Philippa Whitman appeared. She took in the sight of me with the stranger and her expression grew puzzled. “Star, there you are. The children will be ready for you in five minutes. Why don’t you go back inside and grab a quick bite to eat before then?”

  It wasn’t a suggestion.

  Giving her a congenial nod, I turned from the stranger as Philippa stepped away from the door to let me pass.

  The balcony door, however, didn’t shut all the way over and I heard the stranger say, “Pippa, leave me alone and let me hide out here, please.” He might have used the word “please,” but his tone was demanding. It was not a request.

  And he called her Pippa.

  Was he her brother?

  “Rafe, this is your niece’s birthday party. You can’t stand out here and brood.”

  So yeah, he was her brother. They looked nothing alike.

  “Exactly. This is my niece’s birthday party. Not an opportunity for you and my mother to foist every eligible woman in Manhattan on me, but, frankly, it feels like more effort is being put into that than Charmaine’s party. A Disney princess, Pip? Really?”

  “Your niece is eight years old and loves that movie, and Star came highly recommended.”

  “Star? That can’t be her real name.”

  I scowled at the almost-closed balcony door. It was so!

  “You seem awfully interested in my child’s entertainer . . . and it’s bad enough your brother can’t even attend his own daughter’s birthday party. I really don’t need her uncle acting like he’d rather be anywhere but here.”

  Ah. He was her brother-in-law. Rafe Whitman.

  Damn. That name suited him to a T.

  There was a moment of silence, and then, “I’m sorry.”

  My eyes widened at his quiet apology.

  “I had a terrible night in surgery last night and I’m just not in the mood for you to play matchmaker. Or to listen to that awful Scottish accent.”

  Moi? I pointed to myself. He needed to back off my awesome brogue.

  “I think she’s rather good,” Philippa replied.

  Thank you!

  “But I’m sorry you had an awful night in surgery.”

  Was he a doctor, then?

  That made sense.

  Arrogance in abundance.

  Though my easily forgiving side suddenly felt bad for him. He’d had a worse night than most people ever could at their job and then he’d come here only for his family to play matchmaker all afternoon. No wonder he was in a terrible mood. No one enjoyed being cornered. Not that that entirely excused his behavior, but I reminded myself that every single one of us had off days and acted out.

  How was it a surgeon could make it to his niece’s birthday party but her father couldn’t?

  “I’ll try not to foist any more women on you today.”

  “Will you speak to my mother too?”

  “Yes, I will. But, Rafe, you’re going to have to settle down at some point. Your mother and I are just worried you’ll end up alone.”

  “What does it matter if I’m happy? Happy and alone works for me.”

  I could totally understand that. Society needed to back off with all the trying to make people fit into their neat little boxes. That was the cause of so much unhappiness if you asked me.

  “That would be fine if I thought for a minute you were actually happy. But the permanent scowl you wear suggests otherwise. Now, please try to be a little nicer to everyone in there.”

  “Including the woman who is too old to be dressed as a Disney princess?”

  “Hush, Rafe. Don’t be unkind.”

  I hurried away from the balcony door so they wouldn’t realize I’d been eavesdropping. I hadn’t meant to. Normally, I could not care less about anyone’s private business. It was private for a reason, right? Truthfully, I did not understand my fascination with Rafe Whitman and, considering his disdain for me (whether it was real or driven by his awful mood), I was determined to erase that fascination from my brain and all my lady parts.

  It was easy enough to do because after five minutes of being in the room, women surrounded Rafe again. This time, he really did appear like a cornered animal, his eyes wide, nostrils flaring. I felt a little bad for him despite his shitty attitude earlier. But when I looked over a few minutes later, he was gone, having, I assumed, made his escape.

  It was only after most of the guests had left and Philippa had paid me in cash and was walking me to the door that I saw Rafe had reappeared. I glanced casually toward the living room and was shocked to see him sitting on the floor with Charmaine, grinning as she showed him what presents she’d received. He said something that made her laugh so hard she fell into him. Her uncle wrapped his arm around her to pull her into his side as he, shocker of all shockers, laughed with her.

  And he went from unfairly attractive to “I might pass out from his sexiness” attractive.

  Seriously, there went all the air out of my lungs.

  Holy hot damn.

  He looked up at that moment and our gazes met.

  Rafe’s smile died as his arm tightened around his niece, and I hurried out of the apartment before he could see my obvious reaction to him.

  I’d learned long ago there was no point trying to make someone like you when they’d already decided that they didn’t. It was much better to focus that energy on the people who already cared about you. And while I might find Rafe Whitman several levels of hot, I was only physically attracted to him. Bad day or not, judgmental snobs didn’t really do it for me on an emotional level and, while I was anti-relationship, I still needed to like a guy before I’d let him into my bed.

  As I took the elevator to the ground floor of that fancy Manhattan apartment, I shoved all thoughts of the man from my head and instead focused on the fact that I’d just added a character to my repertoire that had been a huge hit. Pulling my cell out of the pocket of my dress, I shot off a text to Dotty, my boss at We Bring Them to Life, the company that provided an actor to play almost any character you needed for your event.

  Put Merida at the top of my specialty list. I rocked her.

  And no pompous, grumpy Manhattanite would convince me otherwise.

  Chapter Two

  “How can you do that?”

  I looked up from my e-reader to face three people in front of me. We were all waiting in line for the new iPhone. Even though I’d turned up pretty early, there were a lot of people already waiting. Considering my client was paying me to wait in line and every extra half hour was another ten dollars in my pocket, I didn’t care how long I stood there. “Do what?” I smiled at the threesome.

  The dark-haired girl who’d asked replied, “Read in the middle of a crowded street. You’ve been totally zoned out for the last hour.”

  Glancing around the busy street where the Apple store on Fifth Avenue was located, I realized it was now midday. Just as I realized that, my belly grumbled. Thankfully, I had packed a lot of snacks in my purse because the last time I waited on a new Apple product, the wait was six hours.

  I had been here for four hours so far and was growing ever closer to the enormous glass-cubed entrance to the store.

  Shrugging at the group, I switched off my e-reader and popped it into my purse. “I’m just good at drowning out noise, I guess. Are you waiting for the phone for yourselves or someone else?”

  It turned out two of them were waiting for themselves, but the dark-haired girl, Yvonne, was, like me, being paid to wait for someone else. As we chatted about everything and nothing to kill time, I checked my phone and noticed I had a few texts from my client asking about my progress. Though I would never understand the urgency of owning certain material goods, I definitely appreciated it because it allowed me to do a job that didn’t stress me out.

  Yvonne was new to line sitting, and I was in the middle of recommending the best solo tent to buy for long waits during the winter when my attention moved over her shoulder and I spotted a familiar man.

  He was so tall and broad-shouldered he was hard to miss.

  And still spectacularly hot.

  Rafferty “Rafe” Whitman.

  Okay, so I might have googled him out of curiosity.

  Rafe was the younger son of Greg Whitman, a shipping magnate. The Whitman kids could live off their trust funds and never work a day in their lives. But all of them did. The eldest, Hugo, Charmaine’s father, was the new CEO of the family company. The youngest, Georgina, was some kind of computer genius. And Rafe . . . well, guess what?

  He wasn’t a regular surgeon. Oh no. It was much worse. Much more dangerous to my erogenous zones.

  Rafe Whitman was a veterinarian.

  He owned a vet clinic on the Upper West Side.

  When I first read that, I had to admit I had to read it again. He did not seem like the cuddly animal-loving type at all, even with that brief glimpse of affection I’d seen between him and his niece.

  What wasn’t dangerous to my libido was the fact that he and I were so completely opposite to one another we were pretty much living on different planets. Which didn’t explain my sudden urge to ruffle his snooty, wealthy feathers.

  “Hey, Whitman, is that you?” I abruptly yelled, surprising my companions, who visibly startled.

  The man in question was currently engaged in conversation with a shorter, older man, and he glanced predatorily toward the noise. When Rafe’s scowling gaze moved over the line, I gave him a little wave and a grin so he could see who’d called out to him.

  Recognition did not flicker across his irritated expression.

  He turned back to his companion, ignoring me.

  “Ouch.” Yvonne chuckled. “The hottie doesn’t seem interested.”

  I shrugged with a cheeky grin. “Last time he saw me, I looked a little different.”

  The line moved then and the girls turned toward it. I should have pulled some snacks out of my purse and forgotten Rafe.

  For some reason, I couldn’t.

  I so wanted to mortify or annoy this man and I didn’t understand the impulse at all. However, I went with my impulse. Smirking in his direction, I yelled louder, “Whitman!”

  His shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t turn.

  I put my fingers between my lips and blew a piercing whistle at him. “We spend a beautiful afternoon together and now you’re just ignoring me?”

  People in line made oohing sounds, and I snort-laughed.

  I had Rafe’s attention again.

  He glowered in my direction but didn’t make a move toward me.

  I shrugged. “The least you can do is say hi considering you got peanut butter and jelly all over my bedsheets!”

  Laughter rumbled through the line and my shoulders shook with amusement as Rafe said something to his companion and then marched toward me. Wearing that thunderous scowl.

  Butterflies swooped in my belly and I tried to bite my lip to contain my nervous laughter and failed. He wore a blue shirt, a fitted leather jacket, and a pair of dark suit pants, but he might as well have been naked for what it was doing to me.

  “Look, I have no idea—” Rafe came to a sharp stop before me, recognition flooding his expression as his eyes darted over me. “You,” he announced accusingly.

  I grinned. “Me. What are the chances? Eight million people in this city and we run into each other twice in three days.”

  Rafe’s eyes were even more attractively blue than I remembered as they wandered over my long strawberry-blond hair. “Your hair is different.”

  “Yeah, this is real. No wig.”

  His attention strayed down my body. I might have been feeling familiar tingles everywhere his eyes touched, but then he retorted, “Yet you’re still in costume.”

  Frowning, I looked down at my maxi dress. While I dressed to suit how many hours I’d have to wait in line for something, when I knew it was just a half-day kind of deal, I dressed like me. And I liked dresses and skirts and a lot of florals. I also liked braid crowns and circlets. None of which was costumey. It was cute boho. “Uh . . . no.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You look like you’re auditioning to be a fairy princess.”

  I beamed at the compliment. “You’re so sweet.”

  Rafe’s lips pinched together for a second before he sighed heavily and glanced along the line toward the Apple building. “Is there a reason you catcalled ridiculous nonsense at me, or was it just boredom while you wait for a nonsensical gadget that’s ruined the state of humanity?”

  “Ooh, wow, there is a lot to unpack in that sentence, but to answer your question, no. I just felt like yelling at you.” I shrugged. “And I’m not waiting for me. I’m a professional line sitter.”

  “You’re a what?”

  “A line sitter. I work for All on the Line. We’re a group of line sitters. People pay us to wait in line for the things they want but don’t have time to wait for. Phones, sneakers, theater tickets, gourmet coffee. I’m booked all this week to wait for all of those things.”

  He considered this. “People pay you to wait for stuff?”

  “That’s right. The company I work for created this app and people can post the jobs to it and if we want to do the job, we book it. The app takes care of the financials.”

  “And that’s your job? Along with the Disney princess stuff? This”—he gestured along the line—“is what you do for a living?”

  Okay, so maybe he wasn’t just in a bad mood at his niece’s party. Maybe he was just an asshole. “I’m not a Disney princess actor. I’m a costume character actor and a line sitter. Those are my jobs.”

  Silence fell between us as Rafe stared at me.

  The longer he gazed into my eyes, the more I noticed his. His lashes weren’t long, but they were unfairly dark and thick, making his eyes seem bluer. There were little silver striations in his irises that fascinated me. Refusing to break his stare because I knew I’d only linger over his gorgeous face (thus alerting him to the fact that I was attracted to his condescending ass), I remained still and quiet.

  Then, true to form, Rafe pivoted and rudely departed without another word.

  The mischievous teasing I’d felt earlier vanished, and I no longer experienced the urge to needle him with more catcalling. I stared after him but rather than feel insulted by his lack of interest in my life and seeming contempt for it, I felt sorry for him. He was clearly contained by the box that he’d grown up in and wouldn’t know what an open mind was if it bit him on the behind.

  I felt pity for anyone who was narrow-minded. It closed off so much of the beauty of the world to them.

  Disappointed he’d turned out to be a cliché, I was looking away when movement caught my eye. I was shocked to find Rafe striding determinedly in my direction again. His broody face was more brooding than usual, so I braced myself.

  Rafe Whitman drew to a stop before me and blurted out, “You’ll literally do anything for money?”

  Anger flared in an instant from the tips of my toes to the ends of my hair, so I didn’t hear the tone in which the question was asked. I threw back my shoulders. Taller than average height at five-seven, I was still a good seven or eight inches shorter than this arrogant Manhattanite, but I was prepared to take him. Anyone who knew me knew I was a patient, laid-back kind of person . . . but Rafferty Whitman had crossed the line!

  “What the hell does that mean?” I seethed. “Are you suggesting I charge money for sex?”

  Rafe’s blue eyes flashed with indignation. “No, I am not,” he hissed at me, eyes darting around. “And lower your voice.”

  “I will not lower my voice.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I like most people, but you sure do make it difficult, Whitman. It’s like you get off on being as insulting as possible.”

  He mirrored me, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not insulting you. If you’d paid attention, you’d realize the question was not meant to be untoward.”

  “Untoward?” I grimaced. “What, are you from the nineteenth century? Is that why you hate phones? Because if the technology is difficult for you to grasp, I can teach you how to use a phone.” I was being a little shit now, but he brought it out in a person.

  Rafe sneered. “How much will that cost me?”

  Argghhh! I narrowed my eyes but smiled. “Oh, for you . . . twice as much as I’d charge anyone else.”

  “I see. Well.” Rafe uncrossed his arms to reach into his back pocket. He removed his wallet and then a business card from that. Holding it out to me, he continued, “I guess you stand to make a lot of money for doing very little. If you’re interested, call me.”

  Flummoxed, I took the card. “Um . . . doing what?”

  But he was already walking away.

  “Doing what, Whitman?” I yelled after him.

  He didn’t answer, just casually strolled off. His suit pants molded perfectly to his sculpted ass. So unfairly physically perfect.

  “Are you going to call him?”

  I looked up from the business card that read whitman veterinary clinic, dr. rafferty whitman.

  His vet clinic was on the busy, tree-lined Columbus Avenue. Nice location, Dr. Rafe.

  There was his phone number right beneath the address.

  Yvonne grinned at me, and I answered her question. “Nah.”

  Her eyes bugged out of her head as her friends gaped at me in shock. “Uh, Clark Kent just asked you to call him, Star. You don’t turn down Clark Kent.”

  “You do if he’s an asshole. Life lesson, girls: an attractive face should not sway you if a pompous, arrogant, insulting, offensive turd lurks behind it.”

  Yvonne chuckled. “You did yell at him and try to embarrass him with the peanut butter and jelly stuff. That’s not true, is it?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No, it’s not true.” But she was right. I had antagonized him.