Love on Lexington Avenue - Lauren Layne Page 0,39

bend the rules of the pact just a little. That she actually maybe wanted to find a guy who didn’t plan to call the next morning.

“What are we talking about?” Naomi demanded, appearing by their side, an absolute knockout in a royal blue dress, cut into a deep V in the front and the back.

“Hold on,” Audrey said, circling Naomi. “It must be asked: How the heck hasn’t Oliver dragged you back to his lair and had his dirty way with you? That dress is sexy.”

“I know,” Naomi said a little smugly. “It’s killing him to have to keep his hands to himself.”

She gestured with her wineglass, and all three women turned to see Oliver across the room talking to an elderly couple, and sure enough, the look on his face when he looked over at Naomi could have set her on fire.

“The suspense is delicious though,” Naomi said, turning back to Claire and Audrey. “So, what are we talking about? Claire’s Under the Tuscan Sun ambitions?”

“Oooh, yes,” Audrey said with a dreamy sigh. “A hot Italian stud like in the movie would be just the thing.”

“No argument here,” Claire admitted. “My problem is finding him. I’m reminded a little more every day why we made that pact in the park. The men in this city are about ninety percent swine. They either cheat, fart, drool, moan . . .”

“Wait, where was the farter?” Naomi asked. “Did I miss a new development?”

“Hypothetical,” Claire said. “But I took myself out to dinner the other night, sat at the bar, and the only guy who approached had garlic breath and nose hair.”

“Everyone has nose hair.”

“No, nose hair. Whole other level. Like it curled,” Claire specified, making an upward curving motion along the side of her nostril.

Naomi mimed a heaving motion.

“Well, don’t worry,” Audrey said, patting Claire’s hand. “There’s this guy I want you to meet—”

“No. No,” Claire repeated emphatically when Audrey started to protest. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you guys in the first place. No setups. It’s part of the rules.”

“Whose rules?”

“Mine and Scott’s. Or at least, those were the rules when he was my wingman. I think I’m going to fire him.”

“I still don’t get what this Scott guy has to do with any of this,” Audrey said. “I also don’t know why I haven’t met him yet.”

“You haven’t?” Naomi asked in surprise. “We have to fix that. I’ll introduce you tonight.”

“Wait, tonight?” Claire interjected in surprise. “Scott’s not here.”

“Yes, he is,” Naomi said distractedly, already scanning the crowd of sequined gowns and tuxes. “He sort of has to be. He’s one of the top donors every year.”

Claire stared at her friend, trying to figure out what was more jolting: the thought of Scott at a black-tie event at a stuffy museum or the realization that Scott was a top contributor for a charity for the homeless.

The first. Definitely the first. She had no trouble wrapping her head around the fact that he was generous—the more she’d gotten to know him these past weeks, the more she suspected a good guy was lurking beneath the crusty exterior. But, on the note of his exterior, the thought of Scott Turner wearing a tux simply did not compute.

No doubt he used his top-donor label as a chance to buck the status quo; he probably showed up in jeans and—

“There he is!” Naomi announced triumphantly, grabbing Audrey’s hand. “Come on, I’ll introduce you while we have a chance. Knowing that guy, he’ll be in Barcelona next week, Fiji after that, and we won’t see him for another year.”

Claire had turned in the direction Naomi indicated but didn’t see any sign of Scott. She trailed after her friends, pausing as they stopped at a guy in a tux, her gaze scanning the crowd for an out-of-place beard and too-long hair . . .

She heard Audrey chattering to someone beside her. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’m dying to see what you’ve done to Claire’s place . . .”

Claire’s eyes stopped scanning the room and swung back to the man Naomi and Audrey were speaking with. Her mouth dropped open. The man in the tux was Scott.

Or at least a version of him. His brown eyes met hers, and the sardonic gaze was familiar, but that’s where the familiarity ended.

“You shaved,” she blurted out.

He gave a slight smile, revealing deep creases in his cheeks she hadn’t noticed before, since they were always covered in stubble. “I’ve learned about these contraptions called