Moonstruck in Manhattan Page 7

He shot her a sidewise glance. “Hotties and man-magnet skirts, for instance?”

  She shook her head. “Not just that. I was thinking about all the things that people do just to relax with one another and have fun—movies, museums, skating, that kind of thing. For my second article on the skirt, I’m going to wear it to the Museum of Modern Art and I’m going to go skating in it right here in Rockefeller Center.”

  They’d reached the street, and across it, two taxis waited at a stand. Zach grabbed her arm as she stepped off the curb, then turned her to face him. “I don’t like the idea of you wearing that skirt around alone. It seems to attract…trouble.”

  “That’s the whole point,” Chelsea said. “Otherwise, there wouldn’t be anything to write about.”

  For a moment, Zach ran the idea over in his mind. He would have preferred to have more time to weigh the pluses and the minuses.

  “I don’t want the magazine to be responsible for anything hurting you,” he said with a frown.

  Her brows shot up in surprise. “If you’re worried that I’ll sue, I won’t.”

  She was halfway across the street before he caught her arm again. “I’ve got a better idea. My aunt is throwing a Christmas ball for charity next Saturday night. Why don’t you come with me?”

  Chelsea glanced up at him, a frown slowly forming on her forehead. “No, I’m sorry, but I can’t. I don’t date.”

  Zach stared at her as several emotions ran through him. Surprise, he could understand. She should have said yes. Any other woman would have said yes. But he was not disappointed. “Why not?”

  “I told you before, it’s a pact I made with my roommates. Dating is too hard. Physically, it takes too much effort to get out there and meet people. And emotionally, it can be really distracting, not to mention devastating. So we’ve sworn not to date until we get our careers more established. And right now, my priority has to be the articles.”

  Zach studied her in the moonlight that had begun to stream through a break in the clouds.

  You’ll never let her go…

  “Don’t think of it as a date. It’s an opportunity to try out that skirt of yours at my aunt’s ball. Most of Manhattan society will be there. Think of the article you can write. It will be much safer than going to the Museum of Modern Art or coming here to skate.”

  He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head.

  “I’m offering you a business opportunity.”

  Hesitating, she began to twist her ring again. “As long as we’re clear that it’s not a date.”

  Zach managed to keep his expression absolutely neutral. “Crystal clear.”

  Later, he wasn’t sure what alerted him to the danger—a gleam of moonlight off chrome or the sudden sound of an engine as it accelerated. But the car had appeared out of nowhere and it was close, bearing down on them fast.

  Gripping her tightly to him, Zach tried to get out of its path. The car had momentum going for it. He didn’t, and Chelsea’s weight was slowing him down. The opposite curb seemed too far, the roar of the engine too close. Vehicles, parked bumper to bumper, blocked his path. At the last second, he lifted Chelsea and vaulted with her onto the hood of a car. Twisting, he took the brunt of the impact, then holding her tightly, he rolled.

  Metal screamed against metal. Sparks flew. Zach registered that much before he dragged her with him to the sidewalk. He was on his feet in a second, still holding Chelsea close. Up the street, the dark blue sedan ran the red light, too far away for him to make out the plate.

  For a second, he didn’t move. There were too many emotions pounding through him. Fear. The coppery taste of it seared the back of his throat. He hadn’t thought they were going to make it. He tightened his arms around Chelsea. “Are you all right?”

  He felt her nod against his chest. Slowly, he moved his hand up her back and settled it at the nape of her neck. He could feel how slender she was, how fragile and he almost hadn’t been fast enough. Fury bubbled up, hot and potent as lava, and he struggled to contain it. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Pretty sure.” Her voice was muffled. “I’m having a little trouble breathing.”

  Easing her gently away from him, he watched carefully as she shrugged her shoulders, bent her arms and shook her legs, one at a time. His own adrenaline was fading and he was becoming all too aware of the pain singing through his shoulder. His knees felt like jelly.

  “Everything’s fine, except for my feet. The effects of that Texas two-step are setting in.” Her voice was light, but her eyes when they met his still held traces of fear. “That was close.”

  “Too close.” Zach reached for her and held her. Let her hold him. As the seconds ticked by, he drew in a deep breath and let it out. Even as it left his body, he could feel the fear and the fury begin to pour out of him. He felt the thudding of her heart begin to slow. He’d wanted to hold her. Only moments ago, he’d imagined what it would be like to have her in his arms again, but this was different. It was nothing like the other time in his office. There was no heat, no searing spiral of desire. Instead, there was warmth, sweet and…surprising.

  Chelsea was the one who drew back. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Rescuing me from a drunk cowboy, saving my life, asking me to your aunt Miranda’s Christmas ball, honoring my contract with Metropolitan and…let me see…offering me your coat.” She paused to draw in a breath. “Did I forget anything?”

  For some reason he couldn’t explain, Zach suddenly felt like laughing. “Can I get back to you on that?”

  “Sure,” Chelsea said.

  Throwing an arm across her shoulder, he drew her toward the waiting line of taxis up the street. “In the meantime, you can thank me for seeing you home before you catch pneumonia.”

  “Thank you.”

  They were both laughing as he opened the door of the cab.

  “IT SOUNDS like a date to me. Doesn’t it sound like a date to you, Ramón?” Daryl asked as he added steaming water to the pan that Chelsea was soaking her feet in.

  Ramón glanced up from the counter where he was arranging cookies on a rack with military precision. He had insisted on spending his one night off from the restaurant baking Christmas cookies. “Two people going to a Christmas ball together? That’s pretty much a no-brainer.”

  “It’s not a date,” Chelsea insisted. “It’s the skirt. Do I look like the kind of girl that wealthy bachelors invite to Christmas balls?”

  “Why not?” Daryl asked.

  “Because he’s…because I’m…” pausing, Chelsea waved a hand in the air “…because we just don’t mesh.”

  “Because you’re attracted to him and you run from any man like that thanks to Boyd Carter,” Daryl said, taking the pink polka-dotted piggy bank off the bookshelf and carrying it to her. “That’s why you’re pretending it’s not a date.”

  Was she pretending? She was attracted to Zach McDaniels. But he was everything her mother had ever warned her about in a man—rich, handsome, the kind of man who would eventually walk away because she just didn’t fit into his world. That was the only description her mother had ever given her of her father.

  Daryl waved the piggy bank in front of her eyes. “Remember the rule. If it walks like a duck… Help me out here, Ramón.”

  “And if it talks like a duck…” Ramón said.

  Chelsea found herself looking into two very determined pairs of eyes. Ramón had even paused in the act of shooting tiny bullets of green frosting at his row of cookies. They’d made a pact not to date and the fine for accepting one was twenty dollars. The funds they collected were to be spent on fixing up the place. That was Daryl’s passion. And buying food for the times when they entertained. That was Ramón’s passion. The pink piggy had a very hungry expression on her face. “All right.” Chelsea gave in. “It is a duck.”

  “A date you mean,” Daryl said, shaking the piggy at her again.

  “Fine. A date,” she agreed as she fished in her pu
rse and finally stuffed a twenty-dollar bill into the waiting mouth. “But I’m telling you that the only reason I’m going is because I intend to get an article out of it. I’m wearing the skirt.”

  “You’re what?” Daryl said, shock clear on his face.

  “I’m going to wear the skirt to the ball.”

  Daryl frowned at the piece of black clothing which he’d draped over a chair near the fireplace. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m depending on you to think of something.”

  “Do I look like Cinderella’s fairy godmother?” Grinning, Daryl waved a hand. “On second thought, don’t answer that.”

  “Please. It will make a great article.”

  “It will take a great miracle.”

  Chelsea bit back a sigh of relief as Daryl moved to the skirt and began to examine it, rubbing the material between his fingers.

  “There’s a beaded top I saw at the last Versace show. I could copy that and with the right pair of shoes…”

  Behind her, Ramón laid down his frosting gun. “Who wants a pizza?”

  Daryl shook his head. “Junk food. A master chef and that’s all you eat, Ramón.”

  “Pizza meets all the requirements of the food pyramid,” Chelsea said, suddenly realizing that she was starved. “Count me in.”

  “No anchovies,” Daryl warned.

  “The message light is on,” Ramón said. “You both know the rule. The first one home is supposed to check the messages.”

  Chelsea met Daryl’s eyes and rolled hers.

  The first voice to pour out of the machine was Ramón’s in command mode. “Leave a message.”

  The next voice was deeper pitched and raspy, barely more than a whisper.

  “Your articles in Metropolitan are disgusting. Smut like that should be stopped. And so should the writer.”

  Despite the fact that her feet were soaking in hot water and the fire was burning brightly in the fireplace, Chelsea felt her skin turn ice-cold. “Who?” she asked, looking at Ramón.

  “The caller ID says ‘Out of Area.’”

  Daryl sat down next to her on the couch. “Not to worry. There are a lot of freaks in the world. Some of them get their kicks scaring people. The anonymous ones are always cowards.”

  Chelsea put her hand over his. “I’m not afraid. I’m angry. And starved. Order that pizza, Ramón.”

  He was reaching for the receiver when the phone rang. Frowning, he lifted it to his ear and listened. “Who is this?”

  Chelsea watched the expression on his face lighten. “Really? I’ll put her on.” Ramón passed her the phone. “He claims to be somebody from WNY’s Good Morning, New York show. Let us know if he isn’t and we’ll handle it.”

  Lifting the receiver to her ear, she said. “Chelsea Brockway here… Yes, I’m the one who wrote the ‘Hottie’ articles for Metropolitan.” Her eyes widened as she listened to what the man had to say. “Sure. I’ll be waiting.”

  The moment she hung up the phone, she turned to her roommates. “That was James McCarthy, the host of the show. He wants to interview me on Friday and he’s sending a limo for me at 5:00 a.m.”

  “You go girl!” Daryl said.

  “Ditto,” echoed Ramón.

  “I’m going to wear the skirt.” Chelsea said. “Do you suppose it might work over the airwaves?”

  6

  “ZACH? ARE YOU AWAKE?”

  “Yes.” At 7:00 a.m., Zach was not only awake, but he’d already finished his morning workout and meditation. What surprised him was that his aunt Miranda was up. “What’s wrong?”

  “Turn on your TV. Hurry.”

  Striding into the living room of his apartment, Zach snagged the remote and pressed a button. “What is so important that you’re watching TV at this hour?”

  He heard a muffled groan from the other end. “I’m on my treadmill. TV makes it slightly less boring and you’ll never guess. It’s that woman you rescued in the bar the other day. She’s on the WNY Good Morning, New York show.”

  “Which channel?” Zach asked.

  “Five. She’s talking about the articles she’s going to be writing for Metropolitan.”

  Frowning, Zach pressed another button and a picture sprang to life—Chelsea Brockway sitting in front of a fireplace, chatting cozily with a handsome young man who had the slick good looks and toothy smile of a typical TV news anchor.

  He’d missed her. That simple realization deepened his frown. While his aunt chattered on in his ear, he had ample opportunity to notice that she was wearing the skirt and that it was hiked up a good two inches above her knee.

  He’d purposely kept away from her for four days. Oh, she’d delivered her article right on time. Esme had put it on his desk just as soon as she’d sent it off to the printers. He’d found Chelsea had a knack for creating vivid vignettes laced with humor and a very deft hand at creating character. The wickedly accurate picture she’d drawn of the Texans had made him laugh out loud. He’d been much less comfortable with her portrait of the man who’d impulsively rushed to her rescue.

  From start to finish her personality, her fresh style of seeing things had shone through.

  It suddenly struck him that he’d been missing her all this time. That was why he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind.

  Watching her laugh at something Mr. Teeth had just said to her, he felt the sharp twist in his gut and he had to acknowledge once again what he’d known from the first moment he’d seen her. He wanted her. Not seeing her for four days hadn’t changed that one bit. Weighing the pluses and minuses of pursuing a relationship with her hadn’t worked either. He hadn’t even been able to come up with a decent list. How could he be with a woman as unpredictable as Chelsea? A woman who’d get herself on a morning talk show to promote her skirt articles without even clearing it with him!

  “She’s the woman Esme bought those articles from. The one I mentioned at lunch on Monday. Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  “I didn’t know at the time,” Zach said.

  “She just mentioned that she has another article in the issue that hits the streets today and a contract for two more. I thought you were taking the magazine in a new direction?”

  “I was. I am.” When Mr. Teeth reached over to put a hand on Chelsea, Zach strode closer to the TV and pumped the volume button on his remote.

  “She’s talking about a skirt that attracts men,” Miranda said.

  The camera moved in for a close-up on Chelsea as she explained the history of the skirt to the viewing audience. Zach couldn’t help but think that some island con artist had really done a snow job on her college roommate. Then she went on to compare it to “lucky” hats and shirts. She even had Mr. Teeth admitting that he wore a special tie when he had challenging interviews to do.

  “She’s good,” Miranda said in his ear.

  Too good. Zach had to hand it to Chelsea. She was making a man-magnet skirt sound like a real possibility.

  And she was laughing and talking with Mr. Teeth as if they were on a date.

  “That was a smart move on your part to get her on TV to promote the articles,” Miranda said.

  “I didn’t,” Zach said, not adding that the last thing he wanted to do was promote the skirt articles.

  “Whoever did is a genius. Ninety percent of the single women in Manhattan are going to want to borrow that skirt. And they’re bound to want to read Metropolitan to find out more about it. Do you know how many people in this city watch Good Morning, New York?”

  Zach preferred not to think about it. His aunt’s chatter in his ear nearly caused him to miss the shift that Chelsea’s interview had taken.

  “…mind if I ask you a few questions about your last article in Metropolitan, ‘Hanging out for a Hottie?’ Could you define what a hottie is, Chelsea?”

  “Hottie is just the current term for every woman’s dream guy,” Chelsea said.

  “But you’ve got to admit that hottie carries a certain sexual connotation that
dream man doesn’t.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “While I can’t really ask you to be more specific on morning television, my staff has made up a list of people, most of them fairly well-known. We thought since you’re the expert, you could let us know how they rate on the hottie scale. That way our viewing audience will have a better idea of what the term means without hurting our G-rating.”

  Once again the camera focused on Chelsea as the show’s host began reading names. The first few were movie stars and politicians.

  “I want to meet her,” Miranda said. “Can you arrange it?”

  “Tomorrow night. I’m taking her to your ball.”

  There was a small beat before Miranda said, “I can’t wait to talk to her.”

  He was going to have a little talk with her himself.

  Suddenly, his attention was riveted on the TV screen. It was his own picture he was staring at.

  “Come on, Chelsea. You’re starting to hedge on some of these people. You’re the expert.”

  “I haven’t met all of them in person. Sometimes you have to in order to be able to tell if they’re really a hottie.”

  “Okay. Our viewing audience is looking at a picture of Zachary McDaniels, your new boss at Metropolitan. Have you met him in person?”

  “Yes,” Chelsea said.

  “Is he a hottie?”

  “Yes,” Chelsea said without so much as a blink. “Definitely.”

  With Miranda’s delighted laugh ringing in his ear, Zach watched his picture be replaced by a shot of the show’s host grinning at the camera. “You heard it here, New York. Our expert here tells us that the new editor-in-chief of Metropolitan magazine is a hottie. Mr. McDaniels, if you’re watching, I want to invite you to come on this show next Tuesday, the day after Christmas, to respond to Chelsea’s opinion.” He winked at the camera. “And you’ll have your chance to get in on the fun, New York. All day today and over the Christmas weekend, you can vote on whether or not you think Zach McDaniels is a hottie by simply accessing our Web site. We’ll have the results for you next time we meet.” He tapped two fingers to his head in a little salute. “Time’s up for today. Good morning, New York.”