Some Like It Hotter. Isabel Sharpe

they’d be together in a way Ames felt certain would be significant. He’d felt that way only once before about a woman and had ended up dating Sarah for four years before they came to a mutual realization that it was time to commit or break up, and they’d both chosen the latter.

      In the intervening years, he’d dated casually here and there, but either he didn’t fit her ideal or she didn’t fit his. Until he saw Chris and felt so strongly that she had it all. Yes, she’d been reluctant, but he’d dealt with reluctance before and had overcome it with patience and low-key persistence.

      This time...not so much.

      Her crazy sister, though—man, that woman was...something else. Eva had looked at Ames as if he was her next meal. No, not quite that. More as if he was her favorite dessert. She’d made him uncomfortable, uneasy and also weirdly curious. Underneath all the look-at-me trappings she was attractive, and seemed spirited and funny. But definitely not his type the way her sister was. Beautiful, elegant, sophisticated, Chris was the kind of woman a guy could take anywhere and she’d fit right in, from a baseball game to one of the high-end restaurants and wine bars he frequented for business and pleasure. At the end of the month he’d hoped to take her to Boyce’s annual dinner at La Grenouille Laide, one of New York’s finest restaurants, and the company’s most formal and important event, to which all their best clients and top sales people were invited. Delores, Mike Boyce’s battle-ax secretary, had been on him to RSVP.

      A reminder popped up on his laptop to call the Restless Armadillo restaurant, which hadn’t placed an order in a while. He picked up his phone.

      “I hope you’re not staying home working again tonight.” Jean, tiny and tough, about as New York as a person could get, never missed an opportunity to criticize everything possible about him. He adored her.

      “How do you know I was home working last night?”

      She tapped her temple. “I know.”

      “I have to work, Jean.” He shook his head mournfully. “I have this really expensive assistant who all but drains my bank account every month.”

      “I’m playing the violin, boohoo. You’re still young—what are you, thirty?”

      “Thirty-three.”

      “Single and home at night. Sheesh.” She threw up her hands. “I’m telling you, you’re a catch. Even Manny says he’d date you. You should be out there finding someone to make you happy.”

      “Uh.” He pretended distaste. “Your husband isn’t really my type...”

      “He’s kidding, he’s kidding. But I’m not.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him, dark eyes enormous through her thick glasses. “Go out tonight. This stuff you’re doing will keep. Your youth won’t. You need to live.”

      “It’s four o’clock. I need to get my work done so I can—”

      The apartment phone rang, interrupting their latest standoff.

      “I’ll get it.” She sent Ames a by now familiar look of disgust and stomped into the living room. “Hello?...Oh, hey, Frank....Uh-huh....Really?”

      Ames stretched at his desk. Frank was the doorman. Probably letting them know about another change in the garbage pickup schedule.

      “Sure, I’ll hold.” Jean appeared in the doorway of his office, phone held to her ear. “You expecting someone?”

      “Nope.”

      “Maybe God answered my prayer and FedEx sent a nice single woman whose shift is just ending.”

      “Not expecting a package, either.”

      “You— Yes, Frank....Who?...Oh, I see....Is she pretty?...Young?...Uh-huh....Oh, she does?...Okay, sure, send her up.”

      “What was that?”

      Jean ended the call triumphantly. “I got you a date.”

      “You what?”

      “You heard me.” Jean disappeared from sight into the living room.

      “Who is it?” he called after her.

      “Someone you know, don’t worry. She’s on her way up.” Jean reappeared wearing her coat and a Yankees ball cap. “Anything you want me to do before I leave you to your wild night?”

      “Yes.” He stood behind his desk, hands on his hips, exasperated and a little curious. He couldn’t think of any female friend who’d drop by during business hours without calling first. They all knew better. “Intercept whoever it is and tell her sorry, I’m busy, and to call first next time.”

      “Look at you all grumpy over a woman.” Jean scowled at him. “You’re a big boy, you tell her. I’m gone.”

      Ames rolled his eyes, more amused than annoyed. The visitor could be his college friend Kathy, back from a European tour. He’d lost track of her return date. Still, it would be strange of her not to call first.

      The apartment doorbell rang. Jean’s footsteps thudded over to get it.

      “She’s here already. The girl moves fast. I like her already.” The front door opened. “Hello. I’m Jean Kajowski, Ames’s hot live-in girlfriend. Just kidding. I keep house for him a couple days a week, though he doesn’t like me calling it that. Don’t worry, I was just leaving.”

      “Hi, Jean, nice to meet you.” The voice was musical, sweet and vaguely familiar. “I’m Eva Meyer.”

      Ames sat back down abruptly. Eva was here? At his condo? How had she found his address?

      “Hi, Eva. Oh, my God, your boots are adorable!” Jean was clearly smitten. “Come in, come in. He’s in the office, probably shy. But he’s not busy tonight, so don’t let him tell you that he is. I’m off—bye you two.”

      Ames turned his eyes to the ceiling. Give him strength. “Bye, Jean, see you Thursday.”

      “Only if I live that long.” The door closed behind her standard response.

      Ames blinked at his office door. He could get up. But she’d stalked him here—she could come in on her own.

      “Hi, Ames.” Eva appeared at his doorway, smiling pleasantly, as if there was nothing strange about barging into his home when she’d met him for all of five minutes the day before. She wore a violently pink skirt under a bright green shirt and crazy floral sweater. Her chunky boots laced up to midcalf and were shiny fluorescent-green. She had about five earrings in each ear and an armful of jangling colored bracelets.

      His eyes hurt just looking at her.

      He stood. Picked up a pen. Put it down. She made him very uneasy. Staring at him with those bright blue eyes. He felt...he felt...

      He didn’t know what he felt. “What are you doing here?”

      “I thought you might want to take me out tonight, since I’m new in the city.” She lifted her eyebrows as if she had every right to expect an enthusiastic response.

      “You—” Ames could barely take that in. “What made you think that? Don’t you have to work?”

      “My shift ended at two.” She seemed totally comfortable in herself, not broadcasting any sense that her behavior was at all unusual. “I already stayed late for a couple of hours, catching up on things and getting to know more staff. Then I’d had enough. You can only take in so much new information, you know? So I came here.”

       “Why?”

      She shrugged. “I don’t know anyone else, really.”

      “Eva.” Something was painfully misfiring under that bizarre hairstyle—randomly hiked up all over her head with multicolored combs that looked as if they were taking bites out of her scalp. “You don’t know me, either.”