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Miranda…
“That’s fantastic.” I extended my hand. “Miranda, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She hesitated, completely floored by my intrusion, then shook my hand as any professional would. “It’s nice to meet you as well, William… I’m sorry, your last name please?”
Damn her voice was soft and sweet. My name on her lips weakened my legs.
“St. James. This is our son, William St. James the third,” my mother replied.
Miranda’s eyes widened as she slipped her hand out of mine, pulling her gaze away from me.
I felt the loss acutely.
“How lovely, a family-operated business.” She played with her earring, which I recalled her doing at the club too. A nervous tick perhaps. “Shall we continue?”
Just like that, Miranda redirected the interruption like a pro and was back to business. No wonder my parents appeared to like her.
“Yes, please. William, have a seat. You too, Jason.”
I cringed hearing his name. I’d forgotten he was there. “Thank you, Mrs. St. James. No introduction for me?”
The bastard. He would whine about being left out.
“Where are my manners? Miss Bradford, Jason Sayton.”
Miranda Bradford.
