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I look across at the doorway to the next office and inhale sharply.
It’s him. The man I’ve been dreaming about since I left his hotel room four months ago.
He’s wearing a dark-gray suit rather than a navy one, glasses, and black shoes rather than Chucks, but it’s definitely him.
He comes into the office, drops a folder onto the desk, then turns to me with a smile. “You must be Janine’s stand-in,” he says.
“Mr. Chevalier, this is Catie O’Clery,” Marion states.
“Pleased to meet you, Catie.” He holds out a hand.
I stare at him. There’s no sign of recognition in his eyes at all. I’m so confused, I can barely breathe.
As he lowers his hand, his gaze slides from me to Marion, who must have shrugged, because his eyes then come back to me. “Something the matter?” he asks.
“I’m… um…” I can’t think what to say. Is he pretending not to recognize me because he’s worried I’ll tell everyone that he had a one-night stand or something? Or does he genuinely not remember me? We were both tipsy, but we weren’t that drunk, and I’m sure I didn’t look that different.
His gaze travels down me, pauses, then returns to my face. “Are you all right?” he asks, concerned.
“I don’t understand.” For four months I’ve been dreaming about this guy, remembering that one fantastic night, and telling myself we had an amazing connection, but I was wrong—there’s nothing between us at all. Emotion washes over me, and my throat tightens.
He frowns. “Maybe you should sit down for a moment. Marion, can you bring the chair over here?”
“I don’t want to sit down,” I insist. “It’s just… don’t you recognize me?”
Puzzled, he shakes his head. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m sure I’d remember.” He’s being polite. There’s no sign of the attraction he exhibited toward me before.
“But… the bar,” I say softly. “We danced for an hour… I sang the Doctor Who theme… and then we went back to your hotel…”
His eyebrows rise then, and he says, “Ohhh…” He exchanges another glance with Marion.
“Ah,” she says.
He lifts a finger. “Hold on a moment.” He walks backward to the other office. He’d left the door open, and I can hear music coming from there—it’s the Beatles’Come Together. He looks around the door, and says to the person inside, “Saxon? I think you should come out here.”
Wait, what?
A guy says something from the other office, and the man in front of me says, “Dude, just come here.” There’s a muffled curse, the sound of a chair rolling backward, and then footsteps crossing the office.
The first man moves to one side, and then another guy appears in the doorway.
He’s the exact double of the first, except he’s not wearing glasses. He is, however, wearing a navy pinstripe suit and white Chucks.
“What’s going on?” he demands. “I’m in the middle of…” His voice trails off, and he stops walking and stares at me.
He inhales, and his whole face lights up, making my heart bang. But then his gaze slides down me. His smile freezes, then fades. His eyebrows rise even higher. And his jaw drops.
I’m wearing black leggings with black boots, and a black shirt, but I know from the way the fabric is stretched that my baby bump is obvious.
I watch his face, and I can see him calculating, and then coming to the conclusion that it could be his.
His gaze returns to mine. Heart pounding, I wait for him to exclaimHoly fuck!To yellWhat the hell?To demand to know what happened because he used a condom. Or just to turn and walk away.
He does none of those things. Instead, he says, quite mildly, “Well, hello, Catie-with-a-C.”
I then do something I’ve never done before, and that I’ll be embarrassed about for days to come. I faint like an Edwardian woman who’s cinched her corset too tight, and the world goes black.
*
