Cover Girl

Dash smiled. “I guess the lady wants tiramisu.”

“Coming right up,” said the manager, who spun on his heels and headed toward the kitchen.

Dash turned back to Keira. “So, editor. I imagine that’s a fun job.”

“Depends on the day and what you’re reading. But I love my work. Getting paid to read and discover great talent is something really special. So what do you do?”

“Political media consultant. Currently working on Senator Bradley’s re-election campaign.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“It is, though working with some politicians makes you want to take an hour-long shower at the end of the day. But Bradley’s a good guy, so I’m enjoying this election cycle.”

“Well, from what I’ve read, your candidate has a good shot.”

“As long as some unexpected shit doesn’t hit the fan.” He grabbed his sandwich and took a bite. Keira unwrapped her panini and did the same, not taking her eyes off him.

He looks so familiar…

“So, Dash, have I seen you somewhere before?”

He shrugged. “Don’t think so. I’m always behind the scenes. And I’ve never been in the paper.”

Then it hit her.

Ho. Lee. Shit.

He looks exactly like the guy on the cover of Rose Fontaine’s first novel. The Soul Mate hero was real.

And she instantly knew she’d been lying every time she made a speech at a writer’s conference.

The best men I’ve met only exist on paper.

“Excuse me, aren’t you Alex Bauer?”

Alex turned and found himself looking at a perky brunette behind him in the drug store checkout line. “That’s me.”

Her huge ice-blue eyes beamed. “I knew it.”

“I don’t usually get recognized in New York. How do you know me?”

“I just moved here from Texas. Used to watch you on Channel 4.” She extended her hand. “I’m Lauren Hale.”

He shook it and smiled. “Alex Bauer.”

“Yeah, I already figured that part out.”

“Right. So, Texas, huh? How do you like the Big Apple?”

“Love it. Never want to leave. Not wild about the cold, but I’ve gotten used to it. So what channel are you on here? I haven’t seen you on the local news.”

“I left television two years ago. I’m a writer now. Just sold my first book. It’ll be out in nine months.”

“Wow, that’s terrific. Great American Novel?”

“Don’t laugh, but it’s a romantic comedy.”

“Why would I laugh? I love a good rom-com.”

“Men don’t usually write those.”

She shrugged as she flashed a smile. “Just tells me you’re a romantic guy, and there’s a serious shortage of those around here. Actually there’s a shortage everywhere.”

The woman was beyond cute; one of those girls with a sweet, innocent face. But the body was anything but innocent. Maybe late twenties, about five-seven and seriously stacked with dangerous curves wrapped in a dress that matched her eyes, gentle curls that ended in the middle of her back, and a soft, devastating drawl. She was still locked on to him with those eyes.

“So, Lauren, what do you do?”

“Struggling actress. Which is redundant in this town.”

“Have I seen you in anything?”

“If you’ve been to Jensen’s restaurant, you’ve seen me pitch the overly pretentious specials of the day, which, I must say, I deliver like Meryl Streep in a highbrow British film. I’ve gotten great reviews on fine-dining websites.” Her statement wasn’t typical New York sarcasm, didn’t have any frustration in it. She stuck her nose in the air. “This evening our chef has prepared a delightful honey-braised free-range capon stuffed with organic barley couscous, accompanied by gently sautéed chestnuts in broth accented with a hint of coriander.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “What exactly is that?”

“Chicken ‘n’ rice with a bowl of really weird soup.”

“Well, you make it sound delicious.”

“You should hear the fifty-word description of what amounts to chocolate cake.”

“I’ll bet. I can certainly see you as an actress.”

“Thank you. I’ve had a lot of callbacks lately, so I feel like I’m making progress. Just a matter of time.”

“Seems like you have a good attitude. I’m sure something will come along.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself. Of course in this town, a lot of your success depends on who you know, and I don’t know anyone.”

“Very true.”

She lightly touched his forearm and sent a charge through his body. “Though now I know you.”

“Next!”

The cashier’s yell made Alex turn around. He saw everyone in front of him had checked out and he was ten feet from the counter.

The plump, middle-aged cashier glared at him over half glasses. “Buddy, this ain’t e-harmony-dot-com.”