Dating the Enemy. Amber Page

she continued. “Just call Mark when you’re ready for Jessie’s number. He’s got it on speed dial.”

      Nick watched as Becky dragged Jessie away toward a large wooden staircase and forced her to stand in the middle of the small group of women gathered there to catch the prized bunch of soon-to-be dead flowers.

      The bouquet sailed through the air, heading straight for Jessie. She tried to duck, but at the last second put out her arms so it didn’t hit her in the face.

      She was the chosen one.

      The other women formed a tight knot around her as the groom called out, “All right, guys, it’s garter-catching time!”

      Time to make his exit, Nick thought. He had no intention of getting anywhere near that garter … even if winning it meant he got to put it on Jessie’s thigh.

      He headed for the door, casting one last look in Jessie’s direction. She was laughing up at Becky, the twinkling fairy lights that lit the room making her smile sparkle even brighter.

      Too bad. He sure would have liked to spend the evening getting to know her better.

      But they could hook up once they were both back in New York.

      He knew where to get her number.

       CHAPTER ONE

      JESSIE GROWLED WHEN she heard the phone ring. She couldn’t possibly reach it from where she sat, huddled under her desk. Not for the first time she cursed the ancient wiring in her office. It shorted out the power strip that kept her laptop juiced at least three times a day, necessitating these little sojourns.

      Someday she’d get that fixed. Hopefully someday soon—especially if they kept landing new business.

      “Gloria? Can you get that for me?” she shouted, hoping her sister would hear her.

      “Got it!” Gloria yelled as she skidded across the slippery wooden floor and dived for the phone.

      “Good afternoon, this is Jessie Owens’s phone … Yes, she’s here. She just needs a minute to get to the phone. Can I tell her who’s calling?”

      Gloria peered down at Jessie. “A man named Nick is on the phone. He says you two met at Becky’s wedding.”

      Nick? That was a surprise. Given how fast he’d run after she threw herself at him, she hadn’t thought she’d ever hear from him again.

      Stupid champagne. She knew better than to drink that stuff. All her internal filters disappeared after a couple of glasses.

      Finally untangling herself from the mess of cords, she held a hand up to Gloria. “Help me up, would you?”

      Gloria pulled, hard and the two women overbalanced, ending up in a pile on the floor.

      They looked at each other and burst into giggles.

      “Smooth move, ace.”

      “Right back at ya, grace.”

      Jessie was still laughing when she spoke into the phone. “Hello, this is Jessie.”

      “Jessie. It’s good to know your laugh sounds just as intoxicating when I’m not hopped up on wedding pheromones,” a gravelly voice said.

      “I’m surprised you remember how my voice sounded. You sure hightailed it out of there as quickly as you could after we chatted!”

      “It wasn’t you,” he said, his voice low with what she assumed was mock regret. “It was the garter. I didn’t want to get anywhere near it.”

      Jessie laughed again. She could certainly understand that. After she’d caught the bouquet she’d been forced to coo over the flowers with a gaggle of over-hopeful women, then dance with the aging, paunchy bachelor who’d caught the garter.

      “I don’t blame you. It was a weird scene,” she said, leaning back against her desk.

      “Weddings usually are. If we’d actually gone back to your room, your friends would have had us married off by morning.”

      “Nah, they know better. As far as I’m concerned, marriage is a waste of time.”

      Nick laughed. “I hope you didn’t tell Becky that?”

      “Of course not. I was my usual supportive self,” she answered, picking up the framed picture of the two of them that sat on her desk. “It has been a long time, though. What? Three months? You’ve been busy, I suppose?”

      “Well, you know … I just had to fit a transatlantic move into my schedule, start a new job, and figure out how to save my family’s business. Little stuff.”

      Jessie laughed. “You could have stopped at transatlantic move. That would have been enough for me.”

      “Yeah, I suppose,” he said.

      An awkward silence fell and she glanced down at her watch. “Crap,” she said before she could choke the word back. “I’m late.”

      “Late?”

      “Yeah, I’ve got a meeting with a new client and their agency. It’s guaranteed to be a hundred kinds of awkward.”

      “That stinks. As it happens, I’m on my way to an equally awkward meeting even as we speak. I’ve got to talk my client out of doing something spectacularly stupid—in front of the idiots who are advocating the stupidity.”

      “That sucks,” Jessie said, pulling a navy suit jacket from the hook in her office and dashing out of the brownstone that housed her agency.

      “Tell me about it.”

      “So. What can I do for you?” she said as she clattered down the pavement. “I hate to rush you, but in about three minutes I’ll be heading down to the subway—and you know what that does to cell signals.”

      “Oh. Right. Well, I was wondering if maybe you’d want to attend a charity ball with me tomorrow night. I know it’s last-minute, but my father just informed me I have to go and, as I recall, you said you’d love to attend one.”

      “Will you be picking me up in a pumpkin-shaped carriage?”

      “I can if you promise to wear some glass slippers,” he replied.

      “Touché,” she said, pausing at the top of the staircase that led down into the subway. “Okay, you’re on! Where should I meet you?”

      “Oh, I really will pick you up,” he said. “Mark already gave me your address.”

      “Right. Then I’ll see you about eight?”

      “Better make it seven.”

      “Okay. See you then,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

      But inside she was squealing. Going to a ball with the handsome son of a business tycoon? Looking forward to that would certainly get her through this meeting, no matter how badly it went.

      Nick looked at his watch, wishing with all his might that his driver would turn off the classical music and step on the gas pedal. Leaning forward, he said, “Bob, can’t you go a little faster?”

      The bald man turned and made a face at him.

      “What? Are you late for a hot date or something?”

      “No. Just a meeting with our agency’s biggest client.”

      “The one they brought you back from London to save?” the big man said, one eyebrow raised.

      “The one and only.”

      “Say no more, son. I’ll get you there. Buckle up.”

      As the town car turned off the traffic-jammed street on to a glorified alley Nick quickly did as he was told.

      He