‘I got dressed in the dark because I couldn’t afford to pay my electric bill?’”
Isabella rolls her eyes. “The more important question is why you think your clothes have vocal cords. In my E.R., that’s a one-way ticket to Bellevue.”
“Is not. This is New York – it takes way more than that to trip the crazy-meter.” I make a face at my reflection. “I should have gone with something more conservative. My houndstooth checked interview suit.” I found that one at a church charity shop in Greenwich Village. Blogged it!
Isabella shudders. “Ugh, no. You’re going to be a personal shopper, chica, not an extra in a 1980s Wall Street rom-com. You need to show some style. This dress is perfect, your hair is perfect, and if you don’t stop messing with it I’m going to smack you.” She looks meaningfully at my hands, which are, of their own volition, floating up towards my hair again.
“You’re right.” I grab my purse and hold onto the strap to distract my hands.
“Always.” She heaves a martyred sigh. “It’s a burden I bear.”
We inch forward towards the cart. I check my watch, then my gaze drifts towards the awning in front of our building. “My cab’s going to be here any minute,” I fret. “I need that coffee.”
She snorts in amusement. “Yeah, yeah, your lucky latte.”
“They’re magic beans!” I protest. “Granted, I’m weirdly and randomly superstitious, but the results speak for themselves. Every time I’ve bought a latte from Jemma, my day has been lucky.” I glance at Jemma behind the coffee cart, a spiky-haired, tattooed, leather-vested blur of motion. She’s British, and she looks a little bit like a female Billy Idol.
The first day I bought a latte from her cart, my mother called to tell me that her test results had come back clear. The sharp taste of cinnamon still lay fresh on my tongue, the sun burst through the clouds in a comically cinematic flourish, and I looked down at my cup and thought, hmm. After that, I noticed that every time I bought a latte from Jemma, I’d find something amazing at a consignment shop, or I’d line up a great-paying gig from my temp agency. Jemma waves this off as me being a ‘barmy sod’, but why mess with success?
So naturally, I’m willing to sacrifice a few precious dollars and a few precious minutes to grab a cup of liquid luck before I head east to Hudson’s.
“You’ll do great today. Do you have your lucky book?” Isabella asks.
I pat my purse to reassure myself. “Yes.” Pride and Prejudice, the copy my mother gave me for my sixteenth birthday.
“With your lucky bookmark?”
“Of course.”
It’s a laminated list of my requirements for any man I’d consider dating.
Loves dogs. Walks old ladies across the street. Considerate. Loves me no matter what I look like. I made that bookmark when I was in middle school, and I’ve never seen any reason to update the list. Middle-school me had a lot of wisdom.
“That must be why you’re about to get lucky.” She smirks in the direction of Tall, Dark and Dickish.
Today, he’s wearing a dove-gray raw silk suit, accessorized with a black and gray striped tie and a faint smirk. A small storm of butterflies swarms in my stomach, and I shift my weight from one foot to the other and take a deep, gulping breath. I wanted his attention, and now I’ve got it. Be careful what you wish for. Because his laser-beam-blue eyes are focused entirely on me now, and I can tell my morning is about to get a lot more…interesting.
Chapter Three
Blake
Winona Jeffers, the fiery-eyed, redheaded thorn in my side, is giving me a look that could scorch the hair off a gnat at fifty paces. It’s certainly warming my blood.
I remember the smirk she flashed me after vandalizing my suit with poodle urine last week, and my feet start moving of their own accord. Before I know it, I’ve stepped in front of a woman who was just about to place an order at the coffee cart. Winona’s four places behind her.
I turn to face the line and switch on my megawatt smile, the one I save for our board members or anyone else I want to charm. Yeah, I’m a platinum-plated son of a bitch ninety-five percent of the time, but you don’t get as far as I have without knowing how to schmooze when necessary. “Hey, everyone! I’m in a serious hurry, but if you let me cut in