All It Takes (Romancing Manhattan 2)

Without looking at me, he drapes his arm around my shoulders and tugs me into his side.

“You’re not dumb.”

“I’m also not usually insecure.”

“Good.” He presses his lips onto the top of my head and breathes in deeply. “Because it’s not sexy.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

“Come on, let’s eat this food before it’s cold and get started on work. I don’t think you’re ready for the alternative scenario I have running through my head.”

I swallow in surprise, and he chuckles next to me.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We aren’t there yet.”

“Work it is, then.”

Chapter Seven

~Sienna~

“I hope you’re hungry,” Quinn says as we drive into Manhattan Friday evening. It’s early, giving us plenty of time to linger over dinner before we head to the show.

“I think I’ve proven over the past week or so that I have a healthy appetite,” I reply with a laugh. The evening is off to a great start. He looks amazing in his dark gray suit and red tie, which just happens to match my red clutch and ruby earrings.

“I like a girl who isn’t afraid to eat,” he replies. “And this restaurant is delicious.”

“What kind of food is it?”

“Italian.”

“Excellent.” I rub my hands together in anticipation. I am hungry. And I’m so happy that I didn’t give in to my ridiculous insecurities and cheat myself out of tonight because I’m already having a great time.

Quinn finds parking near Fifth Avenue, opens my door for me, and takes my hand as he leads me down the sidewalk.

“We’re going to Armani,” he says.

“Do you need to shop?”

He grins. “No, they have an excellent restaurant.”

“Really? I hadn’t heard. This will be fun.”

Just then, my heel gets stuck in one of the sidewalk grates, and the next split second happens in slow motion.

I feel the heel pop off my shoe, and I lose my balance, falling forward and scraping up my hand.

“Shit, Sienna, are you okay?”

Humiliated but I’m going to live.

“I’m okay.” I work my broken heel out of the grate and feel my heart sink. “I guess this is what I get when I buy cheap shoes.”

“No, this is what you get when your date doesn’t steer you away from the damn grate.”

I smile up at Quinn as he helps me to my feet. People are bustling by, but I’m not paying attention to them.

I’m too mortified.

“I can fix this,” I say. “Is there a CVS Pharmacy nearby where I can get some superglue? Chewing gum? Hell, I could probably make a Band-Aid work.”

“This isn’t DIY, Sienna,” Quinn replies with a frown. “We’ll get you some shoes.”

I sigh, my cheeks hot and I’m sure I’m bright red. “There is plenty of shopping here, but do we have time?”

“Lots of time,” he assures me. “And there’s Bergdorf’s right here.”

“I’m more of a Macy’s kind of girl.”

“There’s no time for that,” he replies, helping me hobble across the street with one good heel and one broken one. I’m walking like the hunchback of Notre Dame.

“I’m going to slip into the restroom real quick,” I say when we’ve walked inside the store. “I need to wash my hands.”

“Of course. I’ll wait for you here.”

I nod, walk into the restroom, and lean on the vanity, taking a deep breath.

“Jesus, wouldn’t it just figure that I’d manage to fall on my face in Manhattan with the sexiest man alive?”

I shake my head as I wash my sore hands and check myself everywhere else to make sure I’m not bleeding or bruised, but it looks like it’s just my hands, shoe, and pride that are hurt.

“I can splurge on a pair of shoes,” I assure my reflection. “I told Lou just the other day to buy herself the Chanel bag as a treat to herself, and I can do the same for the shoes. I’ll wear them for work as well, so it won’t be a wasted splurge.”

Once I’m cleaned up and have talked myself into spending the money on some designer shoes, I join Quinn, who escorts me up the elevator to the shoe department.

I’ve always loved shoes. And now that the idea is in my head, I’m kind of excited to pick out something extra beautiful.

And, let’s get real, if I’m going to splurge, I’m going to splurge. So I head straight for the Louboutin section.

“Good taste,” Quinn mutters with a smile as I begin to touch the toes of beautiful shoes, in all heel sizes.

But then I see them. Black heels in patent leather with that signature red sole, and I know I’m a goner.

“I’ll try these in a thirty-nine, please,” I say to the salesman, Roger, who hasn’t been far away.

“Of course,” he says with a slight bow and hurries off to the stockroom.

I slip out of the broken shoes, with the intention to ask Roger to toss them away. They’re ruined.