“Me neither, but he puts the man in manscaping.” Brooklyn looked up at her sister. “If only it was this easy to find men. I might have a love life.”
“Or at the very least someone to knock you up.”
“Right.” Brooklyn’s eyes again landed on the guy with the spectacular facial hair. He was cute, but he was no Alec. Too bad that ship had sailed. “But probably not.”
“Keep those options open.” Virginia leaned down and scooped up Paris, leaving behind a noticeable void in Brooklyn’s lap. “You never know what’s going to happen.”
Brooklyn nodded. “Are you going to send me the final copy for the Posh Male welcome letter?”
“Yes. We need to get that into production. I just need to make one more pass. I’ll send it over in a minute.” Her sister left and strode across to her office.
Several minutes later, the email from Virginia appeared in Brooklyn’s inbox.LOL. I added something at the end.
Sure enough, she’d added a postscript.
P.S. If any of you hot men are single and interested in helping out an overworked businesswoman by getting her pregnant, send Brooklyn Monroe an email at [email protected].
Brooklyn shot a pointed glance across the office and caught her sister’s eye then flipped her off. “Very funny,” she muttered to herself before forwarding to Tom in the art department. He appreciated a halfway decent joke. Someone should get a laugh out of her very real personal crisis.
Chapter Two
Alec Trakas was prettysure that if there was a hell, it looked exactly like the studio forGood Day USA, with its quintessential American view overlooking a bustling sidewalk in midtown Manhattan. He was counting down the minutes until the show signed off and he could flee his personal Hades. Alec referred to the final hour of the broadcast as the marshmallow factory—an endless conveyor belt of fluff. Today’s sweet and pillowy treat was Jason Adams, star of the next blockbuster film,Lavaman, about a superhero who gained his powers after a childhood tumble into a volcano. Because of course. If a kid can survive lava, why shouldn’t he save the world?
Alec’s co-hosts, Tilly Ann Bostwick and Renata Herrera, were drooling over Jason. That was no exaggeration—one of the make-up artists scrambled over to Tilly Ann in a panic between segments, dabbing at the corners of her lips with powder. Now, she was pawing Jason like a tiger with a fresh piece of meat. “Tell us about your workout routine to prepare for the film,” she purred.
“Before we do that, let’s see some of the stills from the trailer,” Renata interjected, not to be outdone when it came to a little fun objectification.
A monitor lit up with images of Jason in his skin-tight red-and-black superhero costume. Renata and Tilly Ann hummed their robust approval. Alec, in a concerted effort to not roll his eyes, focused on the things that kept him on set five days a week—his legally binding contract, the paycheck, and the tiniest sliver of a chance at a spot in the news division. Plus, he reminded himself that propping up movies likeLavamanwas part of his job—the network and the film studio were owned by the same massive media conglomerate. Still, he couldn’t blame Tilly Ann and Renata too much. Jason Adams looked like a badass.
“It’s so impressive.” Tilly Ann leaned closer to Jason. “Please. Tell us all about how you did it. I’m sure Alec could use a few pointers.” She laughed and Renata joined in.
Alec dutifully tossed his head back in feigned laughter while Jason recalled the number of hours in the gym, the staggering amounts of lean protein consumed, and the time he passed out when he’d stupidly run ten miles after ingesting nothing more than a glass of kale and celery juice. Alec hated being a part of the segments with the latest Hollywood hunk. It wasn’t jealousy. It was more the sting of being reminded that his time in this business was sifting through the hourglass. He was already forty-four. He still looked good, but he was tired of obsessing over that part, and that wasn’t what he’d gone to journalism school for.
“And we’re out,” the set director said. “Great job today.”
Alec was untethering himself from his mic when Jason slinked past Tilly Ann.
“Thanks so much. I’m a huge fan of yours.” Jason offered his hand.
Alec felt like a grade-A ass.
“Well, my mom is the real fan.”
Moms were Alec’s top demographic. Or so he’d been told by marketing. And pretty much everyone else on the planet.
“She turned me on to the show,” Jason continued. “I’d watch with her during summer vacation. Or if I was home sick from school.”
Alec officially felt old. “It was great having you on. The movie looks amazing. Can’t wait to see it.”
“I’d love to send you tickets to the New York premiere. Two? You and a date?”
Alec cleared his throat. Of course he’d have tofinda date, but that was usually easily done, even if it never seemed to amount to anything. “Sounds fantastic. I’d love it. I guess have your people contact my people.” He hated himself for uttering those words.
Jason was quickly cornered by one of the show’s producers and Alec used that as his chance to sneak off set before anyone else talked to him. He changed into jeans and a T-shirt, baseball hat and sunglasses, then ducked out a side door and slipped into the stream of people on the NYC sidewalk, the one place where it wasn’t so hard to be anonymous. Normally he’d use the car service the network provided, but it was a beautiful day, so he took his chance to walk the twenty-plus blocks down to Chelsea.
At 22nd Street, he turned West toward his brownstone. Despite his seven-figure salary, he’d never bought into the whole business of a high-rise overlooking Central Park. Maybe it was because so much about his job had nothing to do with staying grounded. He always wanted to remember that in the end, he was a regular guy. Hungry, he ducked into a corner market to grab a half-gallon of milk and a box of cereal.
He swiped off his sunglasses inside, and just as his eyes were adjusting to the fluorescent light of the store, the world came screeching to a halt.Holy crap.Ahead stood Brooklyn Monroe. His ex. It’d been more than a year since he’d seen her. Memories hit him like a tidal wave—nights when they stayed up talking in the dark or the weekend mornings when he made breakfast while she sat on the kitchen counter drinking coffee and looking like everything he’d ever wanted. And then of course, there was the kissing in the rain. It was one of Brooklyn’s rules. If it was raining, you kissed. No umbrella, and not a peck. A real kiss with water rolling down your nose. The first time she’d insisted on it, he thought she was crazy. Then he tried it, and his opinion was forever changed.
