“You believe all of that business about there being a true love for everyone? Or is it just for your show?”

Funny, but no one else had ever asked Ashley that question. “I do believe it.”

Marcus took a look around the dance floor. All eyes on them. “I’m tempted to give them a show.”

His rich, buttery accent was working its way into her. “What did you have in mind?”

“If we do it, I think we start slowly, give them a taste of what’s to come.”

“Of course. We wouldn’t want to go too fast.” Except that she was thinking about nothing but going very fast, away from this party, away with him.

“I could start by kissing your cheek, whispering in your ear that you look beautiful tonight.” He did exactly that as he said it, his warm lips on her face, his hot breath against her ear, skimming the slope of her neck.

Finally. A kiss. His approach was commanding and entirely self-assured, his grasp on her so firm—she wasn’t sure she’d ever been kissed so masterfully.

When they came up for air, her head was in the clouds. Flashes of light surrounded them. So this was what it was like to see fireworks.

The CEO Daddy Next Door
Karen Booth

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KAREN BOOTH is a Midwestern girl transplanted in the South, raised on eighties music, Judy Blume and the films of John Hughes. She loves to write big-city love stories. When she takes a break from the art of romance, she’s teaching her kids about good music, honing her Southern cooking skills or sweet-talking her astoundingly supportive husband into mixing up a cocktail. You can find out more about Karen or contact her at www.karenbooth.net.

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For my amazing friend and long-lost sister, Piper Trace. You helped me get through this book and I’m forever grateful.

May we have years of giggly brainstorming sessions ahead of us.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Extract

Copyright

One

Pure exasperation rushed from Ashley George’s lips when she closed her apartment door and spotted Marcus Chambers waiting for the elevator.

“I suppose you’d like me to hold the lift.” Marcus’s rich British accent and unflinching delivery made the statement far more annoying. He knew she was headed downstairs. Unless she was going to descend eleven flights of their Manhattan apartment building in under five minutes while wearing a pencil skirt and four-inch heels, she’d need the elevator.

She sucked in a deep breath and breezed past him as she stepped onboard. Her long blond locks were given a swish for good measure.

“First floor?” he asked.

She dug her fingernails into her palms. Two seconds in the same space and he was already on her last nerve. “We both know we’re going to the same meeting. Being cute about it won’t help.”

He straightened the jacket of his charcoal-gray suit, folded his hands before him and looked straight ahead at the doors. “A gentleman is never cute.”

Cute was definitely an undersell in Marcus Chambers’s case. Ridiculously handsome, yes. Which was too bad, because he was also a grump of epic proportions. Whatever made him that way had to be genetics or a product of his past. Otherwise, he seemed to have everything—money, a primo apartment at a prestigious address on the Upper West Side, enough good looks for a lifetime and—although Ashley had seen Lila only in passing—a beautiful baby girl.

“I wouldn’t be in this elevator at all if you’d stop complaining to the building board,” Ashley replied.

He cleared his throat. “And I wouldn’t have to complain if you’d hire a competent contractor to finish your renovations. I’m tired of living in chaos.” He glanced over his shoulder and dismissed her with a flash of his piercing green eyes. “Chaos seems to follow you wherever you go.”

Ashley pursed her lips. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Considering the things he’d witnessed, her life probably looked like a tornado with nine lives. She was always in a rush, often juggling her phone while many of the million things going through her head managed to leak out of her mouth. Sure, there had been problems with the renovations to her apartment. Sometimes things didn’t go smoothly. She did her best to keep things on track and really, he hadn’t even tried to be more understanding.

She sighed and leaned against the elevator wall, stealing another eyeful of him. If he underwent a personality transplant or at least learned to take a deep breath, he might be perfect—strong jaw with a devilishly square chin, close-cut scruff along his jaw, thick head of mahogany brown hair. Her vision dipped lower and she shuddered as images of his glorious chest and astounding abs flashed in her head. She hadn’t been lucky enough to see his torso live and in person, but she’d unearthed photos of him on the internet. He was one of Britain’s most eligible bachelors, as billed in a charity calendar full of hunky guys. A bachelor raising a baby—divorce was a terrible thing.

Somewhere in the world was a true match for this stunning-on-the-outside, stodgy-on-the-inside man. Ashley believed that about everyone. It wasn’t a made-for-TV act she put on for her reality show, her namesake, Manhattan Matchmaker. True love and soul mates were real, just as real as the things in life everyone feared—broken hearts, family illnesses, life-or-death obligations.

Ashley still believed she’d find her own match someday, but after getting dumped before Thanksgiving by the guy she’d thought was “the one,” she’d decided to take a year off from dating. Focus on herself in the context of “me,” not “we.” She hadn’t lasted long. Marcus had moved in during the first few days of January, he asked her out a week after they’d met, and she’d stupidly said yes. That night three months ago had done nothing but prove her thesis: she had no business being with a man right now. She didn’t trust her instincts when it came to love, at least not where her own heart was concerned. Not after the heartbreak of James. And her life was indeed chaos.

Marcus moved his head to the side as if working out a kink in his neck. A waft of his aftershave settled on her, its effect on her as unavoidable as the heat of a South Carolina summer. Damn. He even smelled good—warm and masculine, just like the finest bourbon, peculiar since Marcus was CEO of his family-owned gin distillery.

The elevator dinged. “After you.” His velvety accent echoed in her head. If only he’d used it for something along the lines of, “Don’t you look smashing? I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass the last three months.”

Ashley strode down the hall. Her skirt was too tight to take the extralong strides she hoped could convey her determination to come out of this confab unscathed, but she still marched into the meeting room, stilted gait and all. The five members of the building’s board sat at a long table, conferring. Ashley’s stomach lurched when she saw the board president, Tabitha Townsend. Tabitha regarded Ashley as if she were a red wine spill on white carpet. Ashley wasn’t exactly about to invite her over for cosmos and girl talk. And now it was time to charm Tabitha and the board, when Ashley had just had an exhausting day of publicity for the new season of Manhattan Matchmaker.

“Hello, everyone.” Ashley shook hands with her only ally, Mrs. White, a longtime building resident. She was not only upper-crust through and through but also a reality TV addict. Ashley’s show was one of her favorites.

“Will you say it for me? Just once?” Mrs. White asked, looking hopeful.

Ashley didn’t have a choice. She had to make somebody in this room happy. “I’m Ashley George, and I find true love in the city that never sleeps.”

Mrs. White clapped her hands together in glee. “I love it when you do that. I brag to all my friends about it.”

“Anytime for you,” Ashley replied.

The corners of Mrs. White’s mouth turned down. “I only wish tonight’s meeting was under better circumstances. We should be talking about the new season of your show, not neighborly squabbles.”

“I assure you, they’re more than squabbles,” Marcus interjected with all the warmth of an iceberg.

Mrs. White shook her head, eyes darting back and forth between them. “It’s a shame, you know. You two would make a lovely couple. Have you ever thought about that? Going out to dinner to work out your differences?”

Marcus huffed. Oh, they’d been out to dinner, and it had gone horribly. Nervous to a fault, Ashley had one too many glasses of wine before the appetizers arrived. Apparently she hadn’t fully processed her breakup with James because she rambled on and on about it, about how he’d dumped her because she cared too much about her career, because she wasn’t ready to commit, wasn’t ready to have kids. The list of reasons she’d been rejected was long. Marcus had reacted to it so badly that the night ended with a handshake. That had been a major disappointment... It wasn’t like she’d been foolish enough to think she and Marcus Chambers would fall in love, but he was such a hottie. She’d been looking forward to a kiss.

Her renovation project started the next day. Thus the battle of Chambers vs. George, a fight she wished would die, was born.

“Careful, or people will start to think you’re the matchmaker.” Ashley held on to Mrs. White’s hand, wanting to stay with the one person in the room who was on her side.

She eventually moved along, arriving at Tabitha, who didn’t offer her hand but rather a stabbing glare. Luckily she turned, and her eyes landed on Marcus. “Mr. Chambers. It’s nice to see you this evening.” She ran her manicured fingers along the neckline of her blouse. Despite her attempt at being alluring, Tabitha was definitely not Marcus’s perfect match. Anyone could see that. He belonged with a woman carved from marble, not one made of fire and brimstone. “Take a seat, Ms. George,” Tabitha snapped.

Ashley twisted her lips but followed orders, perching in one of two chairs facing the table. This wasn’t quite the setup for an HOA meeting. It was more a firing squad, especially given Tabitha’s presence. Ashley crossed her legs, setting her handbag on the floor. Marcus took the seat next to hers.

“Ms. George,” Tabitha began. “It’s apparent to the board that your apartment renovation is out of control.”

Off to a great start. Ashley squirmed in her seat.

Tabitha opened a thick folder overflowing with papers. Marcus had been thorough with his complaints. “Your workers, and in particular the foreman, have little regard for the only other tenant of your floor, Mr. Chambers. There have been circular saws at seven in the morning...”

“I was out of town,” Ashley interjected. “I’m sorry that happened.”

“Ms. George. Please raise your hand before speaking.” Tabitha flipped to the next page. “There has been loud music of some sort...”

Ashley thrust her hand into the air. “It’s just pop music, and the carpenters love it. If you’d just let me explain...”

“I’m not finished, Ms. George. Quiet. Please.”

Ashley slumped back in her chair. “Sorry.”

Tabitha cleared her throat. “As I was saying, the workers have repeatedly made a mess in the hall you share with Mr. Chambers, tracking drywall dust and dirt. They don’t clean up after themselves, and worst of all, they have been seen smoking in the building, which is a fire hazard and strictly prohibited.”

Ashley’s stomach turned. The most tragic event of her entire life had been a fire. “They know they’re not supposed to do that. I’ve told them. I’ll tell them again.”

“Frankly, I’m tempted to tell you right now that you must halt the project and hire another contractor.”

Ashley’s queasiness became nearly unbearable. She’d been on this contractor’s waiting list for a year, and they were her second choice. The wait for her first choice was closer to eighteen months, and that time frame was given to her after she’d pulled celebrity strings. The contractor she’d hired did solid work affordably, an absolute necessity with her sizable obligations to her family back in South Carolina.

She couldn’t put the project on hold. She’d lose every penny she’d paid the contractor up front. It would take months to recover from that financially, and she’d be stuck living in a construction zone when her entire aim this year was to make her life more stable. With her work schedule and her father’s worsening health after several strokes, visions of Ashley’s dream apartment were the only thing that kept her going some days. She’d come from nothing and she’d worked damn hard for this apartment. She wasn’t about to let that slip between her fingers.

“I’m very sorry if this has been an inconvenience to Mr. Chambers. I’ll speak to the builder and let him know how serious this is. We’ll get it straightened out this time.”

Tabitha shook her head. “After reviewing the file, the board has determined that this time is the last time, Ms. George. If your project can’t be completed in a manner Mr. Chambers finds acceptable, we’re pulling the plug. One more complaint from him and you’re done.”

Ashley’s eyes darted to Marcus. The corners of his mouth were twitching. Was he actually going to smile? “One more complaint? You’ve got to be kidding me.” She tossed her hand in his direction. “There’s no pleasing him. He probably has a complaint about the way I’m sitting in this chair. This is completely unfair.”

* * *

Completely unfair. Apt words considering Ms. George’s willingness to ignore the disruptions of her apartment renovations. Marcus and his eleven-month-old daughter, Lila, were trying to carve out a new life for themselves in New York. It was only fair that he deliver the final blow if the mayhem continued.

“Mr. Chambers,” Mrs. White interjected from her end of the table. “Please understand the seriousness of this situation. We don’t want to be forced to shut down Ms. George’s project for something minor.”

“Thank you,” Ashley blurted, with a strain of desperation. “The scales can’t be tipped entirely in his favor. If you put him in control, my project will be shut down before we get back upstairs.”

Marcus reared back his head. Why was she acting as though he was the unreasonable one? This mess was of her making, and she’d dismissed it at every turn. “You act as if I’m making a big deal out of this.”

“I said I was sorry.”

Tabitha rubbed her forehead. “The board will not reverse the decision. One more complaint from Mr. Chambers and Ms. George must hire a new contractor.”

“But...” Ashley slipped.

“Not another word, Ms. George.” Tabitha delivered a look so stern even Marcus was rubbed the wrong way by it.

A moment of heavy, uncomfortable quiet played out. Ashley shifted in her seat, and his eyes drifted to her leg. More specifically, the stretch of her shapely calf and delicate ankle, punctuated by a gleaming black patent leather stiletto pump. He didn’t have many weaknesses, but he did have a soft spot a mile wide for a woman in sexy shoes. The fact that Ashley was wearing those shoes... If anything was unfair at that particular moment, that might have been it. He forced himself to look away. Ashley’s beauty, her pull on him, made her a woman to be kept at arm’s length. It was the only way to keep his head straight.

Mrs. White cleared her throat. “I’d like to add one stipulation. Mr. Chambers should have to take any complaint to Ms. George first. Please try to work it out.”

Marcus blinked several times. Deal directly with Ms. George? Oh no. That wasn’t going to work for him at all. “You can’t be serious. She’s clearly demonstrated tonight that she’ll argue any complaint forever. How am I supposed to work anything out with her?”

“I can be reasonable.”

“Because you have such a great track record with that sort of behavior?” Marcus asked, his pulse choosing an offbeat rhythm.

Tabitha dismissed them with a flutter of her hands. “Mrs. White is right. Work it out.”

Marcus and Ashley filed out of the room as if they were two children who’d been sent to their rooms without a proper supper. Neither could claim a true victory, but at least Marcus had the upper hand. He was thankful for that. When the lift doors opened, he held them for Ashley.

“I need to make sure I have all of your phone numbers,” she said curtly. “Your office. The home number. In case there’s a problem.”

He fished his cell phone from his pocket, choking back the words he wanted to say. There already was a problem. After their one date, he’d promised himself that he would stay as far away from her as possible. Ashley represented his most selfish tendencies, the part of him that craved a woman who was untamed and brimming with life, gorgeous and sexy and just a little bit crazy. His priority was finding a mother for Lila, and that meant a woman who was sensible and calm, and who acted in an entirely predictable way. He could learn to live with that, for Lila.

Ashley rested her enormous handbag on her knee and bent over it, rummaging through the contents. Marcus tried to avert his eyes, but he couldn’t. They were drawn to her cleavage the way a man roaming a desert is drawn to cool water. His breath caught in his throat. Her skin was a delicate wash of peach and pink, curving, dipping and swelling. A lock of her golden-blond hair fell from her shoulders, draping across her gorgeous display. His eyes clamped shut. He couldn’t take another minute. Ashley was the thorn in his side, however much she might resemble the rose that grew alongside it.

The elevator dinged, the doors slid open and they came face-to-face with the only person to improve his mood reliably—Lila.

Lila’s nanny, Catherine, was pushing her in the stroller. “Mr. Chambers. I was about to take Lila out for a short walk before bed.” Catherine’s wide eyes were glued to Ashley. “Ms. George. I loved last night’s Manhattan Matchmaker.”

“Please, call me Ashley. And it was just a rerun, wasn’t it?” Ashley stepped out into the hall.

Catherine seemed as if she might burst from excitement. She was so taken with Ashley and her show. It was all she and his housekeeper, Martha, seemed to talk about, which drove Marcus crazy. He could see why people might be beguiled by her, but the show itself was silly. A ruse. True love. Soul mates. Fiction.

“But I love that episode,” Catherine said. “It was the one with the doctor and the woman who owns the bakery. Only you could’ve put those two people together. They totally fell in love.”

Ashley smiled. “That’s very sweet of you to say. Thank you.”

Marcus held the elevator while Catherine pushed the stroller onboard and turned it around. Marcus leaned down to press a kiss to Lila’s forehead, inhaling the sweet scent that came from her wispy blond hair. He rubbed his thumb across her rosy cheek. The smile and gurgle she gave him were salve for his soul. Without question, she was the most precious thing in his life, and she deserved so much more than he could give her on his own. Precisely the reason to avoid Ashley and find Lila a mum. “You have fun, my darling. Daddy will read you a bedtime story when you come home.” He released the doors as Catherine waved goodbye.

“Your daughter is adorable. And very sweet. You know, that’s only the second time I’ve seen her. I didn’t even see her the night...” Ashley looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “You know. The night we went out. You’ve done a good job of keeping her from me.”

I do a good job of keeping Lila from everyone. Protecting Lila was more than his charge. It was his strongest instinct. She’d been dealt a rotten hand in life, and it was his fault. He’d chosen the wrong woman for a wife and when things got bad, he’d convinced her that having a baby would make everything better. He was the reason Lila’s mother wasn’t there for her.

“I believe you were about to give me your other phone numbers,” he said, changing the subject.

“I’ll send you a text right now.” Ashley punched away at the keyboard. “Then you’ll have my info.”

Marcus’s phone lit up with the other numbers. And a message. I’m not evil. Just so you know.

“I never said you were evil, Ms. George.”

“Please don’t call me Ms. George. We’ve been on a date. It will make life much easier if we can drop the formalities.”

“Very little in life is easy, but if that will placate you, I will call you Ashley.”

Ashley narrowed her stare. For a moment, it was as if she was peering down into his soul, and he didn’t like that feeling at all. “You’re grumpy before your time, Chambers. And I don’t get it, because you weren’t like that when I first met you. What exactly has made you such a curmudgeon?”

“I appreciate your deft use of the English language, but I hardly think this is an appropriate topic of conversation.”

He turned for his door, but Ashley’s hand on his arm stopped him. It was as if he was wearing no jacket at all. The warmth of her touch cut right through the wool. He looked down at her slender fingers curved around his biceps.

“You can’t hide from things. You definitely can’t hide from me. I’m a very perceptive person. That’s why I have the job I do. I see things in people they don’t see in themselves.”

He turned his sights to her face, fighting the sensations coursing through his body. Warmth. Attraction. A deep, desperate desire to weave his fingers through her hair, cup the back of her head and claim the kiss he’d deprived himself of the night they went on their date. The look in her wide brown eyes was one of the most sincere he’d ever seen. It would’ve been so easy to give in to the way she made him feel at that instant. But he owed Lila too much. “Good night, Ms. George.”

She shook her head and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s Ashley, Chambers. You’ll get it eventually.”

Two

Ashley had given Marcus a slew of top-secret nicknames—Tower of London for his stature, the Earl of Handsome for obvious reasons and the British Pain-in-the-Butt, reserved for moments like last night. She had very few problems figuring out most people. Marcus was another case. Why did he dislike her so much? After her scolding at the HOA meeting, she’d spent much of the night trying to sort it out. She’d devoted most of the ride to her office that morning to thinking about it, too. The man had it all. So why be so unhappy? Why be so closed off?

A knock came at Ashley’s office door. Grace from network publicity poked her head inside, her wavy auburn hair in a messy bun that only someone truly self-assured could pull off.

“You ready for me?” She didn’t wait for an answer, breezing into Ashley’s office in a tailored gray suit and heels. The benefit of having accepted the office space the network had offered was that meetings were a simple matter of strolling down the hall. The downside was being under their thumb.

Ashley nodded, untangling herself from confusing thoughts about Marcus. “Yes. Of course.” She collected a stack of papers on her desk, turned to a clean page on a legal pad and picked up a pen. It was time to get to work. There were several final details to discuss for the Manhattan Matchmaker premiere party.

“So? Do I dare ask what happened with your building board meeting last night?” Grace took a chair opposite Ashley’s desk, resting her laptop on her knees. Grace had been a champion of Ashley’s show from the very beginning, and they’d become good friends over the three years they’d worked together.

“They decided that one more complaint from the Tower of London and I have to hire a new contractor.”

Grace winced. “Ouch. Harsh.”

“Tell me about it.” The uneasy feeling in her stomach returned. Marcus had too much control over the one thing in her life that was strictly hers. “Bottom line? He hates me. That’s pretty clear by now, and I can’t get past the idea that it’s about more than the mess in the hall.”

“I can’t fathom anyone hating you, Ash. It sounds to me like he’s just an uptight guy. He shook your hand after a date. Who does that?”

“Don’t remind me.” Yet another piece of evidence supporting her supposition. Marcus simply disliked her. “Let’s just get to work. I have a million things to do before the party Thursday night. The people over at Peter Richie are going to strangle me if I don’t show up for my final dress fitting this afternoon.”

Grace shook her head in dismay. “Ash. Peter Richie is one of the hottest designers on the planet, he’s giving you a dress for your party and you still haven’t shown up for your final fitting? It’s two days away.”

“I know. I’m terrible.” The truth was that she’d been avoiding it. Peter had been gracious and generous, but she was keenly aware that the Manhattan Matchmaker had been afforded the luxury, not the real Ashley George. A designer making a couture gown for her? Ludicrous. The real Ashley had grown up with dresses her mother had made.

Grace opened up her laptop. “If you haven’t dealt with your dress, I don’t even want to guess the status of you finding a date.”

Ashley’s lips twisted into a tight bunch. She’d been hoping the network would forget they’d made the request for her to find a date for the premiere party. “They’re still insisting on this?”

“Yes. The premiere is a network function to publicize your show. And don’t forget they still haven’t given you an answer on the new show you pitched to them. You do not want to be anything less than a woman who says yes.”

“They’re just fixated on this because of those stupid gossip website photos.”

“The image of you buying ice cream and a candy bar on a Saturday night did not help your image. And that affects the ratings.”

“That was three weeks ago and I had the world’s worst PMS. It has nothing to do with not having a boyfriend.” Although if she’d had a boyfriend, she could have sent him out for the ice cream. “I hate the fact that anyone cares about this.”

Grace began tapping away at her laptop. “And not just a little. You know it’s the most popular topic on the Manhattan Matchmaker message boards. Your fans want to see you happy. They want to know that the woman who finds true love for everyone else can find it for herself. And the last time I checked, Ash, you live on this kind of attention.”

Actually, Ashley didn’t live on that kind of attention. She existed on it. She made money because of it. After she’d watched her parents struggle for years, working tirelessly and never getting ahead, it was nice to know she’d broken that particular family tradition.

Ashley sucked in a deep breath. “You’re going to have to set me up with someone or call a male escort service. I have no prospects.”

“No way. Word will get out if I try to arrange something. I can just see it in the papers.” With a dramatic sweep of both hands, Grace made a nightmare materialize. “The Manhattan Matchmaker Can’t Find Her Own Match.”

“Hey. That’s not fair. You know I’m intentionally taking a break from men.”

“And my grandmother would say that you fall off the horse, you need to get right back on it.”

“Yeah, well, my saddle is out of commission. I haven’t even been on a real date since James broke up with me.”

Grace’s eyes flickered in a way that made Ashley squirm. “That’s not true. The Tower of London? You’ve been on a date with him.”

It felt as though Ashley’s heart had seized up in her chest. “No. That was not a date. It was a disaster.”

“He asked you out. That counts as a date.” Grace scooted forward in her seat, her eyes brimming with entirely too much excitement. “Just think. If you get him to come to the party, it’ll be that much harder for him to complain about your apartment.”

“What about ‘familiarity breeds contempt’?”

“Now you’re just making excuses. What’s his real name again? Marcus...” She glanced down at her computer and began typing.

“Chambers,” Ashley grumbled. How exactly was this going to work? Oh, wait. It wouldn’t. Marcus would say no, and that would make every hallway encounter excruciatingly miserable.

“Here he is.” Grace nodded as she looked at her laptop screen, her eyes scanning back and forth. “Chambers Gin...famous British family...divorce.” She looked up. “Divorce?”

“Yes. I told you that. Remember? He has a baby. Lila. I don’t really know much other than his wife came from a prestigious family, too, and whatever happened between the two of them, she took off six weeks after the baby was born.” Ashley rubbed her forehead. “It’s all online if you read enough.”

“I take it you’ve read it all.”

“Pretty much. What can I say? I was curious. A ridiculously hot guy moves in across the hall, a girl Googles him.”

“His wife leaves him and the baby six weeks after she’s born? Whatever broke them up had to have been bad.”

“Or it’d been brewing for a long time. The reason for the divorce was listed as ‘irretrievable breakdown.’ I guess that’s what they call irreconcilable differences in the UK.”

“Yeah, but a mother leaving her child?”

“I know. It’s awful.”

Grace returned her vision to the screen. “Financial markets... Cambridge University...”

“Will you just give this up? He’s never going to agree to go with me to that party, anyway.”

“Shush. I’m reading. Rowing team...yada yada yada. Oh. My. God.” She clamped her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were as big as hubcaps when she looked up at Ashley.

She found it.

“He’s in a calendar. Britain’s most eligible bachelors.”

“Oh yeah. That. Sorta funny, isn’t it? I mean, Mr. November? I’d give him crap about it if I wasn’t trying to keep him calm.”

“So you’ve seen the pictures?”

She shrugged it off, pretending to busy herself with her pen and pad. “It’s not like I bought one of the calendars.” Of course she hadn’t. It was sold out.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this. We just hit the mother lode. This is perfect. You invite the hot British gin maker and I get to write the world’s most amazing press release. This might end up being the pinnacle of my career.”

“Oh please. It’s a calendar to raise money for a children’s hospital. They do it every year. I doubt it’s a big deal.”

“Uh, the picture of him with no shirt? I can guarantee people will care about that. A lot of people.”

Grace got up from her chair, set her computer on Ashley’s desk and flipped it around. They were both confronted with one of Britain’s most eligible bachelors and his splendid physique. “You told me he was handsome, but you really undersold it. Look at his abs. And those shoulders.”

Ashley shook her head, wishing she could erase the image of Marcus’s incredible torso, the one lovingly embossed on her brain. Is it stuffy in here? “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. That photo is probably airbrushed like crazy.” With the computer on her desk, it was impossible to avoid shirtless, sweaty Marcus, standing on shore next to the River Thames after a rowing race, smiling no less. “And I mean, he might look hot, but ignore that. He can be insufferable if he wants to be.”

“I could put up with a whole lot of insufferable for a guy with abs like that.” Grace returned to her seat, thankfully removing the influence of the pictures. “The network is going to be over the moon when I tell them you’re bringing one of Britain’s most eligible bachelors to the premiere party.”

“Hold on a second. I haven’t even asked him. Were you not listening earlier? He hates me. Hates. Me.”

Grace didn’t react to Ashley’s words, instead looking at her laptop screen. “It says here that he’s responsible for the US launch of a whole new brand of gin for his family’s distillery. That’s not an inexpensive proposition. We can help him with that. Every entrepreneur loves free publicity.”

And at what cost? Ashley’s pride, that’s what. The matchmaker truly couldn’t find her own match. After her heart and her pride were destroyed by James, her avoidance of men was intentional, but temporary. At no point had it meant that she wasn’t still hoping Mr. Right would turn up. Now she had to resort to bribing Mr. Not-Right-At-All, just to appease the network and save face.

“So, what are you waiting for? Call him. I’ll wait until you’re done before I start writing the press release.”

It’d been high school since Ashley had asked out a guy, and that hadn’t gone well. Suddenly her hands were clammy. She certainly wasn’t afraid of Marcus. But she was afraid he’d say no.

* * *

“I don’t need to tell you the gravity of the situation.” Marcus’s father’s voice was unusually cold. It was the tinny overseas connection on speakerphone, Marcus hoped. He couldn’t stand the thought of his normally cheerful dad being so gravely unhappy. “If we can’t get this endeavor of yours off the ground, the ramifications will be great. It’s not just the loss of expected growth. It’s the money we’ve put into it, as well. It has to work.”

Yes, it does. Marcus looked across the conference table at his sister, Joanna, the head of marketing for Chambers Gin. The worry was so plain on her face it broke his heart. “We’ll turn a corner,” Marcus said. “By the time we host the media night at the new distillery, we’ll be on our way.”

“I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you or your vision, Marcus. I absolutely do,” his father continued. “It’s just that the entire family’s livelihood is on the line. I don’t want to get in so far over our heads that we’re all left with nothing. That’s not the legacy I hoped to leave behind, and it’s definitely not the future I want for my children or my grandchild.”

“I’ll make it work, Dad. I don’t want you to worry about it.” Leave the worrying to me.

A pregnant pause filled the room. “Okay, son. I trust you. I’ve got some calls to return, but I’ll speak with you and JoJo on Friday, right?”

“Yes. Friday. Speak to you then.”

“Bye, Dad.” Joanna pressed the end button on the phone in the center of the conference table. “He’s so stressed. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him so stressed.”

Marcus tapped his pen on the all-too-thin stack of orders for the US gin, Chambers No. 9. “It’s not like we can blame him. We aren’t even close on our projections.” Marcus ran his hand through his hair and turned to stare out the office window overlooking the New York City skyline. And to think he’d been so sure they could capture the imagination of US consumers. They’d come nowhere close. He had the expertise to revive the family business, and he’d dip into his personal financial accounts if needed, but his resources did have their limits. That meant the clock was ticking. Chambers No. 9 needed a big boost, as quickly as possible.

When his father had swallowed his pride and admitted he needed help saving Chambers Gin, Marcus had let his adoration for his father and his deep devotion for his family lead the way. Leaving a highly successful and lucrative job as a European securities trader behind, he’d accepted this new challenge, no questions asked. He’d insisted only that his father trust him on this one point—they had to expand into the massive US market, and that meant launching a new artisan gin. Chambers No. 9. Cocktail culture had become big business, and there was a niche to be filled with carefully crafted spirits. Bold expansion was the only way. Go big or go home, as the Americans loved to say.

“We’re just off to a slow start,” he said, steeling himself. They would get out of this, and he would lead the way. He wouldn’t let anyone down. “Distribution is getting better every day, and we’re making inroads. It’s just going to take longer than we’d hoped. People don’t change their drinking habits overnight.”

“They do if there’s a reason to. Like a big piece of media attention or a celebrity endorsement. Something that could go viral.”

“The media plan is solid and very aggressive. We just got confirmation that International Spirits wants to interview me and put it on the cover. That’s big.”

Joanna closed her eyes, rested her head on her shoulder and unleashed a snore. “I’m sorry. Did you say something? I was so bored by the thought of International Spirits magazine that I fell asleep.”

“Hey, that’s a big coup, and it’s an important player in our industry. Oscar Pruitt is a very influential journalist. Dad’s been courting him for years.”

“It’s not going to set the world on fire. We need to find something for people to get excited about. Really excited. Something unexpected. Something sexy.”

Marcus sat back in his chair. Viral videos, memes and celebrities were not at all what he’d envisioned for Chambers No. 9, but he could be onboard with sexy and unexpected. “You’re right. Tell you what. We’ll do some brainstorming with the rest of the marketing team tomorrow. Perhaps we just need to get a bit more creative.”

Marcus’s phone lit up with a text. The message was from Ashley, their first interaction since the night before, when she’d grabbed his arm and managed to annoy him with her nonsense about hiding.

Busy? I need to ask you a question.

He tapped out a reply. What is it? The last thing he wanted was Ashley springing a surprise on him, like asking if her contractor could start running saws at five a.m. tomorrow.

An invitation. May I call? Ashley replied.

“Who are you texting?” Joanna asked nonchalantly. At twenty-eight, she might’ve been three years younger than him, but she could be a mother hen. She’d certainly kept close tabs on him since things went south with his marriage.

“My neighbor. Ms. George. Something about an invitation.”

“An invitation? From Ashley George? Have you two patched things up? Whatever it is, you should say yes.” Joanna sounded entirely too optimistic for his taste. And pushy. Joanna hadn’t even tried to disguise her hope that Marcus would jump into the dating pool with both feet, starting with Ashley. She was, after all, the toast of the entire city, drop-dead gorgeous and, conveniently enough, right across the hall.

Ashley also wasn’t a real option. He’d learned that on their date. Their conversation sent up red flag after red flag, culminating with the story of how she and her last boyfriend had broken up because she wasn’t ready to have children. That had prompted him to ask for the check and give her nothing more than a handshake at the end of the night. It wasn’t like he’d been on the verge of proposing marriage, but he had no business spending time with a woman who didn’t share his vision for a relationship. He and Lila were a package deal. No getting around that.

And there was great urgency to his situation. Lila would soon be old enough to remember growing up without a mum. His mother was one of the most important people in his life. He wasn’t about to let Lila go without. Watching that would be even worse than seeing Chambers Gin go belly-up. “No patching anything up for me and Ms. George. We’re doing our best to tolerate each other.” He looked down at his phone again. How he despised texting. Dialing Ashley’s number, he shooed Joanna away, but she shook her head, making it clear she was staying.

“Is there a problem, Ms. George?” he asked when she answered.

“No. And please, call me Ashley.”

He sat back in his seat, avoiding eye contact with his sister. “What can I do for you?”

Joanna pulled out a pad of paper and wrote furiously. She shoved it across the table and thumped it with her finger. Be nice!

“I’m calling with a business proposition.”

He’d been bracing for bad news about her apartment project. Business was indeed the last thing he’d expected to be brought up. “Go on.”

“Before I say anything, you have to promise me that you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

Now she really had his curiosity piqued. A secret? “I don’t like making promises I’m not certain I can keep.”

She huffed on the other end of the line. “You relish any opportunity to be a pain in my side, don’t you? Look, I understand you’re expanding Chambers Gin in the States. The network is throwing a big party for the premiere of my new season. They’d like to offer you a sponsorship spot that night, at no cost to your company aside from providing your new gin for the guests. Your logo will be everywhere. The guest list is chock-full of celebrities, and they’ll all be drinking your gin. The network publicists can work their magic for you.”

“Why would you do that for me? And why would I need to keep that a secret?”

She grumbled, “I’m getting to that part. I need you to come to the party. With me. As my date.”

For a moment, Marcus wasn’t entirely sure of what she’d just said. “I only date women I’m serious about. Because of Lila.”

“Then it’s perfect, because I don’t date at all right now. And I’m not talking about anything more than you taking me to the party and pretending you like me. The network wants me on the arm of a handsome man, I’m not seeing anyone, and you’re literally the last man I’ve been on a date with.”

The part of him that warred with her over her apartment wanted to snicker that he was her only option, but the situation also genuinely struck him as a bit sad. “I’m not entirely sure that Manhattan Matchmaker and Chambers Gin is the right match. I don’t see the correlation between the two brands.”

“You want to appeal to young, hip customers? My demographic is all about young and hip.”

“And Mrs. White.”

“She’s a lot hipper than you.”

“That’s up for debate.” He was making her angry, which didn’t entirely bother him. Nothing like some good verbal sparring with a beautiful woman to get the blood pumping.

“Well? Will you? Just think of what this could do for your business.”

She might have been right about that. He and Joanna had been discussing exactly that, and judging by the look on his sister’s face, she’d pop off at him if he said no to this. “Yes. I’ll do it.”

“You will?”

“Yes, I will. Please don’t tell me you’re angry with me for saying yes.”

“No. Not angry. Just surprised, that’s all. You fight me on everything.”

It’s easier to convince myself I’m not so damn drawn to you. “I won’t lie. Chambers Gin could use the help. The American market is a big mountain to conquer.”

“Okay, then. It’s Thursday night. Eight o’clock. I’ll have a car for us at seven thirty.”

“I’ll come round your place at seven-fifteen.”

“I’m capable of meeting you at the elevator, you know.”

“Ashley, I’m a gentleman. A gentleman always picks a lady up for a date.”

Three

Ashley hardly recognized the woman in the mirror. Same face as hers, same hair and nose. Same eyes. But this was the familiar wrapped up in an entirely new and very expensive package. Poised on a pedestal, she twisted from side to side, admiring the sublime lines of the gown designed for her by Peter Richie. Designed for her. Since the Manhattan Matchmaker ride had started, there had been countless times when she’d wondered whether she was awake or dreaming. Today was just another to add to the list.

Peter shook his head slowly as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Absolutely. Stunning.”

He planted both hands at his waist, studying her. A woman with a mouth full of straight pins kneeled at Ashley’s feet, adjusting the hem of the gown.

Ashley wrestled with her innate need to deflect attention from herself. “The dress is beautiful. You’re absolutely right. Thank you so much for doing this. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.” She glanced down, only to catch the woman rolling her eyes. Had she said something stupid? Was it uncool to be thankful? She wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to say in this situation other than thank you. Her mother had always been emphatic when she was growing up: “No one will ever fault you for having good manners.”

Peter let out a deep belly laugh. “No, doll. Not the dress. You. You’re stunning. All eyes are going to be glued to you at that party.”

Ashley swallowed, or at least attempted to. It was hard to get past the lump in her throat. The thought of all eyes glued to her made her exponentially more nervous about the party. Those gatherings were difficult—everyone vying for a piece of her, but it was always a bit superficial. Lots of compliments and praise, but not much in the way of real conversation. No, it was all “keep doing what you’re doing” and “we just want more.” How much more of this was there? One day the world would tire of the Manhattan Matchmaker. It happened to everyone who ended up in the spotlight as she had, and when it ended, it always seemed to end badly. Tastes changed. Fads came and went. She didn’t want to be reduced to that, but someday she would. In some ways, it would be a big relief, but it would mean that her fabulous ride was over.

People assumed that since she was on TV, she’d wanted the limelight. That wasn’t the case for her at all. Her confidence in what she was doing and in her ability to do it were unwavering, but it was the other piece of the puzzle that gave her problems. She didn’t want her face on the sides of buses. She wanted to match people. She wanted the world to believe in true love. In a world where there was so much bad, she wanted people to remember that there was good.

“I’ll be sure to tell everyone that all of the credit for the world’s most perfect dress goes to you,” Ashley said to Peter.

“Keep talking like that and I’ll keep you in party dresses forever.” He winked at Ashley then held out his hand to help her step off the pedestal. “You’re done, sweetie. The girls will have your dress ready by the end of the day. We’ll have it sent to your apartment.”

“Oh no. Send it to my office, please. I’m in the middle of a huge apartment project, and it’s a total mess.”

Ashley left Peter Richie’s design studio in the Garment District and opted to walk along 8th Avenue to her building on the Upper West Side. She probably wouldn’t make it all the way in heels, but she’d try. It was too beautiful a spring day to not enjoy the splendor of the city. Sporting her biggest Jackie O sunglasses and with her hair tucked up in a hat to avoid being spotted on the street, she set out on her way.

What was left of the afternoon sun peeked between the buildings, the late-April air warming her enough to make her shed her cardigan, draping it over her arm. South Carolina would always be home, but she couldn’t see herself living anywhere but New York for the foreseeable future. The city was simply too much fun, brimming with its own kind of beauty. Sure, it could also be a very lonely place, but changing that, one couple at a time, was her charge. There was love to be found in the city that never sleeps. And she was just the girl to give it a push.

After a good twenty blocks, her feet had had all they could take, and she hailed a cab. It didn’t take long before they were stuck in rush hour traffic, so she took the chance to call her mom.

“Hello, sugarplum,” her mother answered.

As welcome as the sun she’d soaked up along her walk, Vivian George’s sugary South Carolina accent was all Ashley needed to shake off the vestiges of her stressful day and feel much more like herself. “Hey, Mama.” Her voice cracked simply out of happiness. If she closed her eyes, she could smell her mother’s cooking and remember exactly what it was like to grow up in a house where there might have been little money to pay the bills, but love made it seem as if they wanted for nothing.

“You’ll be happy to know we’re having nearly thirty people over for the premiere of Manhattan Matchmaker. I wish we could have you here, honey, but I know you’re busy.”

It’d been two months since she’d been home, and that’d been only for a few days. It was difficult for her to get away. Work was a constant demand on her time. And that didn’t assuage even an ounce of guilt. “I need to come home. And I will. Or maybe you and Daddy could come up to see me. I can book you first-class tickets, and you can stay in my guest room. It’ll be so beautiful when the apartment is done. I really want you both to see it.”

“I know you do. I really do. We’ll have to see how your dad is doing. Travel would take an awful lot out of him.”

“I could pay a nurse to travel with you. You wouldn’t have to do anything. I swear it wouldn’t be much trouble.”

“And that’s so generous of you, really. But I don’t want to make any promises, Ash. He doesn’t even like it when we go to the grocery store. New York would be a big undertaking. We’ll talk about it.”

Ashley saw through the cab window that they were close to arriving at her building. “I just really want you to see it. That’s all.” She knew deep down that her parents understood her success. Still, she wanted them to see the physical manifestation of it, outside the things she paid for that they saw every day. She wanted to show them that she had done well for herself, and done well for the family.

Four

The antique rocker in Lila’s nursery was the perfect place for a daddy-daughter summit. “So, Lila, Daddy’s going on a date tonight, but it’s very important that you know that you will always be the most important woman in my life.”

Lila looked up at him quizzically. “Hi.” She palmed the side of his face and smiled, rubbing her tiny fingers over the stubble along his jaw.

He chuckled quietly. Hi was her new word, and she was eager to use it. “Hi, yourself.”

“Hi,” Lila replied.

Joanna, over that night as babysitter, was listening in, leaning against the doorway. She stretched out her arms. “Want me to take her? You really don’t want to be holding a baby while wearing a tux, do you? You’re begging for a disaster. She’ll drool all over you.”

Begging for a disaster. Fitting description of what he was all dressed up for. “I’m getting my last few kisses before I have to go to this wretched party.”

Sure enough, a droplet of drool fell from the corner of Lila’s mouth, dropping down onto his black suit jacket.

“See?” Joanna grabbed a clean washcloth from the top of the nursery bureau. “She’s going to ruin your suit.” She crouched down next to them, wiping away the moisture that had collected on Lila’s lips. “Daddy just needs those teeth to come in so he can get a little more sleep and we can all stop doing so much laundry.”

Marcus shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me at all. It means she’s still a baby. I’m in no hurry for her to grow up.” Indeed, he wasn’t. He’d take millions more moments exactly like this one. Freeze time and let him stop the clock on the impossible search for the one woman on the planet to take on the role of his wife and Lila’s mother.

“I’m glad you’re going tonight, Marcus. Really, I am. I hope you are, too.”

“Happy for our business. This is nothing but a business arrangement. You know that. Ideally it’ll be a productive one. You wanted something out of the ordinary. This is certainly that.”

“Actually, I believe I said I wanted something sexy and exciting. It could be that, too.”

He’d been bracing for sexy and exciting. He was ill-equipped to deal with either, especially the former.

Joanna stood and took Lila from him. “Now go, before I shoo you out the door. Stay out as late as you want. I certainly don’t want you coming home before midnight.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you do, it means you haven’t had any fun, and Lord knows you could use some fun, Marcus. Loosen that tie at some point. Live a little.”

He got up out of the chair, stopping to give Lila one more kiss on her cheek. “Good night, darling. Tell barmy Auntie Jo that I’ll be home by midnight.”

He strolled out of the apartment and across the hall. He knocked at Ashley’s door, not surprised she didn’t answer immediately. Muffled strains of popular dance music came from her apartment—another way in which they were polar opposites. He preferred ’60s soul.

He tugged at his shirtsleeves and straightened his collar, which felt a bit as if it was choking him. He had to wonder what a woman with a career in reality television would wear to a party thrown in her honor. An ostentatious monstrosity—pink, he guessed—most likely with sequins. Lord help him. He was going to need several drinks tonight. Luckily there’d be plenty of Chambers No. 9 on hand.

He knocked again. The music stopped.

The door flung open. “Don’t even say it,” Ashley blurted. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes flashed in their usual near-manic state. “I’m late. I know it.”

Marcus didn’t speak. Or blink. Ashley’s hair and makeup were done up. The rest of her was...wrapped in a fluffy white bath towel.

“I need two minutes to get dressed. The hair and makeup people just left, and my phone has been ringing like crazy.” With a wave, she invited him inside.

Marcus closed the door behind him, his eyes as dry as parchment. He still hadn’t blinked. Not once, and it wasn’t from shock that Ashley might be late for her own party. It was the damn towel. He hadn’t been so close to a beautiful woman in that state of undress in a while, and this wasn’t just any woman. This was the woman he’d been trying like hell to stay away from. Every inch of his body felt a prodigious tug as Ashley rushed down the hall, showing slender legs, bare feet and naked shoulders. She left a damning smell of summer rain and vanilla in her wake. The sweet fragrance begged him to follow her. He cleared his throat, feeling as though he needed an oxygen mask. “No worries,” he muttered, but she was already gone.

Eager to set his mind straight, he turned away and surveyed the apartment. The layout mirrored Marcus’s, but it was otherwise in disarray—tarps draped over furniture, building supplies in every corner of the open space. A patchwork of construction paper blanketed the floor, and an enormous chandelier, cocooned in plastic, hung over the dining room table. How could she live in such bedlam? He wouldn’t have lasted five minutes. It would have had him at sixes and sevens—completely crazy—in no time. The room smelled of fresh paint, with the faintest trace of Ashley’s perfume not just shadowing him but needling him. Taunting him. Reminding him that the woman he wanted and the woman he needed were two entirely separate people.

“I told you it would only take me a minute,” Ashley said from behind him.

He turned, ill-prepared for her wardrobe change. No pink monstrosity. Oh no. That would’ve made things too easy on him. Instead, she wore a silvery gray gown of impeccable taste. Delicate, silky straps skimmed her shoulders. The neckline was sublime, dipping just low enough to please him greatly...and make him wish his pants were a bit roomier. Her golden-blond hair was in an elegant twist to the side. She closed in on him as if she floated on air, quite possibly the breath that had been knocked from his lungs by surprise.

She was grace in motion, not at all what he’d expected. Just like a few nights ago in the hall, when she’d grabbed his arm, he struggled to understand why his libido had formed one opinion of Ashley and his logical mind had formed another.

“What?” she asked, looking down at her dress and turning, again afflicting him with her intoxicating smell. “Is it too much? Too fancy?”

It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Except that she was otherwise the opposite. He needed to forget the way she made him feel at this moment, and remember the way she’d made him feel every time she did or said something that screamed, “I’m not the right woman.” He shook his head as fog encroached on his thoughts. “No. You look fine.”

She arched both eyebrows, making her vibrant brown eyes appear even larger. “At least I don’t have to worry about you killing me with kindness.”

He had to change the course his mind kept veering onto, one where their business arrangement abruptly ended with a deep kiss and his hands dragging those skinny dress straps off her shoulders. “Remember, tonight is all about business.” He gestured to the front door. “Shall we?”

They met the limousine down in the parking garage after Ashley explained that some of her fans had been spotted outside their building. He added that to the list of reasons Ashley was all wrong for him—the intrusion of her public. He didn’t like the idea of tallying negatives and essentially building a case against Ashley, but most of the time, the list made it easier to ignore his attraction.

Ashley fidgeted in her seat, repeatedly opening a compact mirror, checking her makeup and sighing.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Oh, sure. Just a few butterflies.”

He wasn’t sure what sort of wildlife had chosen to inhabit his own chest and stomach. He only knew that something was going on in there. He took a deep breath. Tonight was about saving his family’s business. Nothing else. Tomorrow he and Ashley would go right back to their semiregular spats over drywall dust and construction noise. That he could manage much better.

“We should probably get our stories straight,” Ashley said. “People will want to know how we met. How serious we are.”

The notion of constructing a romance struck him as all wrong. That wasn’t the way things were supposed to happen, but Ashley was used to it. Her job was orchestrating love, or at least the appearance of it. “Can’t we keep it simple and truthful? We met because we’re neighbors and we’re taking it one day at a time. That’s satisfactory, isn’t it?”

“What if people ask about our first date? If we’re truthful about that, everyone will know we’re not a real couple.”

Marcus cleared his throat. “Is it any of their business?”

“The press will say it’s their business. We’ll get skewered if we don’t say something.” She sat back in her seat, compulsively closing and opening the jeweled clasp of her small silver handbag. “We’ll tell people we went to dinner and sparks flew. We’ll skip the part about how you shook my hand at the end of the night and essentially started the Wars of the Roses the next day.”

The woman had no fear of uncomfortable subjects. “I was being a gentleman that night. I didn’t want to lead you on.”

“Nor did you allow me to explain myself. I had one too many glasses of wine that night, you know. I was nervous. I say stupid things when I’m nervous.”

Flashes of light came through the darkened limousine windows as they pulled up to the curb, thankfully putting an end to that particular strain of conversation. The car stopped and idled. The photographers outside continued taking pictures.

“Just follow my lead with the photographers. I’ve trained myself to do exactly what they want. It’s fairly painless. I promise.” She reached over and patted his knee. “And please relax tonight. I know you can be charming. I’ve seen you do it. That’s the Marcus I need at this party, not your normal grumpy self.”

His spine stiffened. Why did she continue to use those words? Grump. Curmudgeon. She had no idea what he’d been through, the trials that necessitated his serious nature. He wasn’t about to launch into an explanation now. “I know how to act at a party. Don’t you worry about me.”

“Fine. Let’s see how you do.”

The driver opened the door. The instant Ashley rose from the car, the crowd roared with excitement, fans and photographers shouting her name. She stepped on to the red carpet and turned to him, taking his hand, offering an enchanting smile with plump pink lips that begged for a gentle nip. He was transfixed by that look on her face, so genuine and warm. It made a surreal moment even more so—the object of his mysterious weakness, reaching for him. He had no choice in front of this audience but to go with it. He clutched her impossibly soft fingers and trailed behind her, stepping square into the lion’s den.

Cameras were everywhere, all pointed at the two of them. The more persistent the flashes, the tighter Ashley gripped his hand, the closer she pulled him. She seemed to crave the security of someone by her side, and his instinct told him to protect her, even when he knew it was the wrong inclination, one to fight with everything he had.

She smiled wide as the photographers snapped their pictures, beguiling the masses before them as if she’d been born to do this. Butterflies, my ass. Seeing the Manhattan Matchmaker in action, he knew he was being sucked in just as the rest of the world was, but there was only so much he could do about it. He was there to be the handsome man on her arm, and he had to play that role. That meant drinking in the vision of her so the cameras could snap their pictures, even when every second had him further under her spell and it would take a lengthy internal dialogue to wrench himself from it later.

One photographer asked to see the back of Ashley’s dress. She let go of Marcus’s hand for a moment and turned, flashing a sexy look over her shoulder that nearly left him flat on the red carpet. He was already losing all sense of direction. This was not good. He had four long hours ahead of him of pretending to be her charming, smitten date. He needed a mantra, something he could repeat until it became innate. Don’t fall for her, Marcus. Don’t fall for her.

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