Busy? I need to ask you a question.

He tapped out a reply. What is it? The last thing he wanted was Ashley springing a surprise on him, like asking if her contractor could start running saws at five a.m. tomorrow.

An invitation. May I call? Ashley replied.

“Who are you texting?” Joanna asked nonchalantly. At twenty-eight, she might’ve been three years younger than him, but she could be a mother hen. She’d certainly kept close tabs on him since things went south with his marriage.

“My neighbor. Ms. George. Something about an invitation.”

“An invitation? From Ashley George? Have you two patched things up? Whatever it is, you should say yes.” Joanna sounded entirely too optimistic for his taste. And pushy. Joanna hadn’t even tried to disguise her hope that Marcus would jump into the dating pool with both feet, starting with Ashley. She was, after all, the toast of the entire city, drop-dead gorgeous and, conveniently enough, right across the hall.

Ashley also wasn’t a real option. He’d learned that on their date. Their conversation sent up red flag after red flag, culminating with the story of how she and her last boyfriend had broken up because she wasn’t ready to have children. That had prompted him to ask for the check and give her nothing more than a handshake at the end of the night. It wasn’t like he’d been on the verge of proposing marriage, but he had no business spending time with a woman who didn’t share his vision for a relationship. He and Lila were a package deal. No getting around that.

And there was great urgency to his situation. Lila would soon be old enough to remember growing up without a mum. His mother was one of the most important people in his life. He wasn’t about to let Lila go without. Watching that would be even worse than seeing Chambers Gin go belly-up. “No patching anything up for me and Ms. George. We’re doing our best to tolerate each other.” He looked down at his phone again. How he despised texting. Dialing Ashley’s number, he shooed Joanna away, but she shook her head, making it clear she was staying.

“Is there a problem, Ms. George?” he asked when she answered.

“No. And please, call me Ashley.”

He sat back in his seat, avoiding eye contact with his sister. “What can I do for you?”

Joanna pulled out a pad of paper and wrote furiously. She shoved it across the table and thumped it with her finger. Be nice!

“I’m calling with a business proposition.”

He’d been bracing for bad news about her apartment project. Business was indeed the last thing he’d expected to be brought up. “Go on.”

“Before I say anything, you have to promise me that you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

Now she really had his curiosity piqued. A secret? “I don’t like making promises I’m not certain I can keep.”

She huffed on the other end of the line. “You relish any opportunity to be a pain in my side, don’t you? Look, I understand you’re expanding Chambers Gin in the States. The network is throwing a big party for the premiere of my new season. They’d like to offer you a sponsorship spot that night, at no cost to your company aside from providing your new gin for the guests. Your logo will be everywhere. The guest list is chock-full of celebrities, and they’ll all be drinking your gin. The network publicists can work their magic for you.”

“Why would you do that for me? And why would I need to keep that a secret?”

She grumbled, “I’m getting to that part. I need you to come to the party. With me. As my date.”

For a moment, Marcus wasn’t entirely sure of what she’d just said. “I only date women I’m serious about. Because of Lila.”

“Then it’s perfect, because I don’t date at all right now. And I’m not talking about anything more than you taking me to the party and pretending you like me. The network wants me on the arm of a handsome man, I’m not seeing anyone, and you’re literally the last man I’ve been on a date with.”

The part of him that warred with her over her apartment wanted to snicker that he was her only option, but the situation also genuinely struck him as a bit sad. “I’m not entirely sure that Manhattan Matchmaker and Chambers Gin is the right match. I don’t see the correlation between the two brands.”

“You want to appeal to young, hip customers? My demographic is all about young and hip.”

“And Mrs. White.”

“She’s a lot hipper than you.”

“That’s up for debate.” He was making her angry, which didn’t entirely bother him. Nothing like some good verbal sparring with a beautiful woman to get the blood pumping.

“Well? Will you? Just think of what this could do for your business.”

She might have been right about that. He and Joanna had been discussing exactly that, and judging by the look on his sister’s face, she’d pop off at him if he said no to this. “Yes. I’ll do it.”

“You will?”

“Yes, I will. Please don’t tell me you’re angry with me for saying yes.”

“No. Not angry. Just surprised, that’s all. You fight me on everything.”

It’s easier to convince myself I’m not so damn drawn to you. “I won’t lie. Chambers Gin could use the help. The American market is a big mountain to conquer.”

“Okay, then. It’s Thursday night. Eight o’clock. I’ll have a car for us at seven thirty.”

“I’ll come round your place at seven-fifteen.”

“I’m capable of meeting you at the elevator, you know.”

“Ashley, I’m a gentleman. A gentleman always picks a lady up for a date.”

Three

Ashley hardly recognized the woman in the mirror. Same face as hers, same hair and nose. Same eyes. But this was the familiar wrapped up in an entirely new and very expensive package. Poised on a pedestal, she twisted from side to side, admiring the sublime lines of the gown designed for her by Peter Richie. Designed for her. Since the Manhattan Matchmaker ride had started, there had been countless times when she’d wondered whether she was awake or dreaming. Today was just another to add to the list.

Peter shook his head slowly as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Absolutely. Stunning.”

He planted both hands at his waist, studying her. A woman with a mouth full of straight pins kneeled at Ashley’s feet, adjusting the hem of the gown.

Ashley wrestled with her innate need to deflect attention from herself. “The dress is beautiful. You’re absolutely right. Thank you so much for doing this. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.” She glanced down, only to catch the woman rolling her eyes. Had she said something stupid? Was it uncool to be thankful? She wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to say in this situation other than thank you. Her mother had always been emphatic when she was growing up: “No one will ever fault you for having good manners.”

Peter let out a deep belly laugh. “No, doll. Not the dress. You. You’re stunning. All eyes are going to be glued to you at that party.”

Ashley swallowed, or at least attempted to. It was hard to get past the lump in her throat. The thought of all eyes glued to her made her exponentially more nervous about the party. Those gatherings were difficult—everyone vying for a piece of her, but it was always a bit superficial. Lots of compliments and praise, but not much in the way of real conversation. No, it was all “keep doing what you’re doing” and “we just want more.” How much more of this was there? One day the world would tire of the Manhattan Matchmaker. It happened to everyone who ended up in the spotlight as she had, and when it ended, it always seemed to end badly. Tastes changed. Fads came and went. She didn’t want to be reduced to that, but someday she would. In some ways, it would be a big relief, but it would mean that her fabulous ride was over.