SENIOR ARCHITECT
PIERSON/GREER
Ire-read David’s e-mail with a frown. We didn’t have an appointment. Had Serena booked something?
No. More likely, David knew there was no appointment, but he was coming here anyway. Had it not crossed his mind that I might have lunch plans already? It didn’t matter. Nothing was as important as securing the elusive David Dylan as a Bachelor and proving to my boss that I was the right woman for the promotion.
But what would it cost me to spend an hour under his spell, subjected to his charm, at the mercy of our attraction?
With him, I seemed to forget what was at stake. Not just my marriage, but a future I’d fought hard for out of a need to escape my past. It hadn’t been easy to learn how to love carefully and choose wisely—I was like anyone else who wanted to give in to impulses, wants, desires. But I had to be stronger than that to get the life I wanted. One that wasn’t painful, even if it was never euphoric, either.
I hit respond, changed the subject line, typed out my response, and hitSendbefore I could second-guess myself.
If there was any chance of steering clear of David during this process, I had to try.
From:Olivia Germaine
Sent:Mon, May 7 08:31 AM CDT
To:David Dylan
Subject:We don’t have a lunch appointment
Unfortunately, I already have a meeting scheduled, but I’d be happy to send Serena in my place to conduct the interview.
Olivia Germaine
Associate Editor
Chicago Metropolitan Magazine
ChicagoMMag.com
From:David Dylan
Sent:Mon, May 7 08:34 AM CDT
To:Olivia Germaine
Subject:If you hadn’t hung up on me and told me not to call back, you’d know about our appointment
That doesn’t work for me. I trust you to do this interview. Only you. 11:30.
DAVID DYLAN
SENIOR ARCHITECT
PIERSON/GREER
The nerve, I thought as I mentally canceled my non-existent lunch appointment.
* * *
At eleven-thirty on the dot, Jenny buzzed me from the front desk. I smoothed a hand over my hair and was about to swipe on pink lip gloss when I stopped myself. I couldn’t risk my promotion by turning down an interview with David, but I didn’t have to look good doing it. At least I wouldn’t send the wrong message in my conservative outfit—a short-sleeved, white button down and navy, high-waisted pencil skirt. For insurance, I fastened the button at my throat, one more than I ever did.
That should do it.
Clutching my briefcase to my chest, I found Serena and Beman talking giddily with David.
