London shot her friend a glance as she shook her head. “No.”
“Not your thing?” he guessed, demonstrating an ability to read the subtle currents beneath her answer.
“She mostly organizes corporate and charity events,” Maribelle responded with a sweet smile that stabbed at London’s heart.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Harrison said, the impact of his full attention making London’s palms tingle. “My brother’s turning forty next month and I was going to plan a party for him. Only I don’t know anything about that sort of thing. I don’t suppose you’d like to help me out?”
“I...” Her first impulse was to refuse, but she’d been looking for an opening that would get her into Tristan’s orbit. Planning his birthday party would be an excellent step in that direction. “Don’t usually do personal events, but I would be happy to meet with you and talk about it.”
She pulled a business card out of her clutch and handed it to him.
He glanced at the card. “‘London McCaffrey. Owner of ExcelEvent.’ I’ll be in touch.” Then, with a charming smile, he said, “Nice meeting you both.”
London’s eyes remained glued to his retreating figure for several seconds. When she returned her focus to Maribelle, her friend was actively smirking.
“What?”
“See? I told you. What you need is a little fun.”
“It’s a job,” London said, emphasizing each word so Maribelle wouldn’t misinterpret the encounter. “He’s looking for someone to organize his brother’s birthday party. That’s why I gave him my card.”
“Sure.” Maribelle’s hazel eyes danced. “Whatever you say. But I think what you need is someone to take your mind off what happened between you and Linc, and in my not-so-humble opinion, that—” she pointed at the departing figure “—is the perfect man for the job.”
Everything London had read about him stated that he liked to play hard and that his longest relationship to date had lasted just over a year. She’d decided her next romance would be with a man with a serious career. Someone she’d have lots in common with.
“Why do you think that?” London asked, unable to understand her friend’s logic. “As far as I can tell, he’s just like Linc. An athlete with an endless supply of eager women at his beck and call.”
“Maybe he’s just looking for the right woman to settle down with,” Maribelle countered. She’d been singing a different tune about men and romance since she’d started dating Beau Shelton. “Can’t you at least give the guy a chance?”
London sighed. She and Maribelle had had this conversation any number of times over the last few months as her friend had tried to set her up with one or another of Beau’s friends. Maybe if she said yes Maribelle would back off.
“I’m really not ready to date anyone.”
“Don’t think of it as dating,” Maribelle said. “Just think of it as hanging out.”
Since London was already thinking in terms of how she could use Harrison to get to Tristan, it was an easy enough promise to make. “If it means you’ll stop bugging me,” she said, hiding her sudden satisfaction at killing two birds with one stone, “I’ll agree to give Harrison Crosby one chance.”
Two
Harrison spent more than his usual twenty minutes in the bathroom of his penthouse condo overlooking the Cooper River as he prepared for his meeting with London McCaffrey.
A woman he’d dated for a short time a year ago had given him pointers on grooming particulars that women appreciated. At the time he’d viewed the whole thing with skepticism, but after giving the various lotions, facial scrubs, hair-care products and other miscellaneous items a try, he’d been surprised at the results and happily reaped the benefits of Serena’s appreciation.
Still, as much as he’d seen the value in what she’d introduced into his life, his focus during racing season left little room for such inconsequential activities. Today, however, he’d applied all that he’d learned, scrutinizing his hands to ensure they were grease-free and giving his nails more than a cursory clipping, even going so far as to run a file over the edges to smooth away any sharpness. Although he didn’t touch the high-tech race cars until he slid behind the wheel, Harrison often unwound from a race weekend by tinkering with the rare classics his uncle bought for his collection.
Today, however, as he surveyed his charcoal jeans, gray crewneck sweater and maroon suede loafers, Harrison decided that someone as stylish as London would appreciate a man who paid attention to his grooming. And in truth, his already elevated confidence was inflated even further when the receptionist at ExcelEvent goggled at him as he strolled into the King Street office.
“You’re Harrison Crosby,” the slender brunette exclaimed, her brown eyes wide with shock as he advanced on her desk. “And you’re here.” She gawked at him, her hands gripping the edge of the desk as if to hold herself in place.
Harrison gave her a slow grin. “Would you let London know I’ve arrived?”
“Oh, sure. Of course.” Never taking her eyes off him, she picked up her phone and dialed. “Harrison Crosby is here to see you. Okay, I’ll let him know.” She returned the handset to the cradle and said, “She’ll be out in a second. Would you like some coffee or water or...?” She trailed off and went back to staring at him.
“I’m fine.”
“If you want to have a seat.” The receptionist gestured to a black-and-white floral couch beneath the ExcelEvent logo painted in white on the gray wall. “She shouldn’t be too long.”
“Thank you.”