Playing Her Cards Right: Choose Me

“I won’t, I swear it. Not the Photoshop part—I’m totally going to do that, and I’m going to save every last nickel until I can get a color printer, but I swear I won’t publish. I wouldn’t abuse the privilege.” “I’m not worried.”

She couldn’t stop staring at him. “How can you not be? You don’t know me at all. I could be anyone. A competitor. I could work for Perez Hilton or Gawker, and then where would you be?”

“You don’t, though. Because Rebecca likes you.”

“She barely knows me, either.”

“Rebecca has excellent instincts about people. You’ll do well to stick with her. Don’t tell her I said this, but she’s very, very smart. The smartest one in the family, and we’ve got a couple of federal judges running around, in addition to a bunch of politicians.”

“Speaking of, lately I’ve been seeing all these billboards for Andrew Winslow III. I didn’t think of it before, but are you guys related?”

Charlie’s expression turned sour. “And so it begins. He’s a cousin. Not one I’m fond of. Although, I’m not fond of most of them. Rebecca is the exception.”

Interesting, his distaste for his family. So different from her own experience. Sad, too. She didn’t know what she’d do without her family’s support. Best to get back to the relative he liked. “I’m enjoying the hell out of our friendship so far. Rebecca’s ridiculously funny. And she knows the city the way I want to some day. All the little places and the secrets.”

“Why New York?” he asked.

“The Chrysler Building started it,” she said. “I love art deco, although when I first saw pictures of the building I didn’t know what art deco was. Then I discovered fashion, then theater and what was available here, something incredible down every street. I fell for the city long before I stepped foot in it. And yes, thanks to Woody Allen, it came with a score by George Gershwin. I think I must have lived here before in another life. Not that I necessarily believe in reincarnation, but if it’s real, then I was here. This is home.”

“There’s a heartbeat to this place that’s either in sync with your rhythm or not. I notice its absence every time I travel. If you’re one of the chosen, Manhattan becomes home base and every time you come back, it’s as if you can finally breathe again. That’s how it is for me, at least.”

She smiled at him, as if they shared a secret handshake. She supposed they did. Then she leaned over, her head resting gently on his shoulder. “Thank you, Charlie. Tonight’s been one for the books.”

Charlie closed his eyes as he pulled her closer. He agreed about the night. It hadn’t been easy to leave her while he worked, and when had that happened at one of these things? He couldn’t recall.

Not that he didn’t like the women he asked out—he did. He liked women of all sorts, but he had some strong preferences, he wasn’t going to deny it. He wasn’t just dating for his own amusement, after all. His image was part of the Naked New York brand, and so were the women he was seen with. Some were better than others, some he could talk to, some couldn’t string two coherent sentences together, but to a woman they were a type.

Bree wasn’t even close.

So far she’d surprised him in almost every respect, though, and as he’d plowed through the glitter, he’d tried to remember the last time surprise had been in the mix. Scandals were par for the course these days, scripted or not. Hell, scandals were the point, whether they were caused by celebrities or of his own creation. Parties were only excuses to be seen or heard or photographed. Everything was grist, and he was both the wheat and the miller. Surprises? Once in a blue moon.

He wanted to know more about the woman warming his side, which was also rare, at least in this circumstance. He’d always been interested in people. That’s why he started the blog in the first place. Well, that and wanting to shove his parents’ plans for him where the sun didn’t shine. He wanted Bree’s details. The minutiae of the life she’d given up to come here, who she hoped to become. Something to do with fashion, obviously. Was that dress of hers a new design? Meant to stand out? Charlie might be around high fashion far more than a normal person should be, but that didn’t mean he was a member of the inner circle. As far as he could tell, Bree’s dress was nice. It showed her shape, the look of her skin, her curves and the soft skin of her thighs. He liked it. But was it fashion? No idea.

On the other hand, maybe he didn’t want to know more. He’d hardly be seeing her again, even if she and Rebecca were friends. Charlie’s social calendar was a function of necessity, not desire, and however much he liked Bree … what the hell was her last name … she wasn’t on the agenda. Couldn’t be. Whatever had motivated Rebecca to set up this date, it wasn’t to fix him up. He’d known that the moment he’d set eyes on the girl from Ohio. But he wasn’t sorry for the time spent with her. She’d made his night.

She’d fairly sparkled with how the event had dazzled her. He had to give her credit; she’d handled herself beautifully in the face of many challenges, but even so, there was no hiding her excitement. It was likely she didn’t realize how she came off. He had the feeling it might bother her to know that she lit up like a marquee every time she saw someone famous. The ideal fan, in truth. No squealing or flailing or “Oh, my Gods.” Just that inner light, the spark in her eyes, the coy and charming way she bit her lower lip when it got to be too much.

He breathed her in, glad the perfumes of the night hadn’t swallowed her whole. Another surprise came when he noticed he’d been petting her all during the drive home. Running his hand over her arm. By the time the car stopped, Bree was practically purring and from the look in her eyes, exhausted. Adrenaline drop, probably.

She sat up, looked at the building, then back at him. “So, this is good-night?”

Yes sat on the tip of his tongue. What he said was, “Only if you want it to be.”

Her eyebrows lifted, as did the corners of her mouth, but a second later she hesitated and concern took over. “You don’t have to. I mean, this was—”

“Do you have to work tomorrow?”

She nodded sadly.

He paused for a single beat. “Do you want to come up, anyway?”

BREE WONDERED IF SHE WAS reading the situation correctly. She inhaled sharply as she remembered his kiss, the way he’d touched her. If this were Ohio, she’d have known exactly what he wanted. In New York? She’d have to take a risk. “I would,” she said, hoping she sounded far more confident than she felt. She was going up to his apartment. To his bedroom! Maybe!

Charlie helped her out of the limo, and slid his arm around her shoulders as she thanked the driver. They both nodded at the doorman, but nothing was said as she and Charlie crossed the lobby, his arm draping across her back, his touch warm.

They were quiet during the ride up the elevator. She fit at his side, tucked in neatly. It felt amazing having his arm around her, warming her with gentle friction. She studied him in the mirrored cab, but only got as far as his eyes, staring at hers in return.

They got out on eighteen and the doors opened to a small atrium and the entrance to his home. He pushed open the door and stood aside to let Bree walk in first.

Even after reading Architectural Digest for years, watching rich people’s lives on reality television, she wasn’t prepared for the beauty and elegance of the room she entered. “This is …” she said, heading straight to the windows that made up most of the far wall. The view was spectacular, Central Park in its winter glory, the lights of the city sparkling.

Bree wanted to check out his furniture, the gorgeous art deco design work of the black-and-white floor, the magnificent marble fireplace and the sheer novelty of so much space. But she couldn’t stop staring at the city. Eighteen floors up, the breathtaking view covered too much territory to take in, not when there were so many other things to think about. She might or might not have another shot at it, though. What the hell, she could go to any high-rise in Manhattan to see a view, but Charlie was one time only.

Charlie spoke behind her. “Would you like something to drink?”

She turned to him, not sure of much, but she knew she was thirsty. “Tea? If you have any.”

His hesitation made her think her request wasn’t one he got often. “I think so,” he said. “Give me a minute. Make yourself comfortable.”

Charlie dropped his coat on the back of a chair before he disappeared into the kitchen. The tiny glimpse she’d gotten through the swinging door showed a lot of stainless steel and what might have been the edge of a teak cabinet. Strange how when she’d mentioned her love of art deco he hadn’t told her they shared the passion. Or maybe the apartment hadn’t been his design choice?

The weird thing about her mental tangent into decorating wasn’t the coincidence of their taste, but her reaction to Charlie. She was fascinated by him, beyond the obvious. Which begged the question: Would she have agreed to come up if he had been anyone else? Was she honestly as attracted to him as her hormones would have her believe, or was it the idea of Charlie Winslow that had her aching to strip him naked and do every naughty thing she could think of to him?

She opened her clutch and sneaked out Charlie’s trading card. After a quick check to make sure he wouldn’t catch her in the act, she turned the card to the back side.

* His favorite restaurant: Grand Central Oyster Bar

* Marry, Date or One-Night Stand: One Night is his max, but it’ll be a fabulous night!

* His secret passion: Down deep he’s old-fashioned. I know, surprise, huh?

* Watch out for: The idiot is obsessed with his work. He needs a break.

* The bottom line: Have fun! Just be yourself!

Bree grinned at the personalized responses Rebecca had inserted. This was one card that wasn’t going back into the pile, that was for sure. No, this was Rebecca’s gift to Bree, and Bree wasn’t going to let her insecurity get in the way of the rest of the magical night.

She flipped the card back to his photo. Objectively, he was a good-looking man. It was well documented, how good-looking Charlie was, in magazines, television and online. But she felt completely drawn to him in a way that wasn’t exclusively about looks.

She knew what that felt like. There had been times in college and here in New York that she’d liked a man’s looks and just gone for it. Those times had been okay in a hedonistic way, not something she did often. But she had to consider why she was staying, assuming it wasn’t just for tea. Was the quick beat of her heart a groupie thing or common, everyday lust or … Did it matter?

The answer was as instantaneous as it was physical. She wanted him in a way that was neither common nor everyday. She’d have wanted him even if he wasn’t the King of Manhattan. He’d been a surprise. Nice. Captivating. He’d purposefully shared insider nuggets so she would feel less like an impostor sneaking into the palace. He’d come looking for her, and he’d laughed at her jokes, and he’d kept her warm. That kiss had been …

Well, she’d need to be on her toes tonight, that’s all. If they did end up in bed, which was not a sure thing as there seemed to be a whole different world of signals and innuendos she wasn’t aware of in this rarefied air of his, but if they did, she’d have to be careful.

How Charlie made her feel, that could be dangerous. That was the difference. The other guys, both of them, had been fun in that risky sort of exciting manner when you’ve taken all the safety precautions so you’re not precisely scared, but he was new, and what if he was terrible in bed, or his penis was teeny tiny or he wanted to wear her underpants?

Charlie might have all of those issues, but that wasn’t dangerous. The real fear was that she could like him. The kind of like that meant nothing but trouble. Liking a guy was not part of the five-year plan. In fact, it was the antithesis of the five-year plan, the one thing that could turn even this unbelievable stroke of magnificent luck into a disaster of epic proportions.