“Endure? Yeah, because sipping Veuve Clicquot with Michael Bublé playing in the background while waiting for someone to bring you clothes is a really tough life.”
“Spare me the pretentious guilt trip. You realize that most people don’t count shopping as work, right?”
I turn toward him and lower my voice. “You’re the one who wanted to tag along, so we may as well get some use out of your crashing my shopping day.”
“How the hell is this going to help my—”
“Matthew. Be quiet and trust me. For the next five minutes, you need to forget that you’re pissy about shopping and pretend to be completely smitten.”
“Smitten with what?”
I exhale through my nose. “With me, you jackass.”
I turn around casually, noting the well-dressed woman on the far side of the shop. She hasn’t seen me, but I saw her the moment we entered.
She’s the reason we’re here.
Time to test Matt Cannon’s acting abilities.
I amble to a center rack with a cold shoulder dress, feigning interest in the gray fabric as I let my gaze scan the room until it lands on the woman in the jeans and red sweater, my eyes going wide as though just seeing her.
“Georgie?” I say, raising my voice slightly to get her attention.
The woman spins around, a wide smile on her face. “Sabrina. Hi, it’s been forever!”
I walk toward her, and though we do the air-kiss thing, it’s the genuine good to see you kind, not the vapid-socialite variety.
“You look amazing,” I say, pulling back and giving her a once-over.
That, too, is genuine. Her long reddish-brown hair falls to her waist in carefree curls, her sweater fitted to a figure that’s healthy without being gym-rat toned, her smile bright and cheerful.
Georgiana Watkins—wait, no, Georgiana Mulroney now—is one of my favorite people in the city. She’s sort of right out of a scene from Gossip Girl but in the best way possible. She’s rich, yes, but also sweet. Relentlessly happy, but in a charming way, not annoying.
“I forgot we both work with Monica,” she says, squeezing my hand. “I came in looking for a pair of black pants, but after trying everything on, I’ll have, like, eight bags. Marly too,” she says, pointing to her BFF, who’s chatting on her cell a few feet away.
I give Marly a friendly wave, and she finger-wiggles back and blows me a kiss.
“You just get here?” Georgie asks.
“Yup, me and—” I glance over my shoulder. “Matt, babe. Come over here a sec!” I call.
His eyes narrow just briefly, and I give him a this is what you’re paying me for smile in return.
“Georgie, do you know Matt Cannon?” I ask, setting my arm on his biceps as he approaches, letting my fingers linger, as though I can’t help myself from touching him. “Matt, this is Georgiana Mulroney.”
She laughs. “Wow, nearly a year after the wedding, and it’s still weird to hear that as my last name. Weird in a wonderful way,” she chirps as she shakes Matt’s hand.
“I actually know Georgie through her husband,” I explain to Matt. “Andrew and I’ve done business together.”
“I always forget he knew you first!” Georgie says. “Andrew’s a divorce attorney,” she explains to Matt. “Somehow I manage to love the cynical guy anyway.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Matt says with an easy smile, his hand finding my waist in a casual, absentminded sort of touch. “Couple guys in my office have hired him.”
Georgie makes a sad noise. “I’m so sorry to hear their marriages didn’t work out.”
Matt blinks and gives me a quick glance that I’m pretty sure translates to, Is she for real?
Yup. That’s Georgie for you—an optimist, true-love enthusiast, and so on. But her Pollyanna outlook on life isn’t why I sought her out. I need her connections.
Monica approaches from the dressing room area and beckons me forward. “Sorry about that, Sabrina, Mr. Cannon. I have two fitting rooms all set up for you.”
“Thanks so much,” Matt says with a cheerful grin.
Hmm, maybe the guy’s better at this than I expected. His rapid transition from the standard man-hates-shopping routine to the easygoing charmer, determined to please his girlfriend, is convincing as hell.
“I’ll get you some champagne refills,” Monica says with a smile. “If you guys want to head on back?”
“Absolutely.” I turn back to Georgie. “It was so good seeing you, hon. We should do dinner soon.”
“I’d love that. I’ll text you some dates.”
“Perfect.”
“Okay, so . . .” Georgie leans in with a conspiratorial smile and lowers her voice, as her eyes deliberately take in Matt’s hand on my waist. “Did I or did I not see you guys here together?”
“You absolutely saw us together,” I say with a sly smile.
Georgie winks. “Got it.”
There. Right there. That’s why I sought out Georgie Mulroney. The woman’s not a gossip, but she is a part of the gossip chain when I need her to be.
Matt’s and my shopping excursion will be all over the social scene rumor circuit by lunch.
She gives me a quick kiss goodbye and waves at Matt. “So nice meeting you. We should all get together sometime!”
“Absolutely, I’d love that,” Matt says agreeably.
After waving goodbye to Marly and Georgie, I lead him into the fitting room area. It’s coed, and unlike my high school memories of the Gap, the salespeople aren’t worried about groping happening in their changing stalls.
Stalls isn’t even the right word. There’s an entire room, complete with a small love seat, chair, chilled water bottle . . .
Since I know the routine already, I step into the room Monica points me to, listening with a smile as I hear her rattle off a list of twenty items for Matt to try on.
I’ve got about twenty of my own items to try on, so I kick off my ankle boots to get to work. I pause once I’m down to my bra and underwear, sipping my champagne as I debate between trying on the dresses first or a fabulous tweed skirt with a bit of flounce around the hem to keep it from looking dowdy.
I’m reaching for the skirt when the door to the dressing room opens. I whirl around, expecting it to be Monica entering without realizing I was in here.
It’s not Monica.
Matt shuts the door with a quiet click that belies the irritation in his gaze. “You planned this.”
I take another sip of champagne and try to pretend that my heart’s not beating in overdrive at being nearly naked in an enclosed space with him. “Planned what?”
“You knew I’d be waiting outside your apartment today. You knew I’d tag along. You planned everything. Don’t deny it.”
I roll my eyes and set the champagne aside on the table. “Why would I deny it? This is what you’re paying me for.”
“So that interaction with that Georgie chick—”
“All planned,” I confirm. “Georgiana has her finger on the pulse of New York society, and she’s aware of my . . . occupation. She’s exactly the person we need to spread the news organically about our relationship—Honestly, Cannon, are you even listening?” I ask in exasperation, since he’s clearly checking me out instead of paying attention.
His eyes return to mine. “You should have told me. Let me in on your plan.”
“I did tell you.”
“Yeah, after we got here,” he says.
“I don’t know why you’re so irritable about this,” I murmur, inspecting one of the dresses on the hanger and ignoring how vulnerable I feel at my near nakedness.
The dress is pulled from my hands and tossed onto the back of a chair, the hanger falling to the floor.
“Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not one of your moronic clients to be handled,” Matt snaps.
“I know that. But you’ve got to trust—”
His hand slips around my neck, tilting my face up, and my breath catches. Damn him.
“No hookups, remember?”
“I know,” he says, resting his forehead against mine. “But I can’t think when you’re dressed like that.”
“I’m not really dressed at all,” I mutter.
His smile is strained. “Exactly.”
I don’t reply, but the sound of our breathing says plenty all on its own.
Want.