grinned. “Any changes?”
“Nope. Just don’t forget that the tailor is coming by at eleven. Don’t make him wait. You did last time, and while you’re precious as diamonds to me, his client list would make you tremble.”
“You’re always so good for my ego.” Charlie glanced at his handset to see who wanted to interrupt his call. It was his cousin Rebecca. Odd, she rarely texted on a workday. “Got to run.”
Naomi hung up even before Charlie pulled out the phone’s keypad.
What’s wrong? Has someone died? CW
A moment later, his phone beeped as his screen refreshed.
Everything’s fine. I have a treat for you, though.
He sailed across his floor again, this time to check the stats on one of his latest clients. Their ads had been on rotation in five markets, and they were doing well in four.
What kind of treat? CW
A date.
He laughed. His thumbs flew.
Come on, Becca. CW
She was his favorite cousin, which was saying something because he had a ton of them. His parents each had five siblings and they’d all bred like rabbits. Charlie had three siblings of his own, but only one had climbed aboard the baby wagon.
Instead of the beep announcing a return text, his phone rang. Charlie switched to voice.
“Seriously,” Rebecca said. “I think you’ll get a kick out of her. She’s … different. She’s new. Brand-new. Still, wears colors, for God’s sake. And she’s bright, tiny, funny and completely starstruck. She’ll swoon over you, and make that head of yours so large you won’t be able to fit through your front door.”
“Ah, Rebecca. I didn’t know you cared. She sounds perfect.”
“I’m betting you’re not booked for Valentine’s day.”
He sighed. “Don’t be silly. I never plan that far in advance.”
“You will this time.”
He looked away from his monitor at the sound of her voice. Teasing, as always, but he hadn’t missed the dare. He liked a challenge, and Rebecca was clever. Really clever. “Fine.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
“What’s her name?”
“Does it matter?”
He inhaled as his hands went to his keyboard. “Nope.” Charlie clicked off and two minutes later, he was lost in a conference call, Valentine’s Day and intriguing puzzles forgotten.
BREE HAD MADE CHICKPEA veg curry and mac and cheese for her frozen meals, but like everyone else in the big kitchen, she wasn’t here for the food.
Today was CARD DAY.
The past few lunch exchange meetings had been more focused on the trading cards than food. Everyone, with one notable exception, had offered up at least two men to the trading card list. They’d brought in pictures, supplied the back copy, agreed that all first dates were to be held in very public venues, with the submitter knowing the details and phone numbers involved. Then, Shannon had done mock-ups of the cards, changed them twice until they had a design that worked. The actual printing of the cards hadn’t taken that long, but time had stretched like putty since that day in December. Finally, a month and a half later, here it was. There was actually a chance, remote as it might be, that Bree would find a card that had her dream man on the cover, and all he’d want was a night that would blow the lid off this town.
She didn’t deserve to find Mr. Right Now, though. Because Bree had brought zero men to the table. Zilch. Nada. She knew some single men at the advertising agency, but she’d never gone out with any of them. Not that she hadn’t been asked. But she was planning on moving up in the company as quickly as possible, and didn’t want to make any alliances until she’d been there at least a year. She might be from Ohio, but she hadn’t just fallen off the turnip truck.
Bree had plans. More specifically, she had a five-year plan. End goal: to become a fashion consultant, author and television personality. The plan was her guiding light, her pathway through the Manhattan madness. One cornerstone of the plan was that under no circumstances was she to get involved with a man. Yes, a girl had needs. She’d been on dates since she’d moved to New York, but only a couple of them had included sex. The earth hadn’t moved either time, which meant that the idea of a selection of eligible, vetted, one-night men hadn’t been far from her thoughts since December.
Scary thing, being mostly friendless in a city like Manhattan. Thrilling, too. But the men were different than the ones she’d known back home. The rules here seemed to be more … fluid. The stakes higher.
Thank goodness her friendless status had changed as a result of the lunch exchange. Enough, in fact, for her to have been included in the trading card deal even when she hadn’t contributed.
Shannon entered the room, and chaos ensued. Frozen meals were abandoned without a backward glance as the women huddled around one empty table. Shannon’s penchant for drama made her lift her cardboard box high in the air only to tip it over, covering the table in a cascade of beautiful, practical possibilities, all on 2.5 x 3.5 thick-coated stock, suitable for purse or wallet, as a handy reference, as a focal point for dreams and wishes.
Bree’s gaze swept over the puddle of cards, her eyes wide, adrenaline pumping, hoping for someone nice, but not too nice. Someone easy.
Rebecca came up next to her and bumped into her shoulder. Bree glanced at her friend, but only to scowl. When she looked back down at the cards, her breath stilled and for a moment, her heart did, too. There was a single card away from the pile, directly in front of Bree. On it was a picture that sent Bree’s heart racing.
It couldn’t be. Not possible. The sounds of her friends dimmed behind the whoosh of blood in her ears as she reached with trembling fingers to pick up the card.
Charlie Winslow. The Charlie Winslow. It had to be a joke, a trick. He could have anyone. He’d already had practically everyone. Why would he be on offer in the basement at St. Mark’s Church?
“I thought you might recognize him.”
Bree tore her gaze from the card to look once more at Rebecca. Her friend’s smile was as smug as if she’d gotten past the velvet rope at The Pink Elephant, but Bree couldn’t hold out for long. She stared again at the trading card, double-checked. Still Charlie Winslow.
“How?”
“He’s my cousin,” Rebecca said.
“Your cousin,” Bree repeated.
“Yep. God knows he’s single.”
“He can have anyone.”
Rebecca chuckled. “Yeah, but if all you’re eating is lobster and champagne every night, it’s bound to get boring, don’t you think?”
Bree shook her head. “Not even a little bit. Although
