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Isaac sat back in his chair and looked out at the New York skyline. He’d do this for his brother before he slipped back into the predictable solitude of life as he’d crafted it. A life he lived alone.
And alone suited him just fine.
CHAPTER TWO (#ue1954000-3f85-5123-8dac-b14d743b5e7c)
RACHEL STEPHENS GLANCED at the clock on her bathroom wall for the fourth time in ten minutes. If she called a cab now, she’d be early. The last thing she wanted was to be the first person there. But she didn’t want to be late, either. If only she hadn’t agreed to participate in this ridiculous dating-app test. Her best friend, Casey, had pushed her to apply a couple of months ago during a stay-in movie night—a night that had involved too much wine followed by too many hormone-igniting Chris Hemsworth flicks. Devastating consequences always occurred when she indulged in too much of a good thing. And the wine had been good. But Chris...oh, Chris. He made her thoughts go in directions that were decidedly unsafe.
Rachel’s phone buzzed on the bathroom counter. Her stomach clenched. Around the office, rumors were flying that a big case was coming in, a case that could make or break a junior attorney’s career. Her boss had intimated that, if the filing came through, he would be selecting her to work with him. If he called now, she wouldn’t have to go to this dating-app trial.
A glance at the display dashed her hopes. She swiped to answer, then tapped the speaker icon. “I still blame you for getting me into this.”
Best friend, coworker and fellow junior attorney Casey Bass snickered. “You know you’re glad you were drunk enough to accept the challenge. I’m just pissed that I didn’t make the final cut. I could’ve used the compensation they were offering to help pay for our trip to the Dominican Republic in March. Who was it that told us becoming attorneys would make us rich?”
“A private student-loan officer who spun wild tales of riches beyond our wildest dreams.”
Casey sighed with enough drama for the both of them. “I’m still waiting for my ship to come in.”
“So that’s why you’re always hanging out by the docks. And here I thought you were just trolling for sailors.”
Her friend’s laughter soothed her nerves some. “Whatever works.”
“Look, I’m just happy I was able to afford real chicken and fresh vegetables on my grocery list this month. And the trip to the Dominican will help ease the pain I experience every time I write out the current month’s student-loan check.”
“True enough.” Casey sighed as she shifted her bedding around, and Rachel could imagine Casey curled up in a nest of blankets and pillows with her laptop, working, as some random Netflix show looped in the background. “So. What are you wearing?” Casey asked.
“If you’d asked me that in a deeper voice, I’d tell you.” Rachel leaned forward and applied her mascara with care. “As it is, you’ll have to wonder.”
“Just promise me you’re not wearing your black power suit, black heels and carrying your black Burberry bag. You think it’s stylish, but you look like a monochromatic ad for a high-end funeral home. A gorgeous one, mind you, but still. Wear something with color. Oh! Wear that dark green dress—the one with the V-neck and the slit up the thigh.”
“Casey, that dress was the result of a sip-and-shop event. Seeing as tonight is a result of another night spent with wine as my intimate companion, I’ve decided the fermented grape and I are absolutely not friends.”
“I disagree. Wine is generally the catalyst behind your best decisions.”
“You’re an enabler.” Rachel capped the mascara and stepped back, taking in her black power suit, black heels and black Burberry bag, which sat on her bed. When had she become so—so...predictable? She used to be spontaneous, fun, outgoing. A bit of a rebel, if truth be told. The way her life had played out over the last several years had made her overly cautious, had taught her to be conservative when making decisions. She’d become content blending into a crowd instead of standing out. Truth? If someone accused her of being a total bore, she had no defense.
“Safe,” she whispered. She would argue she was safe.
“What’s safe?” Casey asked.
The question hung between them, and Rachel had no doubt that Casey knew exactly what was going through her head.
“Stop playing it safe, Rach. Jeff left, but you survived. It’s time to thrive. Take the fact that you made the cut for tonight’s little experimental soiree as a sign that it’s time to start living again. Maybe even time to get laid.”
“Casey!”
“Oh, c’mon, Rachel. It’s not like I don’t know you and your vibrator are ridiculously intimate.”
“No more than you and yours,” Rachel countered.
“Not denying it. But at least I’m out there, playing the field, looking for someone. Even if he’s a Mr. Right Now versus Mr. Right. You need to do a little of the same. No one is ever going to be one hundred percent safe, Rachel. No one is ever going to be able to chase away your demons. You’re the only one with that power.” She paused, took a deep breath and let it out before continuing, her next words so much softer. “Honey, you have to stop holding on to Jeff’s memory. He was an asshole. You can’t see it now, but trust me. I’m begging you. His walking out? It was a good thing and, deep down, you know it. He changed you, nearly suffocated you with his dos and don’ts. He tried to make you into the breadwinner, the Stepford wife and his personal fetch-it girl. For God’s sake, he was unemployed more than half your married life.”
“He managed to snag an heiress.” The admission was thick. Heavy.
“An heiress whose family made their money by revolutionizing the laxative industry. A shit for a shit. It’s so apropos.”
The sound Rachel made was half laugh, half sob.
“Like I said, what you need is Mr. Right Now, Rachel. Stop disqualifying every man who comes on to you. Instead, look for the opportunity to have fun. It’s the only way you’re going to break that last tie, Rach. And it’s time. Let. Him. Go.”
She knew Casey was right. Even if it was just for a single night, Rachel needed to try to relish every moment. She needed to be adventurous instead of cautious, a sexual creature who took chances despite the odds and dared Fate to strike back.
It was time she proved to herself that, though Jeff might have left her damaged, he hadn’t been able to break her.
No one was that strong.
Casey’s voice was softer when she spoke, as if she knew where Rachel’s thoughts had taken her. “Pull your hair down out of the predictable chignon, put on that damn green dress and go have a good time. Don’t do it for me, though. Do it for you—for the woman you were and will be again. Starting now.”
Familiar doubt crept in. She’d once been brave, adventurous, more than a little bit wild. She’d liked herself then. Jeff had liked her, too. It had changed after they’d married, his concept of wifely behavior so different than the woman he’d married. It wasn’t lost on her that the woman Jeff had left her for was exactly the type of woman Rachel had been. The woman who was on everyone’s invite list. The woman who was full of enthusiasm and possessed an easy way about her. Someone with a quick wit and an adventurous spirit.
“Don’t go down that dark path, Rachel. Please.”
It was the please that did her in. Casey didn’t beg. Ever. And here she was, reduced to pleading with Rachel to live her life?
“You make a hell of a compelling closing argument, Case.”
“You always said cases are easy to win when you know you’re right.”
With shaking hands, Rachel undid the buttons on the black suit jacket, then shed the heels and the pants. She pulled out the dark green sheath dress, cut off the tags and slipped it on. Next, she grabbed the pair of black patent-leather stilettos from the back of the closet—shoes she’d sworn to only wear when she finally worked up the moxie to wear the dress.
Tonight was the night.
Pulling the pins from her hair, she let the mass of mahogany waves tumble down her back. She bent at the waist and flipped over her hair, fluffing it with her fingers until it was free and loose and a bit wild. She flipped it back and turned to face herself in the mirror.
She couldn’t help but smile. The woman looking back at her was someone she hadn’t seen in far too long, but she would have recognized her anywhere. A quietly confident laugh escaped her, the sound also something she hadn’t heard in a while, and she had missed it.
“You did it,” Casey whispered. “You put on the damn dress.”
“I did.”
The other woman let out what could only be described as a whoop. “Go get him, tigress! Own tonight!”
“No apologies.”
“No regrets,” her best friend in the world said. “You better come by my office the minute you get in tomorrow morning because I’m telling you now, I want deets. Dirty, dirty deets.”
“We’ll see if there’s anything to tell. I have to make a connection first. And it has to be real.”
“Let’s agree on this now because I know that if you tell me you’ll do something, you’ll do it. Always. You don’t break vows.”
Rachel swallowed hard. “Agree on what, exactly?”
“The three qualifications Mr. Right Now has to have to pass the Rachel Stephens test.”
“Three?” Rachel squeaked.
“Three.”
“A guy has to have more than three qualifications for me to consider getting down and dirty.”
“No, he doesn’t. If we were discussing Mr. Right? Sure. But we aren’t. This is Mr. Right Now. So three it is.”
Rachel scowled.
“You’re almost six feet yourself, so he has to be tall,” Casey said, starting the list.
“Kind,” Rachel countered.
“Kind is for counselors and protein bars.”
“Casey,” Rachel warned.
“He needs to be seriously hot.”
“Intelligent,” Rachel countered. While a guy being hot was nice, his looks did nothing to help a conversation along if he wasn’t bright.
“Intelligent can be a bonus qualifier. This is a one-night stand, Rach, not someone who’s boyfriend material.”
“Fine. But, Casey?” She stared at herself in the mirror, trying to imagine what strangers might see when they looked at her. “There has to be chemistry. Real chemistry. That’s not negotiable.”
“Then there’s your list.”
“What?” Panic nearly choked her. “That’s not enough!”
“Yes, it is. For a one-night stand, it’s plenty.” That tone—it was one Rachel recognized.
That tone meant Casey had reached the point she was about to let down the facade she sported, the one of the fun-loving, slightly ditzy blonde femme fatale. One could push Casey only so far and then boom! She dropped the facade and the hard-ass took over. Rachel had her own version, she supposed. Or she had once. Regardless, she didn’t want to fight with Casey. She needed her too much right now.
“Now promise me—swear to me—that if you meet a guy with these three qualities, you’ll make a play.”
Rachel swallowed once, then twice, through a throat clenched tight in history’s unyielding fist. She took a deep breath, admiring the way the dress made her full B-cup breasts look just a little larger, the push-up bra making her cleavage just a little more substantial than it really was. “Remind me to send a thank-you note to Victoria’s Secret for their water bra.”
Casey laughed. “Deets, girlfriend. I want the down and dirty tomorrow because I’m telling you now, there will be a connection tonight.”
Rachel closed her eyes and smiled. Maybe Casey was right. Maybe tonight was the night she’d back take her life.
No. No maybes about it. Tonight was the night. She would own it, and whatever happened? Happened. “I promise,” she whispered. “Casey?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m back.”
The other woman sniffled, the sound small but undeniable, and her voice wavered a bit when she spoke. “I’ve missed you, Rach.”
“Me, too, honey. Me, too.” She stood up straight and took one last look at herself in the mirror. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have men to meet and connections to make.” She paused for a split second, trying to find the right words. Then she said, “Thank you, Casey. Thank you for standing by me and for reminding me who I really am.”
“Thank you for finally listening. Now go slay the last of your dragons, and do it without remorse.” The grin on her friend’s face translated seamlessly to her tone.
“No regrets,” she affirmed.
Casey disconnected the call without another word.
Rachel grabbed her satin clutch and dropped her bold red lipstick inside before snapping the little bag closed. One last glance in the small mirror beside her front door confirmed that the woman who looked back was ready.
Her eyes shone with a vitality she had missed for a very long time. She took a deep breath and pressed a fist against her abdomen in an attempt to settle sudden nerves fluttering behind her belly button. It didn’t matter if the man she connected with was Casey’s brother, the bartender or one of the software engineers for the Power Match app. If there was chemistry, she was going to see this through. A liberation, of sorts. But more, a definitive reclaiming of her life.
A small, involuntary smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.
No regrets, indeed.
CHAPTER THREE (#ue1954000-3f85-5123-8dac-b14d743b5e7c)
ISAAC STOOD AT the bar, the crowd at his back, and sipped a dirty martini. Two olives. Shaken, not stirred. Alcohol—something he rarely indulged in—was the evening’s only saving grace.
Seeing as he had no intention of actually trying to find a partner tonight, it seemed pointless to pay any attention to the singles milling around the room. That included the three women who had, one at a time, attempted to engage him in conversation. He’d politely excused himself to speak to an acquaintance here or there, or to go back to the coat check to retrieve the phone he’d claimed he’d forgotten. Each woman had been irritated but had accepted his unsubtle dismissal. Not an ounce of real moxie in any of them. It surprised him that he was mildly disappointed.
Behind him, the crowd mingled and made small talk as they tried to figure out whom in the group they might end up paired with. There was a great deal of forced laughter from women and posturing from men. Both groups were trying too hard. So Isaac continued to sip his drink and ignore them all.
The moderator entered his peripheral view, and he watched as she took over the small platform where the DJ likely held court on any given night. The woman, whom Isaac recognized from one of the meetings between his investment firm and Jonathan’s lead team, fiddled with the mic. What was her name...? Jamie? Janie? Something like that. She’d been impressive; he remembered that much. She was the team’s lead psychologist, stolen from a competitor, and the person singularly responsible for creating the personality-profiling system that Jonathan had turned into code.
Jaline.
Her name was Jaline.
The mic screeched, and the crowd winced before someone started clapping and everyone followed suit.
Jaline took a mock bow, then lifted the mic. “Good evening. My name is Jaline. You’re all here because—”
Half listening to Jaline’s presentation and half developing the following morning’s agenda, Isaac pulled his phone from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. There was no reason the interim couldn’t be turned into productive time. Opening the phone’s note-taking app, he began to tap out a rough outline for the first of three meetings scheduled before noon.
A round of applause had him lifting his head and looking around. People had begun to move en masse, approaching the makeshift stage from where Jaline had been speaking.
Isaac signaled the bartender. “What did I miss?”
“Instructions on how to find the love of your life, apparently.” The guy grinned. “If it were that easy, I’d be out of a job.”
Shaking his head, Isaac handed the guy a twenty. “Another drink, my friend, and the CliffsNotes version of the speech I just ignored.”
“Make your way to the table, pick up the paperwork with your first name, last initial and unique participant ID. Men go the numbered table to which they’ve been assigned.” The bartender shook the drink with expertise and poured it with little more than a glance at the glass. “The app’s magic algorithms ensure that at least one woman who has a compatible personality and similar interests will make her way to your table. If you’re lucky, Cupid will follow before the clock strikes twelve—” he slid the drink to Isaac “—or the bar closes at two. Whichever comes first.”
