Nina looked at her friend Lizbeth, puzzled. âLingo?â
âYeah, take this ad,â Lizbeth said, pointing to the magazine. âThis guy wants someone whoâs âcommitment-mindedâ and âindependent.â That means youâd be willing to clean his apartment and you wonât mind spending hours in a bar with his friends watching football on the big screen.â Lizbeth ran her finger down the page. âAll the rest of the stuff in this ad just means the guy will never remember to put the seat down. What you need is a man who enjoys golfing, sailing, theater and working out. That means heâll be self-employed, wealthy, intelligent and buff.â
Nina shook her head, smiling. âCome on, they canât all be that bad. Hereâs one that looks pretty good. âFriendlyâââ she read.
âHorny.â
âLikes to cuddle?â
âWants sex,â Lizbeth translated.
âSo whatâs wrong with that?â Nina quipped. âAt least I know we have something in common.â
Dear Reader,
Iâve always loved to read the personal ads. Even though Iâve never answered one, as a single woman Iâve never given up hope that someday I might come across an ad that just cries out for a response. Perhaps a man from my past is looking for me, or maybe it will be one of those missed connections, where I meet a strangerâs eyes across a crowded freeway.
Thatâs where the idea behind THE PERSONAL TOUCH! came fromâfive different couples brought together through five very different personal ads. In Mr. Right Now, Nina Forrester still holds out hope that thereâs a Mr. Right just waiting for her. And if she isnât meant to meet him yet, sheâll settle for Mr. Right Now. But when she meets dynamic Cameron Ryder, she soon finds out thereâs a third alternativeâfalling in love with Mr. Completely Wrong!
I hope you enjoy my twentieth Temptation novel. And to all my readers whoâve been with me since that very first book in 1993, a special thank-you for your support and enthusiasm.
All my best,
Kate Hoffmann
P.S. I love to hear from my readers. You can reach me c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, M3B 3K9, Canada.
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
758âONCE A HERO
762âALWAYS A HERO
795âALL THROUGH THE NIGHT
Mr. Right Now
Kate Hoffmann
To Birgit Davis-Todd and Brenda Chin, for their continued encouragement, unerring instincts and editorial wisdom.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
âI LIVE IN A CITY of seven million people. Three and a half million of them are men. Of those, there have to be at least a half million who are single. And out of those, there must be a few thousand who are decent guys.â
Nina Forrester leaned over the counter and held her coffee mug under the stream of just-brewed coffee. When her mug was full, she shoved the pot back in its place and took a careful sip, moaning softly as the caffeine seeped into her bloodstream. Though she hadnât had a drop of wine all weekend, she had inhaled a two-pound bag of peanut M&Ms last night and the chocolate hangover was killing her. âWhy canât I meet just one of those guys?â
âBad weekend?â Lizbeth drawled, feigning sympathy.
Nina peered over the rim of the mug at her friend and co-worker, Lizbeth Gordon. Bad weekend? Not if crying through Out of Africa six times, gulping down handfuls of M&Ms, and waxing her bikini line qualified as bad. Sheâd had worse. There was that time she ate an entire frozen Sara Lee triple-layer fudge cake during the first hour of Titanic. And the Saturday she spent rearranging her underwear drawer, first by color, then by fabric, then by age. âI didnât even leave my apartment,â Nina admitted. âAnd Iâm starting to have sexual fantasies about the Chinese restaurant delivery man.â
Lizbeth slipped her arm around Ninaâs shoulders and clucked her tongue. âHoney, donât you think itâs about time you found yourself a nice stallion and went for a little ride? Itâs been a long time since youâve visited the stable.â From anyone else, the suggestion might have sounded ridiculous, but intoned in Lizbethâs lazy Southern accent, it sounded perfectly reasonable.
âWhat is it about you and horses?â Nina asked, pulling away and stalking out of the coffee room toward her office. âLast week you were telling me to get back in the saddle. When did Mr. Ed suddenly become your personal sex guru? According to you, National Velvet and My Friend Flicka are subversive sex manuals.â She stopped at her office door. âThose were my favorite books when I was a kid,â Nina said wistfully. âMy life was all about horses. I didnât even look at boys.â
âHuge, powerful, muscular, well-hung horses,â Lizbeth said, fanning her face with her hand. âGawd, I used to love those books, too.â She giggled and pressed her fingers to her lips. âIf Mama only knew sheâd have burned them all.â
Nina laughed. âYou were perverse even back then!â
âAnd you were flat as a board and had a mouthful of braces.â Lizbeth shuddered, tossing back her dark hair and smoothing her hands over her slender figure. âAdmit it, youâd never want to go back to that time. Me? I was slightly chubby, a little shy and everything I wore was made of a petroleum by-product. Itâs a pure wonder I turned out as well as I did.â
âGee, and I thought you were born wearing a cashmere diaper and silk booties, dressed to seduce every boy baby in the nursery,â Nina muttered.
If they hadnât been best friends, Nina was certain sheâd hate Lizbeth. Any girl would. Lizbeth was stunningly beautiful. Nina wasâ¦cute. Lizbeth had three or four boyfriends dangling on any given day of the month, while the pints of Häagen-Dazs in Ninaâs freezer lasted longer than most of the men in her life.
And if personal humiliation wasnât enough, Nina had to face her professional inadequacies as well. As the lowly fact checker for Attitudes magazine, Nina spent most of her workday on the Internet or on the phone or at the library, checking the veracity of every article that passed through her office. Lizbeth had charmed her way into an assistant editor position in the fashion department. With Attitudesâ profile as the hot magazine for twenty-somethings, that meant Lizbeth moved in circles that included wealthy designers and hot male models and handsome French photographers.
Whatâs worse, she always looked like sheâd stepped right out of a Calvin Klein ad, sleek and styled, smooth and sophisticated. Nina bought her clothes at vintage shops and thrift stores, favoring funky over fashionable. And the closest she got to styling her long blond hair was twisting it into a knot and securing it with a pencil or two.
But Lizbeth had one quality that made her an indispensable friend. No matter how bad Ninaâs life looked, all it took was one dry, but witty, comment from Lizbeth to put everything in perspective, to make Ninaâs worries dissolve into fits of laughter.
âYou know what your problem is?â Lizbeth asked, following Nina into her tiny, windowless office.
âNo, but Iâm sure youâre dying to tell me.â
âYou havenât had a date in almost six months. Honey, if you donât leave your apartment, how do you expect to meet anyone?â Lizbeth shook her head. âYouâre going to start to getâ¦what do they call that? Angoraphobia?â
âAngoraphobia is a fear of fuzzy sweaters,â Nina corrected. âAgoraphobia is a fear of strangers.â
Lizbeth sighed. âThe fact that you know something so obscure just proves my point,â she said. âSince you broke up with that crazy drummer from that awful grunge band, youâve had no life.â She picked up a framed picture of Ninaâs nieces and stared at her reflection in the glass, fussing with her hair. âYou know, if youâre not married by the time youâre thirty, chances are youâll never find a man.â
âIâm only twenty-five!â Nina said.
âFive years can go by just like that,â Lizbeth said, snapping her perfectly manicured fingers. âBesides, every year after age twenty-five is like dog years.â
Nina didnât bother to ask for further explanation. Sometimes it was better just to let a few of them fly by. Instead, she picked up the latest issue of Attitudes and flipped through it. When she reached the back, her gaze fell on the pages of Personal Touch ads that ran every month. Men seeking women, women seeking men, men and women seeking something a little kinky. âMaybe I should answer one of these ads,â she murmured.
âNow thereâs an idea,â Lizbeth said. âNot an idea Iâd ever consider, but definitely an idea.â
âWell, you donât have any trouble getting a date. And I know the ads work.â Nina grabbed a file folder from her desk and opened it. âLook at these letters. Four couples who met through the Personal Touch ads this past year, and four marriages!â
âWhere did you get those?â
âEileen in customer service has been saving them for me. Iâm thinking of pitching a story idea to Charlotte.â She picked up one of the letters, this one from the mothers of the happy couple. âNick Romano and Tyler Sheridan. Before Tyler met Nick, she was supposed to marry this other guy who ran out on their wedding and left her a âDear Joanâ ad in our magazine. Nick, whoâs a P.I.âhow sexy is that?âhelped her track down her missing bridegroom and they fell in love. Have you ever heard of anything so romantic?â
âOh, please. That sounds like one of those mushy romance novels!â Lizbeth said.
âYes, it does. And I happen to love romance novels.â Nina picked up another letter. âHereâs one from Jane Dobson Warren. She placed a personal ad in Attitudes for her boss. He was looking for Holly Baskin, an old girlfriend. After Jane placed the ad, she got hit on the head, with a Cupid statue, no less. The concussion made her believe that she was Holly Baskin. And then she and her boss fell in love and got married.â Nina sighed. âIt is just like a romance novel, isnât it?â
âAnd you think those sweet little stories are going to appeal to Charlotte?â Lizbeth shook her head. âYou donât know Charlotte very well, do you.â
Charlotte Danforth was publisher, editor, creative director, and sole stockholder of Attitudes magazine. She ran the publication like her own little fiefdom and she was the media queen. Her wealthy fatherâs money had financed the magazine and though Charlotte couldnât edit her way out of a paper bag or balance a budget, she did have an uncanny knack for hiring talented people. And for spotting trends. And thatâs what Attitudes was all aboutâwhatâs hot and whatâs not.
âIâve got to do something to make Charlotte see me as assistant editor material,â Nina said.
âWell, hon, that necklace wonât help the cause. News flashâWilma Flintstone isnât a fashion icon anymore.â
Nina giggled and stuck out her tongue at Lizbeth as she slipped the letters back into the file. âI still think itâs possible to find love through the personals. These four couples did.â She picked up the magazine and began to scan the ads. âHereâs a man that sounds nice. âNew York State of Mind. Good-looking professional seeks commitment-minded, independent SWF, 24-30. Enjoys motorcycles, the outdoors and NASCAR racing.â I love motorcycles.â
Lizbeth snatched the magazine from Ninaâs fingers. âAllow me to translate, my naive little friend. Good-looking professionalâdecent-looking car salesman. Watch out when they say âpersonable.â Then you can expect Quasimodo to show up at your front door.â
âWhat about handsome?â
âSeriously deluded or completely self-absorbed.â
âHow do you know this? You have answered one of our ads!â
Lizbeth laughed lightly. âDonât be silly. Why would I need to answer an ad? I simply know men and their tendency to overstate their own virtues. You have to learn their lingo.â
âLingo?â
âLike this ad. âCommitment-mindedâ means youâd be willing to clean his apartment. âIndependentâ means you wonât mind spending hours in a bar with his friends watching football on the big screen. And all the rest means the guy will never remember to put the toilet seat down.â Lizbeth pointed to another ad. ââEnjoys gardening, antiquing, and cooking.â Mamaâs boy. What you need is a guy who enjoys golfing, sailing, theater and working out. Thatâs means self-employed, wealthy, intelligent, and a great body.â
âHereâs one,â Nina said. âFriendlyââ
âHorny.â
âLikes to cuddle?â
âWants sex,â Lizbeth translated.
âLoyal?â Nina asked.
âObsessively jealous. The only thing worse is âintenseâ which means âstalker in training.â Youâd be better off placing your own ad, honey. At least then you could screen the candidates.â
âI donât know. Maybe I should just pitch the story about the four couples and their ads.â
âItâs a warm and fuzzy little story, but this isnât Good Housekeeping, Nina. Attitudes is edgy and trendy, and a little outrageousânot unlike that sweater youâre wearing.â
Nina glanced down at the vintage lime-green mohair with the Peter Pan collar. She bought it especially to go with the mod striped mini and green tights from the sixties. And the plastic bead necklace completed the look. âYou donât think Charlotte would like it? The idea, not the sweater.â
âIf you want her to see you as an assistant editor, youâre going to have to do more than pitch a story. Youâre going to have to go out there and experience the Personal Touch. Write your own ad, go on a few dates and tell your story. And the more horrible the experience, the better.â
âI wouldnât know what to say in an ad,â Nina replied. âHow do I advertise for Mr. Right?â
Lizbeth sighed dramatically, then searched the surface of Ninaâs desk until she found a pad of paper. âHoney, you donât have time to look for Mr. Right. Youâre looking for Mr. Right Now. Mr. Right This Minute. Charlotteâs been interviewing for an editorial assistant for the past month. If you get this story done and turn it in, maybe sheâll give you the job.â
âAll right,â Nina said. âIâll do it.â
âAll right,â Lizbeth repeated.
âNancy!â
Nina and Lizbeth looked up to find Charlotte Danforth standing at the doorway of Ninaâs office. As always, she looked like sheâd just tumbled out of bed, though this morning she wore evening clothes, a sexy beaded designer number that probably cost more than Nina made in a year. It was clear Charlotte hadnât been to bed at all, but came right to work from whatever party sheâd attended the night before. Her hair was mussed and she puffed incessantly on a French cigarette. Yet even in such disarray, she was still a force of nature, a human hurricane that left workers weeping in her path.
âNina,â Nina corrected.
Charlotte sniffed, then shrugged. âYes, fine, all right, Nina. I need you to check a fact for me. I need to know what the trendiest spot on the body is for a rather small tattoo. And the most popular subject matter. Check for both men and women, Iâm sure itâs different. And give me a breakdown by age if you can.â
âCharlotte, Iâm not sure there have ever been any studies done onââ
âI donât care if there havenât been studies, Nora!â
âNina,â she reminded. âIs this for an article? Because we did a story on tattoos just a few months ago.â
âI just need the information, Nola,â Charlotte snapped. âItâs personal. By the end of the day?â
With that, she turned and hurried from the door, leaving Nina to wonder how sheâd ever convince Charlotte to give her an editorial position if the woman couldnât even remember her name. âOh, sure. Iâll just call the Census Bureau. Iâm sure I remember answering the tattoo question on the 2000 census. Right hip, tiny rose.â She tossed aside the personal ads and straightened her desk. âI guess Iâm going to be spending the rest of the day on the phone talking to tattoo parlors,â Nina murmured.
Lizbeth smiled. âAnd Iâd guess that Charlotte got herself drunk last night and ended up in one of those 24-hour tattoo parlors in the East Village. And now she wants you to tell her that she didnât make a big fashion faux pas getting that big old butterfly tattooed on her butt.â
Ninaâs eyes went wide. âReally?â At least when Nina had decided on a tattoo sheâd been sober and possessed of good taste, ending up with a tiny flower on a spot that only showed when she wore a bikini.
âAs long as whatever she got is on the top of the list, hon, youâll make her happy.â
âBut how am I supposed to know?â
Lizbeth stood and smoothed her skirt. âLeave it to me. Sheâs bound to tell someone what she did last night. She always blabs when sheâs got a hangover. Five minutes later, it will be all over the office. Iâll feed you the facts and you make up the research.â
âBut that wouldnât be ethical,â Nina protested.
âHoney, you do want the job in editorial, donât you?â
Nina nodded hesitantly. âYes, I do. And while youâre finding out about Charlotteâs new tattoo, Iâm going to work on my ad. Even if it doesnât result in a great story, at least Iâll have something better to do on a Saturday night than polishing my shoes and fishing spare change out of the sofa.â
âThatâs the spirit!â her friend cried. âGet on that pony and ride! Yee-hah!â
Nina smiled at Lizbeth. âAnd maybe, if Iâm very lucky, Iâll find Mr. Right. And if not him, then Mr. Right Now.â
THE AFTER-WORK CROWD HAD settled in at Jitterbugâs, the coffee shop across the street from Attitudesâ Soho headquarters. It was a favorite spot for the staff who gathered regularly to sip lattes and mochas and discuss whatever outrageous request Charlotte Danforth had thrown their way during the day. But Nina had more important things on her mind than commiserating about her quirky and unpredictable boss. Nagging little projects had occupied nearly every minute of her workday and she hadnât had a single moment to get back to her ad for the Personal Touch.
Nina found her regular table in the corner and tossed her coat over the back of her chair, then dropped her bag on the smooth marble tabletop. She glanced over at the counter and waved at Martha who nodded, a silent agreement to make Ninaâs usualâa double skinny decaf latte with a shot of hazelnut. She sat down and spread her work out in front of herâthe Personal Touch ads from the last four weeks, her notepad, personalized with her name and the name of the magazine emblazoned across the bottom, and a pencil with a brand new eraser. Sheâd also brought a list of attributes sheâd quickly compiled for Mr. Right during her lunch hour.
âCute, considerate, humorous, spontaneous,â she read out loud. âNice hair, kind eyes, andââ
âA fluffy tail and good teeth. Honey, you sound like youâre advertising for a Pomeranian, not a man. If I were you, Iâd stick with the man. He wonât poop on the rug.â Lizbeth flopped down in the chair across from Ninaâs and sighed dramatically. âYou wonât believe the day Iâve had. They sent me size two samples and size six models. Thank God for duct tape. We cut the back seams open and taped the clothes on.â
Nina forced a sympathetic smile. She really wasnât in the mood to hear Lizbethâs tale of woe. Sheâd hoped to spend some time on her own, sipping coffee and carefully composing her ad. It had to be just right and it would take a lot of thought. âIâm just starting on this,â she murmured.
âSo, what do you have so far?â Lizbeth asked.
âActuallyâ¦nothing.â
Lizbeth sighed and shook her head. She pointed to Ninaâs pad. âTake this down.â She paused for a moment, then smiled. âHeadlineâLooking for Mr. Right Now.â She glanced over at Nina and frowned. âI said, take this down.â Nina scribbled as Lizbeth spoke. âAttractive, fun-loving, energetic SWF, 25, seeks adventurous Adonis, 25-35, for wild Saturday nights and lazy Sunday afternoons.â
âDonât you think that last part makes me sound a littleâ¦loose?â
âHoney, the whole thing makes you sound loose. Thatâs the point. What do you think I mean by âfun-lovingâ and âenergeticâ? Likes sex and likes it all the time.â Lizbeth gave her a long look. âYou want someone to answer the ad, donât you?â
Frowning, Nina ripped the top sheet off and crumpled it in her fist, then noticed Martha waving in her direction. âIâll write my own ad, thank you very much.â She pushed back from the tiny table to retrieve her coffee, fully intending to toss Lizbethâs ad in the garbage.
But as she paid Martha, she contemplated her friendâs strategy. Time was running out. Maybe she ought to put off her search for Mr. Right and concentrate on Mr. Right Now. And kissing a few frogs made a lot better copy than finding Prince Charming on the first time out. Nina opened her fist and dropped the wad of paper on the counter, then smoothed it out. She re-read the words as she grabbed her coffee. With a soft sigh, she turned and started back toward her table, making mental edits to the text. She didnât have to sound like a trollop, did she?
She didnât notice the man who stepped into her path, but in the blink of an eye, he was there. With a soft cry of surprise, she ran face first into a tall, broad-shouldered figure. Her coffee mug tipped between them, spilling hot coffee all over his wide chest, his flat belly and hisâ¦lap.
The man jumped back, cursing softly as he brushed the steaming liquid from his finely tailored shirt, his startled gaze taking in the coffee-soaked fabric. It was only then that Nina got a good look at his face. Her breath caught in her throat and, for a moment, she was unable to speak. âAdventurous Adonis,â she murmured.
Even wincing in pain, she could see what a handsome man he wasâstrong features, a chiseled mouth and vivid green eyes. For a long moment, she couldnât speak. Then the words began tumbling out of her mouth. âOhâoh, dear. Iâm so sorry. IâI didnât seeâand when you stepped in frontâthatâs probably a very expensiveâare you all rightâI didnâtââ
âIâm fine,â he muttered, plucking at the soaked fabric of his dress shirt and silk tie. âItâs my fault. I wasnât paying attention.â
Nina reached over his table and grabbed the napkin dispenser, then tugged out a wad of napkins. But as she spun around to hand them to the man, she knocked over the tall mug of coffee on his table. It tumbled to the floor and splashed onto his shiny dress loafers. Half the napkins fluttered to the floor and Nina bent down to pick them up before attempting to wipe the coffee off his shoes. Good grief, he even had handsome feet.
When she glanced up at him, she caught him smiling sardonically. âI donât think Iâve got any coffee on my left pant leg,â he said. âMaybe youâd like to order another cup and finish the job?â
âIâll just get you cleaned up and thenââ She reached up and dabbed frantically at the front of his pants, then realized where she was dabbing and groaned softly. âIâI guess you should probably do that area on your own.â What was she thinking? Nina glanced around to see the entire clientele of Jitterbugâs watching her with amusement. What were they thinking?
He grabbed her elbow, pulling her to her feet. Afraid to look up, Nina halfheartedly wiped at his shirt with the sheet of paper she had clutched in her other hand. When he took it from her fingers and shoved it in his pants pocket, she had no choice but to meet his gaze. An apologetic smile twitched at her lips and she risked a look up. âIâIâm sorry. Sometimes, Iâm so clumsy. Are you all right?â
âIâm fine,â he murmured, his gaze fixed on hers for the first time. âAnd thereâs no need to apologize. It was partly my fault, too.â
Sheâd never seen a greener pair of eyes in her life. Or a sexier smile. Or a straighter nose. Or aâNina swallowed hard. âBut your shirt. Itâs ruined.â
He chuckled dryly. âI never liked this shirt. Gives me a good excuse to toss it.â
For a long moment, they didnât speak. Nina tried to remember if sheâd apologized, but she couldnât recall exactly what sheâd said to him. Maybe it was the eyes, the penetrating eyes that seemed to send every rational thought running from her mind. Or the lips that looked like theyâd been made especially to kiss women, and lots of them. Even the faint stubble of a beard was more than she could bear.
Was this one of those men sheâd been wondering about, the one in a million and a half, the last single decent guy in all of New York City? She glanced at his left hand, looking for the telltale wedding band. There was none. Oh, if he was the one in a million, sheâd certainly made a mess of destiny! âCanâcan I buy you another coffee?â she offered.
He shook his head, his gaze never wavering from hers. âI was just leaving. Iâve got a meeting.â
Her breath caught again and she waited for him to step away, to walk out the door and out of her life forever. For all she knew, sheâd just dumped coffee all over Mr. Right and now he was going to just disappear without another word. âOf course,â she murmured. âAnd look at what Iâve done.â
He glanced over his shoulder and winced. âI really have to go.â He grabbed his suit jacket and briefcase from a chair, then slowly turned and started toward the door. Nina took one step to stop him, but then she noticed the rest of the patrons still watching her.
âI really am sorry,â she called as the door swung shut behind him. âA little cold water and a good non-chlorine bleach will get that stain right out!â She looked around the coffee shop, frowning. âShowâs over. You can all go back to your coffee,â she muttered.
With a flush of embarrassment, she hurried back to her table and sat down. âWas that as bad as I think it was?â Nina murmured. âDid I make a total fool of myself? And was there anyone in this place who didnât hear me giving him laundry advice?â
Lizbeth reached over and patted her hand excitedly. âThat was absolutely perfect!â she cried. âHoney, I didnât think you had it in you, but that move was pure brilliance!â
âWhat move?â
âSpilling coffee all over that stunningly gorgeous man. I donât even think I would have had the courage to do something so outrageous, especially when he had on a handmade French shirt. Those things cost five hundred apiece if they cost a penny.â
âReally?â Nina squeaked. âFive hundred dollars?â
âCouldnât you tell? Oh, honey, the way it hugged his body and nipped in around that waist. It fit him like a second skin. That kind of shirt makes a girl wonder whatâs underneath. Every woman in this place was pea-green with envy of you.â
âIt was an accident,â Nina said numbly.
Lizbeth gave her a sly look. âOh, please. You expect me to believe that? So, did you give him your phone number? You know, offer to pay his cleaning bill? Buy him a new shirt?â
âNo. He didnât ask that I pay.â Nina frowned and looked over at the door. âHe said he was going to throw the shirt out. I guess I should have offered. But it was his fault, too.â
âYou didnât give him your phone number,â Lizbeth stated, her voice flat and laced with disbelief. âPlease tell me you at least got his name. Or you gave him yours.â
Nina covered her face with her hands. âNo. I just couldnât think. I mean, there he was, all covered with coffee. And there I was,â she moaned, ârubbing his crotch with napkins.â She moaned again, this time with more emphasis. âI really screwed that up. For a second, I thought it might be destiny, but then he looked at me and my mind just went haywire and my knees went all wobbly.â Nina peered at Lizbeth through her fingers. âHe probably wasnât my type anyway, right? I mean, he was wearing a suit and I never go for businessmen. And he seemed a little uptight.â She drew a shaky breath. âAnd a guy who wears five-hundred dollar shirts is way out of my league. Iâm sure it would never have worked out.â
Lizbeth pushed to her feet, shaking her head. âDid you bother to look at the man? Heâs every womanâs type! Nuns would lust after the guy.â She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder, then wagged her finger at Nina. âMaybe you should place that ad. Itâs clear that you donât have a chance of getting a gorgeous man the regular wayâby trickery and manipulation. I have to go, I have a date. But I want you to sit here and think about what you did wrong. Weâll discuss it later.â
Nina nodded dejectedly, like a child chastised. âI donât think Iâll be able to put it out of my mind.â
âIâll call you.â Lizbeth turned on her heel and walked toward the door. When it closed behind her, Nina busied herself with picking up her belongings. She grabbed the pad of paper and started to shove it in her bag, but decided against it. Snatching up her pencil, she closed her eyes for a moment, then began to write.
Ücretsiz ön izlemeyi tamamladınız.