“Or that he’s sleeping with the boss.” Chloe winced, when Sara gave her a dirty look. “I’m supposed to shut up.”

“That’s what I get for asking the impossible.”

“No, come on. What does he look like?”

“Tall, maybe just over six feet. Athletic-looking. Kind of light brown hair, or maybe you’d call it dark blond. I’m not sure what the difference is.” She stopped and thought a moment. He wore his hair too short, in her opinion, so she really hadn’t noticed it much. It was his eyes that got to her. “Bluish green,” she said and then looked at an obviously confused Chloe. “His eyes. They’re this bluish green color that’s really hard to describe.”

Chloe smiled and kept working.

“What?”

“Girl, you got it bad.”

“I do not. He’s just—” She slumped. “Okay, so what do I do about it?”

“You have to ask?”

“Ouch!” Sara jerked.

Chloe eased up on the hair she was applying color to. “That wasn’t deliberate. Although I hope it jarred some sense into you.”

“All right, all right. He’s here for a week. I promise to see him at least twice.”

Chloe sighed dramatically. “I’m so proud.”

“I have one little problem.” Sara met her eyes and waited for her words to sink in.

“He doesn’t know who you are,” Chloe said quietly.

Sara shook her head. “Which means I can’t take him back to Shelby’s and my apartment. And he’s staying at the Ritz-Carlton.”

“Shit.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

“Wait.” Chloe freed her hands and pulled out the top drawer. She withdrew a ridiculously small red purse and dug inside until she produced a set of keys. “Ta da. The answer is my apartment. Think about it. The timing is perfect.” Careful of her long red fingernails, she separated a key from the others and handed it to Sara. “I’ll be gone for a week. I have to be at the airport tonight at six, so it’s yours from 4 p.m. on.”

Sara stared at the silver key in her hand. Was this fate, or what?

Chloe went back to work as if the matter were settled. “The microwave died a couple of months ago. I don’t eat at home much, so I haven’t replaced it. I don’t even know if the oven works. But I’ve only had the apartment for two years.”

Sara laughed. “You’re sure about this? Because I can—”

“Come on, you wanna get laid, or what?”

Sara briefly closed her eyes. Not a good day for Chloe to be testing her patience.

“Relax. Nobody heard.”

“Look, Chloe, I appreciate what you’re doing, but you can’t tell anyone about this. I’m serious.”

“That hurt.”

“I apologize.” Sara sighed. This whole thing was too bizarre for words. “I do. I totally trust you.”

“You gotta lighten up. You’re only twenty-seven. Have some fun.”

Technically Sara was still twenty-six, but darn it, Chloe was absolutely right. For the rest of her life she’d regret not jumping at this chance to be with Cody. She only wished the opportunity had presented itself in New York and not Atlanta where she knew half the people in the city. Or rather, they knew her.

A T SEVEN-FIFTEEN, Cody slowly got out of the cab in front of Café Tu Tu Tango. He knew this was the right restaurant. Unlikely he’d have gotten both the name and location wrong, and the driver had known exactly where to go. But this definitely wasn’t the type of restaurant he’d had in mind. Nor would he have guessed it was the kind of place that met with Sara’s taste.

But then again, what did he really know about the woman? Other than she couldn’t be more wrong for him and had a wide smile that made him behave like a stupid prepubescent teen. In his saner moments he’d wondered about her many contradictions. She’d sublet a fifth-floor walk-up in Manhattan that was the size of a postage stamp, and she didn’t go with the rest of the staff to their daily lunches, preferring to eat alone in the park or at her desk from the same brown paper bag. Yet she wore really expensive shoes and, according to his sources, her purse cost a bundle, and it wasn’t a knockoff.

Nothing wrong with desiring the finer things. He settled for nothing less. But he knew how much money she made as a temporary office worker. Something didn’t add up. And that should have made him nervous. Not intrigued.

In fact, he almost hoped that he’d find out she was one of those women. The kind that lived in dives and spent all their money on expensive accessories and hung out at ritzy bars in the hope of finding a rich husband.

A couple of law school friends had been taken to the cleaners by women of that ilk, but he’d been lucky to avoid the trap himself. Actually, luck had nothing to do with it. He was careful. Selective. Although he had no political ambitions at this point, he had no intention of screwing up his career or any future options.

He looked again at the colorful restaurant sign. Café Tu Tu Tango? Maybe it was a Southern thing.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at his watch. One week. That’s all he’d be in Atlanta for. He’d probably have dinner with Sara a couple of times. Maybe even invite her back to his hotel for one discreet night. Then he’d head back to New York. How much trouble could he get into?

He headed for the door of the restaurant, his step quickening at the thought of seeing Sara. If he didn’t like the place, he’d persuade her to come back to the hotel with him, to the Atlanta Grill.

Just as he opened the door, a couple stumbled out. He quickly moved back, but the woman’s stiff blue spiked hair scraped across his chin, the heavy smell of gin assaulting his nostrils.

“’Scuse us,” the young man with an unfortunate tattoo scrawled around his neck said, and then guided his partner down the sidewalk.

Cody adjusted his right cuff. This obviously was not a good idea. Stepping inside the restaurant further convinced him. Not only was the place packed with people, but the room itself was a dizzying avalanche of color. And noise. God almighty.

There were paintings everywhere, on practically every surface. Everything from contemporary oils to copies of masterpieces. There was a rather loud three-piece band on a second-story stage, and dancers with big blue twirling skirts.

“Hi, do you have a reservation?” A pretty blonde, or she might have been had she not had both her nose and left eyebrow pierced and bolted, approached him.

“I don’t think so.” He glanced around, hoping Sara had also arrived early.

“Oops.” Sighing, the blonde consulted a list, using the tip of a bright pink fingernail that matched her short tight spandex dress. “We’re full up tonight.”

“Thank you, anyway.” He’d wait outside and give Sara the bad news. Meanwhile, he’d get them another reservation.

“Were you meeting someone?”

He’d already started to leave and withdrawn his cell phone to call the hotel concierge. “Yes, but that’s all right.”

“What’s the name?”

“Sara Wells.”

“Ah, yes. Chloe made a reservation for the two of you. The lady’s not here yet, though.” The woman smiled, and Cody caught a flash of a silver stud embedded in her tongue. “You can wait at the table or the bar.”

Damn. He jammed his cell phone back inside his suit jacket. “The table, thank you.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the door, futilely hoping to see Sara, and then followed the blonde to a table in the back of the restaurant.

Although the patrons were an odd assortment of yuppies and bohemian types, none appeared to be financially lacking. Judging by the abundance of Louis Vuitton and Chanel purses sitting on tables, and the gold Rolexes encircling many a wrist. Of course the accessories could all be knockoffs, or then again, supporting evidence of social climbing.

God, he didn’t want to think that about Sara. But he wasn’t going to be taken for a fool, either.

He sat down, taking the seat that faced the entry, and was promptly approached by a waitress who took his scotch order. While he waited, he glanced around and noticed that a young man was actually painting on a canvas while three others at his table watched. The abstract he worked on was actually pretty good. He couldn’t say the same for the acoustics. The music was too loud, and so was the laughter and chatter all around him. He’d wanted a nice, quiet dinner. One where he and Sara could talk.