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Mr. Right Now
Kate Hoffmann
LOOKING FOR MR. RIGHT NOW…Can a girl find love through the personal ads? After hearing about so many happy endings through The Personal Touch!, fact checker Nina Forrester decides to place an ad for herself.And she sure is happy with seriously sexy Jack Wright…until she discovers that Mr. Wright isn't so right after all….Multimillionaire Cameron Ryder wants two things: 1) to own The Personal Touch! and 2) to have sexy Nina Forrester in his life–and his bed–permanently. The moment he saw her ad, he knew Nina was the woman for him. And posing as Jack Wright, Cameron's managed to sweep Nina off her feet. Only, Nina doesn't know she's been sleeping with the boss….



“You just have to learn the lingo.”
Nina looked at her friend Lizbeth, puzzled. “Lingo?”
“Yeah, take this ad,” Lizbeth said, pointing to the magazine. “This guy wants someone who’s ‘commitment-minded’ and ‘independent.’ That means you’d be willing to clean his apartment and you won’t mind spending hours in a bar with his friends watching football on the big screen.” Lizbeth ran her finger down the page. “All the rest of the stuff in this ad just means the guy will never remember to put the seat down. What you need is a man who enjoys golfing, sailing, theater and working out. That means he’ll be self-employed, wealthy, intelligent and buff.”
Nina shook her head, smiling. “Come on, they can’t all be that bad. Here’s one that looks pretty good. ‘Friendly—’” she read.
“Horny.”
“Likes to cuddle?”
“Wants sex,” Lizbeth translated.
“So what’s wrong with that?” Nina quipped. “At least I know we have something in common.”
Dear Reader,
I’ve always loved to read the personal ads. Even though I’ve never answered one, as a single woman I’ve never given up hope that someday I might come across an ad that just cries out for a response. Perhaps a man from my past is looking for me, or maybe it will be one of those missed connections, where I meet a stranger’s eyes across a crowded freeway.
That’s where the idea behind THE PERSONAL TOUCH! came from—five different couples brought together through five very different personal ads. In Mr. Right Now, Nina Forrester still holds out hope that there’s a Mr. Right just waiting for her. And if she isn’t meant to meet him yet, she’ll settle for Mr. Right Now. But when she meets dynamic Cameron Ryder, she soon finds out there’s a third alternative—falling in love with Mr. Completely Wrong!
I hope you enjoy my twentieth Temptation novel. And to all my readers who’ve been with me since that very first book in 1993, a special thank-you for your support and enthusiasm.
All my best,
Kate Hoffmann
P.S. I love to hear from my readers. You can reach me c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, M3B 3K9, Canada.

Books by Kate Hoffmann
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
758—ONCE A HERO
762—ALWAYS A HERO
795—ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT
Mr. Right Now
Kate Hoffmann


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Birgit Davis-Todd and Brenda Chin, for their continued encouragement, unerring instincts and editorial wisdom.

Contents
Chapter 1 (#ud80fc916-dc8f-5891-819c-9f3589ef73f2)
Chapter 2 (#u41f11c9f-d29a-5ab1-b726-fb6022e38a26)
Chapter 3 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

1
“I LIVE IN A CITY of seven million people. Three and a half million of them are men. Of those, there have to be at least a half million who are single. And out of those, there must be a few thousand who are decent guys.”
Nina Forrester leaned over the counter and held her coffee mug under the stream of just-brewed coffee. When her mug was full, she shoved the pot back in its place and took a careful sip, moaning softly as the caffeine seeped into her bloodstream. Though she hadn’t had a drop of wine all weekend, she had inhaled a two-pound bag of peanut M&Ms last night and the chocolate hangover was killing her. “Why can’t I meet just one of those guys?”
“Bad weekend?” Lizbeth drawled, feigning sympathy.
Nina peered over the rim of the mug at her friend and co-worker, Lizbeth Gordon. Bad weekend? Not if crying through Out of Africa six times, gulping down handfuls of M&Ms, and waxing her bikini line qualified as bad. She’d had worse. There was that time she ate an entire frozen Sara Lee triple-layer fudge cake during the first hour of Titanic. And the Saturday she spent rearranging her underwear drawer, first by color, then by fabric, then by age. “I didn’t even leave my apartment,” Nina admitted. “And I’m starting to have sexual fantasies about the Chinese restaurant delivery man.”
Lizbeth slipped her arm around Nina’s shoulders and clucked her tongue. “Honey, don’t you think it’s about time you found yourself a nice stallion and went for a little ride? It’s been a long time since you’ve visited the stable.” From anyone else, the suggestion might have sounded ridiculous, but intoned in Lizbeth’s lazy Southern accent, it sounded perfectly reasonable.
“What is it about you and horses?” Nina asked, pulling away and stalking out of the coffee room toward her office. “Last week you were telling me to get back in the saddle. When did Mr. Ed suddenly become your personal sex guru? According to you, National Velvet and My Friend Flicka are subversive sex manuals.” She stopped at her office door. “Those were my favorite books when I was a kid,” Nina said wistfully. “My life was all about horses. I didn’t even look at boys.”
“Huge, powerful, muscular, well-hung horses,” Lizbeth said, fanning her face with her hand. “Gawd, I used to love those books, too.” She giggled and pressed her fingers to her lips. “If Mama only knew she’d have burned them all.”
Nina laughed. “You were perverse even back then!”
“And you were flat as a board and had a mouthful of braces.” Lizbeth shuddered, tossing back her dark hair and smoothing her hands over her slender figure. “Admit it, you’d never want to go back to that time. Me? I was slightly chubby, a little shy and everything I wore was made of a petroleum by-product. It’s a pure wonder I turned out as well as I did.”
“Gee, and I thought you were born wearing a cashmere diaper and silk booties, dressed to seduce every boy baby in the nursery,” Nina muttered.
If they hadn’t been best friends, Nina was certain she’d hate Lizbeth. Any girl would. Lizbeth was stunningly beautiful. Nina was…cute. Lizbeth had three or four boyfriends dangling on any given day of the month, while the pints of Häagen-Dazs in Nina’s freezer lasted longer than most of the men in her life.
And if personal humiliation wasn’t enough, Nina had to face her professional inadequacies as well. As the lowly fact checker for Attitudes magazine, Nina spent most of her workday on the Internet or on the phone or at the library, checking the veracity of every article that passed through her office. Lizbeth had charmed her way into an assistant editor position in the fashion department. With Attitudes’ profile as the hot magazine for twenty-somethings, that meant Lizbeth moved in circles that included wealthy designers and hot male models and handsome French photographers.
What’s worse, she always looked like she’d stepped right out of a Calvin Klein ad, sleek and styled, smooth and sophisticated. Nina bought her clothes at vintage shops and thrift stores, favoring funky over fashionable. And the closest she got to styling her long blond hair was twisting it into a knot and securing it with a pencil or two.
But Lizbeth had one quality that made her an indispensable friend. No matter how bad Nina’s life looked, all it took was one dry, but witty, comment from Lizbeth to put everything in perspective, to make Nina’s worries dissolve into fits of laughter.
“You know what your problem is?” Lizbeth asked, following Nina into her tiny, windowless office.
“No, but I’m sure you’re dying to tell me.”
“You haven’t had a date in almost six months. Honey, if you don’t leave your apartment, how do you expect to meet anyone?” Lizbeth shook her head. “You’re going to start to get…what do they call that? Angoraphobia?”
“Angoraphobia is a fear of fuzzy sweaters,” Nina corrected. “Agoraphobia is a fear of strangers.”
Lizbeth sighed. “The fact that you know something so obscure just proves my point,” she said. “Since you broke up with that crazy drummer from that awful grunge band, you’ve had no life.” She picked up a framed picture of Nina’s nieces and stared at her reflection in the glass, fussing with her hair. “You know, if you’re not married by the time you’re thirty, chances are you’ll never find a man.”
“I’m only twenty-five!” Nina said.
“Five years can go by just like that,” Lizbeth said, snapping her perfectly manicured fingers. “Besides, every year after age twenty-five is like dog years.”
Nina didn’t bother to ask for further explanation. Sometimes it was better just to let a few of them fly by. Instead, she picked up the latest issue of Attitudes and flipped through it. When she reached the back, her gaze fell on the pages of Personal Touch ads that ran every month. Men seeking women, women seeking men, men and women seeking something a little kinky. “Maybe I should answer one of these ads,” she murmured.
“Now there’s an idea,” Lizbeth said. “Not an idea I’d ever consider, but definitely an idea.”
“Well, you don’t have any trouble getting a date. And I know the ads work.” Nina grabbed a file folder from her desk and opened it. “Look at these letters. Four couples who met through the Personal Touch ads this past year, and four marriages!”
“Where did you get those?”
“Eileen in customer service has been saving them for me. I’m thinking of pitching a story idea to Charlotte.” She picked up one of the letters, this one from the mothers of the happy couple. “Nick Romano and Tyler Sheridan. Before Tyler met Nick, she was supposed to marry this other guy who ran out on their wedding and left her a ‘Dear Joan’ ad in our magazine. Nick, who’s a P.I.—how sexy is that?—helped her track down her missing bridegroom and they fell in love. Have you ever heard of anything so romantic?”
“Oh, please. That sounds like one of those mushy romance novels!” Lizbeth said.
“Yes, it does. And I happen to love romance novels.” Nina picked up another letter. “Here’s one from Jane Dobson Warren. She placed a personal ad in Attitudes for her boss. He was looking for Holly Baskin, an old girlfriend. After Jane placed the ad, she got hit on the head, with a Cupid statue, no less. The concussion made her believe that she was Holly Baskin. And then she and her boss fell in love and got married.” Nina sighed. “It is just like a romance novel, isn’t it?”
“And you think those sweet little stories are going to appeal to Charlotte?” Lizbeth shook her head. “You don’t know Charlotte very well, do you.”
Charlotte Danforth was publisher, editor, creative director, and sole stockholder of Attitudes magazine. She ran the publication like her own little fiefdom and she was the media queen. Her wealthy father’s money had financed the magazine and though Charlotte couldn’t edit her way out of a paper bag or balance a budget, she did have an uncanny knack for hiring talented people. And for spotting trends. And that’s what Attitudes was all about—what’s hot and what’s not.
“I’ve got to do something to make Charlotte see me as assistant editor material,” Nina said.
“Well, hon, that necklace won’t help the cause. News flash—Wilma Flintstone isn’t a fashion icon anymore.”
Nina giggled and stuck out her tongue at Lizbeth as she slipped the letters back into the file. “I still think it’s possible to find love through the personals. These four couples did.” She picked up the magazine and began to scan the ads. “Here’s a man that sounds nice. ‘New York State of Mind. Good-looking professional seeks commitment-minded, independent SWF, 24-30. Enjoys motorcycles, the outdoors and NASCAR racing.’ I love motorcycles.”
Lizbeth snatched the magazine from Nina’s fingers. “Allow me to translate, my naive little friend. Good-looking professional—decent-looking car salesman. Watch out when they say ‘personable.’ Then you can expect Quasimodo to show up at your front door.”
“What about handsome?”
“Seriously deluded or completely self-absorbed.”
“How do you know this? You have answered one of our ads!”
Lizbeth laughed lightly. “Don’t be silly. Why would I need to answer an ad? I simply know men and their tendency to overstate their own virtues. You have to learn their lingo.”
“Lingo?”
“Like this ad. ‘Commitment-minded’ means you’d be willing to clean his apartment. ‘Independent’ means you won’t mind spending hours in a bar with his friends watching football on the big screen. And all the rest means the guy will never remember to put the toilet seat down.” Lizbeth pointed to another ad. “‘Enjoys gardening, antiquing, and cooking.’ Mama’s boy. What you need is a guy who enjoys golfing, sailing, theater and working out. That’s means self-employed, wealthy, intelligent, and a great body.”
“Here’s one,” Nina said. “Friendly—”
“Horny.”
“Likes to cuddle?”
“Wants sex,” Lizbeth translated.
“Loyal?” Nina asked.
“Obsessively jealous. The only thing worse is ‘intense’ which means ‘stalker in training.’ You’d be better off placing your own ad, honey. At least then you could screen the candidates.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should just pitch the story about the four couples and their ads.”
“It’s a warm and fuzzy little story, but this isn’t Good Housekeeping, Nina. Attitudes is edgy and trendy, and a little outrageous—not unlike that sweater you’re wearing.”
Nina glanced down at the vintage lime-green mohair with the Peter Pan collar. She bought it especially to go with the mod striped mini and green tights from the sixties. And the plastic bead necklace completed the look. “You don’t think Charlotte would like it? The idea, not the sweater.”
“If you want her to see you as an assistant editor, you’re going to have to do more than pitch a story. You’re going to have to go out there and experience the Personal Touch. Write your own ad, go on a few dates and tell your story. And the more horrible the experience, the better.”
“I wouldn’t know what to say in an ad,” Nina replied. “How do I advertise for Mr. Right?”
Lizbeth sighed dramatically, then searched the surface of Nina’s desk until she found a pad of paper. “Honey, you don’t have time to look for Mr. Right. You’re looking for Mr. Right Now. Mr. Right This Minute. Charlotte’s been interviewing for an editorial assistant for the past month. If you get this story done and turn it in, maybe she’ll give you the job.”
“All right,” Nina said. “I’ll do it.”
“All right,” Lizbeth repeated.
“Nancy!”
Nina and Lizbeth looked up to find Charlotte Danforth standing at the doorway of Nina’s office. As always, she looked like she’d just tumbled out of bed, though this morning she wore evening clothes, a sexy beaded designer number that probably cost more than Nina made in a year. It was clear Charlotte hadn’t been to bed at all, but came right to work from whatever party she’d attended the night before. Her hair was mussed and she puffed incessantly on a French cigarette. Yet even in such disarray, she was still a force of nature, a human hurricane that left workers weeping in her path.
“Nina,” Nina corrected.
Charlotte sniffed, then shrugged. “Yes, fine, all right, Nina. I need you to check a fact for me. I need to know what the trendiest spot on the body is for a rather small tattoo. And the most popular subject matter. Check for both men and women, I’m sure it’s different. And give me a breakdown by age if you can.”
“Charlotte, I’m not sure there have ever been any studies done on—”
“I don’t care if there haven’t been studies, Nora!”
“Nina,” she reminded. “Is this for an article? Because we did a story on tattoos just a few months ago.”
“I just need the information, Nola,” Charlotte snapped. “It’s personal. By the end of the day?”
With that, she turned and hurried from the door, leaving Nina to wonder how she’d ever convince Charlotte to give her an editorial position if the woman couldn’t even remember her name. “Oh, sure. I’ll just call the Census Bureau. I’m sure I remember answering the tattoo question on the 2000 census. Right hip, tiny rose.” She tossed aside the personal ads and straightened her desk. “I guess I’m going to be spending the rest of the day on the phone talking to tattoo parlors,” Nina murmured.
Lizbeth smiled. “And I’d guess that Charlotte got herself drunk last night and ended up in one of those 24-hour tattoo parlors in the East Village. And now she wants you to tell her that she didn’t make a big fashion faux pas getting that big old butterfly tattooed on her butt.”
Nina’s eyes went wide. “Really?” At least when Nina had decided on a tattoo she’d been sober and possessed of good taste, ending up with a tiny flower on a spot that only showed when she wore a bikini.
“As long as whatever she got is on the top of the list, hon, you’ll make her happy.”
“But how am I supposed to know?”
Lizbeth stood and smoothed her skirt. “Leave it to me. She’s bound to tell someone what she did last night. She always blabs when she’s got a hangover. Five minutes later, it will be all over the office. I’ll feed you the facts and you make up the research.”
“But that wouldn’t be ethical,” Nina protested.
“Honey, you do want the job in editorial, don’t you?”
Nina nodded hesitantly. “Yes, I do. And while you’re finding out about Charlotte’s new tattoo, I’m going to work on my ad. Even if it doesn’t result in a great story, at least I’ll have something better to do on a Saturday night than polishing my shoes and fishing spare change out of the sofa.”
“That’s the spirit!” her friend cried. “Get on that pony and ride! Yee-hah!”
Nina smiled at Lizbeth. “And maybe, if I’m very lucky, I’ll find Mr. Right. And if not him, then Mr. Right Now.”
THE AFTER-WORK CROWD HAD settled in at Jitterbug’s, the coffee shop across the street from Attitudes’ Soho headquarters. It was a favorite spot for the staff who gathered regularly to sip lattes and mochas and discuss whatever outrageous request Charlotte Danforth had thrown their way during the day. But Nina had more important things on her mind than commiserating about her quirky and unpredictable boss. Nagging little projects had occupied nearly every minute of her workday and she hadn’t had a single moment to get back to her ad for the Personal Touch.
Nina found her regular table in the corner and tossed her coat over the back of her chair, then dropped her bag on the smooth marble tabletop. She glanced over at the counter and waved at Martha who nodded, a silent agreement to make Nina’s usual—a double skinny decaf latte with a shot of hazelnut. She sat down and spread her work out in front of her—the Personal Touch ads from the last four weeks, her notepad, personalized with her name and the name of the magazine emblazoned across the bottom, and a pencil with a brand new eraser. She’d also brought a list of attributes she’d quickly compiled for Mr. Right during her lunch hour.
“Cute, considerate, humorous, spontaneous,” she read out loud. “Nice hair, kind eyes, and—”
“A fluffy tail and good teeth. Honey, you sound like you’re advertising for a Pomeranian, not a man. If I were you, I’d stick with the man. He won’t poop on the rug.” Lizbeth flopped down in the chair across from Nina’s and sighed dramatically. “You won’t believe the day I’ve had. They sent me size two samples and size six models. Thank God for duct tape. We cut the back seams open and taped the clothes on.”
Nina forced a sympathetic smile. She really wasn’t in the mood to hear Lizbeth’s tale of woe. She’d hoped to spend some time on her own, sipping coffee and carefully composing her ad. It had to be just right and it would take a lot of thought. “I’m just starting on this,” she murmured.
“So, what do you have so far?” Lizbeth asked.
“Actually…nothing.”
Lizbeth sighed and shook her head. She pointed to Nina’s pad. “Take this down.” She paused for a moment, then smiled. “Headline—Looking for Mr. Right Now.” She glanced over at Nina and frowned. “I said, take this down.” Nina scribbled as Lizbeth spoke. “Attractive, fun-loving, energetic SWF, 25, seeks adventurous Adonis, 25-35, for wild Saturday nights and lazy Sunday afternoons.”
“Don’t you think that last part makes me sound a little…loose?”
“Honey, the whole thing makes you sound loose. That’s the point. What do you think I mean by ‘fun-loving’ and ‘energetic’? Likes sex and likes it all the time.” Lizbeth gave her a long look. “You want someone to answer the ad, don’t you?”
Frowning, Nina ripped the top sheet off and crumpled it in her fist, then noticed Martha waving in her direction. “I’ll write my own ad, thank you very much.” She pushed back from the tiny table to retrieve her coffee, fully intending to toss Lizbeth’s ad in the garbage.
But as she paid Martha, she contemplated her friend’s strategy. Time was running out. Maybe she ought to put off her search for Mr. Right and concentrate on Mr. Right Now. And kissing a few frogs made a lot better copy than finding Prince Charming on the first time out. Nina opened her fist and dropped the wad of paper on the counter, then smoothed it out. She re-read the words as she grabbed her coffee. With a soft sigh, she turned and started back toward her table, making mental edits to the text. She didn’t have to sound like a trollop, did she?
She didn’t notice the man who stepped into her path, but in the blink of an eye, he was there. With a soft cry of surprise, she ran face first into a tall, broad-shouldered figure. Her coffee mug tipped between them, spilling hot coffee all over his wide chest, his flat belly and his…lap.
The man jumped back, cursing softly as he brushed the steaming liquid from his finely tailored shirt, his startled gaze taking in the coffee-soaked fabric. It was only then that Nina got a good look at his face. Her breath caught in her throat and, for a moment, she was unable to speak. “Adventurous Adonis,” she murmured.
Even wincing in pain, she could see what a handsome man he was—strong features, a chiseled mouth and vivid green eyes. For a long moment, she couldn’t speak. Then the words began tumbling out of her mouth. “Oh—oh, dear. I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t see—and when you stepped in front—that’s probably a very expensive—are you all right—I didn’t—”
“I’m fine,” he muttered, plucking at the soaked fabric of his dress shirt and silk tie. “It’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Nina reached over his table and grabbed the napkin dispenser, then tugged out a wad of napkins. But as she spun around to hand them to the man, she knocked over the tall mug of coffee on his table. It tumbled to the floor and splashed onto his shiny dress loafers. Half the napkins fluttered to the floor and Nina bent down to pick them up before attempting to wipe the coffee off his shoes. Good grief, he even had handsome feet.
When she glanced up at him, she caught him smiling sardonically. “I don’t think I’ve got any coffee on my left pant leg,” he said. “Maybe you’d like to order another cup and finish the job?”
“I’ll just get you cleaned up and then—” She reached up and dabbed frantically at the front of his pants, then realized where she was dabbing and groaned softly. “I—I guess you should probably do that area on your own.” What was she thinking? Nina glanced around to see the entire clientele of Jitterbug’s watching her with amusement. What were they thinking?
He grabbed her elbow, pulling her to her feet. Afraid to look up, Nina halfheartedly wiped at his shirt with the sheet of paper she had clutched in her other hand. When he took it from her fingers and shoved it in his pants pocket, she had no choice but to meet his gaze. An apologetic smile twitched at her lips and she risked a look up. “I—I’m sorry. Sometimes, I’m so clumsy. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on hers for the first time. “And there’s no need to apologize. It was partly my fault, too.”
She’d never seen a greener pair of eyes in her life. Or a sexier smile. Or a straighter nose. Or a—Nina swallowed hard. “But your shirt. It’s ruined.”
He chuckled dryly. “I never liked this shirt. Gives me a good excuse to toss it.”
For a long moment, they didn’t speak. Nina tried to remember if she’d apologized, but she couldn’t recall exactly what she’d said to him. Maybe it was the eyes, the penetrating eyes that seemed to send every rational thought running from her mind. Or the lips that looked like they’d been made especially to kiss women, and lots of them. Even the faint stubble of a beard was more than she could bear.
Was this one of those men she’d been wondering about, the one in a million and a half, the last single decent guy in all of New York City? She glanced at his left hand, looking for the telltale wedding band. There was none. Oh, if he was the one in a million, she’d certainly made a mess of destiny! “Can—can I buy you another coffee?” she offered.
He shook his head, his gaze never wavering from hers. “I was just leaving. I’ve got a meeting.”
Her breath caught again and she waited for him to step away, to walk out the door and out of her life forever. For all she knew, she’d just dumped coffee all over Mr. Right and now he was going to just disappear without another word. “Of course,” she murmured. “And look at what I’ve done.”
He glanced over his shoulder and winced. “I really have to go.” He grabbed his suit jacket and briefcase from a chair, then slowly turned and started toward the door. Nina took one step to stop him, but then she noticed the rest of the patrons still watching her.
“I really am sorry,” she called as the door swung shut behind him. “A little cold water and a good non-chlorine bleach will get that stain right out!” She looked around the coffee shop, frowning. “Show’s over. You can all go back to your coffee,” she muttered.
With a flush of embarrassment, she hurried back to her table and sat down. “Was that as bad as I think it was?” Nina murmured. “Did I make a total fool of myself? And was there anyone in this place who didn’t hear me giving him laundry advice?”
Lizbeth reached over and patted her hand excitedly. “That was absolutely perfect!” she cried. “Honey, I didn’t think you had it in you, but that move was pure brilliance!”
“What move?”
“Spilling coffee all over that stunningly gorgeous man. I don’t even think I would have had the courage to do something so outrageous, especially when he had on a handmade French shirt. Those things cost five hundred apiece if they cost a penny.”
“Really?” Nina squeaked. “Five hundred dollars?”
“Couldn’t you tell? Oh, honey, the way it hugged his body and nipped in around that waist. It fit him like a second skin. That kind of shirt makes a girl wonder what’s underneath. Every woman in this place was pea-green with envy of you.”
“It was an accident,” Nina said numbly.
Lizbeth gave her a sly look. “Oh, please. You expect me to believe that? So, did you give him your phone number? You know, offer to pay his cleaning bill? Buy him a new shirt?”
“No. He didn’t ask that I pay.” Nina frowned and looked over at the door. “He said he was going to throw the shirt out. I guess I should have offered. But it was his fault, too.”
“You didn’t give him your phone number,” Lizbeth stated, her voice flat and laced with disbelief. “Please tell me you at least got his name. Or you gave him yours.”
Nina covered her face with her hands. “No. I just couldn’t think. I mean, there he was, all covered with coffee. And there I was,” she moaned, “rubbing his crotch with napkins.” She moaned again, this time with more emphasis. “I really screwed that up. For a second, I thought it might be destiny, but then he looked at me and my mind just went haywire and my knees went all wobbly.” Nina peered at Lizbeth through her fingers. “He probably wasn’t my type anyway, right? I mean, he was wearing a suit and I never go for businessmen. And he seemed a little uptight.” She drew a shaky breath. “And a guy who wears five-hundred dollar shirts is way out of my league. I’m sure it would never have worked out.”
Lizbeth pushed to her feet, shaking her head. “Did you bother to look at the man? He’s every woman’s type! Nuns would lust after the guy.” She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder, then wagged her finger at Nina. “Maybe you should place that ad. It’s clear that you don’t have a chance of getting a gorgeous man the regular way—by trickery and manipulation. I have to go, I have a date. But I want you to sit here and think about what you did wrong. We’ll discuss it later.”
Nina nodded dejectedly, like a child chastised. “I don’t think I’ll be able to put it out of my mind.”
“I’ll call you.” Lizbeth turned on her heel and walked toward the door. When it closed behind her, Nina busied herself with picking up her belongings. She grabbed the pad of paper and started to shove it in her bag, but decided against it. Snatching up her pencil, she closed her eyes for a moment, then began to write.
“Coffee Collision,” she murmured, writing the words out in capital letters. “Jitterbug’s in Manhattan, March 15th. My latte met your shirt. Call me.”
Nina stared down at the text. Did she really have the courage to place the ad? Chances were remote at best that he’d see it. After all, he wasn’t the typical Attitudes reader. With a soft oath, she ripped the page off the pad. But instead of crumpling it in her hand, she carefully folded it and placed it in her jacket pocket.
“Forget the guy. You’re not looking for Mr. Right, you’re looking for Mr. Right Now—he’s the man who will get you a job in editorial.”
But as Nina tried to compose another ad, she couldn’t keep her mind on the task at hand. Her thoughts kept wandering back to the man in the coffee-stained shirt, to the firm set of his mouth when he smiled, to the strong grasp of his fingers on her elbow, to the tremor that raced through her arm and made her head swim the moment he’d touched her.
She’d never believed in instant attraction, but that was only because she’d never experienced it before. Now that she had, Nina wanted to experience it again. She’d just have to find a way to make it happen.
“WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?”
Cameron Ryder stood on the sidewalk outside the coffee shop. He glanced down at his ruined shirt and tie and shrugged. “A little accident with a cup of coffee…and some crazy woman.”
He looked back over his shoulder. A beautiful, bewitching, crazy woman, he added silently. Now that he’d put a little distance between them, he wasn’t quite sure what to think of her. She hadn’t really been a woman at all, at least not the kind of sophisticated and overtly sexy woman he usually socialized with. She was sweet and slightly goofy, more a girl than woman. She’d been dressed a little oddly, in a hairy chartreuse sweater and a short little skirt that showed off shapely legs.
His mind conjured an image of her, her startling blue eyes and her golden blond hair twisted into a knot with spikes sticking out all over the place. He frowned—and chartreuse legs. In truth, she’d looked like one of those bohemian girls who spent her days and nights in Soho coffee bars and art galleries, smoking cigarettes and quoting Sartre.
Still, he couldn’t deny the current of attraction that had raced through his body the instant their eyes met, the warmth that seeped through his bloodstream when he touched her, the flood of amusement that made him smile when she so earnestly wiped off the front of his trousers.
Unlike most of the women he’d known, this woman lacked the hard, cynical edge that came from living in Manhattan. Her eyes were wide and clear blue, almost innocent. And she had a fresh, unpretentious look about her, unmarred by overdone cosmetics. With any other woman, he might have suspected she dumped the coffee on purpose. But the look of sheer surprise and mortification on her pretty face was enough to tell him differently. Cam laughed softly and shook his head. Good grief, he’d barely been able to get out a word or two, looking into those eyes.
What was this instant fascination he had with a complete stranger? Maybe he’d been working too hard lately. He hadn’t had much time for a social life and any woman would appear attractive to a man who hadn’t bothered with dating in the past few months. He fought the urge to walk back inside for just one more look, but then Jeff cleared his throat and pointed to his watch.
“We’ve got a half hour before we meet with Charlotte Danforth,” he said. “There’s probably time to run back to your apartment and change.”
Ever the organized businessman, Jeff Myers was chief operating officer of Cameron’s company, NightRyder. Jeff had been a fellow college student when, ten years ago, Cam had created the Internet site for Gen X entertainment and night life. He’d been there when the company moved from dorm room to apartment to office complex across the river in Jersey. And he’d been there at their stock offering, when the IPO turned Jeff’s thirty-percent interest into millions of dollars in just a few hours.
“I don’t need to change,” Cam said. Though he might be able to make the trip uptown and back to his Riverside Drive apartment, he had no intention of doing so. “I’m not going to the meeting. You’re my partner and you have my complete trust and authority. I want you to present the offer.”
Cam had been working toward this acquisition for as long as he could remember and now that it was time to make his move, he preferred to stand back and watch. Five years ago, Attitudes was barely a blip on the media radar. No one expected it to succeed, especially with socialite-party-girl Charlotte Danforth at the helm. But her rich daddy was willing to pay a price to get his little girl into the work world and out of his hair. Charles Danforth, one of New York’s wealthiest men, was the magazine’s only investor. Even the headquarters of Attitudes was housed in a Danforth building, probably rent-free.
“I don’t know why you want the magazine,” Jeff Myers murmured. “With all the money the old man has pumped into it, we have no idea what it’s really worth. She’s probably never had to prepare a financial statement, so we’re buying blind. Why not buy something else?”
Cameron shrugged. “Well, Rolling Stone would be too expensive. So would Premiere and Entertainment. Attitudes is a weekly, it’s a trend-setter, and their subscription list fits our demographic. It’s a good match for us,” he said. “And I don’t care what it costs. I want the magazine and I want you to do everything necessary to get it.”
He smiled to himself. It felt good to say that, to know that when it came to a business acquisition, money was no longer an object. There was a time not so long ago that he’d struggled to make ends meet. He’d just founded NightRyder, and though hip and trendy New Yorkers visited the site to learn all the latest on movies, music, and entertainment, the Internet was still young. Every penny he’d saved, most of it earmarked for his last year at NYU, had gone into the design. Four years later, when NightRyder had become the most popular Internet site nationwide in the 20- to 30-year-old demographic, the advertisers started coming and Cam’s life as an Internet entrepreneur began.
“Don’t you think you’re carrying this mystery man thing a little too far?” Jeff asked. “You’re making too much money to keep your face out of the public eye forever. And you’re the Ryder in NightRyder, Cam. You should be there when we make our offer and Charlotte Danforth accepts.”
Cam chuckled. “She’s not going to accept.”
“What? But she has to. We’ve done our research. Daddy Danforth is just about ready to cut her off, if he hasn’t already. Her creditors are hounding her. And she’s spending more and more time partying with her high society friends than running her magazine. The time is right.”
“She’s not going to accept,” Cam insisted. “Attitudes is her baby. Besides, we’re only going to offer her half what we think the magazine is worth.”
“But I thought we decided—”
“I know what we decided. But I changed my mind. I need some more information before we make a solid offer.”
“Cam, it’s a privately held publication. I don’t think she’s going to open up the books and let us browse before we talk money.”
“I know. But we can afford to wait her out, until she’s a little more desperate. And while we do that, maybe we can get some inside information.”
Jeff nodded. “I suppose that wouldn’t be a bad idea. Charlotte Danforth has hired and fired enough people. We could always find a disgruntled employee who might want to talk.”
“Then do it,” he said. “And call me after your meeting with Danforth. I want a full report.”
Jeff nodded, then started across the street. Cameron watched as he walked in the front entrance of the ornate cast-iron building, one of the many that lined the streets in this section of Soho. Then he turned and shoved his hands in his pockets, warming them in the chilly evening air.
His fingers toyed with a wad of paper in his pocket and he pulled it out, only to find the crumpled sheet the beautiful girl had used on his shirt, the scribblings on it now blurred by the coffee. Part of the paper was still completely legible—the Attitudes logo across the bottom and the name on the top.
“From the desk of Nina Forrester,” he murmured. “Nina.” The name seemed to suit her, light, airy, a name that sounded like a peal of laughter or a twinkle in the eye. “So that’s her name.”
It took a few moments for the importance of his discovery to sink in. Nina Forrester worked at Attitudes! And he was looking for someone on the inside, someone to give him insight into the mercurial Charlotte Danforth and the state of her business affairs. His mind instantly began to form a strategy.
Why not go back inside and join her? He could engage her in conversation, bring up the subject of work. Most women loved to talk about their work, especially to a man who appeared interested in what she had to say. But the thought of manipulating her for his own purposes rankled.
Though rising to the top of the Internet world had taken immense technical knowledge, staying on top required a fair bit of ruthlessness. Still, he’d never deliberately deceived anyone to get what he wanted. Wasn’t that what he was considering now? He held the paper up to read the rest of the scribbling in the waning light of day, wondering what she’d been working on.
“Looking for Mr. Right Now?” he read, confusion wrinkling his brow. “Attractive, fun-loving, energetic SWF, 25, seeks adventurous Adonis, 25-35, for wild Saturday nights and lazy Sunday afternoons.”
Cameron reread the words again, simply to assure himself that he’d read them right the first time. “Adventurous Adonis? Wild Saturday nights and lazy Sunday afternoons?”
Usually, he was an excellent judge of character, able to detect hidden agendas and ulterior motives in a single glance. But if Nina Forrester had written this ad, then he’d been completely fooled by her innocent smile. A woman who enjoyed wild Saturday nights and lazy Sunday afternoons would probably have no qualms about dumping her coffee on a single guy sitting in a coffee shop. Maybe he’d been too hasty in his earlier impression. Perhaps she might be able to help him get inside Attitudes magazine.
Cameron started back down the street toward the subway stop, carefully folding the paper as he walked. He’d never really thought of himself as an Adonis—far from it. Up until he made his first million, he was just a computer geek, the kid with the thick glasses and the pocketful of pens, the president of the computer club and the chess club, a guy girls did their best to ignore.
Funny how a little power and money seemed to change him in others’ eyes. It always took him unawares, for inside, there was still a tiny bit of the geek left. He’d simply gotten a few years older, so that grown-up muscle now covered his once bony body. An uptown haircut and designer clothing had completed the transformation in his outward appearance. Maybe money did make the man.
He turned and stared back at the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop. Though his curiosity was piqued, he wasn’t about to go back inside. He knew her name, where she worked, and where she played. He could find her if he needed to.
“Better to wait,” he murmured with a chuckle. “After all, no self-respecting Adonis would be seen with a huge coffee stain on his chest.”

2
“HURRY UP! Staff meeting in the conference room. Charlotte wants everyone there.”
Nina looked up at Lizbeth from the reference books spread across her desk. She’d been caught up in finding out the name of the original designer of platform shoes and had lost all track of time. Before that, she’d been immersed in an idle contemplation of the mystery man she’d spilled coffee on last night. She still couldn’t put him out of her mind, going over every stupid mistake she’d made.
Why hadn’t she offered to send his shirt to the cleaner or pay for a new shirt? Why hadn’t she given him her phone number or at least introduced herself? Nina had lived in Manhattan for seven years, since her college days at Columbia, and she’d never met a man quite as handsome as the man she’d affectionately dubbed “Coffee Man.”
A more appropriate name would come to her, but Nina was already certain that this man would occupy her fantasies for a long time to come. Besides being incredibly handsome, he was funny and smart and confident, though how she knew all these things she wasn’t sure. What she did know was that if she ever saw him again she wasn’t going to let him get away a second time.
“Nina?”
With a start, Nina glanced up at Lizbeth, drawn from her daydream. “Oh, right. The meeting.” She reached up and raked her fingers through her hair. Though Lizbeth looked like she’d just stepped out of a magazine ad, Nina usually managed to run a comb through her hair on the way down her apartment stairs and dash on mascara and a little lipstick during her bus ride from her East Village apartment. “She wants everyone there?” she asked.
“Big news,” Lizbeth warned. “I think bad news, too, from the look on Charlotte’s face. She’s wearing the same clothes she had on yesterday afternoon, her hair is a mess and she’s got raccoon eyes from her mascara. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Charlotte looking like a roadside rodent. Maybe Daddy Danforth has finally cut the purse strings.”
Nina’s heart twisted in her chest. If the magazine was having financial problems then the first jobs to be cut would be editorial assistants. Her current position as fact checker was safe as long as Attitudes was still publishing. But her future as an assistant editor with the magazine suddenly looked bleak. “Are you sure she wants me there? I’m never invited to staff meetings.”
“She specifically asked that you come,” Lizbeth said.
Nina jumped to her feet, hope springing to life inside her. “Did she ask for me by name?”
“Yes,” Lizbeth said. “She walked in my office, told me about the meeting and requested that I be sure to tell Tina.”
Nina rolled her eyes and cursed softly. “Is my name that hard to remember? I’ve worked for Charlotte for nearly three years! She sees me at least four or five times a week.” She looked down at the bottle-green satin Chinese jacket and flowered skirt she wore. “I don’t look like I blend into the furniture, do I?”
Lizbeth considered Nina’s skirt for a few seconds and put on her best Southern drawl. “My mama did have some dining room portieres that looked a lot like your skirt.”
Nina strode to the door, pinching Lizbeth’s arm as she passed. “You’re so mean to me. I don’t know why you’re still my friend.”
Lizbeth fell into step beside her as they strolled toward the conference room. “Because I’m the only one who really appreciates you,” she said with a lazy smile. “And your whimsical fashion sense.” She gave her the once-over with her critical fashion eye. “All right, I love the jacket. There, are you happy?”
One thing Nina was happy about was that Lizbeth had forgotten the events of the night before. The last thing she needed was her best friend chiding her about the mistakes she’d made. Lizbeth just didn’t understand. She’d always had boys fawning over her and men falling at her feet. Nina had discovered boys a little later in life, so she’d been playing catch-up since she was eighteen. She sighed softly, glancing at Lizbeth. No matter how long she worked at it, she’d never catch up to Lizbeth.
By the time they reached the conference room, all the chairs had been taken by senior staff. Lizbeth and Nina stood against the back wall and watched as Charlotte called the meeting to order. Nina couldn’t recall ever attending a staff meeting before. Charlotte preferred to deal with her one-on-one and important news was usually passed on to Nina through office gossip, haphazard memos, or not at all.
“We have a problem,” Charlotte began. “A huge problem. I’ve called you all in here because, frankly, I don’t know what to do.” To Nina’s surprise, the normally icy Charlotte looked like she was about to cry. “I can’t go to Daddy, so I’m asking all of you for your help.” She sniffed. “I know I haven’t always been the nicest boss, but I can’t change that now.” Her voice trembled slightly. “Yesterday evening I had a visit from a representative of NightRyder, some Internet company with truckloads of cash. They offered to buy the magazine.”
A collective gasp sounded in the silence of the conference room, followed by a low murmur of whispered comments. Lizbeth turned to look at Nina, her eyes wide.
Charlotte ran her fingers through her mussed hair and Nina noticed the shadows beneath her boss’s eyes. She had been crying. “Don’t worry, the offer wasn’t good enough to accept. But the next one might be. And as you all know, this magazine has always operated on a…tight budget. And now that Daddy—I mean, now that my investors have decided to curtail their rather generous funding, the magazine is more vulnerable than ever. We have to tighten our belt, be more efficient and—and do all those other things you people do when we need to save money. I’m sure you know what they are.”
“Like cutting back on expensive business lunches at the city’s best restaurants?” Lizbeth murmured. “And throwing lavish parties for male models then writing them off against our photo budgets?”
“Shhh!” Nina hissed.
“Lena, where are you?” Charlotte demanded. Her gaze searched the room, but no one spoke up. The rest of the employees glanced nervously back and forth. “Well, where is my head of research? Lizbeth, I told you to bring her along. Where is Lena?”
Suddenly Nina realized that Charlotte was talking to her. She raised her hand nervously. “I’m here,” she said. “Tina, I—I mean, Nina. Nina Forrester.” She groaned inwardly and bit back a curse. Now she couldn’t even remember her own name!
“Tina, I want you to find out everything you can about this NightRyder company. It’s owned by someone named Cameron Ryder. Call whoever you call and get me something, anything, on this man. I need to know everything I can about the enemy before I face him again. Oh, and find out if he’s married.” She glanced around the room. “As for the rest of you, no more spending. Cultivate new vendors who will extend us credit. Sell more ad pages. And there’ll be no more free beverages in the coffee room!”
With that, she swept out of the room, leaving her staff to wonder whether they might be better off with Cameron Ryder at the helm of Attitudes. Nina and Lizbeth hurried out in front of the crowd, anxious to regain the privacy of Nina’s office. When they closed the door behind them, they both gasped and gaped at each other.
“I suppose we ought to start revising our résumés,” Nina said.
“You don’t actually think Charlotte will sell to this NightRyder guy, do you?”
Nina shook her head. “She’s not much of a business-woman and the magazine has always struggled. But then, maybe this Ryder isn’t much of a businessman.” She reached for her computer keyboard, then looked at the screen. The moment she’d walked in that morning, she’d typed up her two ads—the “coffee collision” ad for Mr. Right and the “Adonis” ad for Mr. Right Now, still torn between which one to place.
As she stared at the screen, Nina’s mind again wandered back to her encounter with “Coffee Man.” How many times had she brushed him from her thoughts, trying to convince herself there was probably something seriously wrong with him? Maybe he picked his teeth or burped after dinner. Maybe he hated modern art or detested the theater. He could have all sorts of disgusting flaws. Like all the other men she’d met, she’d probably have dropped him sooner or later, so what was the point even wasting brain cells on him?
A soft moan slipped from her lips. But he was incredibly intriguing. She suspected he had a body to match that gorgeous face, hidden beneath his staid attire. And though she usually didn’t go for the suit-and-tie type, he wouldn’t always be wearing clothes. A delicious shiver skittered up her spine and she couldn’t help but smile.
“Well? What have you found?”
Nina blinked, then glanced up at Lizbeth. “What? Oh, nothing. It’ll take more than a few seconds.” She shook her head and turned back to the monitor, hoping to hide the warm flush that had crept up her cheeks. “But I’ll let you know as soon as I do,” she murmured, closing the document that held the two ads.
Lizbeth started toward the door. “Good luck,” she said, the usual light and teasing tone now gone from her voice. “All of us are counting on you.”
She closed the door behind her, leaving Nina to her own thoughts. Though the business with Cameron Ryder was urgent, she allowed herself just a few more moments to think about her fantasy man. Maybe if she finished up her research for Charlotte early, she’d go back to the coffee shop after work. Perhaps, he’d be there, hoping that she might return as well.
And this time, she wouldn’t be such a dope. She’d catch his eye from across the room. And then she’d smile, a hesitant, but coy smile, with maybe a hint of surprise. Then a little wave, playful but not too aggressive. After all, she didn’t want him to think she’d come looking for him on purpose. No, it was best to play hard to get—but not too hard to get.
“So how do I do that?”
She glanced down at what she’d pulled from her closet that morning. It wasn’t exactly conservative, but she thought it was pretty. “Maybe Mr. Right goes for the kind of woman who wears conservative clothes and spends more than a few minutes making herself look pretty in the morning,” she murmured, worrying over a loose thread on her jacket. She tugged on it and a button went flying across the room.
Yeah, she was smooth all right. For all she knew, Mr. Right might have a Ms. Right waiting at home, someone beautiful and sophisticated. He might even be married! Not every man wore a wedding band. Since last night, she’d spun a whole fantasy around this guy, giving him qualities she wasn’t even sure he’d possessed.
“This is ridiculous,” Nina said. “Your social life is so bad that you’ve been reduced to dreaming up a relationship with a complete stranger, turning a few minutes at Jitterbug’s into two kids, a dog and a three-bedroom house in Jersey.”
With a soft oath, she brought up the computer screen that held her two ads. Pounding furiously on the Delete key, she erased her “Coffee Collision” ad. It was time to stop dreaming and take control of her life. Mr. Right was a silly fantasy. And Mr. Right Now would have to wait until after this crisis with NightRyder was solved. For the next few days, she’d have to focus all her time and energy on just one man—the mysterious and very dangerous Cameron Ryder.
THE MARCH WEATHER had turned brisk again, a cold, damp wind swirling around the city and smelling of a late season snow. Cameron pulled his leather jacket closed as he stepped out of the cab in front of the coffee shop. He stood for a long moment on the sidewalk, trying to decide whether to venture inside. The windows were fogged and the sound of music drifted out every time the door was opened, but he waited.
He wasn’t really sure why he’d come. He’d already decided not to use Nina Forrester for information about Attitudes magazine. Too many complications. Yet, he had still made a simple phone call to the magazine and learned she was a fact checker, a job that probably didn’t put her in daily contact with the editor and publisher, Charlotte Danforth, anyway. The information she might be able to provide would be marginally valuable at best—or that’s what he chose to tell himself.
“So why the hell am I here?” Cameron muttered.
Was it curiosity? He couldn’t deny that he’d found their little encounter over a cup of coffee surprisingly intriguing. Maybe it was the contradiction, the wide-eyed naif hiding a provocative siren. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew the ad she’d written. If he hadn’t taken it from her hand, he never would have put the two together. But then, he’d never been a very astute judge of the female mind. For a guy who didn’t have a real date until he was a junior in college, Cameron Ryder had been forced to learn fast, leaving several very pronounced gaps in his studies.
There had been women, a fair number of them since he’d started NightRyder, but never anything serious. He thought back to his days in college, to the fantasies of beautiful, sexy women, blond and leggy, with tanned and trainer-toned bodies. They were every misfit’s dream and over the past five years he’d dated—and bedded—a string of them.
But somehow, the reality had never lived up to the fantasy. Though many of the women were nice enough, there was nothing beyond the gorgeous bodies except the desire to capture a wealthy and powerful man. More and more, he’d found himself playing the role they’d wanted to him play, pretending to be someone he could never be, smooth and sophisticated, yet caught in a series of empty relationships.
So he’d stopped dating months ago, instead putting his energy back into the business. Nina Forrester was the first woman he’d found even remotely interesting in all that time. He exhaled, his breath clouding in front of his face, then pulled the door open. He hadn’t been inside more than a few moments before he saw her. She was sitting at a table over in the corner. She turned to look at some papers she’d spread in front of her and he silently studied her profile—the pretty nose, the lush lips, the golden hair that framed her face in soft tendrils.
Without thinking, he crossed the room and came to a stop beside her table. Suddenly, he wasn’t quite sure what to say. He felt as if he’d been transported back to that awful moment in high school when he’d worked up the nerve to ask the prettiest cheerleader out on a date, only to have her laugh in his face.
Cameron swallowed hard. “I owe you a cup of coffee.”
She looked up and for an instant, he thought he saw delight in her pretty blue eyes and a tiny trace of a smile curling her lips. “Hi,” she said, her voice breathless with surprise. She stood up quickly, knocking her hip against the table and nearly spilling her cup of coffee in the process. “What are you doing here?”
Cameron knew enough about women to play it cool. “I was just passing by and thought I’d give the coffee another try.”
“Oh, right,” she said, a nervous twitch of her lips passing for a smile. “I guess you didn’t get much of a taste of it last night.” She paused. “I should buy you a cup.” She motioned to the second chair at her table. “Why don’t you sit down.” Without another word, she hurried off. But a few seconds later, she returned, her face colored with a pretty blush. “How do take your coffee?” she asked.
“With just a little cream,” Cameron replied, slipping out of his jacket. He watched her return to the counter, then sat down and waited. When she came back with his coffee, he stood and pulled out her chair. But as she sat down, she caught her elbow on his arm and half the coffee spilled all over her papers.
“Oh, no!” she cried.
Cameron grabbed the cup from her hand just as it was about to dump all over his sleeve, then set it down. He handed her a stack of napkins. “You are a menace with a cup of coffee,” he teased. “Maybe we should stick to tea.”
Nina mopped up the coffee on her side of the table, then glanced up at him, gracing him with one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever seen. “Maybe we should. Maybe it’s like that movie. I’m doomed to repeat the same clumsy mistakes over and over, every time we meet.”
“Well, I made sure to dress in brown,” he said, indicating his brown wool trousers and sweater. “So fire away. I’m ready.”
When the table was finally cleaned up, they both sat down. The blush still stained Nina’s cheeks and Cameron still wasn’t sure what to say. He’d have been completely satisfied just to sit across from her and look at her pretty face, but he guessed that she expected a little more. “Is this work?” he asked, pointing to the coffee-stained papers.
Nina nodded. “It was. I’ve got a special project I’ve been assigned. I’ve been working on it all day.”
“And where do you work?” he asked, already knowing the answer. He felt guilty even bringing up the subject of her job, considering his position, but it was a safe subject for two people who barely knew each other.
“I’m the head of research for Attitudes,” she said. “It’s a weekly magazine. Our offices are right across the street.”
He couldn’t help but smile at the embellished job title. Still, he was secretly pleased that she was trying to impress him. “Attitudes?”
“Have you ever heard of it?” She forced a smile. “I suppose not. I mean, you’re not really our type—our reader—I mean, our demographic.”
“And why is that?” Cameron asked.
“Well, you’re a little too…”
He waited as she groped for a polite way to say conservative. “Tall?” he asked. Her blush deepened and she shook her head. “Too stubborn? That’s always been a problem.” She shook her head again. “Or maybe I’m too clumsy?”
Nina laughed. “The word we’d use around the office might be ‘conservative.’ Not that that’s a bad thing. It’s just not our demographic.”
“Gee, I thought you were about to say I was too handsome or too charming.”
“Maybe I should have,” she murmured, sending him a coy look over the rim of her coffee mug. “So, what do you do?”
“I’m in…computers,” Cameron said.
“I could have guessed that,” Nina commented. “I mean, from the way you were dressed when we first met. You looked like a businessman.”
A long silence grew between them and Cameron fought the sudden urge to lean across the table and kiss her, simply to see if her lips tasted as good as they looked. Instead, he grabbed the next handiest subject. “Tell me about this project you’re working on.” Cameron pointed to the papers. “You said it was important?” He picked up his mug and took a sip of his coffee.
“There’s not much to it,” Nina replied. “I’m supposed to find out everything I can about some guy named Cameron Ryder.”
A sudden cough burst from his throat and he sucked in a deep breath, the coffee going down the wrong way. Nina’s brow furrowed in concern and she reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “It’s just a little hot,” he said, his eyes watering. “So, what have you found out about this guy?”
“I spent all day on the Net, downloading what I could about his company, NightRyder. But the guy who runs it keeps a pretty low profile. If I had to guess I’d say he’s some hard-hearted, ruthless businessman who buys up companies for sport, putting good people out of work, and he keeps a low profile so none of the employees he puts out of work can run over him with a bus.”
“He sounds like a real bastard,” Cameron said.
“This NightRyder, it’s a news and information site. Very trendy, very popular with our magazine’s demographic. He wants to buy Attitudes and turn himself into some media mogul. My boss doesn’t want to sell.”
“And what else have you learned?”
“Not much. I can’t even find a photo of the guy, except for this.” She slid a paper over towards him. “It’s his high school graduation picture. He looks like kind of a geek. But I guess even geeks can turn into bastards given enough power and money.”
Cameron winced inwardly. Damn, he hated when that picture surfaced in the media. He’d done his best to stay out of the glare of the paparazzi, avoiding photographers like the plague. But for lack of a more current photo, they always trotted out the senior picture—the pimply-faced, pencil-necked doofus with the thick glasses. And he was once again faced with a reminder of the first eighteen years of his life.
But there was one advantage to the photo. There was no way Nina Forrester would recognize him. Hell, he barely recognized himself. “He doesn’t look very ruthless to me. He looks like the kind of kid who eats paste and spends most of his day stuffed in a locker. See there,” he said, pointing to the picture. “He’s got louver marks on his forehead.”
She snatched the picture away from him and put it back in her folder. “If he buys the magazine, I’ll probably be out of a job.” Nina shook her head. “But I really don’t want to think about that now.” The gloomy look dissolved from her face and she smiled again. “Why don’t we talk about something else? You know, I don’t even know your name.”
Cameron opened his mouth, about to introduce himself, then thought better of it. She already believed him to be a ruthless bastard. If he told her who he really was she might just heave the rest of her coffee in his face. “And I don’t know your name,” he said, surprised with his smooth reply.
“It’s Nina. Nina Forrester.”
She held out her hand and he took it, grasping her delicate fingers with his. A current of electricity shot through his arm, warming his blood. How could a simple touch affect him so strongly? He wanted to lace his fingers with hers and bring them to his lips. He noticed that she was wearing green nail polish to match the deep green of her satin jacket. He liked it, even though it was an odd color. Odd looked good on her. When he felt her gently tug her fingers away, he let go.
“What about you?” she asked after a long silence.
“Me? I don’t usually wear nail polish.”
Nina giggled and gave him an odd look. “What’s your name?”
“Oh, it’s…Wright,” he said, taking the first name that came to mind while still completely captivated by her eyes. After all, that’s who she was looking for, wasn’t it?
“Right?” she asked. “Like Mr. Right? R-I-G-H-T?”
He shook his head. “W-R- Like Wilbur and Orville. I think we might even be related.”
Her brow arched. “And do you have a first name? Or would you prefer I call you Mister?”
“Jack. Jack Wright.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Jack Wright.”
Suddenly, he didn’t want to talk about her work. He wanted to find out much more about this enchanting woman sitting in front of him. He wanted to listen to her voice and watch the lively play of emotion on her face as she spoke. He wanted to lose himself in her brilliant blue eyes and warm himself beneath her smile. “Would you like to get out of here? Maybe take a walk or get something to eat?”
She smiled and he was certain she was about to accept his invitation, but then she shook her head. “I can’t. I have a lot of work to do. My boss expects a report first thing tomorrow morning on this Cameron Ryder and I haven’t found anything to give her. I’m going to have to go back to the office.”
Cameron was tempted to give her everything she wanted just to spend a little more time with her. He’d tell her about his childhood, his stumbles toward puberty, the awful teenage years and the grind through college. He’d give her his banker’s number, his attorney’s number. Anything she wanted to know, he’d tell her. But Cameron knew that wasn’t possible. For now, he was better off hiding behind the guise of Mr. Wright. “If you can’t have dinner tonight, how about lunch tomorrow?”
She stood and gathered up her papers. “All right. Lunch would be fine.”
Cameron slipped out of his chair and helped her into her coat, allowing his hands to rest on her shoulders for a few minutes. He leaned closer and drew a deep breath. Her hair smelled like fresh air and flowers. Then she stepped away, walking toward the door. Cam tossed a few bills on the table for a tip, then followed her.
When they reached the sidewalk, an uneasy silence settled between them. This was the time he was supposed to say something incredibly clever or smooth, so she’d invite him back to her apartment. But Cam couldn’t come up with anything except, “Can I give you a ride? We can share a cab.”
Nina giggled. “I’m just going across the street.”
Cameron groaned inwardly. The doofus gene had asserted itself again, just when he thought he’d managed to knock it out of his DNA. “Right,” he said. He rubbed his hands together. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch?”
“Lunch,” she repeated. “Where?”
“I’ll pick you up at your office.”
She nodded, then took a step toward the curb. As she did, Nina turned back to look at him and all Cam knew at that moment was he didn’t want to let her go, not yet. He grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. And then, without even considering the consequences, he brought his mouth down on hers in a soft, but hungry kiss.
Never in his life had he acted so impulsively. But with Nina, it didn’t pay to think. The moments flew past so quickly, that he couldn’t help but reach out and catch one and hold onto it for a time. He’d meant only to indulge in a brief kiss, but when she wrapped her arms around his neck, he gently pushed her back until she stood against the brick facade of the coffee shop. Slowly, Cameron explored her mouth, tasting and testing. When he finally found the strength to pull away, he brought his hand up to her cheek and skimmed her silken skin.
She swallowed hard, her eyes wide and dewy. “If—if I tell you something, will you promise not to take it the wrong way?”
Cameron nodded. “I’ll try.”
“I was hoping you’d stop by the coffee shop tonight,” she murmured. “That’s why I came.” A pretty blush stained her cheeks and her gaze dropped to his chest.
“And I was hoping you’d be here.” He reached down and caught a finger under her chin. Then, without a second thought, he leaned forward and brushed another kiss across her lips. “I’ll call you,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on her mouth for a long moment.
“You don’t have my phone number.”
“But I know where you work,” he countered. “We can decide where we want to go for lunch.”
Nina nodded. “That would be nice.” Slowly, reluctantly, she stepped out of his embrace. She sent him one last smile, then turned and hurried across the street. Cameron watched until she disappeared through the front door of Attitudes, then he let out a tightly held breath.
With a soft curse, he raked his hand through his hair and shook his head. “I sure hope you figure out what the hell you’re doing, Ryder. Because once she finds out who you really are, she’s not going to want to kiss you anymore. Hell, you’ll be lucky if she lets you live.”
“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? I’ve been waiting for you all morning!” Nina called.
Lizbeth hurried through the hallway to the fashion offices, Nina falling into step beside her. “I had a photo shoot,” Lizbeth explained. “I’m just back for a few minutes. Hervé insists that we use that silly fedora. He thinks it’s sexy—I just think it looks stupid.”
“But I have to talk to you. Can’t you stay for a few minutes?”
When they reached Lizbeth’s office, Nina followed her inside and slammed the door behind her. Unlike her own office, which was neatly filled with books and binders full of useful information, Lizbeth’s office looked like a bomb had exploded in a designer showroom. Clothes and accessories were scattered everywhere, hanging from shelves, tossed over chairs, folded on the floor. Nina wasn’t sure how Lizbeth kept anything straight since all the clothes seemed to be black.
“I’ve got three minutes,” Lizbeth said. “Talk fast.”
“All right, here’s the condensed version. I saw him again last night. We kissed, three or four times, I can’t even remember. And it was so incredible. And he’s coming here to take me out to lunch.”
Lizbeth looked up. “What?”
“The coffee guy,” Nina explained, “from Jitterbug’s. His name is Wright. Can you believe that? Is that too perfect? Jack Wright. W-R, not with just an R. He was in there last night and we—”
Lizbeth held out her hand to stop Nina’s words, then slowly circled her desk and sat down. “Honey, Hervé can do without that hat. Tell me all the details.”
“But I thought you—”
“I have all the time in the world for your love life,” Lizbeth cried.
Nina sighed, then sat down across the desk from her and began to recount the events of the night before. She made a special point of telling Lizbeth how she refused his invitation to dinner. “That was good, right? I mean, I didn’t want to seem too enthusiastic, or too easy.”
“You did very well.”
She smiled proudly. “I did. And oh, he just makes me feel so good. I get all warm inside and my knees go a little soft and my brain doesn’t seem to work right, and—and I can barely breathe. Do you know that feeling?”
Lizbeth raised an eyebrow. “Honey, I invented that feeling. Now, when is he coming to take you to lunch?”
“In about fifteen minutes,” Nina said.
She gave Nina the once-over. “That gives us just enough time.”
“For what?”
“To fix you up.”
Nina glanced down at the outfit she’d so carefully chosen that morning. The little sweater dress was from the sixties, pale melon pink with bugle bead starbursts on the cuffs, collar and hem. She considered it a conservative choice paired with knee-high black boots. Nina had taken special care with her hair, wearing it loose and unbound in soft waves, pushed away from her face by a black headband. “What’s wrong?”
“He was wearing a handmade French shirt and a designer suit, Hugo Boss if I’m not mistaken. The guy knows fashion.” Lizbeth jumped to her feet and began snatching clothes from around the room—a long, pencil-thin skirt, a body-hugging sweater, both in black. “The boots are good, the rest has to go.”
“Why?”
“Honey, you’ve got that whole groovy sixties thing going. Or maybe it’s seventies, I’m not sure. If he dressed in Nehru jackets or leisure suits, then I’d say go for it but we’re not playing Austin Powers today.”
Nina reluctantly changed into the clothes Lizbeth had chosen, secretly pleased that she was able to fit into the sample sizes. Though the calf-length skirt nearly reached her ankles, Lizbeth pronounced that length equally fashionable. When she was dressed, her friend pulled her hair back into a sleek ponytail and tied it with an expensive black silk scarf.
Nina stood in front of the mirror that Lizbeth had cleared and looked at herself. The clothes did show her figure to its best advantage. And the black made her look even thinner and more sophisticated. But the outfit didn’t have any character or color. It said nothing about the person she was. “Now I look like everyone else that lives in this city. This is like the uniform for young, professional women.”
“Which is exactly what he’ll like.” Lizbeth’s phone rang and she picked it up, then smiled at Nina. “Yup, she’s here, and she’ll be right out.” She put the phone down. “He’s in reception. Would you like me to walk out with you? Never mind, I’m going to walk out with you. But I won’t act like I’m going down to see him, I’ll just run across the street and get a cup of coffee.”
They both headed for the reception area on the ground floor of the building. When they stepped out of the elevator, Nina saw him, sitting in an overstuffed leather chair near the window. He was focussed on the most recent issue of Attitudes, his brow furrowed, his expression dubious. Instead of a suit, he was wearing faded jeans that hugged his long legs and a canvas jacket that hid a T-shirt. “See,” Nina said. “He’s not wearing a suit.”
“Yum,” Lizbeth breathed. “What a hottie!” She turned and straightened Nina’s collar. “Ride ’em, cowgirl.”
Her friend kept walking, right out the door, and Nina stopped in front of Jack. “Hi,” she said, unable to stop a smile from curling the corners of her lips.
He looked up. Surprise colored his expression as he rose to his feet, taking in her appearance. He reached out and took her hand, a gesture that seemed so natural but sent her heart racing. And when he bent and brushed a kiss on her cheek, she truly thought she might swoon. “Hi. For a minute there I didn’t recognize you.” His gaze slowly raked her body. “You look a little different.”

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