Ms. Match. Jo Leigh

sat behind his desk and turned on his computer. As he ate, he scanned his e-mails. Several needed quick responses, but most of them could wait. He was careful about his response timing. His clients tended to get greedy if he jumped on their queries.

      A few minutes later, fortified by his admittedly meager breakfast, he slipped on his Bluetooth and rang up Autumn’s cell phone. Three rings, then her lovely, soft, “Hello.”

      “Hey, beautiful.”

      “Paul,” she said, and in that single word, she said everything. She was glad to hear his voice, pleased he’d called her beautiful and a little too delighted that it had all been on her terms.

      “How’s Rome?”

      “Hot.”

      “Poor thing.”

      “It’s not so bad. There’s a pool in the hotel. I was about to get into my suit.”

      “Suit? Isn’t that a bit of a stretch? That bikini of yours is no bigger than four Post-it notes.”

      She laughed, and just as it always did, the sound made his dick twitch.

      “I know exactly what you should do,” he said. “Use the video on your cell. Let me watch you strip.”

      Autumn sighed. “I have to hand it to you, Paul. You don’t give up easily.”

      “Damn right I don’t.”

      “I like that. I do. But I need to change the subject.”

      “Oh?”

      “I have a favor to ask you.”

      He hoped it involved lingerie and champagne. “Ask away.” He swung his chair around so he could view the city, the worker bees swarming to the hive. In New York, most everyone wore black. Dreary, even if the clothes themselves were daring. Not so in the City of Angels. It was warm today, and the colors on the people were as vibrant as the flowers lining Rodeo Drive.

      “My parents are celebrating their fiftieth anniversary on Friday,” Autumn said. “Only I’m going to be here.”

      “Okay,” he said, his attention back on the conversation.

      “The thing is, my sister doesn’t have a date.”

      “Your sister.”

      “Uh-huh. Gwen. She says she doesn’t care about going solo, but I know it’s not true. I was wondering…”

      “If she’s anything like you, I’d be honored to be her escort.”

      Autumn laughed again. “No, not you. But you’ve got to know someone who wouldn’t mind.”

      “Mind? Why would they mind?”

      She sighed, one of those frustration deals complete with sound. “I don’t want to be mean or anything, but Gwen’s not exactly…She’s very smart.”

      “Ah. She has a good personality.”

      “Exactly.”

      “How good?”

      “She’s not a troll or anything, but, well, you know. On the plus side, people seem to think she’s interesting and funny.”

      “Got it. Not a problem. I have just the guy in mind. What’s her number?”

      “Don’t have him call. Tell him to show up at her apartment. I’ll let her know to expect him. Oh, and it’s formal.”

      Autumn gave him the address and the rest of the details. He jotted it all down dutifully, even as he was busy counting the points he would earn for doing this little favor. He’d come through for her with shining colors. She’d have to say thanks. He could think of a hundred ways.

      “You’re a sweetie pie, Paul. I mean it. The anniversary party is a big deal. Thank you.”

      “I haven’t done anything yet.”

      “You will. You were the first person I thought of to help out.”

      “Good. That’s the way it should be.”

      She laughed, and somehow he knew the conversation was over, that there would be no video message sent to his phone, no more teasing on the international call. That was how Autumn did things.

      “I’ve got to go if I’m going to catch that swim.”

      “When are you coming back?”

      “Sunday.”

      “Can’t wait,” he said, and he knew that any other woman would have melted to those words, but not her. Not Autumn.

      FOUR-FORTY ON FRIDAY afternoon and the office was shifting down to first gear. Paul had finished his last call ten minutes ago, and was now jotting down notes for the week to follow. He was looking forward to the evening. He had his monthly poker game, something he relished. No women were involved, only beer, fine cigars and the kind of raucous bullshit that could only come from a bunch of guys who’d known each other since college.

      When Sam Ensler stepped inside his office, Paul’s happy buzz died a quick death.

      “Don’t do this to me, Sam.”

      “You know I wouldn’t if I had a choice.”

      “The party is tonight.”

      Sam, his go-to man in charge of literary PR, seemed miserable. He always looked kind of miserable, hence his nickname of Eeyore, but even Paul could see this was serious.

      “I’ve got to go to Michigan,” Sam said. “My mother broke her hip. She’s having surgery in the morning.”

      “Shit.”

      Sam nodded. “There’s no one else. She’s eighty-five.”

      “I understand. Go take care of her. Take the time you need.”

      “I’m really sorry, Paul.”

      “No problem. What time was Gwen expecting you?”

      “Seven.” He put a piece of paper on Paul’s desk. “That’s her address.”

      “Got it,” he said, his mind already racing through his list of friends and even acquaintances who could step in. “Let me know how your mother’s doing, huh? And leave your cell on.”

      Sam smiled grimly as he turned to leave.

      The minute he was alone, Paul cursed, vehemently. He had no idea who he could get for this gig on such short notice. Woody? No, Woody was in New York. Maybe Jeff…Shit. Jeff wasn’t about to give up a Friday night to go out with an unattractive stranger. Who was he kidding? None of his friends would. Paul’s only hope had been finding someone who either worked for him or who owed him. That second group should have given him a number of options. Except that it was a Friday night and there was just no time.

      Cursing again, Paul dialed Cary’s number. He got the voice mail, and left the message that he wouldn’t make it to poker. Then he checked out Gwen Christopher’s address. She lived in Pasadena. He’d have to get it in gear if he wanted to be on time. Thank God he always had at least one tux at the ready.

      Autumn was going to owe him big-time.

      HOLY SHIT. He was stunning.

      Tall, unruly dark hair, stunning dark eyes, features that one would expect to see on the cover of GQ. He was one of the best-looking men Gwen Christopher had ever seen in person. Poor guy. He still hadn’t gotten into Autumn’s pants. It was the only reason Gwen could think of that a man who looked like him would agree to be her escort. “It’s not going to work.”

      “Pardon me?”

      She held the door open for him to come in. “Cinderella’s not going to sleep with you because you’re taking the ugly stepsister to the ball. She’ll still make you wait.”