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And I ran.

“My name’s Harrison.”

Of course, he had a pretentious name. I imagined his last name was something similar to Wentworth, or MacMillan. Something just as pretentious. He was dripping with old money. Probably inherited his grandaddy’s firm and never really had to work for anything a day in his life.

He probably had a wife and kids at home. My eyes dropped to his hands again, looking for the telltale indent of a hidden wedding ring. He again read my intention, and I smiled when he held up his left hand.

“Divorced. Five years.”

“Good to know. Are you local?” I bit my lip, playing the part of the coy vixen. There wasn’t any reason for me to work so hard, but I enjoyed the game. Travis had played the game well. Played right into my hands, the same way this man was.

“I am. Have you ever heard of Fitzwilliam Investments?”

“I have,” I admitted.

“Harrison Fitzwilliam, at your service.”

Nailed it!

He would do. I hoped. Harry couldn’t be any more different from Travis if he tried. Let’s hope he could fuck well enough to bang out the memory of the hot biker I was trying to forget.

“Sounds impressive,” I lied. It wasn’t impressive. I had heard of Fitzwilliam Investments and in fact, knew Harry’s ex-wife.

When I received my doctorate, I was asked to sit on a charity board for children with special needs. I declined simply because I was still building my practice and didn’t want to take time and energy away from the patients I was trying to help.

Harry’s wife Suzanne had extended that invitation. She was also a bitch. When I declined, she threw my invitation back in my face, insinuating that my lack of charity would hinder what I was trying to build. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

I was the leading Child Psychologist in Oklahoma City. I had a waiting list of six to eight months. The only reason I had fitted Danika into my schedule when Zachary Marshall called was because he had told me she was a product of the Trick Pony.

I had never met Zach in person, but I had spoken to him many times over the phone since becoming a child therapist. He had sent patients my way in the past, and I trusted him not to waste my time. He was the reason I kept my schedule at half full and had a wait-list. I never wanted to turn away a patient he sent me.

“Not really. My great-grandfather started the firm back in the 1920s. It’s been passed down to the oldest son ever since. It was what I was born to do.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

Harry shrugged. His humble attitude surprised me. But then maybe he was playing his own game. Taking a sip from his glass before he answered, he pulled a laugh from me when he said, “I really wanted to be a rock star.”

“Can you sing?” I asked, enjoying the banter.

“Can’t carry a tune in a bucket. But I inherited my family’s knack for numbers so...” He trailed off, shrugging again before taking another drink, and I assessed a hint of longing in his sentence.

Knowing his wife, I assumed she was the reason for the divorce. Maybe I was bitter about the way she tried to blacklist me. Or maybe she just was a raging bitch and Harry had had enough.

“Will you pass it on to your son?”

“No boys, three daughters. But my middle girl. She’s my legacy. My oldest daughter is thirteen and just like her mother.” He shuddered, and I couldn’t help the smile. “My youngest is only seven, so there is still hope for her. But my middle girl, Lauren. She’s fucking smart. Smarter than me. And she loves coming to the office. She’s ten but wants to be there whenever she can. She loves learning what I do.”

“And will you pass it on to her? Even though she’s a girl?” His answer to my question would be the deciding factor as to whether or not I went home with him.

“Absolutely. Her gender has no bearing on her brain. Nor her drive. And she is fucking driven. When I was ten, I hated going to my dad’s office. My whole life, all I heard was‘this will all be yours one day, son.’Now all I hear is‘this will all be mine.’And she says it with so much excitement. No way would I keep her from her dream.”

Harry finished his glass, and when he motioned for the bartender, I placed my hand on his and offered, “Let’s get out of here.”

He pulled his wallet from his pocket and threw some bills on the bar. Buttoning his jacket, he held his elbow out to me, and I hooked my arm in his.

Harry led me to his car, and I sat down in the plush seat of his Porsche. I had to wonder just how much money he made if he was paying child support, and likely alimony, on a wife and three kids but could still afford a car like this.

Too bad I wasn’t a gold digging lush. Harry was ripe for the picking. I could easily wrap him around my finger, much like his wife probably did when they were dating. I felt a little guilty using Harry the way I was about to. But then, he was getting a great night of sex for his troubles. I just hoped I did too.