“Doesn’t matter,” she says quickly. “I wasn’t trying to drop a hint. I truly didn’t know who you were then. But I already had my invitation for tonight and I was planning to come.”

  My eyebrows rise on that last word. “One of my favorite verbs.”

  Bellamy doesn’t take the bait. She soldiers on. “Because I wanted to ask you a question.”

  I motion for her to go on. “You have my undivided attention.”

  “I’d like to do a profile on you and your parties for my podcast.”

  Huh. That wasn’t what I’d expected. I’d figured she was angling for me. Or, on the off chance she wasn’t, she was itching to meet some other guy tonight. I strip away all the veneer of teasing. “Is that why you were talking to me at The Lucky Spot? To ask to cover me?”

  “No. Like I said, I had no idea who you were then—just like you knew nothing about me.”

  Quickly, I find my footing again. “The fact that you kissed me for the sake of a charity donation demonstrates a bit about who you are,” I say. “Doesn’t it?”

  Her brow pulls. “What does that tell you?”

  Lifting the glass, I swallow the remainder of my martini, then set it down with a clink. “It tells me that you have a good heart . . . and the soul of a black cat.”

  She grins. “Meow.”

  “So, you want to interview me for a profile,” I say, adjusting fully to her reasons at last. Too bad they don’t align with mine, but so it goes. As Spencer would say, life hands you lemons and you make lemonade. “Why not just email me? I’m not that hard to track down.”

  She casts her gaze to the throng of people mingling and meeting around us. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t a charlatan. If I did a profile on you without seeing this with my own two eyes, you’d be able to hoodwink me.”

  I lean forward, flick her hair off her shoulder. Her breath catches, and I register our connection once again. “I would never hoodwink you, Bellamy Hart.”

  “I’d never let you,” she says.

  Heat skids down my spine. Why, oh why, do feisty women get me going? They just fucking do. “Fair enough. So, you’re here to scope me out?”

  “Yes, I came to the party to see if this was for real, and to ask to cover you. I didn’t go to the masquerade the other week thinking that the man who’d bet on me would be the same one I wanted to profile. Had I known, I wouldn’t have done what I did.”

  “Kiss me?”

  “No,” she says confidently, then tap dances her fingers up my thigh. Those sexy, intrepid fingers. A spark of warmth flares in her wake. “Toy with you.”

  “But you’re so good at playing with toys, Bellamy,” I say, taking her hand, pulling it off me. Only I don’t let go. I squeeze her fingers. “The thing is, so am I.”

  Her eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

  Letting go of her hand, I reach into my inside jacket pocket. “I’ve got a party to host. Here’s my card. I’m not saying yes. I’m saying email me, and I’ll set up a time to hear your pitch.”

  I hand her the card, sweep her hair off her neck, and press a kiss to her cheek, lingering till the soft flutter of her breath whooshes across my jaw.

  Then I leave her at the bar.

  She may have played me, but I’m a master of the game. I romance men and women every single damn week.

  Bellamy Hart won’t know what’s hit her.

  10

  Catch Me If You Can

  From the Email Correspondence of Bellamy Hart and Easton Ford

  * * *

  Dear Mr. Ford,

  * * *

  It was a pleasure meeting you last night. I greatly appreciate your time and consideration of my request. I eagerly await the opportunity to share more details on my prospective profile of you. There is a lovely coffee shop on Madison and 73rd called Doctor Insomnia’s. We could have a cup of tea or coffee and discuss my proposal.

  * * *

  Sincerely,

  Bellamy Hart

  Dear Ms. Hart,

  * * *

  Do you like chocolate?

  * * *

  Sincerely,

  Your Most Worthy Adversary

  Dear Self-Dubbed Most Worthy Adversary,

  * * *

  You tell me. Do I?

  * * *

  I have no doubt you researched me six ways to this Sunday morning. Dare I wager you even looked me up the moment I departed last night? I’d certainly bet good money you already know the answer to your question.

  * * *

  Sincerely,

  Bellamy

  * * *

  P.S. Why must we be adversaries? Can’t we simply be two people who want something from each other? I want to share fascinating stories with my audience, and you want to tell your tale.

  Dear Person from Whom I Want Something,

  * * *

  See above salutation. It just doesn’t have the same ring as Your Worthy Adversary. Though, I do very much want something from you.

  * * *

  Sincerely,

  Your One Hundred and One Millionth Newest Fan

  * * *

  P.S. Your podcast is scintillating. Congrats on one million listens. Why didn’t you tell me about it before? Say, on the night we met? Might have been nice to know who I was dealing with. Not Daisy but rather . . . Your Most Devoted Romance Guide.

  Dear Newest Fan,

  * * *

  You never answered my question, so I shall ask again. Did you look me up the second I left?

  * * *

  Sincerely,

  Your Most Devoted Guide to Romance

  * * *

  (That’s what my fans call me. You can just call me Romance Goddess, though, if you wish. Some call me that too.)

  * * *

  P.S. I also researched you.

  Dear Romance Goddess,

  * * *

  What a fitting greeting.

  * * *

  Of course you researched me, and of course I researched you. It’s what people like you and me do. Yes, I know you like chocolate and old standards. But the thing is, we don’t always say in our online bios who we truly are. That is, indeed, the crux of Carpe Diem’s existence. So, since you didn’t answer, I ask again—do you like chocolate?

  * * *

  Sincerely,

  Just call me . . . The Guy Who Got Away

  Dear . . . But Are You, Though?

  * * *

  I didn’t lie in my bio. I adore chocolate. Also, cake is cool. So is ice cream. But not all sweets and treats are created equally. Some I like so much more than others. Sort of like . . . suitors.

  * * *

  Sincerely,

  A Chocolate Devotee—and in this area, I absolutely play favorites

  Dear Chocolate Devotee,

  * * *

  We can play it one of two ways. I can ask your favorite kind of chocolate, or I can agree to your request and learn your preference firsthand at Lulu’s Chocolates at two o’clock tomorrow. I’m a gentleman, though, so I’ll ask whether that time works for you.

  * * *

  But the part of me that’s not a gentleman is very much looking forward to discovering which kind of chocolate you crave most. Especially since I knew you played favorites. And I’ll enclose my phone number below should you ever want it.

  * * *

  Sincerely,

  A Fellow Devotee

  Dear Such a Gentleman,

  * * *

  I will be there at two. And I suppose we’ll see if you can discover my favorite flavor. Or if I have one at all.

  And here’s my number too.

  * * *

  Sincerely,

  * * *

  The One You’ll Keep Chasing Even Though You Can’t Catch Me

  11

  Bellamy Hart’s Planning Notes for A Million Frogs . . .

  Is there an undo-that-email-I-sent-fifteen-minutes-ago button? If not, there should be some recourse for delayed email regret.

  If this were a rom-com, there would now be a scene where I sneak into the hero’s house, find his answering machine, and savagely destroy it with a hammer.

  Alas, one of the hardships of the digital age is that you cannot destroy a digital message with a digital hammer.

  Tomorrow I will do better.

  I will not flirt with that cocky fucker who has a way with words.

  12

  Panties in a Twist

  My reconnaissance continues on Sunday night as I head to a small club in Tribeca to see a band with my friends.

  I’m the first to arrive. I always am.

  Everything in life is a negotiation, so I strategize for every advantage. May the odds be ever in my favor.

  But how to tip the scales my way with Bellamy Hart? Yes, I listened to a couple episodes of her podcast today at the gym, her too pretty, too sensual purr in my head as I ran faster, lifted harder. I researched her online too—she studied music and English lit at a prestigious school in New England, she loves Manhattan in autumn, and she started her show five years ago, then licensed it earlier this year to The Dating Pool, a popular site for dating advice.

  No idea if she’s a friend or a foe, but I’ll take my chances. The Dating Pool gets me that much closer to my media goals.

  The kind of close I want from Bellamy is close to my cock. But cock goals must take a backseat for now because I also want to reach her fans—a huge group of romance enthusiasts are my precise target. All those ladies talking up my parties? Yes, yes, and more yes.

  Inside the club, I pass a table selling merch for the band and greet the tattooed pair of goth gals hawking T-shirts. I make my way to the bar in the corner and order a LaCroix. Not every night calls for liquor.

  The bartender hands me the glass, and I thank him then scan the cramped quarters of this venue, my mind returning to the woman.

  What does Bellamy Hart do on a Sunday night in September? See her friends? Curl up in a claw-foot tub, pink-polished toenails poking out of the bubbles as she soaks in the self-care with wine and bath bombs that explode between her thighs?

  And that’s not helping my focus on business.

  The naughty images linger, draping themselves all over the gray matter until my friends filter in. TJ and Nolan are joining me tonight. Nolan lives in San Francisco, but he’s been spending time in New York, working on some opportunities for his food show before he returns to the West Coast. TJ is the music-obsessed one, so he picked this joint.

  I start directly in with my long-time friend. “I need to know something, T—”

  TJ’s hand pops up like a traffic cop, his voice like a knife. “Do not.”

  Nolan smiles wickedly, shaking his head. “Dude. You know better than to say his real name.”

  “When a man gets skunk-faced drunk and spills his real name along with all his sad stories about his ex, you keep that ammunition handy,” I point out.

  TJ jumps in. “Hey, Easton, did you want me to keep sending all my single lady friends to your parties or not? Because they flock to me. I’ve got loads of them looking for love. Not sure I need to share any more with you, though.”

  “Fine, fine. TJ,” I say, dragging out his initials. I know he hates his full name; I was just fucking with him. That’s my job as his friend—to keep him on his toes. “But along those lines, riddle me something. Was this all some elaborate ruse from you?”

  TJ scans the venue, dragging a hand along his bearded jaw. “Suggesting we all go to see a hip new band on Sunday night? Yes. I am guilty as charged, Easton.”

  “No. I meant your friend Hazel’s companion last night. Did you set me up?”

  Nolan’s hazel eyes twinkle. “Oh, sweet. Say yes, TJ. Say yes. I’ll grab my popcorn.”

  “Do you even know what he’s saying yes to?” I counter.

  “Nope,” Nolan says, rubbing his palms. “But if you’re wound up, it’s got to be good. And very little amuses me more than Mister Calm, Cool, and Collected getting knocked out of whack.”

  “Thanks, Nolan. Appreciate that.” I turn my focus back to TJ. “So, Hazel’s friend. The one she brought with her last night to my fête. Was that your doing? Some little chess game machination of a creative mind? A new way to crack your writer’s block? By moving the chess pieces around my board?”

  TJ furrows his brow, blinks several times. “You’re going to need to back this up, man. Yes, I am an evil genius, but I doubt your love life fascinates anyone enough to play chess with it. Still, I’ll bite. How does Hazel’s appearance relate to my writer’s block? Also, thanks for mentioning how much I suck at my job.”

  “You’ll find inspiration soon enough. I have faith. Besides, if all else fails, just write about me.”

  TJ spreads his arms out wide. “Yes! Thank you. I shall henceforth make you the hero in my next sexy romance novel. I’ll call it . . . Come Again.”

  “Ah, that is indeed what all the ladies do when they’re with me,” I say, because it’s all too easy.

  “I meant it more in a what-the-fuck way. Come again? My readers like their heroes with a little more finesse,” he jokes, then turns serious once more. “Anyway, what is this j’accuse all about?”

  “Hazel brought along Bellamy Hart last night. What do you know about her?”

  With a no-big-deal shrug, TJ scrubs a hand along the back of his neck. “Probably the same as you—whatever Google has to say. Hazel just asked to bring a friend.”

  Nolan claps my shoulder. “Somebody’s got Easton’s panties in a twist.”

  I heave a sigh. He’s not wrong. “She’s the one from Spencer’s bar,” I tell him.

  “Ohh,” Nolan says.

  “Elaborate,” TJ demands.

  Nolan is all too happy to do that. “Two weeks ago, this dickhead dictated a work note at Spencer’s bar.”

  “So, you gave him a dare,” TJ supplies.

  “We bet he couldn’t snag a beautiful woman in a flapper dress,” Nolan puts in. “Long story short, she won the costume contest with him. He kissed her like a sailor kissing his girl before he ships out to sea, then she left without giving him her number. Basically, it was a beautiful night of comeuppance. Maybe that’s what you should call your next book,” Nolan says, finishing the not-a-love story.

  TJ’s grin turns far too pleased. “I want to meet this woman. Buy her a drink.”

  “Get in line behind my sister,” I say. “Anyway, that’s Bellamy. She’s complicated. Vexing. Smart as a whip. Sexy as a song.”

  TJ smiles. “And you can’t figure out if she’s hot for you or hates you?”

  “Or maybe both,” I say. “So, I figured I’d see if you knew anything more about her before I say yes to her request to be on her podcast.”

  TJ shakes his head. “Nope. All I know is Hazel wanted into your events, since she’s in the mood for love. And she wanted to bring a plus one. Other than that, you’re on your own,” he says, his gaze straying briefly to the bartender, a hipster guy with tattoos.

  The man smiles at TJ, and I’ve got a feeling my friend won’t be going home alone tonight. TJ tips his chin back in some sort of unspoken hello, then returns his attention to us.

  “Want to take care of that right now?” I ask.

  TJ rolls his eyes. “Nah. I’m out with the guys. I’ll deal with that later. For now, I want to hear why Hazel’s friend is making you crazy. Why do you care? You’ve made it abundantly clear you’re not in the market for romance.”

  He’s right. So why has Bellamy claimed a patch of real estate in my head?

  All I’m interested in is a good time. That’s all I’ve been interested in since Anna. There’s no room in my life for anything more. Running these parties solo takes up all my time.

  Maybe I’m just caught up in Bellamy because of her podcast proposal.

  “She wants to do a profile on my parties. I’m going to meet her tomorrow,” I tell them as we make our way toward the stage.

  TJ nods like all that adds up. “That’s your thing, so it ought to be a no-brainer. Well, that and somehow proving you have the bigger dick than Coupled, Tinder, Match, and so on.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s not all it is.”

  He scoffs, claps my back. “Right.”

  “Sure. It’s totally not,” Nolan agrees.

  “With friends like you two, who needs enemies,” I say drily.

  “Anyway, it all sounds good, dude. I say meet her, do the piece, see if you can, I dunno, understand women for once,” TJ says. “And maybe stop trying to game everything. Come tomorrow, you’re going to figure out what she wants and you’ll decide then if you’ll give it to her. Easton, sometimes you complicate everything.”

  I shoot him a searing stare. “And you don’t, Mister Romance Novelist?”