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1
HAZEL
Iwatch in slow motion horror as the coffee arcs out of my cup and lands on my white cashmere sweater. The woman who just bumped into me has already disappeared into the crowded New York sidewalk. She has no idea she just messed up my whole morning.
“Shit. Fuck.” I grab an old tissue out of my purse and frantically dab at the coffee splotch on my white sweater. But that just makes it worse, spreading the stain around.
I feel my blood pressure rise and try not to panic.
I’m supposed to meet my best friend and book agent Sarah today for a business lunch at a trendy Chelsea restaurant. Her text message was blunt, even for her.Be on time. And wear something nice for once. I found a project that could be perfect for you until you write a new book that publishers will actually want.
She didn’t actually say that I’m running out of professional chances, but I can read between the lines. Because we’re friends, Sarah’s gone above and beyond as my agent. I don’t know why she wants me to look nice for this lunch, but if it’s important to her I don’t want to let her down.
I look around frantically, hoping for someplace that might possibly sell sweaters, or some kind of a miracle stain remover...
I spot a street vendor on the next corner.
Bingo.
He’s selling sunglasses, hats, and—hallelujah—scarves. I race up to his table and reach for a red scarf.
“How much for this—oof!” Someone bumps into me from behind, sending me staggering forward into the table. What’s left of my coffee douses half the scarves. The table wobbles, then tips over, sending sunglasses skittering across the sidewalk.
Why is Chelsea always socrowded? It’s like Times Square, but instead of being full of tourists it’s full of terrifyingly fashionable New Yorkers.
“I’m so sorry!” I apologize to the vendor. I don’t apologize to the asshole who bashed into me. He’s obviously another one of those guys who thinks the whole sidewalk belongs to him. I toss my empty coffee cup in a nearby trashcan and crouch to pick up the merchandise I’ve accidentally scattered over the sidewalk.
The man who bumped into me is doing the same thing, his phone still pressed to his ear. “No, do not approve those plans. I don’t care what the board says, we are not cutting corners on this project. If they don’t like it, they can take it up with me.”
I roll my eyes. Clearly the guy is one of those my way or the highway types. He’s also not particularly helpful at picking up the mess he created. He’s so distracted by his phone call, we keep reaching for the same things.
I’m not looking at him, not really, because this whole morning is embarrassing enough without adding eye contact into the mix. But I can tell he’s tall and strong, in one of those expensive dark suits.
There’s no coffee onhiswhite shirt. Not that I’m looking.
His mussed dark hair completes the tall, dark, and handsome portrait.
I hand the vendor a handful of sunglasses. “Again, I’m so sorry. I’m just running late for this important lunch meeting—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” the man behind me interrupts, without even bothering to hang up his phone. “Just don’t block the fucking sidewalk.”
Wait...he thinks I was apologizing tohim?
The nerve.
I grab as many pairs of I Love NYC hats off the sidewalk as I can hold. “Maybe if you got off the phone, and actuallylookedwhere you were going,” I suggest tartly. “Instead of acting like you own the whole street.”
Oh, he does not like that suggestion. Not one bit.
“I donotact like I own the whole sidewalk,” he blurts, before returning to his phone. “...No, not you, there’s this crazy brunette...hold on, I’ll call you back.” The man shoves his phone into his pocket and reaches for a lilac scarf at the same time I do.
Our hands meet, and a jolt of electricity shoots through me. He has nice hands. Familiar hands.
My eyes jerk up at the same time his do, and I find myself staring into the brooding blue eyes that haunted my high school fantasies.
“Hazel,” he says, his voice gravelly. “You changed your hair.”
My stomach tenses. It feels like there’s a string stretched tight between us, and all he needs to do is pluck it to make my body respond. It’s been years since I’ve seen Luke Dewinter.
