me and plants a big kiss on my cheek. "God, I love this man." Wide-eyed, Delphine looks between the two of us, clearly confused. Wanting to ensure we're all on the same page, I push Milo away and say, "We're really not lovers. We appreciate breasts and vaginas." Her nose wrinkles, displaying her disgust. "Sorry." I cringe. "I mean breasts and... well, you know." She rolls her eyes at me, and there's something about her reaction that I find charming. Not many women have rolled their eyes at me the way Delphine just did... as if I'm a complete idiot. Being the president of the most popular fraternity on campus has made it easy for me to get laid. Women practically throw themselves at me because only the best come from this fraternity. The wealthy, the inventors, the famous. We're known for producing the crème de la crème. If you snag a guy from Alpha Phi Alpha, you're set for life. But Delphine doesn't seem to have the same blood running through her veins as the other girls I've encountered, who hang around the frat house in search of their next conquest. She's different, evident from her eye-roll. Slow and deliberate, her eyes travel to the top before dramatically veering to the side. I like it, a lot. "So, what brings you here tonight?" I inquire, hoping to move past the whole breasts and vaginas conversation. She shrugs, her delicate shoulders barely holding up the overall straps. Her gaze sweeps across the rowdy crowd. "Thought I'd see what this frat thing was all about." "I made sure she was a recluse during her freshman year," Milo interjects. "Studying comes first. Now, after a year of hard work, she's allowed to attend parties, but only ones where I'm present. No way am I letting some drunk jerk take advantage of my little sister." Take advantage of Delphine? Huh, I wonder what it would be like to unhook her overalls and peel off those tube socks. I take a moment to visualize it. The smooth lift of one overall strap, the faint imprint of the sock on her skin once removed. Oh yeah, that shit is... "Dude." Milo smacks me on the back of my head. "Stop staring at my sister's socks. What's wrong with you?" At least I wasn't staring at her breasts... "Huh? Oh." I smile and rub the back of my head. "I like them. Very... uh, white. Do you use bleach? Or are you an OxiClean kind of girl?" She stares at me blankly, not responding, just staring, as if she's evaluating every part of me from behind her eyes. And from the look of it, she's not impressed. It's not like I'm interested in Milo's sister, but gaining her approval as his best friend, now that's something I wouldn't mind. A little pat on the back that says, "I know you've kept my brother warm at night before, and I appreciate it." There's no response to my question, just a slight shake of her head before she turns towards Milo. "Caroline is getting us drinks. I'm going to find her." "You're drinking water, right?" She nods. "Yup. Of course." She rises on her tiptoes and plants a quick peck on her brother's cheek. "See you around." "If you need me, you know where to find me." "Somewhere acting like an idiot, I'm sure." She gives him a departing smile, not bothering to say goodbye to me, and heads towards the house. Huh, not even a "nice to meet you." I thought the Robertss had better manners than that. Well, she's rude as hell. Too bad I can't say that without risking a punch to the eye, and honestly, I'm not in the mood right now. "So, that's Delphine, huh?" I ask, turning my attention back to Milo. He nods. "Yup, that's my sister."
Chapter 4
Chapter Four Delphine "Milo, don't lie to me," I say firmly, power-walking through the grimy streets of New York City in my three-inch heels. The biting winter wind cuts through my long coat, making my legs feel like popsicles. I hate the cold weather. If it were up to me, my business would be located in sunny Florida, helping all the single people in Miami find love. Unfortunately, the dating scene is in New York City, so I'm stuck dealing with this frigid weather. "I'm not lying to you," Milo insists. I know my brother too well to believe him. I can tell when he's lying or trying to cover something up. The slight increase in pitch in his voice when he denies lying gives it away. "If I were on my deathbed right now and asked you if Landon came to me out of a genuine desire to find love, not because of some stupid fantasy football bet, what would you say?" I challenge him. "Uh... Oh, look at the time, I'm late for a meeting," he stammers. "I don't want to get in trouble. I should go." "You're the boss," I deadpan as a gust of wind blows an old chip bag against my coat. I swat it away, hoping it doesn't leave any residue. "Yeah... but time is of the essence, and I don't want to be a jerk boss. Love you, sis. Let's grab lunch soon." "I know you're avoiding my question by trying to hang up right now." "What's that? Sorry, I can't hear you. Must be going through a tunnel." "I'm walking the streets." "Okay, thanks, bye." Click. I let out a frustrated breath as I put my phone back in my purse and continue walking. Finally, I reach Landon's office building, determined to confront him about his true intentions. I take a moment to catch my breath and warm up in the opulent lobby filled with people bustling in and out. The clacking of high heels against the marble floors and the constant dinging of elevators create a bustling atmosphere. To me, this is just another day in New York City. When I first moved here, I was in awe of the grandeur of the lobbies, but now I'm used to it. I make my way to the elevator and press the button for the top floor. As the elevator fills with people, I prepare myself for the long ride. Finally, I reach Landon's floor and step out of the elevator. Philip, his assistant, notices me and puts his phone call on hold. "Miss Roberts, it's good to see you," he greets me, his eyes scanning over my appearance. "Mr. Green is waiting for you and told me to let you in whenever you arrive." "Thank you, Philip," I reply, grateful that Landon informed his assistant about our meeting. I walk past Philip and head towards Landon's office. Without bothering to knock, I push open the frosted glass door and find him sitting at his desk, his hand in his sandy-blond hair as he stares intently at his computer screen. My hopes of catching him in an embarrassing moment are dashed. When he hears the sound of his door opening, he glances in my direction and a lazy smile spreads across his face. He's always been so cocky and self-assured, never changing since the day we first met. Sure, he may have matured a bit, but he's still the same arrogant man. As he walks towards me, I can't help but notice the roughness of his scruff against his jawline. Compared to his perfectly styled hair, it gives him a rugged edge. Meanwhile, I've come a long way from my college days of overalls and turtlenecks. After getting my doctorate and starting my dating program, I realized I needed a makeover to represent my company. Thanks to my friend Caroline, I underwent an all-day consultation to refine my appearance. "Hey Jules," Landon greets me, placing a hand on my waist and leaning in to give me a soft kiss on the cheek. Before I can react, he pulls away. "Thanks for meeting me here. I've had back-to-back meetings all day, so not having to rush to your office was helpful." I want to address the real reason he's here, but first, I need to clear the air. "Landon, let's get one thing straight. I don't have any romantic feelings for you. Not even close." He smirks, knowing exactly how attractive he is. "I understand, Jules. But trust me, I'm serious about this. I want to find love." We settle onto the blue velvet couch in his office, and I hand him a stack of contracts. "Before we proceed, there are some contracts you need to sign." He scans the contracts, his eyebrows raising at the mention of fees. "Money doesn't matter to me." "Just be aware that there are charges for any deceptive behavior. I don't waste my time, and if you waste it, you'll pay the penalty." Landon seems unfazed by the fees, which doesn't surprise me. He's always been financially well-off. As he finishes reading the contracts, he looks up at me with mischievous eyes. "You get your ruthless business skills from your brother, don't you?" I glance at my nails, subtly checking the nude polish that needs a touch-up. "I may have enlisted his help with the contracts." "Smart move. But don't worry about the fees when it comes to me," he says confidently. "I'm in this for the long run, Delphine." I don't like it when he calls me Delphine. It feels too formal, like we're strangers. Only Landon is allowed to call me Jules. He's the only one who sees me as more than just Miss Delphine Roberts. But I won't let him know that. Instead, I simply reply, "Good to know." Landon leans back on the couch, his body language relaxed. "I'm excited to get started." "Mm-hmm," I mumble, reaching into my bag and pulling out a stack of contracts. Placing them on the coffee table in front of me, I say, "You have some contracts to sign. Let's get started." Landon eyes the stack and asks, "Contracts?" I cross my legs and try to exude confidence, even though I'm feeling a bit flustered. "It's a requirement for all my clients. It ensures they take the program seriously and aren't using it for false reasons. There's a three-month commitment, various tests, and consent to use your personal information to find you a match." Landon lifts an eyebrow and asks, "How intense are these tests?" "It's about a week's worth of testing," I respond. "Are you serious?" he exclaims, clearly taken aback. I nod, a small smile playing on my lips. "My program is thorough. My brother and his friends didn't realize what they were getting themselves into when they lost that bet. But I intend to hold you accountable, Landon." He leans back further, processing the information. "Well, I guess I'm up for the challenge." "Don't forget to read about the fees," I remind him. "Charges will apply for any deceptive behavior." Landon scans the sheet, and a corner of his mouth tugs upward. "You really are ruthless, aren't you?" I fold my arms and wait for his response. He lets out a long sigh and finally admits, "Okay, fine. It was a bet I lost. But let me assure you, I would never have agreed to it if I wasn't serious about finding love." I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. "What do you mean?" "Even though it started as a bet, I genuinely want to find a partner in life," he explains. "A couple of months ago, I saw a married couple on a date, and it made me realize that's what I want. I want someone I can laugh with, someone who likes me for who I am. I want a real connection, not just casual flings. And I believe your program can help me find that." I can't help but soften a little at his words. Maybe there's more to him than meets the eye. "Why now? Why choose my program?" He leans forward, his eyes filled with sincerity. "I want something real, Delphine. When we made this bet, I knew that if anyone could help me find it, it would be you." I let out a sigh, torn between frustration and curiosity. "You're exasperating, you know that?" He chuckles. "Because I make you feel something other than annoyance?" "Exactly." He grins. "Get ready, Jules. You're going to like me a lot more than you expect." I scoff, refusing to give in to his charm. "We'll see about that, Romeo."
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