CHAPTER ONE
Well? Are you gonna do it? Or are you gonna sit there and stare at it?”
I know I shouldn’t since this is an important moment and my best friend is already annoyed with me for hemming and hawing and doing anything I can to avoid what needs to happen.
But I can’t help it.
“That’s what she said,” I quip, chuckling at my own rather lame and outdated joke.
Hayley merely rolls her eyes. “I knew you were going to say that as soon as the words were out of my mouth.”
And why not? We’ve known each other for years. She’s the sister I never had.
Because she’s known me for so long, she knows too well what’s going on here. I can’t hide much from her.
“You’re stalling.”
“Am not.” Why don’t I fold my arms and stick out my tongue while I’m at it? Maybe I can threaten to hold my breath until I get my way. That would be super mature.
“Are too.” She taps the device sitting between us in the center of the table. “All you have to do is activate the spinner and let it tell you who you’re gonna date next. It’s pretty simple.”
Pretty simple. Easy for her to say.
Ever since my editor informed me of my tanking book sales and basically dumped all over my writing style, life has been … interesting. It was Hayley who came up with the idea for this spinner thingy she created, where all I have to do is take a spin and let fate decide the trope I’ll be tackling in my next book.
Only it’s not so simple. I’ll be seeking out and dating the type of man indicated by the spinning wheel. Because I love to torture myself.
“You know you need to get started on a new book.”
At least she sounds mildly sympathetic and concerned. She isn’t all but prostituting me, the way my editor would gladly do. Maggie even recommended I participate in a three-way, for Pete’s sake. I mean, there’s plenty I’m willing to do for my art and my career, but a girl’s got to have limits.
“Yeah, I know that,” I mutter in spite of her attempts at being kind. “I can hear the clock ticking in my head all the time. Tick-tock, Kitty Valentine. Your career’s going down the flusher if you don’t spin up a new story—and fast!” If we weren’t in public, I’d fold my arms on top of the high-top table and bury my head in them.
Actually, that sounds pretty good. I think I’ll do that.
“Get up,” Hayley groans, shoving my shoulder just a little. “Now’s not the time for drama. Now’s the time for taking a chance, having a little fun. This is only the first step.”
The thing is, it’s not like I’ve never done this before. My latest book, cleverly titled Her Billionaire Boss—really, couldn’t Maggie have come up with something better than that?—is based loosely upon the semi-relationship I had with my actual boss, Blake Marlin. The spinner led me to him—or at least to the boss trope.
It just so happens my boss is a billionaire. I killed two tropes with one stone—or something like that.
All joking aside, the time I spent with Blake was invaluable. No way would I have known how to describe the inside of a private jet or the sort of restaurants he took me to without having spent time with him. I would never have imagined flying halfway across the country just for dinner or making a phone call and coming up with the most incredible seats to a show that’d been sold out since the day tickets first went on sale.
I would also not have imagined how punishing that life could be for a man without a sense of work-life balance. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have so much as a scrap of that balance myself. I’m the queen of working until all hours, foregoing sleep and personal hygiene in the face of a looming deadline.
But I’m not a media mogul either. I don’t have assistants calling me at all hours of the day and night. I can go to a show or dinner without having it interrupted by some emergency or another.
What’s the point of having all that money and freedom if it can’t be enjoyed?
Which is a big part of what broke us up.
Now, I have to put myself through it again?
“You’re not the one who’s going through this,” I have no choice but to remind Hayley. “You’re not the one who has to meet these men and get to know them and maybe care for them a lot, only to leave them, so you can move on to the next one.”
Rather than offering sympathy, she tosses her ridiculously glossy blonde hair over her shoulders and fixes me with a knowing look. “Listen, you know I love you.”
“You sure sound like it right now.”
“I do, and what I’m about to say comes from a place of love.” She folds her hands on the table. “You’re taking this too seriously.”
That gets a laugh out of me, though there isn’t exactly any humor in it. “Uh, okay. Thanks for that brilliant legal assessment.”
“I’ll let that one slide since you’re feeling some type of way. This doesn’t have to be as fraught with emotion as you’re making it out to be. Okay, so you fell a little too hard for Blake. Lesson learned. You can’t let yourself get all mixed up in your feelings this time around.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Maybe you’ll get lucky, and this next guy will be a real jerk you couldn’t possibly fall in love with.” She shrugs before signaling for another round of drinks.
It’s happy hour, meaning the bar is packed with young business types just getting off work for the day. Considering how desperate they all seem for a drink, I’m glad I don’t work in a stressful office.
Though my work can be stressful enough. There’s a reason so many infamous writers also happened to be alcoholics.
“I don’t want to end up hurting again, is all. You know how much I liked Blake. It’s only been a month since we broke things off.”
“You didn’t even sleep with him.”
“So? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I’m just saying, I could see catching feelings if you had gone all the way.”
“Gone all the way? What is this? A teen movie from the eighties?” I snort.
“Fucked, okay? You didn’t fuck him.”
Needless to say, several pairs of eyes turn our way.
“Not that he didn’t want to,” I explain to these random strangers. “Because he did. He super did. We were totally gonna … bone.”
“Oh my God,” Hayley groans, picking up her fresh martini and downing half of it in one gulp.
“Anyway, I don’t see what that has to do with it,” I whisper once everybody goes back to minding their own darn business. “You can have feelings for somebody without doing it.”
“I’m only trying to give you a little perspective, okay? That’s all. You take life too seriously.”
“Says the lawyer.”
“Stop wasting time. Spin the damn thing and get this over with. You’re killing me with all this procrastination.”
Call me childish, but the fact that she’s so dead set on me doing it makes me even more determined to dig my heels in and refuse. Only she has a point—okay, many good points—and the thought that Maggie will straight-up murder me if I don’t start producing more work gets me to spin.
“Finally,” Hayley sighs. “What’s it gonna be? Sexy firefighter? Sexy single daddy? Sexy Santa?”
“Will you lay off the Santa idea?” I laugh. “Besides, it’s not the right time of year for that.”
“What can I say? I have a thing for sitting on guys’ laps.” She says it just loudly enough to attract attention from a twenty-something with a killer smile and a custom suit, who’s been hovering nearby throughout our conversation. “Don’t get any ideas,” she warns him when he sidles up next to her, which is enough to shoo him away.
“You’re too good at that,” I marvel.
She’s had practice. The girl attracts men like bees to honey.
“Ooh! Doctor!” she gasps, clapping ecstatically. “How exciting!”
“A doctor? How am I supposed to find a doctor to date?” I ask in despair. “What, do I fake an injury and go to the ER?”
“You could do worse.” She shrugs. “And knowing you and your clumsiness, it probably won’t take long for a real injury to send you there.”
“Sometimes, I wonder if you even like me,” I sigh.
“I do. I love you.” Even though she kicks me under the table when she says it, I believe her. She didn’t kick all that hard. It was more of a loving nudge. “I’m only trying to add a little levity. As for how to find one …”
She taps her chin, looking up at the ceiling while I start in on the drink, which has been sitting untouched all this time. After drinking way too much and throwing up in my hot neighbor’s apartment, I’ve been playing it cool with the booze. Not that I’m a big drinker, which is probably why it didn’t take all that much to get me to that awful state.
“Duh!” She smacks the table with both hands. “A dating profile. You can set one up and look for doctors in the city who are single and interested in dating.”
Here’s the thing: I’m a writer. A darn good one. Four number-one best sellers can’t be wrong.
But that’s not the same as writing about myself.
“I’ve never written one of those before,” I admit, playing with my glass. “I mean, how do I make myself look datable?”
“Uh, put a picture of yourself on the Internet and say, I’m available, babe.” She grins. “They’ll come running.”
“Will not,” I scoff.
“Yeah, they will. And if your gorgeous face doesn’t do it, there’s always the fact that you’re a successful author. A career woman with her act together.”
“Great. Now, I have to get my act together too?” I groan.
“No,” she assures me, shaking her head. “Just pretend to. All you have to do is attract a likely candidate and get him on the hook, and then you’re golden.”
“You could have at least humored me and said I already had my act together.” I pout.
She reaches across the table, taking my hand. “Honey,” she murmurs, looking me straight in the eye, “we both know you don’t.”
“I can always count on you.” I smile.
CHAPTER TWO
“For a writer, you’re not very good at this.” Hayley leans over my shoulder to peer at the screen, where the results of endless typing and deleting and typing again … and deleting again await her scrutiny.
“Like I said, I can’t write about myself. It’s hopeless. I come off sounding like a corny Goody Two–shoes,” I mutter.
“I’m sure it’s not that bu—oh. You do.” She winces.
“See?”
“Why don’t you let me write it for you?” she suggests. “It’s always easier for friends to point out all the good qualities in a person. We don’t see those things in ourselves, you know? Even if we do, we can’t describe them.”
“Hmm … I don’t know.” I look her up and down, arching an eyebrow. “Can I trust you?”
“For Pete’s sake, you can delete it if you don’t like it,” she groans, nudging me out of my chair. “Move it, girlie. We don’t have the rest of our lives to get this done. You have a book to write.”
Yes, and she has work she’s putting aside to help me with this. The life of an attorney at a high-profile firm is crazy busy, and the fact that she’s even taking the time to hang out with me is a big deal.
“Fine, fine.” My stomach lurches, but I get out of the way and let her take a seat.
“Okay, let’s get rid of all this mumbo jumbo,” she says, deleting everything I labored over for the last twenty minutes.
“But I thought the part about looking for a happy ending was cute.”
That earns me an eye roll. “You’re not five years old. You’re a hot, single career woman who’s in the mood for a doctor’s skillful touch.”
“Tell me you’re not going to put that in there,” I beg while walking to the kitchen for some much-needed sustenance.
We never got to the food part of our little date since Hayley was so gung ho about getting back to my apartment, so we could work on my profile together.
Really, she’s the best friend I could ever ask for.
“No, you dork,” she calls out. Maybe I was wrong about the best-friend thing. “We can’t make it look obvious that you’re in the market for a doctor. That’ll look too desperate and scare them off.”
“Good point. This is why I keep you around.” There are cheese, pears, and grapes in the fridge, crackers in the pantry. I put together a little plate for us and take it out to her.
“And this is why I keep you around.” She pops a chunk of Humboldt Fog into her mouth while pointing to the screen.
“Successful romance author looking for a little real-life sizzle,” I murmur as I read. “Okay, I can live with that.” I mean, it’s not perfect, but it’ll do. I wasn’t faring much better. Who am I to judge?
“I thought we should keep the romance writer part in there,” she confides with a wink, fingers flying over the keys even though she’s looking up at me. It’s unnerving, how she can talk to me while thinking about whatever it is she’s typing.
“How come?”
“People assume a romance writer will be good in bed.” When I throw a scowl her way, she shrugs. “I don’t make the rules. That’s what people think.”
“Who are these people? Where are you getting this from?”
“A few people I know. What?” she asks, laughing when I pull another skeptical face. “I brag about you from time to time. You’re my best friend, and I’m proud. And sometimes, I’ll get the wiggly eyebrows.” She demonstrates, brows lifting up and down.
“What? Do they think I’m practicing my sexy moves on you or something?”
“Who knows? People have dirty minds. Anyway”—she crooks a finger, and I lean in again—“just about anyone familiar with romance knows the name Kitty Valentine,” she assures.
I cut her a look from the corner of my eye. “You might be exaggerating a little bit.”
“Oh, gee, I didn’t know you’d have to submit W-2s and references,” she whispers, nudging me back toward the screen.
With a sigh, I continue, “But that’s the thing about being a New York Times bestseller—all that writing leaves little time for dating. This is where you might come in.”
“Too braggy?” she asks before reaching for more cheese and fruit.
“Eh.” I stand back, arms folded. “Is anybody who visits the site going to be able to read this?”
“No, they don’t have to. You can mark your profile as Private, and only people you’ve reached out to will be able to see it.”
“That’s nice to know.” I read her opening lines again. “Okay. Good start. I can live with that.”
“Oh, thank you, Great One.” She laughs before turning back to the keyboard. “I’ll take that as high praise, coming from you.”
“You should.”
We both jump at the knock on my front door.
“Expecting someone?” Hayley asks.
“Does it look like I am?” I’m frozen in place. People don’t randomly knock on my front door. Funny, but in a city filled with millions of others, the idea of someone dropping by is completely foreign. I have to fight the impulse to pretend I’m not home.
Another knock.
“Well?” Hayley whispers. “Are you going to let them stand there forever?”
I’m about to say yes, that’s exactly what I want to do, when a voice rings out. “Hello? There’s a lady's wallet lying in the hallway, and the ID says it belongs to somebody named Kathryn. I don’t know of any Kathryn living here …”
“Jeez,” I mutter, jogging for the door in my bare feet. It’s only Matt.
Matt is leaning against the doorframe, smirking his most Matt-like smirk, holding up my wallet for inspection. “You don’t pay much attention to pesky things like where your wallet ends up, do you?”
“To think, I was about to thank you for picking this up for me,” I groan, reaching for it.
“Not so fast.” He pulls it just out of my grasp. “What were you doing, leaving your wallet out here so I’d think you were kidnapped or something?”
“I wasn’t exactly thinking about you when I dropped it, Matt. This might come as a surprise, but you don’t play a part in my every thought. Sorry about that.” I reach for it again, but he’s too stinking tall. And I’m at a disadvantage with my heels lying on the floor behind me.
“Who is this?” Hayley shows up behind me, an arm on my shoulders.
Stupid, predictable Matt. His hazel eyes travel over her, first head to toe and then back up again while he strokes the brown scruff covering his chin. It’s like this all the time, whenever a new man meets my painfully gorgeous best friend.
Only I happen to know what a horndog he is and how successful he is with the ladies.
Crap. Am I going to have to live through listening to Hayley getting pounded just on the other side of my office wall? Because I’ve heard enough female orgasms to last me the rest of my life—fake or real, they were loud as heck—and I could live without hearing hers.
Especially if it’s Matt who happens to be giving it to her.
Though that shouldn’t matter, should it? No way. He’s just … Matt. The guy who lives across the hall.
“Hayley Craig.” She thrusts her hand toward him. “Best friend.”
“Matt Ryder.” He grins before shaking her hand. “Neighbor and occasional beer buddy.”
“Oh?” Her wide, questioning eyes turn my way.
“Don’t look at me.” I shrug. “I didn’t know I had to clear new people by you.”
“You should know by now. I can’t have you making random friends. That means I can’t run their name through every database at my firm’s disposal.” She turns back to Matt, still smiling.
“That’s R-Y-D-E-R.”
Honestly, I think Hayley’s met her match. He’s not the slightest bit ruffled. Most men with common sense would back away, hands raised, and disappear behind their door. And lock it. And put the chain in place.
“I’ll make a note of that.” She looks at me and then at him again. “What are you up to? We were putting together a—”
“No, no, no,” I call out over her. “Nope. No way. It’s a girls’ night.”
“You want your wallet back?” Matt holds it up again. “Tell me what you’re doing that you don’t want me to know. If it’s something weird and female, I don’t need to be a part of it.”
“Weird and female?” I snort. “What? Do you think we’re testing tampons to see which brand we like best?”
“Or maybe we’re performing some weird, witchy ritual to punish our ex-boyfriends,” Hayley suggests. “It’s been a while since I summoned a demon, and I think it’s a full moon.”
Rather than leave it there, she blurts out, “Dating profile. We’re making a dating profile for her.” By the time she finishes, I’m swatting at her like I’d swat at any pest. “I’m sorry!” She ducks away from me, giggling, and runs back to the laptop.
“Dang it!” I growl as my heart sinks.
Matt’s smiling from ear to ear in that insufferable way of his. Of course.
“A dating profile? What, the whole dating-for-a-book thing isn’t working? This is big news.”
“It isn’t. And it’s in service of the dating-for-a-book thing, which, by the way, I don’t appreciate being called a thing. And what are you doing?” I demand when he slides past me to get into the apartment. I mean, okay, I could’ve tried a little harder to stop him, but he’s bigger than me, and he’s holding my wallet.
“You can’t tell me you’re making up a profile and not expect me to be interested in it.” He’s too quick and is already reading over Hayley’s shoulder before I can stop him.
“Come on. This is ridiculous. Give me the wallet, please.”
He hands it over without looking, too busy reading. “So, you’re trying to pick up your next boyfriend this way?” he asks, a grin spreading his generous mouth.
I used to want to kiss that mouth—I mean, I have eyes and I’m a girl who likes men and he’s definitely a man and whatnot—but now?
Now, I sorta want to smack him a little.
“You know how this goes. I’m looking for a very specific type of person.”
“What type?” He quirks an eyebrow, folding his arms.
He can’t wait to hear this, I can tell. Which, of course, makes me want to hold my breath until I pass out because I’d rather do that than hear him laugh at me.
Hayley, as always, can be relied upon. “A doctor.”
“Thanks,” I mutter as Matt starts laughing especially hard.
“What’s so wrong with me dating a doctor?” I demand.
Darned if he doesn’t have to wipe tears from his eyes. “Sorry. That struck me as funny.”
“No kidding. Answer my question.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it.” He shrugs. “It’s more the idea of having to go on a dating site to find the next poor sucker.”
There’s something about having known someone for so long and as well as Hayley and I know each other. You start to share part of your brain—which is why it’s convenient Hayley’s practically a certifiable genius. She has brain to spare.
“Poor sucker?” we both shout loud enough and perfectly in sync enough that we practically knock him backward onto the sofa. As it is, he nudges it a little with the backs of his legs, and his jaw is practically on the floor.
“I give! I give! I should know better than to try to handle two women at once!”
“Do my poor ears and imagination a favor and keep that in mind when you’re trying to pick up your next girl for the night, okay?”
His eyes twinkle in an instant before he smirks. “I never have a problem with that.”
Hayley looks him up and down. “I think I like you.”
“Oh?”
Her brow lowers. “Not that way.”
“Oh.” He shrugs at me. “You gotta try, right?”
“No, you don’t gotta try.” I twirl one finger in the air. “About-face, please, and let us get back to work. This is important. You don’t see me coming around and … I don’t know, making fun of the reports you ran this morning.”
“Please,” Hayley begs. “It took me long enough to get her to agree to do this in the first place. Don’t distract her now.”
“Since you put it that way, I’ll see myself out.” He whistles softly as he walks to the door. “If you need any inspiration for a particularly filthy scene, let me know. I’m always available.”
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