Once Upon a Date - Susan Hatler Page 0,8

thought of getting my laptop back, but also it dawned on me that perhaps my mystery man from last night had found it and was trying to contact me. I smiled. I was like a modern day Cinderella, running out of the ball at midnight (although it had been closer to eleven) and leaving my glass slipper behind. Well, it had a sticker of my coveted glittery shoes on the laptop’s lid, anyway.

I checked my phone again. The red dot had stopped, its location just around the next corner. I groaned as I realized the offices of Prince & Company, my former dream publisher (current publishing nemesis), were on the same street. In fact, it appeared that my laptop had stopped right outside their door.

I rounded the corner, becoming aware that I was wearing my normal novel-writer’s working uniform: yoga pants and an over-sized sweatshirt. I’d left in such a panic this morning that I hadn’t even thought about who I might run into. If it was Prince Charming (aka: Rumpel) holding my laptop, I hoped he liked the casual look as well as the elegant look.

It was because I was deep in thought that I collided with the man, who was standing outside Prince & Company.

“Oof!” I exclaimed, taking a step back and rubbing my forehead. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m just glad I didn’t spill my coffee all over—”

The man turned around, mesmerizing blue eyes meeting my gaze.

“It’s you . . .” My heart skipped a beat as I took in the rest of the man’s appearance now that he wasn’t wearing a mask. Dark hair. Glasses. Tiny scar above his eyebrow where he’d fallen off his bicycle as a child. Oh, no. “Brooks Keller,” I said.

The man I had bumped into was not only the fairy-tale hero from last night, but he was also Brooks Keller, my ex-boyfriend and all-round heartbreaker who had left me devastated when he broke up with me right before graduation.

It was then that I noticed my laptop in his arms, which was ironic since that’s where I’d spent a large part of my senior year at Blue Moon Bay High School. He looked a bit taller than I remembered, his physique more muscular—had he started working out?—but his untameable dark hair seemed to be even wilder now.

“Michelle Moss,” Brooks said, his voice sounding a little deeper but also so familiar that I couldn’t believe I hadn’t recognized it last night. I blamed the music. Thanks a lot, Celine Dion. “It’s been a long time. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Brooks,” I said, even though I wasn’t fine now and I hadn’t been fine back when he’d broken my heart. I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m actually thrilled to see my laptop, which you could’ve just turned in to the Geoffries hotel.”

“Your laptop?” He looked from me to the laptop, and then back to me again. His eyes flicked to my hair, piled up on top of my head. Spun gold, he’d called it. “No, I found it last night and am taking it into my office to see if I can figure out how to contact the owner since there is a lock and I don’t know the password . . .”

“Well, now you don’t need to contact her, because I’m here. So, if you would just hand it over I’ll let you be on your way,” I said, annoyed to see him again, annoyed that he was Rumpel, and annoyed that he looked even more handsome than I remembered.

“Let’s go inside and figure this out.” He punched a number into the keypad and then stood back as if he were a gentleman and wanted to let me enter first. Would a gentleman have dumped his girlfriend before graduation with no explanation? I think not. “You first,” he said, since I hadn’t moved.

My gaze drifted to the embossed plaque beside the door and my mouth dropped open.

“Wait, you work here?” I stared at the nameplate, which read “Prince & Company Publishing.” My head felt dizzy. Oh, this couldn’t be happening.

“Yes, I do work for Prince & Company. In fact, I’ve just been promoted to Editor.”

My ears started ringing and I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. I got out my phone and scrolled through my emails until I found the rejection email from Prince & Company. I scanned to the end of the letter: B. Keller, Editor.

“No, way.” I glared up at him. Not only had