Throb

I watch the screen, feeling a bit voyeuristic even though it’s me. I make my way to Flynn, his voice guiding me as he hums a song. The same song he sang to me the night he asked me to dance on the balcony. On screen, I smile and walk toward where he’s sitting. Our knees bump lightly as I reach him, and I remember catching my balance as I began to lean forward, thinking I was going to wind up in his lap. But it’s the next part I don’t remember. Before ever touching me, Flynn smiles and presses a button. The clock stops at eighteen seconds.

I squirm a bit in my seat when Flynn’s hands start at my ankles and slowly trace their path up my body. He’s a gentleman, well, as much as anyone can be a gentleman while he feels up a woman in the dark while a camera records the entire thing. But my palms start to sweat when he reaches my hips. On screen, his hands glide over my waist and begin to travel higher. Reaching the side of my breast, the low song he’d been lightly humming suddenly stops. Just in time for the microphone to pick up the distinct hitch of my breath.

Flynn’s eyes turn to watch me, watch us. He knows his touch affected me.

The tension in the room is palpable. I’m glad the ceremony isn’t in the kitchen, because Jessica looks like she wouldn’t mind slicing me into a Kate sandwich she could chew up and spit out. But then Flynn walks to the front of the room and the daggers in her eyes miraculously soften to reverence as she flips her flowing blond locks from her shoulder. The girl could be an actress.

“Ladies. I’m sorry to say that I did not get a perfect score on today’s competition. There are two women who I failed to properly identify. And for that, I apologize to those women.”

Ryan, the host, interrupts. “The flowers that Flynn is about to give out were chosen by Flynn specifically for each woman. Unfortunately, only four of the flowers will be given out.” With all the dramatic flare he can muster, Ryan removes two flowers from the table—a traditional solemn red rose and a cheerful Gerber daisy.

Handing out the first three flowers, Flynn explains his reason for selecting each one as he slips the flower behind each contestant’s ear. Only a white calla lily remains to be handed out, even though there are three contestants not yet decorated—me, Ava and Jessica. Jessica and I have the lowest time, so if either of us receives the flower, we will win the date.

“The calla lily symbolizes purity and innocence, which is why it’s frequently used to celebrate weddings,” Flynn begins. “While I wouldn’t necessarily call this beautiful lady innocent, I thought of her as soon as I saw the flower.” He pauses for a moment. “Kate—this flower is for you.”

There’ll be no avoiding alone time tomorrow on our one-on-one date.

Chapter eighteen

Cooper

Stephen Blake is a Hollywood super-agent. He’s the guy who turns down clients who command five million a film just because he doesn’t like the actor’s personality. If actually liking an actor was a requirement for Hollywood agents, I’m pretty sure most of this town would be unrepresented.

“Miriam. It’s good to see you. You still doing all the work and letting Stephen take the credit?” I lean down and kiss Miriam Blake on the cheek as I reach the table the two are already seated at. I immediately notice four place settings before I even sit.

“He still refuses to put my name on the letterhead, even though I closed more deals than he did last year.” Miriam rolls her eyes at her husband. I’ve been stirring the same pot with these two since as far back as I can remember.

“Your name is on the letterhead. Blake. That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“The Stephen Blake Agency is not my name. It should be Blake and Blake. Right, Cooper?”

“Of course, Miriam.” Stephen waves his hand at me, dismissing my encouragement of his wife. The two have been business partners for thirty years, married for twenty-nine. Miriam was also my mother’s cousin.

“So … I invited a friend to join us.”

Of course she did. She always does. No matter how many times I decline her matchmaking services. “A friend?”

“One of the female persuasion,” Miriam says, as if I might not be aware she was going to bring a woman tonight. She’s so focused on marrying me off, I’m honestly not sure if my father told her to see that I marry well or if she just uses that excuse so I don’t decline. Either way, it’s impossible to tell Miriam Blake no, even when you actually say no.

A few minutes later, a woman apprehensively joins our table. “Alexandra, sweetheart,” Miriam greets her as we all stand. She’s stunning. Hair a rich shade of mahogany, flawless porcelain skin, straight nose, full lips and eyes so pale I have to look twice to see if they’re real or contacts.

“Cooper, this is Alexandra Sawyer. She’s just signed with our firm. Another one of my brilliant finds.” Stephen ignores her jab, instead holding up his glass, clanking the lonely ice around in the direction of a passing waiter.

“Nice to meet you, Alexandra.” I pull out her chair for her.

Miriam skips the normal gratuitous small talk in favor of going in for the kill. She dives right into Alexandra’s resume with a hard sell—she moved to California from Greece, speaks four languages fluently, graduated from the prestigious Guildhall School in London …”And she’s single. Imagine that?” Miriam’s an agent; beating around the bush isn’t her strong point. She winks at both of us.

Alexandra definitely hasn’t been in this town long enough. She actually blushes when she catches on to what Miriam is none too subtly hinting at. I’ve grown so accustomed to the bluntness of this town, sometimes I forget how tactless it can be. But her blush makes her seem like a real person. “Ignore her, she has the subtlety of a jackhammer,” I whisper when Miriam excuses herself to take a call. “Would you like a glass of wine? You’re probably going to need it with these two.”