Playing Her Cards Right: Choose Me. Jo Leigh

not daring to touch because each button or zip was worth more than everything she owned or would own for years to come. Now she saw those creations in motion, and it was poetry. No way to call it anything other than art. Each designer’s style was as individual as a Picasso or a Rembrandt. She felt humbled. And grabby.

      Instead of touching the fifty-thousand dollar gown, she snagged some hors d’oeuvres. Prawns and sushi and filet mignon, each with a little napkin and dabs of aioli. If she hadn’t been an adult person standing next to famous people she wouldn’t have stopped shoving them into her mouth because they were fantastic. The champagne was chilled, and she should switch back to pineapple juice because even with the food her edges were sliding toward fuzzy.

      She turned to Charlie, only Charlie wasn’t there. Not where she’d left him, but that had been before she’d followed the hamachi tray, dammit. She did a complete three-sixty, pausing as she saw clumps of celebrities, and that made her giggle, because certainly clumps wasn’t the proper collective. What was? A cavalcade of celebs? A coterie? An ensemble? No, a superficiality of celebrities. Ha.

      Bree pulled out her cell phone, pulled up Charlie’s cell number and typed. You’re not here.

      He could be anywhere, so it wouldn’t hurt to meander. Maybe get a small bottle of water. Her cell would vibrate when he texted back, so she could work on her Not From Hicksville Face as she gasped to herself.

      Where are you? CW

       Standing next to 1 of the Olsen twins. Not sure which

      1. Doesn’t matter.

      Not able to find you via Olsen twin. Something more stationary please? CW

      Ah. Stella McCartney holding court.

      Perfect. But can’t leave quite yet. Ten min. CW

      Who are you with? Nvr mind. Ur busy.

      Bree lowered her phone, but it dinged.

      3 people who want in. 2 who’ll get in. 0 fun as U. CW

      She flushed with pleasure, even though it was a line, nothing more, and yet she’d never delete that text ever.

      The second she pressed Send, Bree panicked. It was a heart. She meant he was being sweet. Not—Oh, crap, he’d probably—

      Um. I meant thank U.

      

CW

      She exhaled, still freaked out enough to barely glance at the second Olsen twin. She switched contacts, and texted.

      Rebecca, I screwed up.

      How?

       Sent him

      ???

       SENT HIM

!!!!!

      No worries. He won’t mind.

       But—

      Hush. Trust me. & smile

      The ding from a different text happened. Charlie.

      Stay by Stella ETA 2 min CW

      Bree decided to believe Rebecca and smile. Then she dialed the grin down from eleven to a reasonable five. Her heart, however, wasn’t so cooperative. It was a silly mistake, that’s all. Not even a mistake. A

didn’t have to mean anything significant. She used it with her friends all the time, and they didn’t think she was declaring her undying love.

      She was nervous, that’s all. The atmosphere, the date itself. The Olsens.

      And what came next. What might come next.

      As a sneak peek, the kiss held great promise. She liked Charlie more than she’d expected to, and he’d kissed her, so he didn’t find her repulsive or anything, so that was a point in her favor. Truthfully? She was equal parts good-anxious and insanely terrified-anxious about spending time alone with him. But first time—only time—sex with anyone was scary. So much potential for catastrophe. The

was nothing compared to all the things that could go wrong.

      She’d had her fair share of errors in the bedroom. The memories of which made her blush. But now was not the time to brood about mistakes made when learning the ins and outs, so to speak, of sex with relative strangers. It was the time to look for Charlie, to appreciate every single moment of being here, in this miraculous room, with a date that made her nipples take note, favor or not.

      There were no twins at all around her now, but Ms. McCartney had a very large and enthusiastic crowd around her, and it was easy to see why. Although she couldn’t hear the designer, or even see her face very well, the people within ear and eyeshot were smiling. Not the kind of smile that made a person shiver, the kind that erased years and made it fun to eavesdrop. But there was Charlie, and his smile… .

      God.

      That was something. If it was fake, she’d take it, hands down over many other genuine things in life. Somehow, though, she didn’t think it was fake. No matter, she grinned back, honest as the day was long. It wasn’t that he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. There were a number here tonight who would look better on a magazine cover. Of course, they were models, so that made sense. Charlie’s charm was in the reality of his face. There were lines, small ones, that would have been airbrushed out on a cover, but she liked them. They gave him character and made him look as suave as he was. They were smile lines, which were always a good sign. Especially on the King of Manhattan.

      She liked that he was thirty-one. Men in their twenties could have … issues. Fine, no problem, she was in her twenties and could make lists of all the things she wished were different, so no throwing stones, but guys were boys longer than women were girls, that was a fact. Charlie would be a wonderful lover, she imagined as she met him halfway to the dessert spread. That kiss had been an amuse-bouche. The meal would be like heaven.

      “You look relatively unscathed,” Charlie said. “I’m shocked.”

      “Why?”

      “I’d have thought every straight man in the building would have been all over you.”

      “Stop.”

      “Not a line,” he said. “I mean it. I’m stunned. I rushed. Although I figured you could take care of yourself.”

      “Based on?”

      “Everything I’ve seen so far. You and Mick Jagger, for instance.” Charlie slipped his hand across her lower back. “What would you like to see next?”

      Bree met his gaze. “The view from here is fine.”

      He sighed, and because there was a momentary pause in the music, she heard it. The live music had stopped a while ago, and now there was recorded stuff—the mix excellent. Of course they’d have a great DJ at a party like this.

      “Tell you what. Let’s do one more circuit. I promise not to drag it out, no matter who we meet, but you’re allowed to linger as long as you like, anywhere you like.”

      “Wow. That’s very generous.”

      “I’m feeling magnanimous.” He nodded toward a waiter. “Pineapple juice? Champagne? Pastry?”

      She held up her water. “All set.”

      He hugged her closer and they began the procession, and she truly did feel like a princess. Her free hand ended up around his back, and somewhere around a very