Meeting His Match (Single In the City 1)

Marti snorted and picked up the envelope then ripped it open to reveal Dr. Logan Love’s letterhead.

Miss Marti McBride,

I assume this note finds you well. I read an old column of yours yesterday.

Marti smirked. So he was checking up on her? Another thing of interest to note.

It was titled Loving Yourself So No One Else Has To. Riveting read. I could use a little more self-love in my life. Maybe on Friday you can share some more personal pointers with me, since you’re the expert, after all.

Marti rolled her eyes.

Anyway, I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’re working on your next masterpiece, Men Are the Devil, Who Needs Them. Feel free to use that title. It’s on me.

You’re welcome.

Because I know how much you value your independence, I as

sumed you would not want me to pick you up for our date. In the effort of compromise, I thought we could meet there. Be at the Grand Ballroom at Gotham Hall at 7:30 p.m. sharp.

I know you’re secretly anticipating our next encounter. (Don’t deny it.)

Sincerely,

Your blackmailer,

Logan Love

Marti pursed her lips. She didn’t know whether to laugh or light the letter on fire.

She thought about penning him a letter back, then pictured his satisfaction at receiving a reply and decided against it. No, her silence was better.

With a huff, she set the envelope aside and turned to her computer, then started to type. After she finished, she bolded the title for her next article, a smile splitting her face in two—Why Arrogant Men Are Really Just Hiding an Inferiority Complex.

SHE WORE THE EMERALD green dress. Not because it perfectly matched the green of Dr. Love’s eyes. Instead, she wore it because it offset her auburn hair, turned it to flames down her back, and transformed her skin to peaches and cream. All of which had absolutely nothing to do with wanting him to think she looked good. If anything, she wanted his heart to stop. To show him what he was missing. Maybe he’d have an aneurism and she could go home early. Ah, the possibilities.

Eat your heart out, Love.

And who knew? Maybe she’d meet some debonair man in her midst, one worthy of fulfilling her boyfriend ruse. How sweet would it be to find a man for her new little project right under the cocky doctor’s watchful eye?

The thought made her quake with excitement.

She stepped into the gala on golden stilts. They peeked under the hemline of her dress like diamonds as she walked. The cool air nipped her back, left bare in the backless gown. The ethereal blueish-purple lighting of Gotham Hall illuminated the space, mimicking a brightly lit night sky among the 3,000 square foot stained-glass ceiling.

She caught Logan’s eye, off in the distance, chatting with two men, and so she passed the time with small talk of her own. Making her rounds, she clicked over the marble floor, taking in the limestone Corinthian columns, and decadent tables spilling over with flowers and candles. It would have been romantic if she were the type to be taken in by such things.

Men approached her and she smiled, politely giving them a couple minutes of her time. But her heart wasn’t in it. Instead, her sole focus seemed to be on him.

Logan stood below the massive chandelier hanging from the glittering stained glass. It was stunning, yet he was the focal point, simultaneously acknowledging her, yet ignoring her.

The cocktail hour passed at a sluggish pace, with him flicking his dark gaze to her, making it hard to maintain her focus. From her periphery, she studied him. She watched the way the soft light slanted against his face, casting him half in shadow, somehow illuminating his golden skin, while making others appear sallow. His tux fit him like a glove, and he smiled easily as he spoke. Even from a distance, she could hear the deep rumble of his laugh, vibrating through her like a starting pistol at the beginning of a race.

At the moment, a nameless man stood beside her, trying to get her attention and failing. Why did it she seem like she’d captured the attention of every man in this room except his?

Anger boiled her blood. Being ignored was not something she was used to.

The man shifted in front of her and cleared his throat, once more trying to pull her into a conversation. “I can’t believe you’re not here with someone,” he said.

Sighing, she turned to him. “I am, actually,” she said with a wry smile.