It Happened in L.A.: Ms Match / Shockingly Sensual / Playmates

“Ah. She has a good personality.”

“Exactly.”

“How good?”

“She’s not a troll or anything, but, well, you know. On the plus side, people seem to think she’s interesting and funny.”

“Got it. Not a problem. I have just the guy in mind. What’s her number?”

“Don’t have him call. Tell him to show up at her apartment. I’ll let her know to expect him. Oh, and it’s formal.”

Autumn gave him the address and the rest of the details. He jotted it all down dutifully, even as he was busy counting the points he would earn for doing this little favor. He’d come through for her with shining colors. She’d have to say thanks. He could think of a hundred ways.

“You’re a sweetie pie, Paul. I mean it. The anniversary party is a big deal. Thank you.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You will. You were the first person I thought of to help out.”

“Good. That’s the way it should be.”

She laughed, and somehow he knew the conversation was over, that there would be no video message sent to his phone, no more teasing on the international call. That was how Autumn did things.

“I’ve got to go if I’m going to catch that swim.”

“When are you coming back?”

“Sunday.”

“Can’t wait,” he said, and he knew that any other woman would have melted to those words, but not her. Not Autumn.

FOUR-FORTY ON FRIDAY afternoon and the office was shifting down to first gear. Paul had finished his last call ten minutes ago, and was now jotting down notes for the week to follow. He was looking forward to the evening. He had his monthly poker game, something he relished. No women were involved, only beer, fine cigars and the kind of raucous bullshit that could only come from a bunch of guys who’d known each other since college.

When Sam Ensler stepped inside his office, Paul’s happy buzz died a quick death.

“Don’t do this to me, Sam.”

“You know I wouldn’t if I had a choice.”

“The party is tonight.”

Sam, his go-to man in charge of literary PR, seemed miserable. He always looked kind of miserable, hence his nickname of Eeyore, but even Paul could see this was serious.

“I’ve got to go to Michigan,” Sam said. “My mother broke her hip. She’s having surgery in the morning.”

“Shit.”

Sam nodded. “There’s no one else. She’s eighty-five.”

“I understand. Go take care of her. Take the time you need.”

“I’m really sorry, Paul.”

“No problem. What time was Gwen expecting you?”

“Seven.” He put a piece of paper on Paul’s desk. “That’s her address.”

“Got it,” he said, his mind already racing through his list of friends and even acquaintances who could step in. “Let me know how your mother’s doing, huh? And leave your cell on.”

Sam smiled grimly as he turned to leave.

The minute he was alone, Paul cursed, vehemently. He had no idea who he could get for this gig on such short notice. Woody? No, Woody was in New York. Maybe Jeff…Shit. Jeff wasn’t about to give up a Friday night to go out with an unattractive stranger. Who was he kidding? None of his friends would. Paul’s only hope had been finding someone who either worked for him or who owed him. That second group should have given him a number of options. Except that it was a Friday night and there was just no time.

Cursing again, Paul dialed Cary’s number. He got the voice mail, and left the message that he wouldn’t make it to poker. Then he checked out Gwen Christopher’s address. She lived in Pasadena. He’d have to get it in gear if he wanted to be on time. Thank God he always had at least one tux at the ready.

Autumn was going to owe him big-time.

HOLY SHIT. He was stunning.

Tall, unruly dark hair, stunning dark eyes, features that one would expect to see on the cover of GQ. He was one of the best-looking men Gwen Christopher had ever seen in person. Poor guy. He still hadn’t gotten into Autumn’s pants. It was the only reason Gwen could think of that a man who looked like him would agree to be her escort. “It’s not going to work.”

“Pardon me?”

She held the door open for him to come in. “Cinderella’s not going to sleep with you because you’re taking the ugly stepsister to the ball. She’ll still make you wait.”

The dazzling man blinked in charming confusion. “I’m not—”

She sighed as she closed the door. “I appreciate that you got all dressed up, so I’ll make it easy for you. I’ll tell Autumn you were perfect, a fabulous date. And I’ll even give you a tip. She won’t want you until you don’t want her. Then her legs will part like the Red Sea. The night’s young, and if you hurry, you can still make it to a premiere or whatever beautiful people normally do on a Friday night.”

“Hey, lady, I’m just here to see if you want a copy of the Watchtower.”

Gwen laughed out loud, amazed that someone Autumn knew actually had a sense of humor. “Very good. It’s Sam, isn’t it?”

“No, actually it’s Paul. Paul Bennet. I’m Sam’s pinch hitter. He had to leave town. His mother broke her hip.”

“Ah, well, then this really is your lucky night. Seriously, you don’t need to stay.”

“I didn’t need to come. But I’d still like to take you to the party.”

“Trust me. You don’t.”

Paul leaned back slightly and cocked his right brow, which made him even better looking. “Okay, so you really are Autumn’s sister.”

“What do you mean?”

“Stubborn.” He took a step toward her. “I haven’t got a single thing to do tonight. I’m dressed for the part. And I wouldn’t mind checking out the rest of the family.”

Wouldn’t her whole clan just die when she walked in with Paul Bennet on her arm? It wouldn’t last—a heartbeat after the shock wore off they’d all figure out that he was a mercy date. Still, it would be fun to see Faith with her perfect little mouth agape. “I’ve given you the secret to getting Autumn into bed. Don’t you believe me?”