“To discuss the project they had in mind? Because if you’re going to make an embarrassing scene, I don’t want to be part of that. I like Aggie. Her book is brilliant, and—”
“Her name is Molly. Call Phoenix. Invited or not, I’m going. And tell Max to delete this particular project from his memory. I don’t want it mentioned again.”
Marsha looked upset. “I hate to see you hurt.”
“Hurt?” He barely recognized his own voice. “I’m not hurt.”
“But I thought you and she—”
“What? I don’t do relationships, you know that. Molly and I had fun, but we’re not emotionally attached.”
“Are you sure? Because I wondered if possibly, perhaps—” Marsha licked her lips and he scowled at her.
“What?”
“These last few weeks, you seem different. I thought, I wondered, if maybe you’re starting to care about her.”
Daniel stopped dead, genuinely astonished. “What are you suggesting?”
“Nothing,” Marsha said hastily. “It’s just that you seem very upset, that’s all.”
“You’re right, I’m upset. And I’m upset because I don’t like being lied to.” It was obvious, wasn’t it? He couldn’t understand why she’d think it could be anything more. And of course he cared about Molly, but not in any deep or meaningful way. He’d meant what he said about not falling in love with her. He had no concerns about that. Their relationship was perfect.
Except that apparently it wasn’t perfect enough for her to trust him.
* * *
The roof terrace of the Metropolitan Museum of Art offered a perfect view of Central Park and the skyscrapers of midtown Manhattan. Tower blocks rose behind treetops, as if the city was determined to remind the awestruck spectator exactly who was the star of the show.
And who could forget?
Smiling, Molly took a glass of champagne. She probably didn’t need the drink. She already felt as if she’d downed an entire bottle of champagne without pausing for breath. She’d sailed through the day on a cloud of happiness, dizzy with excitement. Part of her wished she had made her excuses this evening so that she could have seen Daniel instead. If she’d done that, they’d be in bed now.
She surreptitiously drew her phone out of her purse, but there was no message. Maybe he was still deciding where to take her to dinner tomorrow. She probably should have told him that she’d be happy to eat a bowl of corn chips in his bed.
Lost in a dream, she moved to the edge of the terrace, taking the weight off her feet one at a time. Why did shoes that felt comfortable when you put them on turn into torture devices after a few hours of wearing them? It was one of life’s mysteries.
She gazed down at the park. She ran there every day, but she never saw it from this angle. Through the canopy of trees she could see paths winding their way lazily through wooded glades, framed by buildings beyond.
She rose on her toes, trying to pick out the spot where she’d first met Daniel. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. For her, sex had always been part of a relationship. That in itself had been enough to hold her back. Only now was she realizing that she’d rationed her responses. She’d never had sex that was so uninhibited, so real. It had been crazy, electrifying and so exhilarating that she wasn’t sure how she was going to get through a whole twenty-four hours until she saw him again.
She stood staring at the view, listening to the clink of glass and the hum of voices behind her when she heard someone say her name.
She turned and saw Brett Adams, the CEO of Phoenix Publishing, approaching. With him were a man and a woman.
“Aggie!” He leaned in and kissed her briefly on both cheeks, New
York style. “Glad you could make it. We’re excited about the next book. We have big plans.”
“I’m excited, too.” She was relieved and grateful that he used her pseudonym. She’d been assured by Brett that her identity would be protected at this small, exclusive party. There were no photographers, no journalists to write up her story.
“I want you to meet my brother, Chase, and his wife, Matilda. Matilda is one of our rising stars. She writes romance fiction and she’s a big fan of yours. She’s been nagging me for an introduction.”
The woman was pretty, with tumbling brown hair and friendly eyes. “I just loved Mate for Life. I used it for inspiration when I was writing my last book. You have a way of putting things that makes so much sense. I wish I’d had your book when I was single.” Matilda reached out to shake her hand, spilling some of her champagne in the process. “Oh. I’m so sorry—”
“Let me take that.” Chase carefully removed the glass from her hand, the speed of his movements suggesting it wasn’t the first time he’d rescued his wife from disaster.
Matilda shot him a grateful look, which he acknowledged with warmth and amusement that was touching to watch.