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29 • Dinner With Blackfield

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As I climbed up the stairs to the open air deck of Ritual, I still couldn't believe I was following through on my decision to meet Orlando Blackfield for dinner

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As I climbed up the stairs to the open air deck of Ritual, I still couldn't believe I was following through on my decision to meet Orlando Blackfield for dinner.

In his bio, Blackfield listed himself as a former two-time national champion collegiate wrestler at Penn State in the 133-pound weight class, which I read this afternoon on his website while researching his talent agency. I supposed the wrestling career explained his slightly crooked nose.

Even with the crooked nose, the man reminded me of a black leather clutch with a gold link strap. Compact. Expensive. Flashy.

I kept my gaze trained away from the pool, for obvious reasons, and found Orlando waiting for me at a small table in a navy blue suit and steel blue tie. His tight black curls brushed back from his face. One hand jammed in the pocket of his tight pants. As I approached, the summer breeze toyed with the fringe on my black mini-skirt.

Orlando was objectively handsome, if you were into shorter men, but it wasn't his height that turned me off. I didn't like his fake, recycled smile. It felt so forced and unnatural, unlike West's bright grin.

His lips danced through my thoughts.

I loved the way he'd kissed me last night. Loved the way his lips felt when they traveled down my neck. Loved every moment we'd spent together.

I still couldn't believe last night had happened, and I wasn't sure what it meant for us now.

When West hadn't wanted to lay with me this morning, skin to skin, I'd realized he'd likely regretted getting so close to me.

The memory caused heat to radiate from my cheeks, and I didn't want Orlando to think that blush was for him. I pushed thoughts of West aside. Right now, I needed to focus on business.

Orlando stood in an effort to act like an actual gentleman, and scooted out my chair.

"Thanks for joining me tonight, Maren," Orlando said as he sat across from me. "You look lovely, as always."

"Thank you," I said casually. "I look forward to reaching a mutually beneficial arrangement for our agencies."

I gave him an appraising look and a cool smile, ready for our negotiation. Hiding behind my mask of professionalism, I was armed with pithy comebacks, and business acumen taught to me by Eleanor. If I was going to survive dinner with Orlando at the same restaurant he watched me fall into the pool, I needed to be untouchable.

After a quick perusal of the drink menu, I ordered a glass of Shiraz. Once the server disappeared, I shifted my attention to the folio resting beneath Orlando's hand.

Our drinks arrived quickly, and Orlando waved off the server's attempts to take our food order. "We need a few minutes to catch up. Ms. Mitchell and I rarely get an opportunity to meet after work."

The server disappeared, and I took a casual sip of a tangy Napa vintage.

"It's so good to see you again, Maren," Orlando said. Trying to initiate small talk.

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