gave her a sly look. âOh, please. You expect me to believe that? So, did you give him your phone number? You know, offer to pay his cleaning bill? Buy him a new shirt?â
âNo. He didnât ask that I pay.â Nina frowned and looked over at the door. âHe said he was going to throw the shirt out. I guess I should have offered. But it was his fault, too.â
âYou didnât give him your phone number,â Lizbeth stated, her voice flat and laced with disbelief. âPlease tell me you at least got his name. Or you gave him yours.â
Nina covered her face with her hands. âNo. I just couldnât think. I mean, there he was, all covered with coffee. And there I was,â she moaned, ârubbing his crotch with napkins.â She moaned again, this time with more emphasis. âI really screwed that up. For a second, I thought it might be destiny, but then he looked at me and my mind just went haywire and my knees went all wobbly.â Nina peered at Lizbeth through her fingers. âHe probably wasnât my type anyway, right? I mean, he was wearing a suit and I never go for businessmen. And he seemed a little uptight.â She drew a shaky breath. âAnd a guy who wears five-hundred dollar shirts is way out of my league. Iâm sure it would never have worked out.â
Lizbeth pushed to her feet, shaking her head. âDid you bother to look at the man? Heâs every womanâs type! Nuns would lust after the guy.â She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder, then wagged her finger at Nina. âMaybe you should place that ad. Itâs clear that you donât have a chance of getting a gorgeous man the regular wayâby trickery and manipulation. I have to go, I have a date. But I want you to sit here and think about what you did wrong. Weâll discuss it later.â
Nina nodded dejectedly, like a child chastised. âI donât think Iâll be able to put it out of my mind.â
âIâll call you.â Lizbeth turned on her heel and walked toward the door. When it closed behind her, Nina busied herself with picking up her belongings. She grabbed the pad of paper and started to shove it in her bag, but decided against it. Snatching up her pencil, she closed her eyes for a moment, then began to write.
âCoffee Collision,â she murmured, writing the words out in capital letters. âJitterbugâs in Manhattan, March 15th. My latte met your shirt. Call me.â
Nina stared down at the text. Did she really have the courage to place the ad? Chances were remote at best that heâd see it. After all, he wasnât the typical Attitudes reader. With a soft oath, she ripped the page off the pad. But instead of crumpling it in her hand, she carefully folded it and placed it in her jacket pocket.
âForget the guy. Youâre not looking for Mr. Right, youâre looking for Mr. Right Nowâheâs the man who will get you a job in editorial.â
But as Nina tried to compose another ad, she couldnât keep her mind on the task at hand. Her thoughts kept wandering back to the man in the coffee-stained shirt, to the firm set of his mouth when he smiled, to the strong grasp of his fingers on her elbow, to the tremor that raced through her arm and made her head swim the moment heâd touched her.
Sheâd never believed in instant attraction, but that was only because sheâd never experienced it before. Now that she had, Nina wanted to experience it again. Sheâd just have to find a way to make it happen.
âWHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?â
Cameron Ryder stood on the sidewalk outside the coffee shop. He glanced down at his ruined shirt and tie and shrugged. âA little accident with a cup of coffeeâ¦and some crazy woman.â
He looked back over his shoulder. A beautiful, bewitching, crazy woman, he added silently. Now that heâd put a little distance between them, he wasnât quite sure what to think of her. She hadnât really been a woman at all, at least not the kind of sophisticated and overtly sexy woman he usually socialized with. She was sweet and slightly goofy, more a girl than woman. Sheâd been dressed a little oddly, in a hairy chartreuse sweater and a short little skirt that showed off shapely legs.
His mind conjured an image of her, her startling blue eyes and her golden blond hair twisted into a knot with spikes sticking out all over the place. He frownedâand chartreuse legs. In truth, sheâd looked like one of those bohemian girls who spent her days and nights in Soho coffee bars and art galleries, smoking cigarettes and quoting Sartre.
Still, he couldnât deny the current of attraction that had raced through his body the instant their eyes met, the warmth that seeped through his bloodstream when he touched her, the flood of amusement that made him smile when she so earnestly wiped off the front of his trousers.
Unlike most of the women heâd known, this woman lacked the hard, cynical edge that came from living in Manhattan. Her eyes were wide and clear blue, almost innocent. And she had a fresh, unpretentious look about her, unmarred by overdone cosmetics. With any other woman, he might have suspected she dumped the coffee on purpose. But the look of sheer surprise and mortification on her pretty face was enough to tell him differently. Cam laughed softly and shook his head. Good grief, heâd barely been able to get out a word or two, looking into those eyes.
What was this instant fascination he had with a complete stranger? Maybe heâd been working too hard lately. He hadnât had much time for a social life and any woman would appear attractive to a man who hadnât bothered with dating in the past few months. He fought the urge to walk back inside for just one more look, but then Jeff cleared his throat and pointed to his watch.
âWeâve got a half hour before we meet with Charlotte Danforth,â he said. âThereâs probably time to run back to your apartment and change.â
Ever the organized businessman, Jeff Myers was chief operating officer of Cameronâs company, NightRyder. Jeff had been a fellow college student when, ten years ago, Cam had created the Internet site for Gen X entertainment and night life. Heâd been there when the company moved from dorm room to apartment to office complex across the river in Jersey. And heâd been there at their stock offering, when the IPO turned Jeffâs thirty-percent interest into millions of dollars in just a few hours.
âI donât need to change,â Cam said. Though he might be able to make the trip uptown and back to his Riverside Drive apartment, he had no intention of doing so. âIâm not going to the meeting. Youâre my partner and you have my complete trust and authority. I want you to present the offer.â
Cam had been working toward this acquisition for as long as he could remember and now that it was time to make his move, he preferred to stand back and watch. Five years ago, Attitudes was barely a blip on the media radar. No one expected it to succeed, especially with socialite-party-girl Charlotte Danforth at the helm. But her rich daddy was willing to pay a price to get his little girl into the work world and out of his hair. Charles Danforth, one of New Yorkâs wealthiest men, was the magazineâs only investor. Even the headquarters of Attitudes was housed in a Danforth building, probably rent-free.
âI donât know why you want the magazine,â Jeff Myers murmured. âWith all the money the old man has pumped into it, we have no idea what itâs really worth. Sheâs probably never had to prepare a financial statement, so weâre buying blind. Why not buy something else?â
Cameron shrugged. âWell, Rolling Stone
