right, isn’t it, Sadie?” she asked, checking with her friend even though she knew it was Sadie’s favorite cocktail. Sadie nodded and Grace eyed their waiter steadily as she delivered her own order, daring him to maintain eye contact with her and not check out her breasts again. “And I’ll have a Mojito.”
“Sure. Any meals?”
“We’re not ready yet. We’ll let you know when we are,” she said, waggling her fingers dismissively.
He nodded obediently and shot toward the bar to put their order in.
Claudia was shaking her head when Grace turned her attention back to the table.
“The way you treat men is almost a form of cruelty,” Claudia said. “Almost.”
“I know. I can never decide whether to be appalled or amused,” Sadie agreed.
“He deserved it.” Grace shrugged. “Imagine if women went around staring at men’s packages the way they stare at our boobs.”
“You do have a great rack, Gracie,” Claudia said, eyeing Grace’s chest impartially.
“Then he needs to learn to be more subtle and I’ve just taught him a powerful lesson,” Grace said.
“Sometimes I think you really hate men,” Sadie said sadly.
“Oh, I don’t care enough to hate them,” Grace drawled.
Sadie leaned forward, her expression earnest.
“Not everyone is a rat like Owen.”
“I know that.”
“I wonder if you do,” Sadie mused. “When was the last time you went on a date?”
“I honestly can’t remember. But do I look like a woman who’s pining for a man?” Grace asked, gesturing toward herself.
Sadie’s gaze traveled over Grace, obviously assessing her dead-straight burgundy-colored hairstyle, her severely straight bangs, her lush, full mouth outlined in deep-red lipstick, her ever-present chunky black-framed glasses and the smooth creaminess of her skin—her one acknowledged vanity.
“No. As always, you look fabulous. Except for the glasses.”
“There we go, then. And I love these glasses,” Grace said.
“Those glasses are ugly. And I’m not pining for a man, but I miss the sex. Don’t you miss sex? I miss sex a lot,” Claudia said. “I so need to call Harry or Simon and set up a date.”
Claudia had been so busy working her butt off as the newly installed producer on Ocean Boulevard that she hadn’t had a man in her life for months and months—but Harry and Simon were ex-boyfriends who were happy to provide essential services on demand.
“I have sex.” Grace shrugged.
“I meant with a man,” Claudia said dryly.
“Now why would I ruin something so good by inviting a man along?” Grace asked.
Sadie looked so outraged that Grace ruined the whole Bette Davis thing by laughing. Sadie threw a napkin at her.
“So, what date is the wedding?” Claudia asked, masterfully changing subjects.
Sadie sat up a little straighter. “How did you know we’d set a date?”
Grace snorted with laughter. “Hello! We thought we were going to have to pry you guys apart with a crowbar out there.”
Sadie blushed, then shrugged a shoulder. “End of August. Is two months enough time to get our shit together?” Sadie asked worriedly.
“Hell yeah,” Grace said.
“The dress won’t be a big deal, since I’m going off-the-rack this time. And it’s all going to be very low-key… But I still want you guys to be my bridesmaids. What do you say— are you up for a second shot?” Sadie asked, referring to her first, failed wedding to her former fiancé, Greg.
“Try and keep us away,” Grace said.
“The bridesmaids’ dresses are my shout this time around,” Sadie said. “I don’t want anything to be the same again, but you guys shouldn’t have to pay twice.”
“Forget it,” Grace said firmly. “There’s no way we’re letting you pay for our dresses.”
“Yeah. How are we supposed to argue with you when you’re paying?” Claudia asked.
“And, this time, I get a vote,” Grace said. “Something with straps would be nice for the fuller-figured members of the wedding party.”
“You looked hot in that strapless red sheath and you know it,” Sadie scoffed.
The rest of their lunch slipped quickly away as they hammered out the broad strokes of Sadie and Dylan’s wedding, argued over dress styles and laughingly suggested flowery wedding vows to personalize the ceremony. After two hours, they’d moved from cocktails to coffee and had filled the backs of innumerable napkins.
“Why do writers never have paper on them?” Grace asked as she gathered the napkins together.
“Or pens,” Claudia added, counting out her share of the bill. “What’s with that?”
Sadie shrugged. “Don’t want to take our work home with us?”
As if that particular strategy ever worked.
Later that evening, Grace sat down to a gourmet-meal-for-one at her small drop-leaf dining table. She’d bought a crisp sauvignon blanc to accompany her salmon with baby vegetables and garlic mash, and she slathered her bread roll with proper butter, damning her curvy hips and thighs to hell.
Consigning the washing up to tomorrow—one of the joys of living alone—she slipped into a satin gown she wore to bed and flopped onto the couch. When a quick flick through the offerings on TV drew no interest, she resorted to her movie collection. She was about to dust off an old Indiana Jones DVD when her eye fell on the DVD she’d brought home from work. She hesitated a moment, then gave in to temptation. Sliding the disc into her player, she made a fortress of cushions for herself on the couch and settled in for the evening. The Ocean Boulevard theme song came on and the credits flickered across the screen. Her heartbeat picked up and her body tensed a little in anticipation…. And then Mac Harrison’s tall body filled the screen and every nerve ending in her body went on hyper-alert.
It was part of her job to keep up-to-date with how the scripts she edited translated on-screen—but she’d be kidding herself if she pretended watching the show was anything other than a chance to spend some time with the only man she’d allowed into her life in the past four years.
He was so hot. Six-foot-three-inches of sexy, hard male. Gorgeous. Dynamic. Charismatic. And all hers for the next few hours.
She narrowed her eyes, trying to define exactly what it was about Mac that had captured her imagination and led her to cast him as the star of her most intimate fantasies.
