pages, stopped at her New York picture. “Why didn’t you say anything about my hair?”
“What?”
“It’s all … wrong.”
“You look gorgeous,” he said. “It was difficult to choose which picture to use. Each one was great.”
Okay, there was nice, and too nice.
Her suspicion must have shown because he touched her arm, making her look into his eyes. “I’m telling the truth.”
She didn’t speak for a while. Not that she didn’t have a lot to say, but it sounded mushy in her head, inappropriate for what they were now. There were questions, too, about why he’d come in person, what it meant, and why on earth did she keep imagining longing in his gaze when longing couldn’t be possible? “I have food in the oven,” she said.
“Okay,” he said, staring at her, waiting for …?
“After we put everything in containers and in the freezer, we’re going for drinks.”
“We?”
“Rebecca, Lilly, me. You?”
“That’s a big crowd. Maybe we could whittle it down?”
It was tempting; of course she wanted to be alone with him, but that he’d even suggested it made her thoughts even more confused. “We’ve been missing each other, what with parties and appointments and things. I can understand if you’d rather not join us.”
“No. I’d like to.”
Well, damn. Why would he want to join them for drinks? Rebecca! That had to be the reason. “Good. You can help us put up the food. It’ll go faster.”
“Swell,” he said, and she smiled at his put-upon tone. “Now that you know I make such great tea, you’ll want me in the kitchen forever.”
Bree’s laugh stuttered, and a flush hit Charlie’s face. She walked faster, so fast she had to look over her shoulder to say, “It won’t kill you. I promise.”
He’d come to a full stop. “I’m taking your word for it,” he said, going for humorous, but not succeeding.
She made herself focus on food prep, and not the jumble in her head.
THE BAR WASN’T FLASHY. Most of the patrons were in business wear like Bree and her friends. She’d be willing to wager every last one of them was asking themselves what the hell Charlie Winslow was doing in a less-than-swanky pickup bar on a Wednesday night.
If she read him correctly, he didn’t seem to mind. He had hailed their cab, insisted on paying for the short trip, then walked them inside as if this was the next stop on the Fashion Week tour.
The women in the place eyed him with undisguised hunger, the kind of looks that would make a statue blush, and all she could think was I was with him the other night. Naked.
She had to stop that right now.
They scored a booth in the back, and Charlie scooted in next to her, pressing against her from knee to shoulder. It would have been easier if he’d kept his coat on, but no, it was just him in his close-fitting white shirt, narrow black pants, and his hot body, clenching the muscles in his thighs and his biceps—
“Bree?”
“Hmm?”
“Drink?”
“Ah. Yes. Tequila Sunrise, please. Heavy on the sunrise.”
“Got it.” Charlie scooted out, and she instantly felt more relaxed. Jeez, didn’t the man understand personal space?
Lilly leaned across the table the moment he walked away. The music wasn’t deafening but it still made her have to shout. “Oh, my God, Bree, why didn’t you tell me you were dating Charlie Winslow?”
“I’m not. Not really.”
Lilly gave Rebecca a sharp look before she turned back to Bree. “I don’t understand.”
“The whole setup is a blog gimmick to get new readers. No big deal.”
“Yeah,” Lilly said slowly. “Tell it to someone who hasn’t seen him look at you.”
“Seriously, Lil? Come on. Would a guy like him honestly want to date a girl like me?”
“Yes!”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
Bree blinked at her friends. Of course they would say that. What was the alternative? “Yeah, you’re right. He could do so much better?” “Anyway,” she said, waving off the both of them, “it’s great. I get to go to Fashion Week parties, and he’s publishing some of my pieces, which will make my bosses sit up and notice. I take a giant step up the ladder to success. Everybody wins, especially me.”
Rebecca cleared her throat, and Bree reluctantly met her gaze. She did not seem pleased. “Why is Charlie here tonight?” she asked.
“Blog stuff.”
“Since it’s written for the internet, wouldn’t it have been easier for him to, I don’t know, send that stuff to you over the internet?”
Bree opened her mouth, but she had no answer.
EXCEPT FOR THAT WHOLE Psych 101 speech from Rebecca outside the church, Charlie had a great night. The food prep part he could have lived without, although no, that had been great, too. Rebecca was right about one thing—he hardly ever did normal stuff anymore. No grocery stores, no shopping in general, not when it was so easy to get everything delivered or picked up by his housekeeper.
He went to screenings or premieres, not movies. He was sent advance copies of books and films, invitations to parties from New York to Milan, Paris, London, Dubai, L.A. He didn’t barhop, and tonight had been the first time in ages he’d had drinks with real people in a regular bar instead of with celebrities behind some form of velvet rope.
He’d liked everything from the music on the jukebox to the raucous laughter from the après-work crowd. He’d been reminded of the old days when he was just starting out with his first blog. The only part that wasn’t great tonight had been at the end. Putting Bree in a taxi. Alone. And then hailing a cab for himself.
He consoled himself with the fact that tomorrow would be killer busy for his latest blog contributor. After a full eight hours at her day job, she’d be on the run with the stylist, then they had an art exhibit party to go to, which didn’t begin until ten. She’d be lucky to get four hours sleep, and because he was a selfish bastard, he’d kept her out too late tonight.
He hadn’t wanted it to end. But end it had, as all things did, and in a week, give or take, his time with Bree would be a memory. If it worked out, he’d use her for the odd column, and they’d run into each other at cocktail parties and openings. But he’d move on. That’s what he did. What was for the best.
He thought again about what Rebecca had said. That his family felt slapped by what he
