That’s what I get for letting my friends and family fix me up—not that they give me a choice. Ever since I turned twenty-six, they’ve all started panicking that I’m still alone. Never mind that I’ve never had much time for dating in between college, and law school, and my fourteen-hour days at the law firm now. In a family of overachievers, I always feel like I’m lagging way behind.
My mom clips articles from her medical journals about how single people are more likely to die of a variety of cancers. Dad makes pointed comments about how I’ll need things fixed around the house, and even my older sister, Olivia, happily settled down with a family of her own out in San Francisco, sends me charts about declining fertility and freezing my eggs. It’s easier to just accept the parade of dates they schedule for me. After all, I tell myself, there’s always the possibility that one of these awkward blind dates will be the guy. But there’s a reason I’ve stayed single so long—besides being too exhausted after work to even think about doing anything besides collapse on my couch with takeout and Netflix.
I want more.
More passion, more spark. More feeling, of any kind. I want to be moved by someone, to lose track of time talking because I can’t wait to discover everything about him.
To hide away in a cloakroom because I want just a few more moments reliving our kiss…
Suddenly, the coats are yanked aside. The coat check girl stares at me in surprise. “What are you doing? Guests aren’t allowed back here.”
“Sorry!” I blurt, getting to my feet. “I was just… Bye!”
I exit the room, back out into the bustle of the main lobby. Now that my daze has cleared a little, I can look around and take in the scene. The museum looks beautiful, silk banners rippling from the balconies upstairs and old-fashioned torches lining the hallway leading into the main rooms. Tonight is a big charity function, a masquerade party to raise money for the children’s wing of hospital, and they’ve spared no expense creating a fairytale world.
“Noelle?”
I turn. For a split second, I wonder if it’s the man from the street, if somehow he’s found my name and followed me in. Then I see a square-jawed, blonde guy standing in the middle of the lobby, wearing an expensive pinstripe suit. “Hi, I’m Grant Westin.” He flashes a grin at me, all teeth. “I work with your father.”
My heart falls. It’s not him.
“Hi.” I recover, managing a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Grant shakes my hand with a firm grip. “A pleasure to meet you too. Your father’s told me all about you. You’re an associate at Friedman and Lowe, right? Following in his footsteps. I’m sure he’s very proud.”
“He is—” I nod, but Grant doesn’t give me time to reply.
“I’ve been working with him for a year now,” he talks over me. “I was assigned to him on the Anderson case, but I’ve been following his career for some time. A formidable trial attorney, there’s nobody like him in the courtroom. Shall we?” He nods to the main hallway, offering me his arm.
I already want to turn and run from the building, but I know I need to at least try to be nice. I reluctantly take it.
“I’ve learned so much already, just watching him in action…” Grant leads me in, talking all the while about Dad and his amazing trial strategies.
I stifle a sigh, trying not to jump to conclusions. Maybe he’s just nervous and trying to make a good impression by praising my dad.
Grant swipes a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and takes a gulp. “…So I said to him, if we lean on the witness, that guy’s going to crumble like a little bitch. And sure enough, I broke him right there on the stand and locked the whole case up.”
Definitely not nervous.
I glance around the room, praying for a distraction. Then I catch sight of a familiar face across the room.
“Lexie!” I wave, relieved. “Over here!”
Grant breaks off his monologue as my best friend from work comes over, dragging her boyfriend Joel in her wake. “Hi, sweetie,” she says, kissing me on both cheeks. “Isn’t this a gorgeous event? Who’s your friend?”
“I’m—”
“Grant, Lexie, Joel,” I make the introductions quickly, then give Lexie a look. “Bathroom?”
Her eyes widen in realization. “Right! Excuse us, gentlemen,” she smiles, linking her arm through mine.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Grant politely, then pull Lexie away from them as fast as my stiletto pumps will take me.
“Oh my God, you have to save me!” I exclaim, the moment we’re out of earshot.
“That bad?” Lexie winces. We round the corner to another cavernous hallway, our heels tapping on the marble floors as I find the bathroom and duck inside.
“Worse,” I tell her, exhaling in relief to be away from him. “He hasn’t quit talking about my father or their latest trial.”
“I’m sorry, babe.” She gives me a sympathetic hug, then goes to freshen up her lipstick. “But hey, at least he’s cute, right?”
“I guess…” I think instead of the stranger’s dark intensity—those burning midnight eyes and that thick dark hair. “He’s not really my type.”
Lexie arches an eyebrow at me in the mirror. “Since when do you have a type?”
Since about ten minutes ago.