not his.”
Bridget playfully punched her in the shoulder. “Well, there you go. You found his fatal flaw. He’s only a millionaire, not a billionaire.”
“What’s it like being the grandson of one of Texas’s most colorful characters?” asked Kelly. “Is it true that Cyrus Byrd once walked into the Texas State Senate with a shotgun, threatening to shoot anyone who voted against him on a drilling bill?”
“That sounds like my grandfather,” Sam said without any emotion.
Kelly tried the question from a couple of other angles, but Sam dodged them with the same skilled vagueness he’d used earlier.
“This grandfather must have been a real hoot,” muttered Bridget.
Annie silently agreed.
“Enough about your family,” said Kelly. “Last night you described your perfect woman as someone who gives you the zing.” She leaned forward in her seat. “Can you be a bit more specific?” It was embarrassing the way she was practically hitting on him in front of the entire country.
“Not really.”
“Oh, c’mon, Sam. Throw me a bone. I’m not letting you go until you answer.”
A flash of annoyance crept into his eyes. Annie knew exactly how he felt. If she looked up Busybody Faux Journalist in the dictionary, Kelly Seacrest would pop up as the definition.
“Look, I just want a nice girl who gets along with my family, doesn’t mind a guy who works too much, and thinks Texas is heaven.”
“I might just be your girl, Cowboy.” Kelly giggled suggestively.
“No wonder you’ve been watching this all day,” said Bridget. “This guy is too good to be true.”
“I know.” Annie snapped her laptop shut. “He’s kind of perfect.”
“Perfect for you, you mean. Annie, you have to Tweet him.”
“You want me to Tweet him? I don’t even know him. What on earth would I say?”
“How about, ‘Hey there, loved you on Single Gal.’ Or, ‘Hey there, loved you on Good Morning, USA,’ or you could just cut to the chase and say, ‘Hey there, wanna marry me?’”
Annie laughed. “For a minute I thought you were serious.”
Bridget glared at her. “I am serious.”
“I have a boyfriend, remember?”
“You mean Walter? Annie, honey, wake up and smell the coffee. You and Walter have been dating for four years. You’re what? Thirty-one, thirty-two? You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
“I’m twenty-nine, and Walter and I haven’t been dating for four years. It’s only been three.”
“You’re not thirty yet? You act older. Look, Walter is a nice enough guy, if you like vanilla ice cream, which is perfectly okay when you put it on top of apple pie or a big fat gooey brownie, but night after night, all by itself in a bowl?”
“Walter is not vanilla ice cream. At the very least he’s … pistachio.” Pistachio? Where had that come from? Annie didn’t even like pistachio ice cream.
Bridget made a face. “If you say so.”
“I do say so. Walter doesn’t believe in debt, and neither do I. He’s still paying off his law school student loans. Once that’s done, he’ll start saving up for my engagement ring.”
“He sounds like a bundle of fun. Be honest, Annie, when’s the last time Walter surprised you? Or did something romantic and spontaneous? Something that twisted your panties up in a wad? In a good way,” she added, wagging her brows up and down.
Twisted her panties up in a wad? That sounded even worse than the crackers in the bed scenario.
“Walter is very spontaneous.”
“Oh, yeah? Like how?”
Annie searched her brain, trying to come up with an example. “Just the other night, we made plans to go see that new action hero movie he’s been waiting for, and then when we were in line to buy the tickets, he changed his mind and we went to see the one about the bank robbery. How’s that for unpredictable?”
Bridget let out an exasperated sigh. “I give up. That was a no to the coffee, right?”
“No coffee, but thank you for offering,” Annie said, sounding a little too prim for her own ears.
“The coffee was just an excuse to knock on your door and see what you’ve been doing all day. Don’t expect me to ask again.”
5
After wasting half her day gawking at YouTube videos of Sam DeLuca, Annie powered through the work on her desk, answered all her emails, then dashed out to her car. It was ten after six, which meant she was thirty minutes off schedule. Every Tuesday night at exactly six, she and Walter had dinner at The Miramar Café, where they both ordered the meat loaf special. It was Walter’s favorite. And hers