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New York, Actually: A sparkling romantic comedy from the bestselling Queen of Romance
Sarah Morgan
'Everything a romantic novel should be - an absolute delight.’ - Veronica HenryMeet MollyNew York’s most famous agony aunt, she considers herself an expert at relationships…as long as they’re other people’s. The only love of her life is her Dalmatian, Valentine.Meet DanielA cynical divorce lawyer, he’s hardwired to think relationships are a bad idea. If you don’t get involved, no-one can get hurt. But then he finds himself borrowing a dog to meet the gorgeous woman he sees running in Central Park every morning…Molly and Daniel think they know everything there is to know about relationships…until they meet each other that is…'Wonderfully romantic and sumptuously atmospheric.’-Alex Brown, author of The Secret Orchard Cottage


Praise for Sarah Morgan (#ulink_6ff6733c-80a0-5fd7-a4a7-094a028adedb)
‘The perfect book to curl up with’
– Heat
‘Lovers of romance will relish this tale of friendship, fun and flirting set in beautiful New York.’
– My Weekly
‘Morgan excels in balancing the sweet and sexy to create the perfect blend.’
– Booklist
‘A gorgeously sparkly romance about letting go and learning to love again.’
– Julia Williams, bestselling author of Coming Home for Christmas
‘Full of romance and sparkle’
– Lovereading
‘Morgan is a magician with words’
– RT Book Reviews
‘Definitely looking forward to more from Sarah Morgan’
– Smexy Books
‘Morgan’s novel delivers the classic sweep-you-off-your-feet romantic experience.’
– Publisher’s Weekly
‘Perfect chick-lit’
– BEST magazine
‘Her dynamic prose like narrative is eloquent, the laugh-out-loud humor lightens the load and both her big-city and small-town settings are perfect’
– RT Book Reviews
‘Another winner from Sarah’
– Annie Cooper’s Book Corner
‘I am fairly certain there will never be a Sarah Morgan book that I won’t love. This was no exception. My very favourite book of hers to date!’
– Erin’s Book Choice
‘A fun loving story with the sprinkling of magic I love in Sarah Morgan’s books.’
– Sarah Mackins
‘Simply gold! A spectacular storyline.’
– A Page of Fictional Love
‘Fresh, romantic, complexity and heart! Sleepless in Manhattan is everything you want in romance!’
– Chicks that Read
‘Sleepless in Manhattan is Sarah Morgan at her best.’
– Rachel’s Random Reads
Dear Reader (#ulink_94d5b407-d516-5643-939d-bc8d6844eb3d),
As a child I was a voracious reader and one of my favourite books was Dodie Smith’s The Hundred and One Dalmatians. As well as the warmth and originality of the storyline, I loved the fact that each dog had a distinct personality.
I’ve often included dogs in my books (the first was Maple, from Sleigh Bells in the Snow), but the dogs have always played a small background role until one day last winter when I came across a photo of a Dalmatian with a heart shaped nose. I knew I had to give him a central role in a book, and I knew he had to be called Valentine.
Some people find dogs easier to love than humans, and that is the case for Molly the heroine of this story. When it comes to giving advice on other people’s relationships she’s an expert, but she’s not so good when it comes to her own. She can’t imagine loving anyone more than she loves her dog Valentine, but then she meets sexy lawyer Daniel. Daniel knows more about depositions than dogs, but he’ll do whatever it takes to get Molly’s attention, even if that means borrowing a dog.
At first Molly and Daniel appear to have everything in common, but as the truth gradually reveals itself both are forced to re-examine everything they believe about themselves.
This is a story about letting go of the past, but it’s also a story of friendship and love (both human and canine!), family and community, and it takes place against the glamorous backdrop of New York City. From the leafy paths of Central Park to the glittering skyscrapers, there’s something for everyone in New York and, as Molly discovers, sometimes the city that never sleeps can be the perfect place to find love.
I hope you enjoy the book, and thank you for reading!
Love Sarah
xxx
SARAH MORGAN writes warm contemporary women’s fiction with her trademark humour which has gained her fans across the globe. Sarah lives near London with her husband and children, and when she isn’t reading or writing she loves being outdoors, preferably on holiday so she can forget the house needs tidying. You can visit Sarah online at www.sarahmorgan.com (http://www.sarahmorgan.com), on Facebook at www.facebook.com/AuthorSarahMorgan (http://www.facebook.com/AuthorSarahMorgan) and on Twitter @SarahMorgan_


To the Washington Romance Writers,
a fun, fabulous group of people.
Thank you for inviting me to your retreat. xxx
“Some of my best leading men have been dogs and horses.”
Elizabeth Taylor
Contents
Cover (#ucf744d26-c000-57df-9259-a77c778d27e4)
Praise (#ulink_2a5752c1-e031-5d33-bbf3-c5b9f7ad4dc0)
Dear Reader (#ulink_754449e5-7699-501b-b3ac-0232393c2e5e)
About the Author (#u9b84a8ca-0eb7-58c6-93cc-9f3a4060ba7b)
Title Page (#u16c4e8d0-c17f-5d12-aee0-febd88771ddc)
Dedication (#u93b72340-1ac7-5201-8151-2f836155e2b0)
Epigraph (#u55979f90-07c8-5447-aab6-9794d14af0d6)
One (#ulink_78ed2de3-0fa3-53d6-801e-823ca4cef5d5)
Two (#ulink_d0bbee37-c01d-5809-a7fc-bee627692b52)
Three (#ulink_61de6318-5d96-5db6-970b-364f4c88bd91)
Four (#ulink_f31a2e6c-a8b0-54df-bef1-1bf90097b5ad)
Five (#ulink_e7293850-72b1-5f7b-b521-4cb794e2e34c)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Thank You (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#ulink_718aad20-9312-5cc1-9cf6-52e6ad6512fe)
Dear Aggie, I bought my girlfriend an expensive coffee machine for her birthday. First she cried, then she sold it on eBay. I don’t understand women.
Yours, Decaffeinated.

Dear Decaffeinated, the important question to ask yourself in any relationship is what does your partner want? What makes them happy? Without knowing all the details it’s impossible to know exactly why your girlfriend cried and sold the coffee machine, but the first question that comes to mind is—does your girlfriend drink coffee?
Molly stopped typing and glanced at the bed. “Are you awake? You have to listen to this one. It’s obvious he is a coffee drinker and the gift was really for him. Why do men do that? I’m so lucky to have you. Of course, if you ever sold my coffee machine on eBay, I’d have to kill you, but that won’t be the advice I’m posting online.”
The body on the bed didn’t stir, but that wasn’t surprising given the amount of exercise they’d both had the day before. The hours they’d spent in each other’s company had left her sweaty and exhausted. Her body ached, a reminder that although her fitness levels had increased since she met him, his stamina still surpassed hers. His relentless energy was one of the many things she admired about him. Whenever she was tempted to skip an exercise session, all it took was one look from him to have her reaching for her running shoes. He was the reason she’d lost weight since arriving in New York City three years earlier. Some days she looked in the mirror and barely recognized herself.
She looked slimmer and more toned.
Best of all she looked happy.
If someone from her old life walked in now, they probably wouldn’t recognize her.
Not that anyone from her old life was likely to show up on her doorstep.
Three years had passed. Three years, and she had finally rebuilt her shredded reputation. Professionally, she was back on track. Personally? She glanced at the bed again, feeling something soften inside her. She hadn’t imagined ever getting close to anyone again, certainly not close enough to let them into her life or her home, and definitely not her heart.
And yet here she was, in love.
She allowed her gaze to linger on the perfect lines of his athletic body, before returning her attention to her email. She was lucky so many men struggled to understand women. If they didn’t, she’d be out of a job.
Her blog, Ask a Girl, attracted a large volume of traffic and that, in turn, had attracted the attention of a publisher. Her first book, Mate for Life, Tools for Meeting Your Perfect Life Partner had hit the bestseller lists in both the US and the UK. That, in turn, had led to a second book deal, all under her pseudonym Aggie, which meant that she had both anonymity and financial security. She’d turned misfortune into a fortune. Well, maybe not a fortune exactly, but enough to enable her to live comfortably in New York City and not to have to limp back to London. She’d left one life and moved on to a new one, like a snake shedding its skin.
Finally, her past was exactly where it should be. Behind her. And she made a point of never looking in her rearview mirror.
Happy, she settled herself more comfortably in her favorite chair and shifted her focus to her laptop.
“Okay, Decaffeinated, let me show you where you’ve been going wrong.”
She started typing again.
A woman wants a man who understands her, and a gift should demonstrate that understanding. It isn’t about the value, it’s about the sentiment. Choose something that shows you know her, and that you listen to her. Choose something—
“And here’s the important part, Decaffeinated, so pay attention,” she muttered under her breath.
—something that no other person would think to buy her, because no one knows her like you do. Do that, and I guarantee your girlfriend will remember that birthday forever. And she’ll remember you.
Satisfied that if the man listened to her advice he might have a half-decent chance of pleasing the woman he loved, Molly reached for her glass of filtered water and checked the time on her laptop. Time for her morning run. And she didn’t intend to go alone. No matter how busy her working day, this was time they always spent together.
Shutting down her computer, she stood up and stretched, feeling the whisper of silk brush against her skin. She’d been typing for an hour while barely moving and her neck ached. She still had a stack of individual consultations waiting for her attention, but she’d deal with those later.
She glanced through the window, watching as darkness slowly melted away to be replaced by a wash of sunshine. For a moment the view was filled with streaks of burnt gold and the dazzle of glass. It was a city of sharp edges and towering possibilities, its darker side masked by the shimmer of sunshine.
Every other city would be waking up at this time, but this was New York. You couldn’t wake up, when you’d never been to sleep.
She dressed quickly, swapping pajamas for a soft T-shirt, Lycra leggings and her favorite dark purple running shoes. At the last moment she grabbed a sweatshirt because an early spring morning in New York City could still bite through a layer of clothing.
Scooping her hair into a careless ponytail, she reached for a water bottle.
There was still no movement from the bed. He lay in a tangle of bedding, eyes closed, not stirring.
“Hey, handsome.” Amused, she nudged him. “Did I finally wear you out yesterday? That’s a first.” He was in his prime. Fit and shockingly attractive. When they ran together in the park, heads turned in envy and it made her glow with pride because they could look, but she was the one who got to go home with him.
In this world where it was almost impossible to find the right person, she’d found someone who was protective, loyal and affectionate, and he was all hers. She knew, deep in her heart, that she could depend on him. She knew, even without marriage vows, that he was going to love her in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, for better or for worse.
She was lucky, lucky, lucky.
What they shared was free of all the stress and challenges that so often marred a relationship. What they shared was perfect.
She watched, her heart filled with love, as he finally yawned and stretched slowly.
Dark eyes locked on hers.
“You,” she said, “are insanely handsome and everything I’ve ever wanted in a man. Have I told you that lately?”
He sprang from the bed, tail wagging, ready for action, and Molly dropped to her knees to hug him.
“Good morning, Valentine. How’s the greatest dog in the whole wide world feeling today?”
The Dalmatian gave a single bark, licked her face and Molly grinned.
Another day was dawning in New York City, and she was ready to roll.
* * *
“Let me get this straight. You want to borrow a dog so that you can use it to meet a dog-loving girl? Have you no shame?”
“None.” Ignoring his sister’s disapproval, Daniel carefully removed a dog hair from his suit. “But I don’t see how that fact is connected to my request.”
He thought about the girl in the park, with her endless legs and that sleek dark ponytail swinging like a pendulum across her back as she ran. Since the first day he’d seen her, pounding her way along one of the many leafy trails that cobwebbed through Central Park, with her dog bounding ahead of her, he’d been smitten. It wasn’t just her hair that caught his attention, or those incredible legs. It was the air of confidence. Daniel was drawn to confidence, and this woman looked as if she had life by the throat and was strangling the hell out of it.
He’d always enjoyed his early morning run. Lately it had taken on a new dimension. He’d started timing his run to coincide with hers even though it meant arriving in the office a little later. Despite those sacrifices on his part, so far she hadn’t even noticed him. Did that surprise him? Yes. When it came to women, he’d never had to try too hard. Women tended to notice him. However, the girl in the park seemed unusually preoccupied by her running and her dog, a situation that had led him to the decision that it was time to raise his game and tap into his creative side.
But first he had to talk his way past one of his sisters and so far that wasn’t looking good. He’d been hoping for Harriet, but instead he’d gotten Fliss, who was much tougher to get around.
Eyes narrowed, she planted herself in front of him and folded her arms. “Seriously? You’re going to pretend you own a dog in order to hit on a woman? You don’t think that’s contrived? Dishonest?”
“It’s not dishonest. I’m not claiming ownership. I’m simply walking a dog.”
“An action that suggests a love of animals.”
“I don’t have a problem with animals. Can I remind you I was the one who rescued that animal from Harlem last month? In fact he would do fine. I’ll borrow him.” The door opened and Daniel flinched as an energetic Labrador sprinted into the room. He didn’t have a problem with animals unless they were about to get up close and personal with his favorite suit. “He’s not going to jump up, is he?”
“Because you’re such a dog lover.” Fliss caught the dog firmly by its collar. “This is Poppy. Harriet is fostering her. Note the ‘her’ in that sentence. She’s a girl, Dan.”
“That explains why she finds me irresistible.” Hiding his laughter, he lowered his hand and played with the dog’s ears. “Hello, beautiful. How would you like a romantic walk in the park? We can watch the sunrise.”
“She doesn’t want a walk in the park, or anything else. You’re not her type. She’s had a rough time and she’s nervous around people, especially men.”
“I’m good with nervous women. But if I’m not her type, then tell her not to drop hairs on my suit. Especially blond ones. I’m due in court in a couple of hours. I have a closing.” Daniel felt his phone buzz, pulled it out of his pocket and checked the message. “Duty calls. I need to go.”
“I thought you were staying for breakfast. We haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I’ve been busy. Half of Manhattan has decided to divorce, or so it seems. So you’ll have a dog here ready for me at 6:00 a.m. tomorrow?”
“Just because a woman goes running on her own, doesn’t mean she’s single. Maybe she’s married.”
“She’s single.”
“So?” Fliss scowled. “Even if she is single, that doesn’t mean she wants a relationship. It bugs the crap out of me when men assume a single woman is only single because she’s waiting for a man. Get over yourselves.”
Daniel studied his sister. “Which side of bed did you climb out of this morning?”
“I can climb out of any side I like. I’m single.”
“Lend me a dog, Fliss. And don’t give me anything small. It needs to be a reasonable size.”
“And there was me thinking that you’re secure in your own masculinity. Such a big, macho guy. You’re afraid to be seen with a small dog, is that it?”
“No.” Busy typing a reply to the message, Daniel didn’t look up. “The woman I’m interested in has a big dog so I need one that can keep up. I don’t want to have to carry the animal while I run. Even you have to admit that would look ridiculous, not to mention being uncomfortable for the dog.”
“Oh for— Stop looking at your phone! Here’s a clue, Dan. If you’re going to ask me a favor, at least pay me a small amount of attention while you do it. It would be a sign of love and affection.”
“You’re my sister. I handle all your legal affairs and I never bill you. That’s my way of showing love and affection.” He answered another email. “Stop overreacting. All I want is one cute dog. The sort that’s going to stop a woman in her tracks and make her go gooey-eyed. I’ll do the rest.”
“You don’t even like dogs.”
Daniel frowned. Did he like dogs? It wasn’t something he’d ever asked himself. A dog was a complication and he kept his life free of complication. “Just because I don’t own a dog doesn’t mean I don’t like them. I don’t have time in my life for a dog, that’s all.”
“That’s an excuse. Plenty of working people own dogs. If they didn’t, Harriet and I would be out of business. The Bark Rangers is turning over—”
“I know your turnover. I can recite every number in your company’s balance sheet. That’s my job.”
“You’re a divorce attorney.”
“But I stay on top of my sisters’ business. Do you know why? Because it’s a token of my love and affection. Do you know how? Because I work a hundred hours a week. It’s barely a life for a human. It’s certainly not a life for a dog. And might I point out that your dramatically increased turnover came as a result of your new relationship with that up-and-coming concierge company, Urban Genie, a partnership I arranged through my friend Matt. You’re welcome.”
“Sometimes you are so smug I could punch you.”
Daniel smiled, but still didn’t look up. “So are you going to help or not? If not, I’ll ask Harry. You know she’ll say yes.”
“I am Harry.”
Finally Daniel looked up. He studied her closely, wondering if he’d made a mistake. Then he shook his head. “No, you’re Fliss.” It was a game the twins had played on him hundreds of time growing up.
Which Twin?
His score was 100 percent. They’d never fooled him yet.
Her shoulders slumped. “How do you do it?”
“Tell the two of you apart? Apart from the fact that you’re as abrasive as an armadillo, I’m your big brother. I’ve had plenty of practice. I’ve been doing it for twenty-eight years. The pair of you have never fooled me yet.”
“One day we’re going to.”
“Not going to happen. If you really want to pretend to be Harriet you need to tone down the attitude. Try being a little softer. Even in your crib you were always the one yelling.”
“Softer?” Her tone had a dangerous edge. “You’re telling me to be soft? What sort of sexist comment is that, especially as we both know that ‘soft’ gets you nowhere?”
“It’s not sexist, and I’m not telling you to be soft. I’m giving advice on how you might be able to convince some poor fool you’re Harriet. And that’s not me, by the way, so don’t waste your time.” He looked up as the door opened.
“Breakfast is ready. I made your favorite. Pancakes with a side of crispy bacon.” Harriet walked into the room carrying a tray. She had the same hair as her sister—a smooth, buttermilk blond—but she wore hers pinned haphazardly at the back of her head, as if her objective was simply to move it out of the way so it didn’t interfere with her day. Physically, they were identical. They had the same delicate features, the same blue eyes, the same heart-shaped face. Temperamentally, they couldn’t have been more different. Harriet was thoughtful and calm. Fliss was impulsive and fierce. Harriet loved yoga and Pilates. Fliss favored kickboxing and karate.
Sensing an atmosphere, Harriet stopped and glanced between them, her expression changing. “Have you two had a fight already?”
How, Daniel wondered, could three siblings from the same family be so different? And how could twins, who on the surface were indistinguishable to most people, bear no resemblance on the inside?
“Us? Fight? Never.” Fliss’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “You know how much I adore our big brother.”
“I hate it when you fight.” The anxious look in Harriet’s eyes made him feel guilty and he exchanged glances with Fliss. It was a glance they’d shared a million times over the years. A tacit agreement to suspend hostilities until Harriet wasn’t in the room.
They’d all developed their own way of coping with conflict. Harriet’s was to hide from it. As a child, she’d hidden under the table to avoid the screaming fights that had been part of their early family life. On one occasion Daniel had tried dragging her out to remove her from the fallout. Her eyes had been squeezed shut and her hands over her ears, as if not being able to see it or hear it might mean it wasn’t happening.
Remembering how impatient he’d felt at the time, Daniel felt a needle of guilt. They had all been so self-absorbed, his parents included, that none of them had understood what was going on with Harriet. It had become apparent in the most public way possible and even now, twenty years later, he couldn’t think about that evening at the school without breaking into a sweat.
On the surface Harriet didn’t appear to be particularly tough, but he and Fliss had learned that there were different kinds of tough. Despite appearances, Harriet was made of solid steel.
He watched as she set the tray down and carefully unloaded plates of food and napkins.
Napkins. Who bothered with napkins for a casual breakfast with family?
Harriet bothered. She was the architect of all domestic comfort in the apartment she shared with her twin.
There were times when he wondered if the three of them would still be a family if it weren’t for Harriet.
As a child she’d had an obsession with her dolls and her dollhouse. With the insensitivity of an eight-year-old, he’d dismissed it as a typical girl activity but now, looking back, he could see that she’d been constructing something she didn’t have, clinging to her image of home and family when their own had fallen short. She’d found some semblance of stability in her own private world, whereas he and Fliss had found other ways to dodge the cracks and the shifting emotional landscape of their parents’ marriage.
When Harriet and Fliss had moved into the apartment, Harriet had been the one to make it a home. She’d painted the walls a sunlit yellow and had chosen a rug in muted shades of green to soften the wooden floor. Hers was the hand that arranged the flowers on the table, plumped the cushions on the sofas and tended the plants that clustered together in a junglelike profusion of green.
Fliss would never choose to own a plant. Like him, she wouldn’t want the responsibility for something that required care and attention. It was the reason neither of them had any interest in a long-term relationship. The only difference between them was that Fliss had tried. Only once, but still it was enough for Fliss to feel she had proved her point. Been there. Done that.
None of them talked about it. The Knight siblings had learned that the only way to make it through a bad day, a bad month or a bad year was to keep moving forward.
“We weren’t fighting.” Daniel kept his tone slow and easy. “I was giving her brotherly advice, that’s all.”
Fliss narrowed her eyes. “When the day comes that I need your advice, I’ll ask. And, by the way, hell will have frozen over at least eight times before that day comes.”
Daniel stole a piece of bacon from the plate and Harriet slapped his hand gently.
“Wait until I’ve set the table. And before I forget, Fliss, we had two more jobs sent through from Urban Genie. We have a busy day ahead.”
“So does Daniel.” Fliss stole a piece of bacon, too. “And he’s not staying for breakfast.”
“You’re not?” Harriet handed him a napkin. “But I thought that was why you were visiting.”
Daniel frowned at the implication that he only saw them whenever he wanted to be fed. Was that true? No. He visited because despite, or perhaps because of, his combative relationship with Fliss, he liked seeing his sisters. And he liked to keep an eye on Harriet. But it was true that his visits almost always coincided with food. As long as that food was prepared by Harriet, he was happy. Fliss could burn water.
“I had a message from the office, so this is a flying visit. But it’s good to see you.” On impulse he stood up and hugged his sister and heard Fliss mutter something under her breath.
“Yeah, right, use affection. Harry will fall for that.”
“I’m allowed to hug my sister.”
Fliss gave him the eye. “I’m your sister, and you don’t hug me.”
“I don’t have time to spend the rest of my day removing thorns from my flesh.”
“Fall for what?” Harriet hugged him back, and Daniel felt a rush of protectiveness. He knew she had found her perfect niche in life, but still he worried about her. If Fliss had a problem, the whole of Manhattan would know within minutes. Harriet kept things to herself.
“How are you doing?”
Fliss snorted. “Charm alert. He wants something, Harry.” She forked a generous portion of bacon onto her plate. “Cut to the chase, Dan, preferably before I throw up my breakfast.”
Daniel ignored her and smiled at Harriet. “I need a dog.”
“Of course you do.” She smiled back, delighted. “Your life is so focused on work, so emotionally empty, I’ve been telling you for years that what you need is a dog. It will give you permanence, something you can really love and connect with.”
“He doesn’t want a dog for any of those worthy reasons.” Fliss waved her fork, her mouth full of bacon. “He wants a dog to help him score.”
Harriet looked puzzled. “How does a dog help with that?”
Fliss swallowed. “Great question, but this is our big brother we’re talking about so there’s the biggest clue right there. He wants a prop. A canine prop. He yells ‘fetch,’ and the dog brings him the girl.” She stabbed another piece of bacon. “Even if you managed to meet this woman with your dog plan, you’d never keep her. What happens when you invite her back to your place and she discovers the dog doesn’t live there? Have you thought about that?”
“I never invite women back to my place so that isn’t going to be a problem. My apartment is a dog-free, woman-free, stress-free chill zone.”
“Even so, sooner or later she’ll find out you’re not a dog person, and then she’ll leave.”
“By then I’m sure we’ll both have had enough of each other, so that sounds perfect to me. It will be a mutual parting of ways.”
“Mr. Heartbreaker. Don’t you ever feel guilty that you’re leaving a trail of sobbing women around Manhattan?”
Daniel released Harriet. “I don’t break hearts. The women I date are exactly like me.”
“Insensitive and obtuse?”
“He isn’t insensitive.” Harriet tried to keep the peace. “He’s a little afraid of commitment, that’s all. And so are we. Daniel is hardly alone in that.”
“I’m not afraid of commitment,” Fliss said blithely. “I’m committed to myself, my happiness, my personal growth.”
“I’m not afraid either.” Daniel felt sweat prick the back of his neck. “Am I cautious? Yes, because that’s the job I’m in. I’m the type of guy who—”
“—makes a woman decide to stay single?” Fliss helped herself to another pancake.
“I don’t want to be single,” Harriet said. “I want to love someone and be loved by them. But I’m not sure how to make that happen.”
Daniel caught Fliss’s eye. Neither of them was in a position to offer advice on that subject.
“Given that I spend all of my extremely long working week unraveling the lives of those who didn’t choose to stay single,” he said, “I’d say the female race should be thanking me for remaining commitment-free. If you don’t get married, you can’t get divorced.”
“Well, that’s a positive outlook.” Fliss tipped maple syrup over her pancake. “One of these days, some very smart woman is going to teach you a few lessons about women. These are delicious, Harry. You should open a restaurant. I’d help out.”
Harriet flushed. “I’d muddle up all the orders and, as much as I love you, I wouldn’t let you near a kitchen. It wouldn’t be fair to the New York Fire Department.”
“I don’t need lessons about women.” Daniel stole a piece of bacon from Fliss’s plate. “I already know everything there is to know.”
“You only think you know everything there is to know about women, which makes you a thousand times more dangerous than the man who admits to being clueless.”
“I’m not clueless. Growing up with you two was an intensive training course in how women think and feel. For example, I know that if I don’t get the hell out of here right now you’re going to explode. So I’m making my exit while we’re still friends.”
“We’re not friends.”
“You love me. And when you’re not scowling, I love you back. And Fliss is right—” he smiled at Harry “—you’re an incredible cook.”
“If you loved me,” Fliss said between her teeth, “you’d be staying for breakfast. You use me, in the same way you use all women.”
Daniel reached for his jacket. “Here’s a tip from inside the mind of a guy. Stop being cranky or you’ll never get a date.” He watched his sister’s face turn puce.
“I’m single through choice,” she spluttered, and then sighed and glared at him. “You’re winding me up. Why can’t I see when you’re winding me up? You drive me batshit crazy and then I can’t think straight. It’s one of your tactics and I know that, but I still fall for it every time. Are you this annoying in court?”
“I’m worse.”
“No wonder you always win. Opposing counsel probably wants to get as far away from you as quickly as possible.”
“That’s part of the reason. And for the record, I don’t use women. I let them use me, preferably after dark.” He bent to kiss her cheek, thinking that teasing his sister was his second favorite game after poker. “So what time can I pick up this dog?”
Two (#ulink_5e8b12ee-5f3d-53b5-ace3-9be93b4e9b5e)
Dear Aggie, if men are from Mars, when are they going back?
Yours, Earthbound and Exasperated
She noticed his dog first. A German shepherd who was as strong and athletic as his owner. She’d seen the two of them every day for the past week, just after sunrise. She’d allowed herself a glance or two, because…well, she was human, wasn’t she? She had as much appreciation for the male form as the next woman, especially when that male form was as well presented as it was in this guy. And besides, studying people was her job.
Like so many other people in the park at this time, he wore running gear, but something about the way he moved told her that when he wasn’t pounding the paths, he dressed in a suit and was commander in chief of whichever empire he presided over. His hair was dark and cropped short. Doctor? Banker? Accountant? Judging from the air of confidence he exuded he was very good at whatever it was he did. If she’d had to make more guesses about him, she would have said he was focused to the point of driven, spent too long working, and found it hard to empathize with weakness. He’d have his own weaknesses of course, everybody did. Being smart, he probably even knew what they were, but he would hide them because weakness wasn’t something he’d share with others. He was the type of guy who, if he knew what she did for a living, would laugh and then express surprise that anyone needed advice on something as straightforward as relationships. A man like him would have no idea how it felt to lack confidence, to not be able to find the courage to approach a woman you found interesting and attractive.
A man exactly like Rupert.
She frowned. Where had that thought come from? She was careful to never think about Rupert. She had enough self-insight to know her experience with him had colored her view of the world. In particular, it had colored her view of relationships. In all probability this man was nothing like Rupert.
The only piece of information that jarred with her impression of him was that he had a dog. She wouldn’t have expected a man like him to want responsibility for a dog. Maybe the dog belonged to a friend who was sick, or maybe it had belonged to a deceased family member, but if that was the case then she would have expected a man like him to use a dog-walking service, like the one she occasionally used for Valentine. The Bark Rangers.
The dog was the one misshapen piece of the jigsaw that stopped her picture of him fitting together perfectly.
Determined not to be caught staring, she ran on, her feet pounding the ground in the comfortable rhythm she now found instinctively. Running was a way of testing herself. Of pushing herself outside her comfort levels. And pushing made her aware of the power and strength of her own body. Running reminded her that when she thought she had nothing more to give, she could still find more.
Even though it was early and the park wasn’t yet open to traffic, it was busy. Joggers mingled with cyclists riding hill repeats and dawn laps of Central Park. In a few hours they’d give way to parents with strollers, and tourists keen to explore the eight-hundred-and-forty-three acres of parkland that ran from 59th Street to 110th and east to west from Fifth Avenue to Central Park West.
She could never decide which season in New York was her favorite, but right now she would have voted for spring. The trees were thick with blossoms and it flavored the air with a heavy sweetness. Crab apple, cherry and magnolia bathed the park in a creamy, pink glow and exotic birds from Central and South America gathered ready for the spring migration.
She was pondering its near-bridal magnificence when Valentine shot in front of her and almost tripped her up.
He bounded after the German shepherd, who was thoroughly overexcited and refusing to come back when called.
“Brutus!” The man’s voice thundered across the park.
Molly slowed her pace. Seriously? He’d called his dog Brutus?
The dog ignored him. He didn’t even turn his head in the direction of his owner. There was no acknowledgment that they even knew each other.
Molly decided that either Brutus was the sort of dog who loved to challenge authority, or else he didn’t often find himself in the company of other dogs and wasn’t about to prioritize obedience over a good time.
Clearly there was one thing that power couldn’t command, and that was a misbehaving dog. Was there any better leveler?
She whistled to Valentine, who was having fun with his new friend.
His head came up and their eyes met across the expanse of grass. After a split second of thought he came bounding toward her, all long lines and lean muscle, and as graceful as a ballet dancer. She heard the muted thud of his paws on the soft grass, the rhythmic panting, and then he skidded to a halt in front of her, the rear end of his body moving with each swing of his tail, that canine barometer of happiness.
There was surely no more uplifting greeting than a wagging tail. It conveyed so much. Love, warmth and unquestioning acceptance.
He was followed by his new friend, the German shepherd, who skidded untidily to a halt at her feet, more bruiser than ballet dancer. He gave her a hopeful look, seeking approval.
Molly decided that for all his bad-boy tendencies, he was cute. But like all bad boys, he needed a firm hand and strong boundaries.
His owner was probably the same.
“Well, aren’t you adorable.” She dropped to her haunches to make a fuss over him, stroking his head and rubbing his neck. She felt the warmth of his breath on her skin and the smack of his tail against the leg as he circled in excitement. He tried to put his paws on her shoulders, almost knocking her on her butt in the dirt. “No. Sit.”
The dog gave her a reproachful look and sat, clearly questioning her sense of fun.
“You’re cute, but that doesn’t mean I want your muddy paws on my T-shirt.”
The man stopped beside her. “He sat for you.” His smile was easy, his gaze warm. “He never does that for me. What’s your secret?”
“I asked nicely.” She stood up, conscious of the sweaty tendrils of hair sticking to her neck and annoyed with herself for caring.
“Looks like you have the magic touch. Or maybe it’s the British accent that does it for him. Brutus—” The man gave the dog a stern look. “Brutus.”
Brutus didn’t even turn his head. It was as if the dog didn’t know he was talking to him.
Molly was puzzled. “Does he often ignore you?”
“All the time. He has a behavioral problem.”
“Behavioral problems usually say more about the owner than they do about the dog.”
“Ouch. Well, that puts me in my place.” His laugh was a rich, sexy sound and heat ripped through her body and pooled low in her abdomen.
She’d expected him to be defensive. Instead, she was the one who was defensive. She’d built walls and barriers that no one could pass, but she was sure that this man with the dangerous blue eyes and the sexy voice was used to finding his way around barriers. She felt breathless and swimmy-headed, and she wasn’t used to feeling that way.
“He needs training, that’s all. He’s not very good at doing what he’s told.” She focused on the dog, rather than the man. That way she didn’t have to deal with the laughing eyes of his insanely attractive owner.
“I’ve never been too good at doing as I’m told either, so I’m not going to hold that against him.”
“It can be dangerous for a dog to challenge authority.”
“I’m not afraid to be challenged.”
That didn’t surprise her. One glance told her this guy knew his own mind and walked his own path. She also sensed that the smooth layers of charm and charisma concealed a core of steel. He was a man only a fool would underestimate. And she was no fool.
“You don’t expect obedience?”
“Are we still talking about dogs here? Because this is the twenty-first century, and I like to think of myself as progressive.”
Whenever a situation or person unsettled her, she tried to detach herself and imagine what advice she’d give as Aggie.
Feeling breathless and tongue-tied around a man can be uncomfortable, but remember that however attractive he is, underneath he has his own insecurities even if he doesn’t choose to show them.
That didn’t make her feel better. She was starting to think this man didn’t have a single insecurity.
It doesn’t matter how you feel on the inside, as long as you don’t show it on the outside. Smile and act cool and he is never going to know that he turns your insides to the consistency of pulp.
Smile and act cool.
That seemed like the best approach.
“You should try taking him to obedience classes.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a thing?”
“Yes. And it might help. He’s a beautiful dog. Did you buy him from a breeder?”
“He’s a rescue. The casualty of a vicious divorce case up in Harlem. The husband knew that Brutus was the one thing the wife loved more than anything in the world, so he fought for him in the divorce. His lawyer was better than hers, so he won and found himself with a dog he didn’t want.”
Molly was appalled enough to forget about the strange melting feeling going on inside her. “Who was his lawyer?”
“I was.”
Lawyer. She’d missed that one on her list of possible professions, but now she wondered why because it was a perfect fit. It was easy enough to imagine him intimidating the opposition. He was a man used to winning every battle he fought, she was sure of that.
“Why didn’t he give Brutus back to the wife?”
“Firstly because she’d moved back to Minnesota to live with her mother, secondly because the last thing he would ever do was something that would make his ex-wife happy and thirdly because, much as his wife loved the dog, she hated him more. She wanted to make his life as difficult as possible so she made him keep the dog.”
“That’s a horrible story.” Molly, who heard plenty of horrible stories in her working day, was shocked.
“That’s relationships.”
“That’s one divorce. That’s not all relationships. So you rescued him?” That revelation exploded all her preconceived ideas about him. She’d assumed he was the sort who put himself front and center of his life, rarely inconveniencing himself for anyone, but he’d saved this beautiful, vulnerable dog who had lost the only person who had ever loved him. He might be handsome and a sharp talker, but he was obviously a good person. “I think it’s great that you’ve done this.” She rubbed Brutus’s head, sad that this animal had paid the price for people’s failure to work out their differences. When relationships fell apart the fallout was far and wide. She knew that better than anyone. “Poor guy.” The dog nudged her pockets hopefully and she smiled. “Are you looking for treats? Is he allowed?”
“He’s allowed. If you have a spare.”
“I always carry them for Valentine.” Hearing his name, Valentine was by her side in a flash, possessive and protective.
“Valentine?” The man watched as she fed both dogs. “Is he a man substitute?”
“No. Last time I checked he was definitely a dog.”
He flashed her a smile of appreciation. “I thought maybe you’d given up on men and settled for the love of a good dog.”
That was closer to the truth than he could have imagined, but she had no intention of admitting it to anyone, least of all someone who seemed to have the world at his feet. What would he know about how it felt to have your weaknesses publicly exposed? Nothing.
And she had no intention of enlightening him.
Her past was hers and hers alone. More private than a bank account, hidden securely behind a firewall that allowed no one access. If there was a password, it would be Screw Up. Or possibly Major Screw Up.
“Valentine isn’t a substitute for anything or anyone. He’s my number one dog. My best friend.”
Her gaze collided with his and she felt the connection like a physical jolt.
She had the jitters, and she couldn’t remember when that had last happened to her. It was his eyes. She was willing to bet those devilish eyes had encouraged more than a few women to throw caution to the wind. There was probably a label on him somewhere saying Handle with Care.
She tried to ignore the way she was feeling, but her heart had other ideas.
Oh no, Molly. No, no, no. Her inbox was filled with questions from women wanting to know how to handle men exactly like him, and while she might be excellent at giving advice, her expertise ended there.
Somehow sensing he was the topic of conversation, Valentine wagged his tail hard.
She’d found him abandoned when he was still a puppy.
She still remembered the look on his face. A little startled and a lot hurt, as if he couldn’t quite believe someone had actually chosen to dump him in the gutter rather than keep him. As if that action had caused him to question everything he had ever believed about himself.
She knew the feeling.
They’d found each other, two lost souls, and bonded instantly.
“I called him Valentine because he has a heart-shaped nose.” That was the only detail she was prepared to share. Time to leave. Before she said something, or did something, that might lead her on a path she had no intention of walking. “Enjoy your run.”
“Wait—” He put out a hand to stop her. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you. You live near here?”
The knowledge that he’d been watching her while she’d been watching him gave her pulse rate another workout.
“Near enough.”
“Then I’ll be seeing you again. I’m Daniel.” He held out his hand and she took it, her body ignoring the warnings of her brain. She felt his fingers close around hers, the pressure firm. She imagined he knew what to do with those hands and imagining it gave her that breathless feeling that made it difficult to think properly.
She was having trouble focusing, and in the meantime he was looking at her expectantly, waiting.
“Let’s try this again,” he murmured. “I’m Daniel, and you’re—”
Her name. He was waiting for her to tell him her name. And judging from the amusement in his eyes he knew exactly why she was tongue-tied.
“Molly.” There were still days when it felt unnatural using that name, which was illogical because Molly was her name. Or one of them. The fact that she’d only started using that name since she’d moved to New York shouldn’t matter.
She gave him no more than that but still she saw him file it away and knew it would be remembered. She sensed he wasn’t a man who forgot much. He was smart. But even if he found out her last name and looked her up, he still wouldn’t find anything. She’d checked.
“Join me for a coffee, Molly.” He released her hand. “I know a great little place near here that makes the best coffee on the Upper East Side.”
It was somewhere between an invitation and a command. Smart and smooth. An effortless overture from a man who didn’t know the meaning of the word rejection.
But he was about to learn, because there was no way she would be joining him for coffee or anything else.
“Thanks, but I have to get to work. Enjoy your run, you and Brutus.”
She didn’t give him a chance to argue, or herself a chance to doubt her decision. Instead she ran. She ran through the dappled sunshine and the scent of blossoms, Valentine by her side and temptation nipping at her heels. She didn’t turn her head even though not doing so made her neck ache and was a bigger test on her willpower than anything she could remember for a long time. Was he watching her? Was he annoyed that she’d turned him down?
Only when she’d covered what she considered to be a safe distance did she slow her pace. They were close to one of the many ankle-level dog drinking fountains, and she stopped to catch her breath and let a thirsty Valentine drink his fill.
Join me for a coffee…
And then what?
And then nothing.
When it came to relationships she was great with the theory but bad in practice. How bad was a matter of public record. First came love. Then came pain.
You’re a relationship expert, but you’re hopeless at relationships. Do you even know how crazy that is?
Oh yes, she knew. And so did a few million strangers. Which was why these days she was sticking with the theory.
And as for smooth lawyer Daniel, she guessed it would take him around five minutes to forget everything about her.
* * *
He couldn’t get her out of his mind.
Annoyed and a little intrigued by the novelty of that experience, Daniel pressed the buzzer and Harriet opened the door.
He smelled fresh coffee and something delicious baking in the oven.
“How was your run?” She had a tiny Chihuahua under her arm and Daniel clamped his hand on Brutus’s collar, intercepting the enthusiastic surge of energy that was about to propel the dog through the door.
“Are you seriously going to leave these two together? Brutus would eat him in one mouthful.”
Harriet looked confused. “Who is Brutus?”
“This is Brutus.” Daniel removed the lead and the German shepherd bounded into the apartment, his tail smacking into one of Harriet’s plants and scattering soil and blooms across the floor.
Harriet put the tiny dog down and picked up the shattered remains of her pot without complaint. “That dog is called Ruffles. And he’s too big for this apartment.”
“I refuse to stand in the middle of Central Park and call for ‘Ruffles,’ so I renamed him. Do I smell coffee?”
“You can’t rename a dog.”
“You can if someone was stupid enough to name him Ruffles in the first place.” Daniel strolled into the bright, sunlit kitchen and helped himself to coffee. “What sort of name is that for a big macho dog? It will give him an identity crisis.”
“It’s the name he was given,” Harriet said patiently. “It’s the name he knows and responds to.”
“It’s a name that embarrasses him. I’ve done him a favor.” Daniel took a mouthful of coffee and checked his watch. There were always demands on his time, and lately there was never enough time, a factor due in part to the extended length of his morning run.
“You’re later than usual. Did something happen? Did she finally talk to you?” Harriet threw the shards of pottery away and carefully scooped up what was left of her plant.
Daniel knew that the moment he left she’d be repotting it carefully and giving it whatever attention it needed to make a full recovery.
“Yeah, we talked.” If the few words they’d exchanged could be counted as talking. He’d asked a few questions. She’d responded. But her responses had been brief and designed to offer him no encouragement whatsoever. She’d made it clear she was more interested in his dog than in him, which might have crushed the spirit of a man with less knowledge about relationships.
Although there had been no verbal indication that she was interested, there had been nonverbal cues.
In the fleeting second before the barriers had gone up, he’d seen interest.
He wondered who was responsible for those barriers. A man, presumably. A relationship gone bad. He saw plenty of examples in his working day. People who had affairs, grew apart or simply fell out of love. Love was a chocolate box of heartbreak and disaster. Pick your flavor.
“She talked to you?” Harry’s face brightened. “What did she say?”
Very little.
“We’re taking it slowly.”
“In other words she’s not interested.” Fliss walked into the kitchen. She was wearing yoga pants, a sweatshirt and a pair of black running shoes with a neon purple flash. She grabbed her keys from the countertop. “Obviously a woman of sense. Either that or you’re losing your touch. So does this mean you won’t be walking Ruffles tomorrow?”
“I’m not losing my touch and yes, I’ll be walking Brutus. And, by the way, he has a few behavioral issues, the most significant of which is not coming when he is called.”
“That must be a whole new experience for you.”
“Very funny. Any tips?”
“I don’t have any advice to offer on relationships except maybe don’t do it.”
“I was talking about the dog.”
“Oh. Well, you could start by calling him by a name he actually recognizes.” Fliss made for the door. “And if he has behavioral issues, then at least that’s one thing the two of you have in common.”
Three (#ulink_054c8c26-d969-58bd-b53b-dc1e1c5d3d04)
Dear Aggie, if there are plenty of fish in the sea, why is my net always empty?
Molly let herself into her apartment, dropped her keys into the bowl by the door and headed straight to the shower.
Ten minutes later she was back at her computer. Valentine curled up in a basket underneath her desk and put his head on his paws.
Sunlight flowed in through the windows, bouncing off the polished oak floor and illuminating the handwoven rug she’d picked up from a textile design studio she’d discovered on a trip to Union Square. In one corner of the room was a large wooden giraffe that her father had shipped to her from a trip to Africa. No one glancing at her overflowing bookshelves would have been able to discern much about her character. Biographies and classics nestled against crime fiction and romance. Also on the shelf were a few remaining author copies of her first book, Mate for Life, Tools for Meeting Your Perfect Life Partner.
Do as I say, don’t do as I do, she thought. She’d dedicated it to her father, but probably should have dedicated it to Rupert. For Rupert, without whom this book would never have been written.
But to do that would have meant risking exposure, and she had no intention of letting anyone discover the real person behind “Dr. Aggie.”
No. Her father was the safest option. That way she could ensure that everything she’d built stayed standing and she could push the whole Rupert episode, as her father called it, into a mental box labeled Life Experience.
When she’d first moved to New York, she’d shared a room in a dingy walk-up in the outer reaches of Brooklyn with three women who had an addiction to beer pong and all-night parties. After six months of panting up one hundred and ninety-two stairs (she’d counted every one) and taking the subway into Manhattan, Molly had blown the last of her savings on a small one-bedroom on the second floor of a building several blocks away from Central Park. She’d fallen in love with the apartment on sight, and with the building, with its cheerful green door and iron railings.
She’d fallen in love with her neighbors, too. On the ground floor was a young couple with a baby and one floor above them was Mrs. Winchester, a widow who had lived in the same apartment for sixty years. She had a habit of losing her keys, so now Molly kept a spare set. Directly above Molly were Gabe and Mark. Gabe worked in advertising and Mark was a children’s book illustrator.
She’d met them on her first night in her apartment when she was trying to fix a misbehaving lock on her door. Gabe had fixed it, and Mark had made her dinner. They’d been friends ever since and new friends, she’d discovered, were sometimes more reliable than old ones.
The friends she’d had from childhood had abandoned her in droves when her life had fallen apart, reluctant to be sucked down into the deadly quicksand of her humiliation. At first there had been a few supportive phone calls, but as the situation had worsened, the support and friendship had trickled to nothing. They’d behaved as if her shame was infectious. As if by standing side by side with her, they might catch whatever she had.
And in a way she didn’t blame them. She understood the hell of having reporters camped outside the house and of having your reputation shredded online. Who needed that?
Plenty of people wanted fame and fortune but no one, it seemed, ever wanted to trend on Twitter.
It had made her decision to leave London even easier. She’d started a new life, complete with a new name. Here in New York, she’d met new people. People who didn’t know. The people in her apartment block were wonderful, and so was the Upper East Side. Amidst the vast grid of tree-canopied streets and avenues, she’d discovered a neighborhood flooded with New York history and tradition. She loved it all, from the ornate prewar co-op buildings and brownstone row houses to the classic mansions along Fifth Avenue. It felt like home and she had her favorite haunts. When she couldn’t be bothered to cook she’d nip out and pick up a panini or homemade pastry from Via Quadronno between Madison and Fifth, and when she felt like celebrating she’d head to Ladurée and indulge herself in a selection of macarons.
She’d explored Manhattan and discovered hidden salsa clubs, arts clubs, jazz clubs. She roamed the galleries, the Met, the Frick and the Guggenheim. But her favorite place was the sprawling expanse of Central Park, a brisk ten-minute walk from her small apartment. She and Valentine spent hours exploring hidden corners together.
She flicked on her laptop and reached for her water while she waited for the machine to boot. Her desk was cluttered. Papers stacked high, scribbles and notes, two coffee mugs abandoned and forgotten. When she worked, she focused and that included blocking out the mess.
When her phone rang she checked the caller ID and answered immediately. “Dad! How are you doing?” She listened as her father told her about his latest adventure. He’d moved from London a few months before her embarrassing fall from grace, something for which she would forever be thankful. Having retired from his job in an electronics company, he’d bought himself an RV and proceeded on an epic road trip of the continental US, exploring his homeland state by state. In a dusty, sunbaked town in Arizona he’d met Carly and they’d been together ever since.
Molly had met her once and liked her, but what she liked most of all was that her father was so happy. She remembered watching him, stumbling his way through those first few years after her mother had left, his confidence drowned in the wake of monumental rejection.
She couldn’t remember exactly when she’d started encouraging him to date. It had started in school, during her teenage years, when she’d realized that she was more interested in observing other people’s relationships than in having one herself. And observing had uncovered an ability to match people up. She could see it so clearly. Who would be good together and who wouldn’t. Whose relationship would last, and whose would crash on the rocks at the first sign of rough seas. Word had spread that she had a gift. And she loved using that gift. Why not? It was hard to find the right person in this crowded, crazy world. Sometimes people needed a little help.
They’d called her The Matchmaker. Which was a lot better than the name she’d earned herself a few years later.
At school, most of her lunchtimes and a large chunk of her evenings were taken up giving relationship advice. Having seen her father exhaust himself trying to please her mother and failing, she’d always encouraged people to be themselves. If you weren’t loved for who you were, a relationship had no future. She knew that. If you weren’t enough for someone, you’d never be enough.
No matter how hard he’d tried, her father hadn’t been enough for her mother.
Molly hadn’t been enough for her mother either.
Her father’s voice boomed down the phone, dragging her back to the present. “How’s my girl?”
“I’m good.” She deleted a few spam emails with a stab of her finger. “Busy. Working on proofs of my next book.”
“Always helping other people with their relationships. How about your own? And I’m not talking about Valentine.”
“I have plenty of men in my life, Dad. I have a packed schedule. Tuesday and Friday is salsa dancing, Thursday is spin class, Wednesday is cooking class, Monday is theater group—there are men at all those places.”
“But you’re single.”
“That’s right. It’s because I’m single I can do all those things.”
“Relationships are important, honey. You’re the one who always told me that.”
“I have relationships. I had supper with Gabe and Mark a few nights ago. Mark is taking an Italian cookery class. His tortellini is incredible, you should taste it.”
“Gabe and Mark are gay.”
“So? They’re my closest friends.” Although she’d never truly tested that friendship, of course. She’d discovered to her cost that the test of true friendship was whether you were willing to stand by someone being named and shamed. She seriously hoped she never had to test that out again. “And friendship is a relationship. They’re great listeners and very happy together. It’s good to be around them.”
“You know you’re a hypocrite? All those years you tried to pair me up with someone and told me to take the risk, but you won’t take the risk yourself.”
“That’s different. I didn’t like seeing you on your own. You have wonderful qualities that were crying out to be shared with someone special.”
“You have wonderful qualities, too, Molly.” He made a little sound. “Still feels weird calling you that.”
“It’s my name, Dad.”
“But not one we ever used until you moved to New York. Do you feel like Molly?”
“I definitely feel like Molly. I like being Molly. And I share Molly’s qualities with a bunch of people who appreciate them.”
A sigh reverberated down the phone. “I worry about you. I worry this is all my fault. I feel responsible.”
“You’re not responsible.” It was a conversation they’d had numerous times over the years, despite the fact that in the weeks and months after her mother had left, Molly had only ever cried in the bathroom where her father couldn’t witness her distress. The rest of the time she pretended she was coping well because she hadn’t wanted to make it worse for him. It was hideously unjust, she thought, that he felt guilty about something over which he’d had no control.
“Carly read your book. She thinks you have abandonment issues.”
“She’s right. I do. But I came to terms with that a long time ago.” Molly picked up her pen and started doodling on the pad next to her desk. Maybe she should get a coloring book. They were the latest non-medicinal stress reliever. She glanced at Valentine. “Maybe I could use a black marker pen and join your dots.”
“What?” Her father sounded confused. “Why are you using marker pen?”
“I’m not. It was a joke. Dad, you need to stop worrying about me. I’m the psychologist in this relationship.”
“I know, and I know people talk to you about everything. But who do you talk to, honey? Do something for me. Go on a date. Do it for me.”
“Do you have anyone in mind? Or should I just grab the first person I meet on the street?” She thought about the man in the park with the wicked blue eyes and the sexy smile. Just thinking about him was enough to get her heart pumping a little harder.
“If that’s what it takes. Just get out there. Get your confidence back. In all those things you go to, you’re telling me you haven’t met a single man who has gained your attention?”
“Not one.” Molly glanced at Valentine, pleased that he couldn’t talk. If he could, right now he’d be calling her a liar. “So where are you and Carly going next?”
“Traveling north to Oregon. We’re going to hike part of the Pacific Crest Trail.”
“Have fun and send me photos.”
“Carly has started a blog, You’re Never Too Old to Be Bold.”
“I’ll take a look. And now I need to go, I have a ton of work to do. Go and be bold. Only try not to do it in public. And give Carly my love.” With a smile, she ended the call and returned to her computer.
She was happy being single. And if that seemed like a strange admission for someone who specialized in relationships, she didn’t care. These days she separated her work life from her real life.
Her mind wandered back to the guy in the park. For a few forbidden seconds she wondered what it would be like to be with a man like him and then she snapped herself back to the present.
She knew what it would be like to be with a man like him. Trauma and trouble.
She wasn’t going to wonder if she was a coward for not accepting his offer of coffee.
It wasn’t cowardice, it was common sense.
It meant that she’d learned from experience, and experience told her that an invitation to coffee didn’t stop there. It was a beginning, not an end, and she wasn’t in the mood to begin anything. Especially not with a man like Daniel. Daniel…? She realized she didn’t know his last name.
She opened an email and read the question.
Dear Aggie, my mother picked out sexy underwear for my girlfriend but she’s refusing to wear it. Why?
With a groan of despair, Molly sat back in her chair and reached for her water.
Was the guy serious?
Because nothing says “I care” like underwear picked out by your mother.
Some men didn’t have a clue.
She sighed and started to type.
Not only was she making a good living by doing what she did, she was performing a public service.
* * *
The next day there was no sign of him.
Valentine ran in circles, sniffing the ground and the air, looking hopeful. When it was obvious that he was going to be playing alone he sent her a long reproachful look.
“Not my fault.” Molly paused to draw breath. “Or maybe it is my fault. I gave him the brush-off, but trust me, it was the right thing to do. Let’s go.”
Valentine sat, refusing to budge.
“There is no point in us hanging around because I can tell you now he’s not going to show. And that’s good. I’m glad he’s not here.” She felt an unfamiliar tug in her gut. “You have a lot to learn about relationships. They’re complicated. Even friendships. My advice is to lower your expectations. People let you down and disappoint you. I’m guessing dogs might be the same. Looking out for Brutus is a very bad thing.”
Valentine ignored her and sniffed the ground, passing up the company of a sleek-looking Labrador and an overenthusiastic bulldog in his search for his preferred companion.
Breathless from her run, Molly stretched and then sat down on a bench.
That feeling inside her couldn’t possibly be disappointment, could it? She’d spoken to him once. Once, that was all.
But they’d been exchanging glances for a week, and those glances had shifted from a look to a smile, and then the smile had shifted from polite to personal. The result was that she felt as if she’d known him for a while.
Annoyed with herself, she stood up and was about to continue with her run when Valentine gave an ecstatic bark and all but pulled the lead from her hand.
She turned her head and there was Daniel, strolling toward her, Brutus’s lead in his right hand and a tray filled with four cups in his left.
Even from this distance he was striking. A female jogger slowed her pace as she passed him, turning her head to check whether the rear view was as good as the front, but Daniel didn’t spare her a glance. Molly wondered if attracting female attention was so much a part of his life that he no longer noticed it.
Or maybe the reason he didn’t notice was that his gaze was fixed on her.
As he drew closer, her heart bumped hard against her ribs. Her dormant sexuality woke from its long sleep and awareness spread across her skin and settled somewhere deep in her belly. The knowledge that she wanted him came with a tremor of shock.
It brought back memories of the first time she’d met Rupert. It had been like touching an electric fence. Five thousand volts of pure sexual energy had shot through her, frying her brain and fusing her entire early warning system. Deprived of its protection, she’d stumbled blindly into that relationship, forgetting her personal limitations in that area. She’d recognized later, while analyzing it with the benefit of hindsight, that she’d been dazzled.
She’d never allowed herself to be dazzled again. No more broken hearts.
Dear Aggie, there’s this guy I really like, but I sense that getting involved with him would be a bad idea. On the otherhand he makes me feel the way no other man ever has. What should I do?
You should listen to the voice telling you it’s a bad idea and run, Molly thought. Sprint, don’t jog. Sprint fast in the opposite direction.
The past three years had all been about rebuilding her career and her confidence. She wasn’t about to do anything that might threaten that.
There were areas of the park where dogs were allowed off the lead at certain times of the day, and this was one of them, so she let Valentine off the lead and he bounded toward Brutus, greeting him with tail-wagging ecstasy.
She removed the cap from her water and took a few hasty swallows.
Had he seen her sitting? Did he think she’d been waiting, hoping to see him?
She wished now that she’d carried on running.
Her father was right. She was a hypocrite. If she’d been offering advice she would have warned women to stay away from him, or at least be wary, and here she was as eager to see him as Valentine was to see Brutus.
“Sorry I’m late.” His smile would have lit a dark night and she felt something flutter behind her ribs.
It was a good job she was excellent at resisting men, otherwise she’d be in trouble.
“What are you late for?” She managed to sound normal. Relaxed. But it was all for nothing because his smile told her he knew she’d been waiting. And hoping.
She was sure that a man like him was used to women waiting and hoping.
How many hearts had he broken? How many dreams had he shattered?
“I would have been here ten minutes ago but the line was longer than usual.”
“The line?”
“At the coffee shop. Since you refused to come with me for a coffee, I brought the drinks to you.”
She’d come to the conclusion long ago that there were two types of people in life. There was the type who saw an obstacle and gave up, and then there was the type like him—people who ignored the obstacle and simply found a different way to reach their goal.
“I don’t drink cappuccino.”
“Which is why I bought tea. You’re British, so you have to drink tea.” Still holding Brutus, he sat. “English Breakfast or Earl Grey? That I couldn’t figure out.”
“So which did you bring?”
“Both. I’m a man who likes to cover all bases.”
“Are you always this persistent?”
He smiled, untangling Brutus from the lead with his free hand. “Fortune does not favor those who give up at the first hurdle.”
“Old Chinese proverb?”
“All American. One of mine. Sit. I said sit.”
Molly raised her eyebrows. “Me or the dog?”
His eyes gleamed. “Both of you, but I’m guessing neither of you are going to listen. That’s how my day rolls.”
She didn’t sit, but she did smile. “What if I tell you I only drink peppermint?”
“Then I’m screwed.” He fed the lead under Brutus’s leg in an attempt to untangle it. “But you don’t seem to me to be a ‘peppermint’ type of woman. Maybe you don’t drink coffee, but you need your caffeine.”
“I do drink coffee. But not cappuccino. And I happen to love Earl Grey tea.”
“I’ll try not to be smug.” He handed her one of the cups. “Earl Grey. With a slice of lemon.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I never joke about beverages, especially after the week I’ve had. Caffeine is my drug of choice, during the daytime at least.”
She watched as Brutus and Valentine played together. “We can let the dogs off the lead here.”
“Brutus isn’t good at coming back when he’s called.”
“He’ll come back if Valentine is here.”
He evaluated the risk and then unclipped the lead. “You’d better be right about this or I have a feeling that the next time I see him I’m going to be picking him up from New Jersey.”
“He’ll come. Watch. Valentine!”
Valentine skidded to a halt and turned to look at her. Then he shot toward her and Brutus followed.
“Good boy.” She made a fuss and sent him off again.
“Do you have that effect on all guys?”
“Always.” She peeled the top off her cup to cool the tea. “I can’t believe we’re sitting on a bench in Central Park and I’m drinking Earl Grey tea with lemon.” She sat next to him on the bench, leaving enough space between them to be sure her leg wouldn’t accidentally brush against his. If talking to him had this effect on her, she didn’t want to risk touching. “Do you ever take no for an answer?”
“Only when no is the answer I want. And in this case it wasn’t.”
Laughter drifted across to them and she glanced up and saw a woman in a long white bridal dress embracing a man in a suit while a photographer snapped away. The couple staged a few intimate embraces and Molly wished they’d picked a different place for their photos. The scene made her feel awkward. It didn’t feel as if it was something she should be witnessing, especially not with a stranger.
“Never understood the point of that.” Daniel stretched out his legs, as relaxed as she was tense. “Staged photos. As if they need to make a public statement about how happy they are.”
“Maybe they are happy.”
“Maybe.” He turned his head to look at her. “You believe in Happy Ever After?”
There was something about the intensity of that gaze that made it hard to remember what she believed about anything.
“Of course.” She believed in it for other people, just not for herself. Happy Ever After Together was her goal for other people. Her own goal was Happy By Herself. And she was doing well with that. “I guess it’s a good time of year for wedding photos. The blossom is pretty.”
“Let’s hope they don’t look back on those photos in five years’ time and think, ‘what the hell were we thinking?’”
It was exactly the sort of remark she might have made herself, except in her case she would have also been wondering how they met and what they had in common. Would it last?
“I gather you’re not married.” She took a sip of her tea, thinking that a man like him, who probably had the pick of women, was unlikely to tie himself to just one.
“I’m not married. How about you? Have you left some guy sated and exhausted in the bedroom?”
“Ten guys. There’s a chance they may never recover. If they’re still there when I get home, I’m calling an ambulance.”
He laughed. “The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew that about you. If you’re ever looking for one guy to replace the ten, you know where I am.”
“You have the stamina of ten?”
“Want to test it out?”
“Not right now.” This was the type of exchange she was comfortable with. The type that went nowhere and was all superficial. And he was good at it. Good at that breathless, heady flirtation that was as light as a butterfly and just as unlikely to linger in one spot. “How about you? Do you have ten women waiting at home?”
“I hope not. I’m pretty sure I locked the door.”
He was so outrageous it was impossible not to laugh, too.
“You don’t believe in marriage?” The moment the question left her mouth, she regretted it. She wished she had picked an impersonal topic, like the unpredictable weather, or the sudden rush of tourists crowding the New York streets. Anything other than the intimate topic of relationships. Now he’d think she was invested in the answer, and then he’d wonder if, for her, this was more than a cup of tea on a park bench on a sunny spring morning.
“I’ve taken a lot of risks in my life—parachute jumping, BASE jumping—never marriage.” His tone suggested that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon.
“You see marriage as a risk?”
“Of course it’s a risk. If you find the right person, I’m sure marriage is great. But finding the right person—” he shrugged “—that’s the hard part. Easier to get it wrong than get it right. How about you?”
The dogs chased each other back to the bench and Daniel leaned forward to make a fuss over Brutus. She saw his shirt pull tight over his shoulders, molding to powerful muscle.
“Never.” She watched as he picked up one of the other cups and took a sip. “Who is the fourth cup for?”
“Me.”
“You bought yourself two drinks? You have a problem with decision making?”
“No. I have a problem with staying awake when I work until two in the morning. As I said, it’s my drug of choice. I need two coffees in the morning. These are my two coffees. So what do you do, Molly? No—let me guess. Your dog is well trained and you’re clearly a strict disciplinarian so you could be a teacher, but I sense that you’re not. I think whatever it is you do, you’re your own boss. You’re clearly smart, so I figure you have your own business. You work from home, maybe? Somewhere close to here. Writer? Journalist? Am I right?”
“To a point.” She felt herself instinctively retreat. She reminded herself that she worked under a pseudonym. It was like sliding on a disguise. “I do some writing as part of my job, but I’m not a journalist.”
“What do you write? Or are you going to make me guess? Is it dirty? If so, I definitely want to read it.”
She knew enough about human nature to know that not telling him would simply make the subject more interesting. “I’m a psychologist.”
“So you’re analyzing my behavior.” He lowered his cup. “I don’t mind admitting that’s a little unsettling. And now I’m going back over our conversation trying to remember what I said. On the other hand you’re still sitting here so it couldn’t have been anything too bad.”
She was still sitting here, and no one was more surprised about that than she was.
“Maybe I’m still sitting here because I think you’re a lost cause who needs help.”
He nodded. “I’m definitely that.” He watched as Brutus and Valentine played a rough game that involved rolling on the grass. “So are you going to take me on?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said I need help. It’s only fair to give me that help. If you want me to come and lie on your couch, that works for me.”
“You wouldn’t fit on my couch. How tall are you? Six-two?”
“Six-three.”
“Like I said. Too big.” In fact he was too everything. Too handsome. Too charming. Too much of a threat to her equilibrium.
As if to confirm that, he smiled at her. Might as well have turned a blowtorch on to ice, she thought, feeling herself melt. “It won’t make a difference if you smile at me. You still won’t fit on my couch.”
“You don’t need to worry.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I promise to be gentle with you.”
“Oh please—did you really say that?” Because her hand shook, she sloshed tea over her leggings. “Ow!” She sprang to her feet and his smile turned to concern.
“Take them off.”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny. I’m serious. Basic first aid for burns. The fabric will carry on burning your leg.”
“I am not removing my pants in the park.” But she tugged the Lycra away from her skin and sure enough the burning eased.
“I’m sorry.” He sounded genuinely contrite.
“Why are you sorry?” She grabbed a handful of napkins and pressed them against her thigh. “I was the one who spilled my tea.”
“But only because I made you nervous.” His voice was soft, his gaze intimate, as if they’d shared something personal.
“You didn’t make me nervous,” she lied. “I’m not used to sexual innuendo this early in the morning. Or men like you. You’re—”
“Cute? Irresistible? Interesting?”
“I was thinking more of annoying, predictable and inappropriate.”
His smile promised fun and sin and a thousand things she didn’t dare think about while she had hot tea in her hand.
“I made you nervous. And flustered. And if I were to analyze you, I’d say you’re a woman who hates to feel either of those things.”
Flustered? Oh yes, she was flustered. Being close to him made her feel light-headed and dizzy. She was agonizingly aware of every single detail, from the dark masculinity of his unshaven jaw, to the wicked glint in his eyes. But beneath the humor was a sharp eye for detail, and that worried her more than anything.
She had a feeling he saw far more than people usually did.
It was like hiding in a cupboard and knowing that someone was right outside the door waiting for you to reveal yourself.
And that was closer than she ever let anyone step.
“Thanks for the tea.” She threw the cup away and reached for Valentine’s lead.
“Wait.” He reached out and caught her hand. “Don’t go.”
“I have to work.” It was true, although that wasn’t why she was leaving. She knew it. He knew it. Conversation, a light flirtation—that was all fine. She didn’t want more. “Goodbye, Daniel. Have a great day.” She whistled to Valentine, put him back on his lead and took off through the park without looking back.
Tomorrow she was going to take a different route.
There was no way she was going to risk bumping into him again.
No way.
Four (#ulink_1d02d764-11ec-58b0-ac0a-d94b846bad1e)
He didn’t have a great day. He had a frustrating, long and tiring day during which Molly kept popping up in his thoughts. He wondered where she went after she’d run in the park. He wondered who her friends were and what sort of life she led. He had a million questions about her, and very few answers.
Most of all he wondered what he’d said to make her run off.
He’d enjoyed the snap and spark of the conversation, the flirtation. It was the verbal equivalent of waterskiing— speeding and bouncing over the surface, but never delving into the deeper, murky waters below. It suited him fine, because he had no interest in going deeper.
He guessed she was the same.
He knew from the look on her face that she had issues. He’d seen that same look across his desk more times than he could count and he recognized the shadows of hurt. It didn’t worry him. He’d never met a human being over the age of twenty who didn’t have some issues. That was what being alive did for you. If you engaged in life, eventually you’d have scars to show for it.
He wondered who was responsible for Molly’s scars.
It was that urge to know more that drew him back to the park the next morning, with Brutus tugging at his lead. It didn’t occur to him that she might not show up. For a start she had to walk Valentine, and something told him she wasn’t going to change her habits in order to avoid him, so he took the usual path, Brutus by his side.
Without Valentine to keep him in line there was a strong chance the dog wasn’t going to come back, so he kept him on the lead. He’d even yelled “Ruffles” once to see if that made a difference but all that had done was confirm what Daniel already suspected, that the dog didn’t have a problem recognizing his name. He had a problem recognizing authority.
As someone who had grown up challenging and questioning, Daniel empathized.
He was hauling the dog’s nose out of a muddy puddle when Valentine appeared.
There was no sign of Molly.
“Where is she?” Daniel stooped to pat the Dalmatian. He was no expert, but even he could see that Valentine was a beautiful dog. And that heart-shaped nose was pretty cute. “Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong. I need a heart-shaped nose to win her over.”
He was wondering whether he should hold on to the dog or let him go, when Molly appeared, out of breath and annoyed.
“Valentine!” She reached them and frowned at the dog. “What did you think you were doing?”
Valentine wagged his tail hard.
It seemed to Daniel that whatever the dog had thought he was doing, he’d done it.
He guessed Molly hadn’t intended to walk this way today, but what the hell. She was here. That was all that mattered.
Today she was wearing a pair of running leggings that clung to her body in a swirl of purple and black. Her sleek dark ponytail curved like a question mark over her back.
Daniel unclipped Brutus’s lead and he sprinted off with Valentine. “Whenever I let him off the lead, I worry that might be the last I see of him. I only let him off when Valentine is here.”
“Valentine never usually runs off.” She frowned after the dog. “I don’t understand it.”
“I guess he wanted to play with his best friend. Look how happy they are.” He gambled on the fact that seeing her dog so content would stop her leaving and judging from her smile, he was right. She’d decided to forgive the dog for his transgression. “So how do you persuade a dog to come back when you call?”
“Training.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
“Then you’re in trouble.”
He loved the way her eyes lit up. He loved the tiny dimple that flickered at the corner of her mouth. He loved the way her hair whipped across her back when she ran. He loved the way she ran like she owned the park. He loved the way she loved her dog—
He was definitely in trouble.
“Are you in the mood for an Earl Grey tea? Say the word.” He couldn’t believe he was suggesting tea when what he really wanted was champagne, moonlight and her naked.
“What’s the word? Please?”
“Fetch.”
The smile turned into a laugh. “You ‘fetched’ last time. It’s my turn.”
He liked the way that sounded, as if this was something regular that was going to happen again. “But then I’d have to watch the dogs, and you’re the responsible adult.”
“You’re not responsible?”
He looked at her mouth. “I’ve been known to be irresponsible once in a while.”
* * *
Molly sat on the bench, watching the dogs play. Irresponsible? Irresponsible was her sitting here waiting for him to come back instead of finishing her run and going home.
She’d started the day being responsible. She’d taken a different route on her run, but Valentine had protested. He’d sprinted away and for the first time ever had refused to come back when she’d called him. And now she was here again, on their bench, waiting for Daniel.
It was still superficial, she reminded herself. It was everything light and fun.
A heart couldn’t break if it wasn’t engaged.
“Tell me about him,” she said to Brutus, but he was too busy trying to bite Valentine’s ear to pay any attention.
Daniel returned as Brutus was tangling himself with Valentine. “I don’t suppose you specialize in dog psychology? My dog needs help.”
She took the tea from him, careful not to touch his fingers. “I’m better at understanding human behavior.”
“Behavioral psychology? That’s what you do?”
“Yes.” She saw no reason not to be honest about that.
“And do you prefer good behavior or bad behavior?” His smoky voice slid under her skin. She sensed this man could deliver a hefty dose of bad when it suited him, probably another thing that made him a magnet for women.
“Most people are a mixture of both. I observe. I don’t judge.”
“Everyone judges.” He took another mouthful of coffee. “So what does a behavioral psychologist do? Do you ever advise on relationships?”
“Yes.”
He lowered the cup. “So if you’re a psychologist, and you’ve studied this stuff, all your relationships must be perfect.”
She almost laughed, but knowing it would be a hysterical sound she held it back.
It was surprising how many people assumed her relationships would be perfect. It was like expecting a doctor never to get sick.
“You’re right. My relationships are all totally perfect.”
“You’re lying. No one’s relationship is perfect.” He glanced from her to Valentine. “And you’re here in the park every morning with your dog, which tells me he’s your most meaningful relationship.”
The conversation had somehow edged into the personal and she instinctively backed away. “I agree that no one’s relationships are perfect. The best you can do is make them perfect for you.”
He stretched out his legs, relaxed and comfortable. “Perfect, for me, would be short. I don’t like to get involved past a certain point. Judging by the way you react, I’m guessing you’re the same.”
He guessed correctly. And she couldn’t help being curious.
“You’re afraid of intimacy?” Why was she even having this conversation? What was wrong with her? She should be drinking her tea and leaving.
“I’m not afraid of intimacy. It’s more that I don’t have time for the demands that come with intimacy. My job is pretty all-consuming and in the time I have to myself, I don’t want complications.”
“That’s common among people with avoidance issues.”
“You think I have avoidance issues?”
“Love avoidance.” She noticed Valentine nosing something in the grass and stood up to pull him away from it. “People who avoid intimacy often do so because they’re afraid of being hurt. It’s a self-protection mechanism. Typically those in avoidance relationships don’t introduce their partner to friends and relatives because they don’t think the relationship will last long enough. They use a variety of distancing techniques. And it isn’t really about the current relationship, but about what has happened in the past. Often the roots of the problem are established in childhood. They are often people who didn’t establish a proper parent-child dynamic and healthy bonding.”
“My childhood wasn’t what you might call nurturing, but I put that behind me a long time ago. If you’re wondering about the origin of my views on relationships, I can assure you it has nothing to do with my parents. I’m not the sort of person who believes in carrying the past into the future.”
“Everyone carries at least a little of their past.”
“So what are you carrying?”
She’d walked right into that. “We were talking about you.”
“But now I’d like to talk about you. Or do you always deflect conversation when it becomes personal?”
“I don’t deflect.” She sighed. “All right, maybe I do. Sometimes. You asked me if my dog is my most meaningful relationship. The answer is yes, right now he is. I’m enjoying the simplicity of my life.”
“So are you avoiding intimacy?” He mimicked her question and she gave a reluctant laugh.
“Definitely. And I’ve never been happier.”
“So if we carry on seeing each other, are you going to be analyzing my every move?”
“We’re not going to carry on seeing each other. We’re having a conversation in the park, that’s all.”
“You already know me better than the last three women I dated, and you’re telling me that’s it?” He was smiling, and it was the smile that proved her downfall. That and a late night updating Ask a Girl, which had left her tired and lowered her defenses.
Sleep deprivation had a lot to answer for.
She sipped her tea, almost spilling the last of it as Brutus nudged her leg.
“Sit.” Daniel gave the dog a severe look. “This animal is out of control.”
“He needs to know who is boss.”
“He thinks he’s the boss. It’s a problem we’re addressing.”
“Brutus!” Molly said his name firmly but the dog didn’t even turn his head. “Maybe it’s not a behavioral problem. Is there something wrong with his hearing?”
“Not to my knowledge. Why?”
“Because he doesn’t seem to know his own name. It’s unusual for a dog to ignore his name, even if he ignores the command that goes with it. Hey—Brutus.” She pulled a dog treat out of her pocket and the dog’s head turned like a whip. “You know your name when there’s food involved. Why doesn’t that surprise me? How long have you had him?”
“Not long. How long have you had Valentine?”
“Three years.”
“Is that when you moved to New York?”
Molly reminded herself that thousands of people moved to New York every day. He wasn’t likely to take her picture and do an image search. “Yes.”
“What brought you to the US?”
Romantic disasters.
Professional and personal humiliation.
She could have given him a list.
“Career advancement. And I have family here. My dad is American. Born in Connecticut.”
“Career? For a moment I wondered if it was heartbreak.” He studied her face. “So do you think you’ll go back at some point?”
“No.” She kept her smile in place and her tone light. “I love New York City. I love my job, my apartment and my dog. Going back doesn’t interest me.”
“How about dinner?” Daniel reached down and stroked Valentine’s head. “Does that interest you?”
Molly watched, transfixed, as those long, strong fingers caressed her dog. Her pulse sped forward. Her insides tumbled and turned. And still she stared at those hands, watching as he seduced her dog with easy, comfortable strokes.
He’d asked her something. What was it? Why was it so hard to concentrate around him?
Dinner. That was it. Dinner. “You’re asking me to dinner?”
“Why not? You’re good company. I’d like to buy you something other than Earl Grey tea.”
There had been a time when she would have been tempted. She certainly would have been flattered. What woman wouldn’t? But that time had passed.
“I’m pretty busy right now.” She sprang to her feet, clumsy in her haste, and stepped on Valentine’s foot. He gave an outraged yelp and leaped away. “Sorry.” Racked by guilt, she stooped and kissed his head. “Sorry, baby. Did I hurt you?” Valentine wagged his tail, endlessly forgiving. “I should go.” She was aware that Daniel was watching her, his blue gaze speculative and a touch amused.
“I’m assuming you don’t have a fatal allergy to food, so I’m going to take that personally.”
“I don’t date guys I meet in the park.”
“How is it different from dating a guy you meet in a bar?”
“I don’t date them either.”
He finished his drink and rose, too. He was more than a head taller than her, his shoulders wide and powerful. His hair gleamed in the early morning sunshine. “What are you afraid of?”
“I turn you down and you assume I’m afraid? Isn’t that a little arrogant? Maybe I simply don’t want to have dinner with you.”
“Maybe. But then there’s the alternative possibility. That you do want to have dinner with me, and that is freaking you out.” Brutus nudged his leg, hopeful of another game, but Daniel kept his gaze fixed on Molly.
Awareness seeped through her skin and sank deep. “I’m not freaked out.”
“Good. Do you know the little French bistro two blocks from here? I’ll meet you there at eight. It’s a public place, so that should satisfy your ‘is he a stalker or a serial killer’ worries.”
“Even if I wanted to, I can’t. Today is Tuesday. Tuesday is salsa dancing.”
“Salsa dancing?”
“I go Tuesday and Friday nights whenever I’m free.”
“Who do you dance with?”
“Anyone. Everyone. It’s pretty casual.” And hot, sweaty, sexy and fun. Harmless fun. Nothing deep. Nothing serious. Nothing that made her feel the way she felt when she was with Daniel.
“So you’re happy to dance with strangers, but you won’t have dinner with one. How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is Wednesday.”
“And Wednesday is…? Tango?”
“Wednesday is Italian cooking class.”
“You’re learning Italian cooking?”
“I started recently. I want to make tortellini as well as my neighbor. If you’d tasted his tortellini, you’d understand.”
“Thursday?”
“Thursday is spin class.”
“I never understood the point of cycling hard to get nowhere. Saturday? Don’t tell me—Saturday is quilting.” The paths around them teemed with joggers, walkers and people pushing strollers, but they were focused on each other.
“Saturday I keep free. I usually meet up with friends.”
“Great. Eight o’clock Saturday it is. If you don’t want to meet me in a restaurant, you can cook. I’ll bring the champagne.” He was comfortable and relaxed, whereas she felt as if she was floundering in the deep end of a large swimming pool.
“If you want to eat dinner with me you can join me at Italian cooking class.”
He shook his head regretfully. “Italian cooking is Wednesday, and Wednesday is poker night.”
“You play poker? Of course you do.”
“Why ‘of course’?”
“Ruthless killer instinct combined with the ability to mask your emotions. I bet you’re good.”
“I’m good.” There was a devil in his eyes. “Want to find out how good?”
Her mouth dried. If he was flirting, she was going to ignore it. “I don’t play poker.”
His smile widened but he let it go. “It’s mostly an excuse to catch up with friends and drink alcoholic substances. I’m not that competitive.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment.”
He laughed. “I should take you along. You could read their minds and send me clues.”
“I’m a psychologist, not a clairvoyant.”
“So with this packed schedule of yours, when do you date?”
“I don’t.” Damn, she shouldn’t have said that. Not only did she sound like a loser, but a man like him would take it as a challenge. “I mean right now, I don’t date. I’m focusing on my work. I love my life exactly the way it is.”
“Now I understand why you do so much exercise.”
“Because I like keeping fit.”
“No, it’s because you’re not getting hot sex. So you have to find another way of relieving pent-up frustration and releasing endorphins.”
Molly gasped. “I am not frustrated! We don’t all walk around thinking about sex the whole time.” Until she’d met him. Since meeting him that was pretty much what she did.
“Not the whole time, but a lot of the time. And you must know that. You’re a psychologist. We cloak ourselves in the trappings of civility because that’s what society expects, but underneath we’re all driven by the same primal urges. Want to know what those are?” He leaned closer and she saw the devil gleam in his eyes. “To procreate and win bigger than the other guy.”
“This is why we are never having dinner.”
“We’re not having dinner because you’re too busy. And you’re too busy because you’ve substituted spin class and salsa for sex.”
“I would rather take a spin class than have sex with you.”
“Shouldn’t you have sex with me before you make that decision?” His smile widened and his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Maybe you’re turning down the night of your life, Molly-with-no-second-name.”
“I have a last name. I just don’t choose to share it with you.”
“One meal.” His voice was wicked temptation. “And if you’re bored, I’ll never bother you again.”
Bored? No woman would ever be bored with him. But they’d be a lot of other things. Most of all they’d be vulnerable. There was no male weapon more lethal than dangerous charm. And this guy had it in spades. “No thanks.”
He gave her a long, searching look. “So who made you scared, Molly? Who made you choose spin class and salsa over sex?”
She was so used to hiding herself, it shook her that he’d seen through her veneer.
“I need to go. Thanks for the tea.” She tossed the cup in the waste bin, grabbed Valentine and ran back through the park, taking a shortcut that led to her apartment.
He was right of course.
She was scared.
If you fell, next time you were more careful where you stepped. And she’d fallen hard.
Five (#ulink_f17ff513-8fc6-53b1-a039-af6e78179150)
“Daniel! Thank goodness you’re back. I need to talk to you about the summer party and you need to sign these.” Marsha, his assistant, met him at the door with a file full of papers and a list in her hand. “And Elisa Sutton is in your office.”
“Elisa? Happy birthday, by the way.”
“Happy would be a day at a spa. Instead, I’m here.” She pushed the file into his hands. “I hope you appreciate my loyalty.”
“I do, which is why a ridiculously extravagant bouquet of flowers is currently on its way to you. Now tell me about Elisa.”
“She turned up half an hour ago, desperate to talk to you.” Marsha lowered her voice. “I’ve sent out for more tissues. Last time she used a box and a half.”
“You’d probably cry a box and a half if you were married to her husband.”
“He’s a box and a half kind of guy. You’re the only man I know who is good with crying women. Why are you so patient?”
He’d had plenty of experience.
A vision of his mother flashed into his mind and he pushed it away.
He wasn’t a man to wallow in the past. He dealt with it and moved on. So why the hell had that image sneaked into his mind now?
The answer was Molly.
Molly, with her searching questions about his childhood.
She’d dug around in a wound and now it ached.
That, he thought grimly, was what happened when you went deeper than the superficial. There was a lot to be said for not getting to know a person better.
Annoyed with himself for allowing the situation to intrude on his day, he focused on work. “Divorce is always emotional. Handling it is my job.”
“It’s Max Carter’s job, too, but he just abandoned a client who was crying a river in his office. He said he was giving her time to ‘compose’ herself. If I didn’t know for a fact that the guy is a brilliant lawyer, I probably wouldn’t believe it. Are you mad that I let Mrs. Sutton into your office without an appointment? You can fire me if you like.”
“The day you leave is the day I leave. We’ll walk out of here together, clutching our dead houseplants.”
“Hey, I water those houseplants.”
“Then you need to stop watering them. They’re dying.”
“Maybe the clients have been crying into them. Or maybe they’re depressed. If I had to listen to all the sad stories you’re told, I’d be depressed, too.” Marsha had started working for him when her youngest daughter had left for college. The same day her divorce had become final. The divorce he’d handled.
Her maturity, humor and air of quiet calm made her invaluable.
“Do you know why Elisa is here?”
“No.” Marsha glanced toward the closed door and lowered her voice. “Last week she was in here crying over that lazy, cheating, no-good husband of hers, but today she’s smiling. Do you think she’s killed him and hidden the body? Should I refer her to one of our colleagues in criminal law?”
Daniel gave a flicker of a smile. “Let’s hold the decision on that.”
“Maybe she’s here to tell you she’s taken a lover. That might be the best revenge.”
“Maybe, but it would make the custody battle more complicated so I hope you’re wrong.” Whatever the reason for the sudden visit, Daniel was sure it wasn’t going to be good. “Why do you want to talk about the summer party?”
“Because I’m in charge of it and last year was a fiasco. We used Star Events and I had to deal with an awful woman with a power complex. I can’t remember her name, but I do remember wanting to punch her. Cynthia. Yes, that’s it. Can I use someone different?”
“Use anyone you like. As long as the alcohol flows, I don’t care.”
“There’s this fresh, young company called Urban Genie…”
“Owned by three very smart young women who were previously employed by Star Events. Paige, Frankie and Eva. Good idea. Use them.”
Marsha gaped at him. “Do you know everyone in New York City?”
“Matt Walker designed my roof terrace. He’s Paige’s older brother. And Urban Genie has done a lot to support my sisters’ dog-walking business. Not only that, they’re good. And they were fired by that ‘awful woman,’ which makes this karma.”
“You don’t believe in karma.”
“But you do. Call them.”
“I will.” She crossed it off her list. “Just a couple of things before you talk to Elisa—you’ve been invited by Phoenix Publishing to cocktails at the Met in a couple of weeks. Do I make your excuses?”
“Definitely.”
She crossed that off her list, too. “The interview you gave is published today. Do you want to read it?”
“Will I like what I read?”
“No. They call you a heartbreaker and New York’s most eligible bachelor. They should have interviewed me. I would have told them that no sane woman would date you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. So do you want to read the interview?”
“No. Next?”
“Next is Elisa. Oh, and congratulations.”
“On what?”
“The Tanner case. You won.”
“In a contested divorce, there are no winners. Everyone is a loser.”
Marsha studied him. “Is everything all right? Now I think about it you’re later than usual, and you look different.”
“I’m good.” Braced for marital drama, he walked into his office. There were plenty of days when he wondered why he did this job. Today was one of them.
But Elisa Sutton wasn’t crying. Instead she looked animated.
Even Daniel, experienced as he was in handling the emotional roller coaster that accompanied divorce, was surprised.
And suspicious. Was Marsha right? Had she taken a lover?
“Elisa?” Anticipating a confession of a sexual nature, he pushed the door shut. If his client was about to fill his office with her dirty laundry, he intended to contain it. “Has something happened?”
“Yes. We’re back together!”
“Excuse me?” Daniel put his laptop down on his desk, playing catch-up. “Who? I didn’t know you were seeing anyone. We talked about the risks of you getting involved with someone else at this point—”
“It’s not someone else. It’s Henry. We’re back together. Can you believe that?”
No, he couldn’t believe it.
Elisa had cried so many tears over the past few months he’d considered issuing a flood warning for midtown Manhattan.
“Elisa—”
“You’re using your serious lawyer tone. If you’re going to warn me this isn’t a good idea, don’t waste your breath. I’ve made up my mind. At first when he said he was going to change, I didn’t believe him, but after a while I realized he was sincere. We’re making a go of it. He is still my husband, after all.” Tears welled in her eyes and she pressed her hand to her mouth. “I never thought this would happen. I didn’t see it coming. I thought it was over.”
Daniel stilled. He hadn’t seen it coming either. From what he’d observed so far, Elisa and Henry’s marriage was so bad that if they’d been able to bottle the vitriol there would have been enough toxins to poison the whole of New Jersey. And although he’d learned that the blame was usually shared, if not always equally, in this case the lion’s share belonged to Henry, who was the coldest, most selfish man Daniel had ever met.
He’d employed a lawyer who was known to be as savage as a Doberman, and he’d set him on his wife, the woman he had supposedly once loved and with whom he shared two previously happy, but now traumatized children.
Fortunately Daniel had no problem being a Rottweiler when the need arose.
He frowned. Since when did he use dog analogies?
Walking Brutus was clearly getting to him.
“Last week you were in here crying,” he said carefully. “You told me you didn’t care what it took, but you never wanted to see him again.” He kept his tone free from emotion. Clients invariably brought so much emotion into his office he’d learned not to contribute anything extra.
“That was last week when I thought there was no hope for us. He hurt me.”
“And you want this guy back?”
“I really believe he is committed to changing.”
Daniel felt a ripple of exasperation. “Elisa, once they reach a certain age people rarely change, and they certainly don’t do it overnight.” Did he really have to say this stuff? Didn’t people know this? “There’s a phrase about leopards and spots. You’ve probably heard it.” He waited for her to acknowledge this, but she ignored him.
“I’ve already seen the change. On Saturday he turned up at the house with gifts. Thoughtful gifts.” Her eyes were bright. “Do you know Henry has never bought me a proper gift in all the years we’ve been married? He’s a practical guy. I’ve had kitchen equipment and once he bought me a vacuum cleaner, but he has never bought me anything personal or romantic.”
“What did he buy you?”
“He bought me a pair of ballet shoes and tickets to the Bolshoi. They’re touring.”
Ballet shoes? What was she supposed to do with ballet shoes? In his opinion it was Henry who needed to wear the ballet shoes to help him tiptoe over the thin ice he was standing on.
He kept his expression neutral. “And you were pleased with that gift?”
Elisa flushed. “He bought them because I loved the ballet when I was a little girl. When we first met I was still hoping to make it a career, but I grew too tall. I don’t know how he came up with the idea. It was so thoughtful. And he bought me roses. One for every year of our marriage. He took one off for the year we were separated.”
Daniel waited for her to comment on the irony of that, but she said nothing.
“That’s what it took to persuade you to forget the fights and the misery and start again? A pair of ballet shoes you can’t wear and a bunch of roses? Those roses will be dead in a week.” And their marriage in even less time than that.
“He also bought me a ring.”
“A ring? Elisa, two months ago I had to stop you from throwing your current ring into the Hudson River.”
“I know and it was good advice. I had it valued and— well, never mind. That’s history now. Henry told me he’d been doing a lot of thinking and that whatever we had when we first met must still be there. He wants to work at rediscovering it and he gave me another ring as a token of his commitment.”
“Commitment? This from a man who consistently undermined your confidence and then walked out, leaving you with no support?”
“He needed space, that’s all. Our children are at an age when they’re very demanding.”
“Did he tell you that? Because from what you’ve told me he left that part pretty much entirely up to you.”
“And because I was so wrapped up in the children, I didn’t give him the attention he deserved.”
Daniel sat down behind his desk and breathed deeply, banking down the anger. Something was happening to him and he didn’t like it. “They’re children, Elisa, and he is supposed to be the adult. Parenting should be a shared thing. I know you’re scared and I understand that staying together can seem like the easy option, at least in the short term. Unraveling a marriage, particularly when there are children involved, is daunting to say the least. But—”
“Oh, we’re not doing this because it’s the easy option, we’re doing it because of the children.”
“It was because of them you originally wanted a divorce.”
“But children are always better off with two parents, don’t you agree?”
He thought of Harriet, hiding under the table with her eyes squeezed shut and her hands over her ears. “I don’t agree.” He kept his face expressionless. “My personal opinion is that children are better off being raised in a calm, positive environment with one parent than an explosive environment with two.” Damn. Never before had he expressed his personal feelings in front of a client.
“But then you’re a divorce lawyer.” Fortunately Elisa didn’t seem to notice that anything was wrong. “I wouldn’t exactly expect you to be a supporter of reconciliation. You need to justify your billing hours and the more we string this out, the higher your bill.”
Daniel felt a flash of annoyance. “I’m no saint, Elisa, but I can assure you that my advice comes from a desire to do the best for you and the children, not from a need to add hours to my billings. And my advice in this case is don’t do it. You first came to me because your daughter had started wetting the bed and was displaying behavioral problems, and your son’s asthma was getting progressively worse. You were convinced that the atmosphere in the house was responsible.”
“And I was partly to blame for that. I was very upset about the affairs and I didn’t do a good job of hiding my feelings.”
“He was the one who had the affairs.” Daniel reminded himself that his job was to offer legal advice, not marital advice. Normally he had no problem with that, but today—
“Is something wrong? Are you sick?” Elisa was peering at him closely. “You don’t seem like yourself.”
“I’m not sick.” With an effort, he hauled his emotions back inside. “Don’t rush into anything. For the time being continue to live separately and give yourself breathing room.”
“He wants us to renew our vows and I want to do that as soon as possible in case he changes his mind. This time we both really want this to work. And it’s funny that we paid a ton of money on couples’ therapy, and in the end the best advice we got was free.”
Daniel was suddenly alert. “Somebody else has been giving you advice?”
“Yes. I never thought I’d thank another woman for giving me my husband back, but if I ever meet Aggie, I’ll hug her.”
“Aggie? Are you saying Henry has been having another affair since you separated?”
“No! I’m talking about the Aggie. The one who’s everywhere. She has a great blog, Ask a Girl. Anyway, Henry was so confused about what was happening he wrote to her, and she pointed out that as we had children it was worth trying extra hard. Surely you’ve heard of her. She knows everything about relationships. How to fix your marriage, or choose the perfect gift, or whatever. She has millions of followers on social media.”
“You’re saying Henry is taking advice from a blogger? Some sort of advice columnist?” Daniel tried and failed to hide his incredulity. “That’s what this is about? What did you say her name was?”
“Aggie.”
“Aggie what? Aggie Interference. Aggie-doesn’t-know-what-the-hell-she’s-talking-about?” He saw the first flicker of doubt and misery in Elisa’s eyes and felt a stab of guilt. “I’m sorry, Elisa. But I don’t want you to make a mistake. If you’re going to do this, I want to be sure it’s what you want and a stranger who has never met you cannot help with that decision, no matter how many followers she has on social media.”
“But sometimes an impartial observer can see things more clearly.”
“We have a team of qualified people here who can—”
“No. And Aggie does know what she’s talking about. I don’t think she has a last name. But she’s a doctor.”
“Everyone has a last name. If they don’t reveal it there’s usually a reason.” And he doubted Aggie was a “doctor” of anything, except maybe deception. “All I’m suggesting is that you should think twice about taking advice from someone who isn’t qualified to handle the issues you’re dealing with.”
“Aggie is good. You are so suspicious.”
“That’s my job. I’m paid to be suspicious. I’m asking the questions you should be asking.” Daniel scribbled the name on his pad. In his experience people who didn’t give their last names were hiding something. Right now “Aggie” had better be hiding herself because he was going to track her down and tell her what he thought of her advice. And it wasn’t going to be a polite conversation.
The thought of Elisa and Henry back together under the same roof made his whole body chill. Elisa would shrink to half the person she was, and as for the children…
He kept thinking of Harriet, and that awful night at the school when their father had unexpectedly shown up in the audience. Even now he couldn’t think about it without shuddering.
Elisa stood up. “Daniel, you’re the best divorce lawyer in Manhattan and you’ve been great, but I don’t need a divorce lawyer anymore because I’m not getting divorced. What Aggie said struck a chord with us. She told us to think of the life we’ve created together. Our home. Our friends. Our children.”
“Didn’t he refer to them as baggage?”
She flushed. “He’d had a few drinks. We’ve both realized we should be putting the children first.”
She left the room and Daniel stayed at his desk, staring through the floor-to-ceiling windows that wrapped his office on two sides. From his desk he could see the Empire State Building, and farther in the distance the gleam of glass and steel of One World Trade Center.
Normally the view soothed him, but not today.
Who was this Aggie, that she’d tell a dysfunctional family to stay together? How could she make such an important judgment based only on a letter? And whatever letter or email Henry had written, Daniel was sure he wouldn’t have passed on the deep trauma suffered by his children as a result of their marriage.
He still couldn’t believe Elisa was willing to overlook everything that had happened.
And he couldn’t understand why everything today was affecting him so deeply.
Cursing, he pushed back from his desk and stood up.
His office was sleek and uncluttered, like the rest of his life.
It was the way he preferred it. He preferred to sail through life with neither anchor nor baggage. That way if he crashed his ship on the rocks, he wouldn’t take those around him down with him.
How would he have turned out if his childhood had been different? Would he have chosen to be a lawyer? Or would he have taken a different, gentler path?
The door to his office opened and Marsha walked in with some files and a mug of coffee.
“I thought you might need this. Looking at your face, I’m guessing I was right.”
“I feel as if I spend my entire day fighting. Why wasn’t I a boxer or an MMA fighter? It might have been cleaner.”
“You love fighting. You get that look about you. Clenched jaw. Dangerous ‘don’t mess with me’ glint in your eyes. I assume Elisa didn’t say anything you were pleased to hear.”
“My eyes glint? Why have you never told me this before?”
“Because when they glint I’m mostly too scared to open my mouth in your company, and when they stop glinting I forget to mention it. The flowers arrived and they’re beautiful, thank you. Now tell me why you’re stressed.”
“I’m never stressed. Only calm, and slightly less calm.” Giving up the pretense, he rubbed the back of his neck to relieve the tension. “The ability of the human being to screw up its own life never ceases to amaze me.”
“I hate to be the one to point this out, but that’s the reason this is a busy and thriving law firm. If we all got it right, you’d be out of a job.” She set the files down on his desk. “These are for you. And in case you’ve forgotten, it’s Audrey’s birthday today, too. They’re in the kitchen eating cake. If you have a minute, I know it would mean a lot if you could join them. I don’t want to contemplate what our working day would be like without Audrey, and Max is driving her insane. A few words from you would be compensation.”
Audrey was one of the paralegals. She’d been with the firm for two years and had proved herself indispensable after five minutes.
“Thanks for the reminder. And I’ll speak to Max.” Pushing aside thoughts of Elisa and what a reconciliation would mean for the children, Daniel checked the documents and signed. “Have you ever heard of someone called Aggie?”
“The relationship expert?”
“How is it that everyone knows this woman except me?”
“Are you in the habit of asking for advice on relationships?”
“Why would I ask for advice on relationships? I’ve seen every permutation of relationship known to man. And woman.”
“And yet you’re single.”
“Which is why I’m single. So tell me what you know about Aggie.”
Marsha smiled. “She’s wonderful. I bought her book.”
“She’s written a book?”
“Mate for Life. You didn’t see it? It was at the top of all the bestseller lists and in every bookstore.”
“I shop online, a consequence of never leaving my office during store opening hours.”
“It was online, too. Excellent book. She’s wise and sensible.”
“Really? Because she told Elisa and Henry they should get back together for the sake of the children. I don’t see anything wise or sensible about that.”
Marsha pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Perhaps it would be better for the children.”
“Are you kidding? Elisa and Henry loathe each other. Their children will be permanently scarred. Why people think that is the best outcome completely escapes me.” Intercepting the curious look in Marsha’s face, Daniel inhaled slowly and gestured to his laptop. “Find me something she has written. I need to know more about her.”
“That should be easy.” Marsha walked around his desk. “You could start by reading the letter Max wrote to her.”
“He wrote to her?” Daniel shook his head in disbelief. “As a joke, I assume?”
“Why would you assume that? We both know Max needs serious help in the relationship department. Remember the coffee machine he bought his girlfriend as a gift?”
“Call me insensitive, but my interest in my team’s personal life only extends to serious life events, not gift choices.”
“This was serious.” Marsha clicked on a link. “He bought her a coffee machine. She sold it on eBay. They broke up.”
Daniel frowned. “Why did she sell it? Wrong brand?”
“She doesn’t drink coffee.”
Daniel started to laugh. “And he had to write to ask what he’d done wrong?”
“This is Max we’re talking about, so yes. He said that a coffee machine made him happy, and that she should be happy that he was happy. She didn’t see it that way. How he ever passed the bar I will never know.”
“As you say, he’s a brilliant lawyer and ferociously bright.”
“Not when it comes to women. Here.” She scrolled down. “Read. Not that you need any help with relationships.”
Ask a Girl.
The words were picked out in a bold blue.
Daniel frowned. “‘Ask a Girl’ what? What sort of things do people ask?”
“Anything. Everything. Her advice is honest and direct. She has a huge following.”
“So she really knows how to milk it.”
“She’s a businesswoman. She has a gift, and knowledge, and she uses it. It’s not like you to deride a woman for being smart.”
“I’m not deriding her for being smart. I’m deriding her for taking advantage of the vulnerable and giving dangerous advice.”
“That’s your opinion, Daniel. And although plenty of folks pay squillions of dollars an hour to hear your opinion, it doesn’t mean you’re always right on everything.”
“I’m right on this.”
“Her column is good. Interesting. I read it every week. We all do.”
“All?”
“All of the women here, and even some of the men. The blog is only part of it. She answers questions, and I think she offers one-to-one relationship counseling over the phone.”
Daniel scrolled through the pages of her website. “There’s no photo. What does she look like?”
“She never uses a photo. Just the heart logo.”
“So she doesn’t have a last name, and she won’t show her face. Anyone who won’t show their face must have a reason. Maybe she’s not a person. Maybe she’s a bunch of computer tech guys laughing their heads off.”
“No way would the advice she gives ever have been written by a guy.”
“That’s sexist.”
“It’s true,” she said drily. “Read for yourself.”
He read.
Dear Aggie, there’s a woman at work who is a goddess. I’m an ordinary guy, nothing special. How can a man like me ever attract the attention of someone like her? Am I wasting my time? Yours, Underconfident.
Daniel glanced up in disbelief. “This is a joke, yes?”
“It’s real.”
“And does she give an answer? Mine would be, yes, you’re wasting your time. Grow a spine.”
“Which is why you’re not the one answering the question. Not that I expect you to understand, but some men have trouble approaching women. They don’t all have your success rate.”
Daniel thought about the woman in the park. His success rate had taken a serious tumble. “Does she reply?”
“Scroll down. Her reply is underneath. And people are allowed to post their advice, too. It’s a community.”
“A community of people who don’t know what they’re talking about. Kill me now. Dear Underconfident—” his gaze flicked briefly to Marsha “—can you believe someone actually called himself that?”
“I think it’s adorably honest.”
“It’s prophetic. You are what you think you are.” He read on. “Dear Underconfident, everyone is special in their own way—seriously? Can you get me a bucket? I’m feeling ill.”
“Just because you’re not the sentimental type, doesn’t mean it’s rubbish. Not everyone is afraid of emotion.”
“Just because I have full control over my emotions, doesn’t mean I’m afraid. But I do have a healthy respect for the damage emotion can cause. In relationships, emotion drives bad decisions.” His voice shook and Marsha stared at him as if he’d grown horns and wings.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” She spoke cautiously. “Is there something personal going on here I should know about?”
“No.”
“We’ve worked together for five years and I’m old enough to be your mother. Despite your claim to being heartless, we both know you’re not. You helped me when I was at my lowest point and I hope you know you can always talk to me in confidence.”
“There’s nothing I need to talk about. And you are nothing like my mother.” Realizing he’d said too much, Daniel dragged his hand over the back of his neck and hauled his feelings back inside. He didn’t want to think about his mother. He’d long since come to terms with what had happened. He’d been a kid, for goodness’ sake. He’d done what he could. And he’d helped numerous women since then. More than he could count. “Emotion is what brings people streaming into my office. If more people engaged their brains instead of their hormones, the divorce rate would be lower.”
“And you wouldn’t be earning millions.”
“I know you don’t believe me, but the money has always been secondary.” Trying to distract himself, he scanned a few more questions on the site, fascinated and appalled. “Real-life people actually write in asking her this stuff? They can’t figure it out for themselves?” He tried to imagine what sort of person would be comfortable exposing such intimate, private secrets in such a public forum.
Marsha looked amused. “Have you ever asked advice about women?”
“I already know everything I need to know about women, including the fact that this woman is exploiting people who are emotionally vulnerable.” Daniel flipped the screen shut and caught a glimpse of Marsha’s expression. “What?”
“Please tell me you see the irony of that. You’re the divorce attorney everyone hopes their spouse won’t hire.”

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