Playing Her Cards Right: Choose Me. Jo Leigh
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was enough to pull her out of the spell of being with Charlie, her one-night-only prince.
THE LIMO ARRIVED, AND THANK goodness Charlie knew the driver because all of the limos looked identical, except for the radical fringe who liked their Hummers and their Bentleys stretched and bedazzled. Chivalry wasn’t dead, Bree was glad to see, as Charlie stood in the safety position blocking her as she got into the backseat. When he climbed in after, he pulled her close, his arm around her shoulders.
“That was amazing,” she said, rubbing her hands together in an attempt to get warmer.
“It was. Everyone came out to play tonight.”
“I’m still trying to get it in my head that it happened, that it wasn’t a dream.”
“Nope. A hell of a lot of the pictures and videos coming out of tonight are for Naked New York. I’ll make sure you get copies, how’s that?”
Bree looked up at him, astonished. “Really? Of everything?”
“Yep. On disk, so you can Photoshop whomever. Just do me a favor and don’t publish them. That could get tricky.”
“I won’t, I swear it. Not the Photoshop part—I’m totally going to do that, and I’m going to save every last nickel until I can get a color printer, but I swear I won’t publish. I wouldn’t abuse the privilege.” “I’m not worried.”
She couldn’t stop staring at him. “How can you not be? You don’t know me at all. I could be anyone. A competitor. I could work for Perez Hilton or Gawker, and then where would you be?”
“You don’t, though. Because Rebecca likes you.”
“She barely knows me, either.”
“Rebecca has excellent instincts about people. You’ll do well to stick with her. Don’t tell her I said this, but she’s very, very smart. The smartest one in the family, and we’ve got a couple of federal judges running around, in addition to a bunch of politicians.”
“Speaking of, lately I’ve been seeing all these billboards for Andrew Winslow III. I didn’t think of it before, but are you guys related?”
Charlie’s expression turned sour. “And so it begins. He’s a cousin. Not one I’m fond of. Although, I’m not fond of most of them. Rebecca is the exception.”
Interesting, his distaste for his family. So different from her own experience. Sad, too. She didn’t know what she’d do without her family’s support. Best to get back to the relative he liked. “I’m enjoying the hell out of our friendship so far. Rebecca’s ridiculously funny. And she knows the city the way I want to some day. All the little places and the secrets.”
“Why New York?” he asked.
“The Chrysler Building started it,” she said. “I love art deco, although when I first saw pictures of the building I didn’t know what art deco was. Then I discovered fashion, then theater and what was available here, something incredible down every street. I fell for the city long before I stepped foot in it. And yes, thanks to Woody Allen, it came with a score by George Gershwin. I think I must have lived here before in another life. Not that I necessarily believe in reincarnation, but if it’s real, then I was here. This is home.”
“There’s a heartbeat to this place that’s either in sync with your rhythm or not. I notice its absence every time I travel. If you’re one of the chosen, Manhattan becomes home base and every time you come back, it’s as if you can finally breathe again. That’s how it is for me, at least.”
She smiled at him, as if they shared a secret handshake. She supposed they did. Then she leaned over, her head resting gently on his shoulder. “Thank you, Charlie. Tonight’s been one for the books.”
Charlie closed his eyes as he pulled her closer. He agreed about the night. It hadn’t been easy to leave her while he worked, and when had that happened at one of these things? He couldn’t recall.
Not that he didn’t like the women he asked out—he did. He liked women of all sorts, but he had some strong preferences, he wasn’t going to deny it. He wasn’t just dating for his own amusement, after all. His image was part of the Naked New York brand, and so were the women he was seen with. Some were better than others, some he could talk to, some couldn’t string two coherent sentences together, but to a woman they were a type.
Bree wasn’t even close.
So far she’d surprised him in almost every respect, though, and as he’d plowed through the glitter, he’d tried to remember the last time surprise had been in the mix. Scandals were par for the course these days, scripted or not. Hell, scandals were the point, whether they were caused by celebrities or of his own creation. Parties were only excuses to be seen or heard or photographed. Everything was grist, and he was both the wheat and the miller. Surprises? Once in a blue moon.
He wanted to know more about the woman warming his side, which was also rare, at least in this circumstance. He’d always been interested in people. That’s why he started the blog in the first place. Well, that and wanting to shove his parents’ plans for him where the sun didn’t shine. He wanted Bree’s details. The minutiae of the life she’d given up to come here, who she hoped to become. Something to do with fashion, obviously. Was that dress of hers a new design? Meant to stand out? Charlie might be around high fashion far more than a normal person should be, but that didn’t mean he was a member of the inner circle. As far as he could tell, Bree’s dress was nice. It showed her shape, the look of her skin, her curves and the soft skin of her thighs. He liked it. But was it fashion? No idea.
On the other hand, maybe he didn’t want to know more. He’d hardly be seeing her again, even if she and Rebecca were friends. Charlie’s social calendar was a function of necessity, not desire, and however much he liked Bree … what the hell was her last name … she wasn’t on the agenda. Couldn’t be. Whatever had motivated Rebecca to set up this date, it wasn’t to fix him up. He’d known that the moment he’d set eyes on the girl from Ohio. But he wasn’t sorry for the time spent with her. She’d made his night.
She’d fairly sparkled with how the event had dazzled her. He had to give her credit; she’d handled herself beautifully in the face of many challenges, but even so, there was no hiding her excitement. It was likely she didn’t realize how she came off. He had the feeling it might bother her to know that she lit up like a marquee every time she saw someone famous. The ideal fan, in truth. No squealing or flailing or “Oh, my Gods.” Just that inner light, the spark in her eyes, the coy and charming way she bit her lower lip when it got to be too much.
He breathed her in, glad the perfumes of the night hadn’t swallowed her whole. Another surprise came when he noticed he’d been petting her all during the drive home. Running his hand over her arm. By the time the car stopped, Bree was practically purring and from the look in her eyes, exhausted. Adrenaline drop, probably.
She sat up, looked at the building, then back at him. “So, this is good-night?”
Yes sat on the tip of his tongue. What he said was, “Only if you want it to be.”
Her eyebrows lifted, as did the corners of her mouth, but a second later she hesitated and concern took over. “You don’t have to. I mean, this was—”
“Do you have to work tomorrow?”
She nodded sadly.
He paused for a single beat. “Do you want to come up, anyway?”
BREE WONDERED IF SHE WAS reading the situation correctly. She inhaled sharply as she remembered his kiss, the way he’d touched her. If this were Ohio, she’d have known exactly what he wanted. In New York? She’d have to take a risk. “I would,” she said, hoping she sounded far more confident than she felt. She was going up to his apartment. To his bedroom!