RULES OF LOVE (A Navy SEALs Romance) (27 page)

Saunders Empire caused a loud bell to ring in my head. I had interned for one of the branches as an undergrad, but only briefly. I had applied for a job right after graduation, but they had kindly replied, in an envelope not as fancy as this one, that I was underqualified for the positions available, and they would contact me when a position I was qualified for opened.

I flipped the envelope over; it was sealed with a gold embossed wax in the shape of the Saunders Empires logo.
Fancy
, I smirked as I carefully broke the seal, my heart beating wildly. I hoped they had changed their minds and were offering me a job. I would certainly swallow my pride, dust off my bruised ego, and accept the job without question. I pulled a card out of the envelope.

What caught my eyes first was the gold lettering and gold borders on the card. The gold was probably real gold. My eyes focused on the words on the card.

Dear Ms. Sara Nolles,

It is my pleasure to invite you to the Saunders Empire private annual ball. As you are aware, this is an event for the most elite men and women in our country.

I enjoyed your company last time we met and hope you will join me again.

Your invitation package will be delivered within the next twenty hours. We eagerly await your response.

Sincerely,

Nick Saunders

I read the card over and over again, wondering what I was missing. Then I started picking apart the phrases. They must have made a mistake. For all the money and resources Saunders Empire had, they couldn't keep their guest list correct? Yeah, granted I had interned there, but how did I end up on their guest list? Did someone who knew me when I was there include me on the list?

Me, a part of the elite group of men and women? Elite men and women! Is that a joke? I can't even get a job with an elite man or woman, whatever the heck elite meant. I imagined elite meant "rich and stuck up," men who listed "playboy" as a hobby and women who hired maids to brush their hair and apply their makeup. This had to be a case of mistaken identity. Perhaps there was a Sara Nolles somewhere on their guest list and our names and address had crossed.

And what the heck did he mean by he had enjoyed my company? What exactly did the real Sara Nolles do for him? I only saw Nick Saunders once during my internship, and he had been presenting to a room full of his employees. He would never have noticed me tucked all the way in the back, and even if he had noticed me, I prided myself on not being the type of woman playboys like him dated – rich, skinny, obnoxious women. Nick’s reputation for having an insatiable appetite for women preceded him, and I did not want to be on his list.

I read the card again as I walked to my bed. I would call the next day and inform the company of their error. I was not elite, and the card was certainly not for this Sara Nolles.

NICK

Nick stared at the picture of the woman who had remained in his mind since the day she had served him coffee at a downtown coffee shop. She had looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place where they had met because he knew nothing would have stopped him from making a move on her whenever they met.

She was one of those women he hated to admit were irresistible, the type he hated because they were too proud to admit their need of him and made the chase too hard. He had his private detective scoop her out once he’d left the coffee shop, and it hadn’t been hard to pin her down. Within hours, he knew everything he needed to know about her, including the fact that she had interned with him years ago. How had he missed her? So unlike him to let someone who looked like that get away without getting her into his infamous bed.

He flipped the pages of her file, re-reading her life for the millionth time. She had just been dumped by her boyfriend of four years and lived downtown in a dingy apartment. He had to get to her. Initially, he had planned to approach her straight, but he knew a woman like that was not one to be approached without a plan. Then he thought about using her friend to get to her, but that was cliché. Who still talked to girls through their friends? That was so last century.

He looked at her picture again, letting himself drown in her hazel eyes. Really pretty, definitely sexy face –a woman who stood out from all the girls he had dated– long, black, luscious curls that he wanted to get his hands into, lips so succulent he could only imagine kissing them until she moaned his name, and an attitude bigger than her delicate though curvy frame. She had to be his. No other way around it.

When she had served him coffee without an ounce of recognition, he knew she was going to be hard to get.

“Hello, welcome to Pixies,” she had said. “How may I help you?”

“Coffee.”

“What type of coffee, sir? We have several different varieties.” Her hazel eyes had stared into his, and in that moment, there had been an instant attraction. Her eyes never left his gaze, and he was not one to back down from a woman.

“What would you recommend?” he asked, momentarily forgetting that he only drank dark espresso.

“Well, how do you like your coffee? Sweet, strong, dark?” she asked, her gaze still on him.

Sweet would be awesome
, he thought.
Sweet like her lips
? His eyes had moved to her lips but found their way back to her eyes. She was certainly beautiful, and if he had to guess her age, maybe twenty-three? Twenty-five? Maybe she was too young for his thirty years of age. He should probably back down while he could.

“I’ll take whatever you recommend,” he had told her and hoped he didn’t regret it. It was only coffee, after all. No harm could be done.

“Sure. You look like someone who likes it dark and strong,” she said, a faint smile curving her lips.

Nick looked at her, trying to determine if she was serious. From the glint in her eyes, he could tell she was teasing him. This would have been the perfect time to invite her to dinner or coffee or whatever, but he didn’t do it. She would turn him down. She looked like one of those women who liked the thrill of being chased but never really gave in to a man. He didn’t want to give her the upper hand, at least not yet.

“Very perceptive,” he had replied, smiling at her.

“No, just served enough coffee to know what my customers might like,” she said flatly.

Sharp tongue, certainly; she had a smart mouth. “So how did you guess I like it dark and strong?” He could have turned on the charm and gotten her to his side, but she didn’t look at all interested in him.

“Your watch. A man’s watch says a lot about him.”

He looked at his Rolex. Damn. She was indeed cautious. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes. I can tell you like it dark and strong, because you’re sort of the bossy type.”

“You’re right again,” he had told her but didn’t justify himself. Yes, he liked his coffee strong, and he could be quite bossy. Demanding was the word his closest staff used. Yes, he could be demanding and pushy, but that had shaped him into one of the most powerful and richest men in the country. He had no apologies for that. If anything, it was his privilege.

When she returned with his coffee, she had asked with a faint smile on her face, “Is that all you’ll be wanting today, sir? May I get you a bagel, perhaps?”

He had been taken aback by her calling him sir, but when he looked at her, she was still smiling, teasing. “Not today, thanks. But may I invite you to dinner?”

She didn’t hesitate with her answer. “I don’t date customers.”

“How about I don’t buy the coffee. Then I won’t be a customer,” Nick had joked, but the joke didn’t go down well.

“No, sir. Not interested. Here’s your coffee.” She had almost pushed the coffee into his hands. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s a line behind you.”

Nick didn’t look behind him. What did it matter? The world usually waited on him hand and foot, and the line behind him was no exception to the rule. He smiled at her again and handed her a twenty, but she rejected it.

“It’s on the house. But please don’t ask me out again. The answer will always be no,” she had informed him before waving him off so she could help the next customer.

Nick had gone to the side of the café to nurse his drink and his pride. How dare she dismiss him? Did she not have a clue who he was? In situations where he felt slighted, he would have usually told off the girl and stormed out. Childish, yes, but being rich meant he could get away with some dumb shit sometimes. This time, though, he had wanted the girl and would swallow his pride to get her into his bed, even if only once.

He had not felt the need to inform her who he was but had quietly sat in the corner of the café and watched her until it became rude. She never gave him a second glance, but within that short span of time as he observed her, he had learned so much about her, more than the private detective could ever tell him. He saw the way she brushed a loose stand of hair out of her face again and again. That alone told him she was a little messy and rather quick-witted; otherwise she would simply redo her ponytail.

The way she smiled at her co-workers told him she had a good heart, but she didn’t look like someone who could be taken for granted. His observation told him she would be hard to get but worth the chase, and he was up to it. If she had smiled at him or encouraged him, he would have gone up to her and invited her to dinner again, or given her his card and told her to call him at her convenience. At such times, most girls would take a brief look at the card and recognition would hit them, and they would suddenly become putty in his hands. Not this one.

He had hung around the café for a while, and as soon as he left, he had called his private investigator to get more information about her.

Twenty-four hours later, he was holding her entire life in a file in his hands. He pulled out a picture of her and smiled. She would never be anyone’s puppy. Even the way she posed confidently in the picture told him the only time she would ever bark would be in the bedroom. Or maybe purr. Whatever. And if he wanted her in his bed, he had to do something about it. Get her into his space. Maybe get her to the annual ball where he could woo her with kindness and luxury. It didn’t take him long to decide to invite her to his company’s annual ball.

When he first came up with the plan, he was so sure she would call him and tell him he had the wrong Sara Nolles, in which case he would have explained to her that she was welcome to come since she already had the card. He had been waiting all day for her to call him, but his phone had yet to ring. Either she hadn’t seen the card yet or had decided to ignore it, but he was hoping she would have at least acknowledged the receipt of the card. Either way, he was going to move ahead with the next stage in the plan with the solid assumption that she would come out of curiosity.

SARA

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of the doorbell ringing. I ran to the door, expecting to see my best friend from kindergarten, Amy, who always showed up at odd hours at my house. She usually unlocked the door with the spare key she had, but sometimes she rang the doorbell first just in case I was in some compromising situation with a non-existent man. It didn't matter these days because I didn't have a boyfriend, so the worst thing that could happen if she opened the door without warning would be to see me naked. That she had seen a million times over the twenty years of our friendship.

I didn't bother putting my robe on. Only when I opened the door did I realize that I was practically naked, having slept in just a tee-shirt. But it was too late to close the door. I stood self-consciously in front of a delivery man who handed me a gold box. He looked at me for a few seconds, probably taking note of my nipples, which had hardened against my tee-shirt in the draft of cold air from the opened door.

"Good morning, Ms. Nolles?" he asked, looking around like he was lost.

"Yes, I’m Ms. Nolles." I looked at his badge, which had the Saunders Empire logo and his name. "Hello, David.”

He also looked down at his badge and smiled at me. "Ms. Sara Nolles?" he asked again as if to ascertain he was in the right place and I was the right person.

"Yes, I'm Sara Nolles," I replied again.

"I trust you received your personal invitation from Mr. Saunders?"

"Yes..." I said, unsure why he was asking. “But there seems to be a mix up.”

"I can’t speak for the mix up, ma’am. You may have to call the company directly. I’m here to deliver a follow-up from the card. This is from Mr. Saunders," he said, handing me the box.

Before I could say a word, he had turned away. "No wait, David. I don’t think you have the right Sara Nolles. I mean, I did get a card yesterday in the mail, but I think …”