How to Date a Younger Man

Chapter Two

2 LAYNEIt’s a quarter to two on a Tuesday afternoon, and for the first time in over a decade, I’m not thinking about my next three cases. I’m not thinking about how to negotiate with a pushy board of directors, or when I can find the time to shove a quick protein-bar down my throat for dinner.

All of the above are far from my realm of thought right now because the only thing on my mind is the twenty-something piece of man candy working his strong, determined hands over my tight, knotted shoulders. And, trust me, there is not one single thing I hate about it.

Ever since I took the leap and opened my own law firm, the team of corporate-law badasses I employ have stuck to pretty generic boss gifts for my birthday. A nice box of chocolates, a case of wine from a local vineyard, or a gift basket filled with artisan crackers and smelly cheeses.

But this year, they apparently decided to think outside the box. And by outside the box, I mean they sent a hottie probably young enough to be my son into the office to rub lavender-scented oil all over my body for the next ninety minutes. As if I didn’t already know they all secretly thought I was an uptight workaholic, now they were hoping to have it rubbed out of me.

I’d be lying if I said my birthday present isn’t delivering. I can’t imagine that he grew up wanting to massage strangers’ bodies for a living, but the way he’s unraveling the knots along my shoulder blades, you’d think it was his God-given calling.

“How’s the pressure? Am I pressing too hard?”

His low, soothing voice barely registers with me, and I simply purr a soft “it’s perfect” in response. He’s been attentive and careful from the moment his hands came into contact with my skin, and it’s only made me more relaxed. In fact, I haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time. It’s making me consider adding regular massages into my already jam-packed schedule. I’d definitely find the time if it meant feeling like this.

After massaging my shoulders and neck so well I’m practically drooling and lucid, his hands leave my body for good and I miss the feeling of his fingers immediately.

“Take a few minutes to come back to earth, and make sure you drink plenty of water for the rest of the day,” he says, stepping away from the table. He wanders over to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows I fought tooth and nail for, overlooking the bustling city below.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to come back yet,” I murmur, only half-aware that I’m thinking out loud.

He chuckles, and the sound is deep and rich. “It’s fine. Take your time.”

I blink open my eyes and see him standing across the room, facing the windows and looking out into the world. He looks comfortable—relaxed even—in my impeccably arranged corner office, which is rare for anyone under the age of thirty. I’ve had a handful of tech kid geniuses in here looking for legal counsel before selling their apps, and they never seem to know what to do with themselves, bouncing around with nervous energy, or sweating through their ill-fitting button-downs. I don’t know if this kid works in the corporate world often, but it’s clear he’s not intimidated by a woman in power and I’ve got to admit, I like that. A lot.

“That was exactly what I needed. Thank you,” I reply, slowly pulling myself together.

The awareness that I’m half naked under this thin white sheet seems to knock some sense into me. Carefully turning over while still keeping myself covered, I swing my legs over the side of the table, holding the sheet up over my chest.

He doesn’t turn around, and I take the opportunity to admire the muscles that fill out his fitted black shirt. Ten years ago, he would have been exactly the kind of guy who would get me in a lot of trouble. The kind of guy you assume wants the same things you do, until you wake up six months later and find yourself wondering why he hasn’t introduced you to his friends yet.

I shake my head, grateful to be past all that twenty-something bullshit. It didn’t come easy, but I can confidently say I feel perfectly complete without a man. I’ve been focused on myself and my career for the past decade, and I’m genuinely proud of where I’m at. But that doesn’t mean I want to be alone forever. It would be nice to have a partner to share this crazy, fast-paced life with, but I haven’t found the right guy yet.

“Be right back,” I say, heading into the private restroom connected to my office.

Once inside, I crumple the sheet and set it on the counter. I quickly slip back into my nude-colored bra, crisp white button-down shirt, and gray tweed pencil skirt. Then I take stock of myself in the mirror, fluffing up my flattened hair and wiping away the smudge of mascara from beneath my right eye.

I take a step back and give myself a once-over.

My shiny dark hair is threaded with golden strands, thanks to regular appointments with my colorist, and my cheeks have a healthy glow. My breasts, while full, aren’t exactly where they’re supposed to be. Gravity has shifted them a couple of inches lower than I would prefer. But I’m relatively fit and take good care of my skin. Thank God for SPF. It’s something, I guess. But even as I look myself over, I noticed that my features look more relaxed than usual. I smile. Maybe Griffin was good for me.

When I step into my office again, Griffin is exactly where I left him.

He turns, a confident smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll bet you have a great view of the sunset from here.”

“Unbelievable, actually.” I wander closer to where he’s standing.

He turns to meet my eyes. “I know a spot with an even better view. How about I take you there sometime?”

Wait. What?

Did this infant just ask me out?

My stomach does a backflip, and for a second, I’m flattered. But the reality of the situation hits me quickly—and hard.

Is he even legal drinking age? Regardless, he’s clearly several years younger than me. If this kid would have been my kryptonite in my twenties, now, in my thirties? He’s jailbait. I don’t know what kind of mommy issues he’s looking to work out, but I don’t have time for any of that bizarre Freudian stuff.

“Oh, uh, you’re kind, and it’s very sweet of you to offer, but that’s not necessary,” I say, uncharacteristically stumbling over my words.

He blinks, and then an amused smile overtakes his face. “Are you single?”

I clear my throat and then lick my lips, which have suddenly gone dry. Maybe that water he suggested is a good idea. “Well . . . yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

He takes a step closer and I suck in a desperate breath and wait for whatever this weird feeling in my stomach is to fade. “Come on, you can’t tell me that you’re so out of practice that you can’t tell when a man is asking you out.” There’s a hint of a smile on his full lips.

I stay quiet. This is absolutely none of his business.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, his voice dropping low, “and you’re obviously very successful. I think we could have some fun. Unless you’re not attracted to me? Is that it?”

Ha! The most devout nun on the planet would be attracted to him. But he’s not my type. I’m looking for someone stable, someone my own age, someone ready for marriage and babies, sooner rather than later. These eggs of mine have an expiration date, a little fact I’m acutely aware of, unfortunately.

“I’m flattered, honestly, but I’m too busy, and too old for a fling with my company birthday present.”

“You sure about that?” he asks, his lips still tilted in a smile.

I nod. “I’m very sure.”

His gaze lingers on my lips as I speak, and my stomach does this weird twisting thing again. And, wow, he smells good. Like fresh laundry and lavender and man.

Since I’m not sure what else to say, I go with the obvious. “You do realize I’m a lawyer, right? Aren’t we supposed to maintain some level of professionalism here?”

“Based on what I’ve seen in this building, you do corporate law. So, unless you’re about to facilitate the acquisition of the company that pays my rent, I think we’re good here.”

I chuckle, taken aback by his awareness of what I do. Something tells me there’s more to him than meets the eye. But that doesn’t mean I’m about to stick around to find out what.

As I watch, he efficiently folds up the table and gathers the discarded sheets.

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He shoots me one last smile, setting his card on my desk before walking out of my office, and lets the frosted glass door shut behind him.

What the hell just happened?

Pushing my fingers through my hair, I sit back down at my desk and desperately try to remember what I’m supposed to be doing. But, honestly? I’m having a little trouble focusing.

Do women in their mid-thirties really get asked out by twenty-something hunks in tight black T-shirts? The longer I try to push it out of my mind, the more the whole thing seems like a weird dream—or a bad porno with me being the lead actress.

But before I can imagine how that particular scenario might play out, my phone beeps once and Sabrina speaks over the intercom.

“Layne, I have Susanna from Fir Industries on line two for you.”

Taking a deep breath, I roll my shoulders and center myself. I need to get back in the zone. I’m a lawyer—a damn good one—and I refuse to let a sexy as hell distraction distract me from what I do best.

“Thanks, Sabrina. I’m ready, you can connect me.”

The rest of the day goes by in a blur of conference calls and contract negotiations, but I’d be lying if I said my thoughts didn’t keep wandering back to that massage. Every time I move my arm to pick up the phone, I get a waft of the lavender-scented body oil he so expertly used, sending me right back to that table.

As I’m packing up my things, Sabrina pokes her head in my doorway, a nosy, sheepish smile on her face.

“So . . . how did it go?”

“The contract is almost finalized. We just have a few more tweaks to make in the morning.”

“We both know I’m not referring to the contract. The hot masseur, how did that go? I’ve heard rumors about the kind of hunks they employ over there, but wow, your guy was something else.”

I blink trying to find the right thing to say without giving too much away. “He was . . . young.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me there wasn’t some part of you that wanted to take him home and show him who’s boss.”

I pause to arch a brow at her.

“With his consent, of course,” she adds quickly.

“Glad to see all that HR training is really taking root.”

She shrugs and crosses her arms. “I know you’re this high-powered businesswoman, and don’t get me wrong, I’m the first to support you being all ethical about how you use your power.”

“Sabrina . . .”

“But you’re still allowed to have some fun, you know.”

I don’t respond, instead giving her a knowing look and slinging the strap of my leather tote over my shoulder. “Good night, Sabrina. I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow morning.”

“Goodnight, Layne.”

As I walk through the parking lot toward my car, I can’t ignore the nagging feeling that Sabrina has a point. It doesn’t matter if the massage therapist is young, or less than settling-down material. He was freaking hot, and surprisingly smart and kind. Plus, he asked me out, which meant he was into me too.

But just because Mr. Hottie Pants has a secret MILF fantasy doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon my master plan. I know exactly what I’m looking for, and he definitely isn’t it.