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“Do you know who Summer Davis is?”
“That’s me, actually.”
He breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank God. This place doesn’t have a doorman or a concierge.”
“No, it doesn’t. Oh, all right. Thanks?” I accept the parcels, and as I recognize one of the designer names on a box, my stomach nearly drops out beneath me. Apparently this is just what Anthony Winter does when he invites a woman to an event.
Par for the course.
“I can’t sign,” I tell him. “My hands aren’t free.”
The delivery guy chuckles and takes them from me again. “I should have realized. Wait, let’s do it this way… here. Sign this.”
A few minutes later he takes off down the street, hurrying to where a delivery car is double-parked.
I shake my head and head upstairs. Greet Ace who has been home all day, his tail wagging so hard it nearly knocks a glass of water off the sofa table.
“I know, buddy. I couldn’t bring you in today.” I take him for a walk to the nearby dog park before finally allowing myself to open the parcels spread out on my bed. A glance at my watch tells me I only have a few hours before Anthony will be here to pick me up.
Nobody has everpicked me upin New York before. For a dazzling, daydreamy moment, I feel like I’m one of the women I regularly take on as clients. They date men like Anthony Winter. Men who run this city, or at least know the ones who do.
But I’m not one of those women.
I sit behind a desk and help them find love instead.
Tugging on the delicate wrapping paper, I open the first box. Run my fingers over the red, satin fabric beneath as if in a daze.
A certainty settles in my bones. He hasn’t picked these out personally. Can’t have, if this is something he does regularly for women.
The realization bolsters me. I open the others and pull out the three options. A red, spaghetti strap one. A black sheath that falls to my knees. And a dark green option with only one shoulder, narrow at the waist before it flares out.
My hands shake as I read the designer label.
Vivienne would absolutely adore this. It’s exactly the kind of grand, over-the-top gesture she’d love.
Would she love that it’s our new owner who sent them to me?
I flip the question over in my mind as I shower and straighten my hair, re-doing my makeup. Dark brown eyeliner, soft against my light coloring, and a touch of red lipstick. I stare at the three dress options on my bed.
Slipping into the dark green, one-shouldered dress, I find that it fits.
“Wish me luck,” I ask Ace. He rubs his head against my hand, the soft, silky fur sliding through my fingers. “You know how long it’s been since I went out with a man.”
His tail wags.
“Thanks for being here with me, too, by the way. I know Mom has a giant yard you could play in.”
He licks the back of my hand.
“You too, buddy,” I say. “You too.”
My phone chimes and I give him a farewell pat. The text is simple.I’m outside.
A dark Town Car idles by the curb and one of the passenger doors opens as I step outside. Nerves flutter in my stomach. Professional favor or not, he’s not an easy man to be around. It doesn’t help that I’m not even close to figuring him out.
But I paint a wide smile on my face as I get into the car. Anthony’s waiting in the backseat. The dark tux he’s wearing blends in with the dark leather seat. Dark hair. Dark clothes.
“Hello,” I say.
