interjected. “Three of them in Europe.”
“Right, so the man’s a demigod when it comes to urban real estate. But all work and no play ...” I left the phrase unfinished.
“But Mark Grayson is anything but dull,” Belinda countered. “I’m betting at least half of your Google hits stemmed from mention in the society columns.”
“True enough. But most of it was strictly speculation.”
“Fits with the strong and silent image.” Belinda had started on my straw, the plastic already showing white lines of strain where she’d twisted it.
“But it doesn’t help me.” I’d fallen into quicksand and was sinking fast.
“I think the key is to capture his attention. Intrigue him. Men like him can’t resist a challenge. They thrive on it. Throw down the gauntlet and I’m betting he’ll pick it up.”
“And throw it in my face.” I was being flippant, but the idea actually had some merit. Some men needed to be led to the altar. Some just needed guidance on who to take along for the ride. Some of them had to be tricked into the trip. But with men like Mark Grayson, it was all about seducing them into the game. And letting them think they could win.
I drew in a breath, girding my proverbial loins. “Good advice. Thanks. Maybe you should be the matchmaker.”
“No way.” She waved the dilapidated straw. “I can’t even keep a boyfriend.”
“Well, we’re about to change all that.” I smiled, firmly back on solid ground again. “And in the meantime, I appreciate the insight into Grayson.”
“I read people for a living. Part and parcel of being a trial lawyer.” Belinda shrugged. “But Mark Grayson isn’t going to be an easy mark, and I figure you’ll need all the help you can get. And between you and me,” she leaned in close, glancing around her as if she were sharing state secrets, “I think it’s going to take more than Manolos.”
I opened my mouth to argue. Manolos were the crème de la crème of FMPs. One pair of four-inch heels and men practically crawled behind you begging. I had personal experience with the phenomenon. But before I could formulate a pithy retort, my cell phone rang.
Cybil.
Now, I’m all for business before pleasure, but Cybil trumps everything. We’ve been through too much together for it to be any other way. “Hang on.” I shot Belinda a smile and flipped open my phone.
“What’s up?”
For a moment there was only silence, and then a sort of muffled snuffling that was Cybil’s version of holding back tears.
“You okay?” My heart skidded into overdrive, my mind whipping out all kinds of possibilities. Belinda leaned forward, her eyes questioning.
I shook my head. “Cybil? Are you there?
More sniffing. And then after a moment’s silence. “It’s Stephen.” Another pause. “He’s left me.”
Relief flooded through me. That’s not very kind, I know. But I’ve already made it clear what my opinion of Stephen is. So his leaving can only be considered a miracle. Of course, Cybil wouldn’t see it that way.
At least not without a little help.
Chapter 5
Buttercup Bake Shop . 913 Second Amine (between Fifty-first and Fifty-second streets), 212.350.4144.
Buttercup Bake Shop is a place to walk into and feel deliciously overwhelmed by display cases filled with cupcakes in every color of the rainbow. . . . With information moving at the speed of light, the bakery lets you slow down and while away an afternoon sipping your favorite beverage and enjoying some delectable, nostalgic treats that spell comfort and love.
—www.buttercupbakeshop.com
∞∞∞
Comfort was exactly what I was looking for. And I knew the best way to ease a broken heart was with chocolate. Melt-in-your-mouth amazing buttercream chocolate. And no one in Manhattan does that better than Jennifer Appel with her fabulous cupcakes. Under the circumstances, it was tempting to just go straight for the chocolate layer cake, but I kept my head and bought a dozen cupcakes
“Right, so the man’s a demigod when it comes to urban real estate. But all work and no play ...” I left the phrase unfinished.
“But Mark Grayson is anything but dull,” Belinda countered. “I’m betting at least half of your Google hits stemmed from mention in the society columns.”
“True enough. But most of it was strictly speculation.”
“Fits with the strong and silent image.” Belinda had started on my straw, the plastic already showing white lines of strain where she’d twisted it.
“But it doesn’t help me.” I’d fallen into quicksand and was sinking fast.
“I think the key is to capture his attention. Intrigue him. Men like him can’t resist a challenge. They thrive on it. Throw down the gauntlet and I’m betting he’ll pick it up.”
“And throw it in my face.” I was being flippant, but the idea actually had some merit. Some men needed to be led to the altar. Some just needed guidance on who to take along for the ride. Some of them had to be tricked into the trip. But with men like Mark Grayson, it was all about seducing them into the game. And letting them think they could win.
I drew in a breath, girding my proverbial loins. “Good advice. Thanks. Maybe you should be the matchmaker.”
“No way.” She waved the dilapidated straw. “I can’t even keep a boyfriend.”
“Well, we’re about to change all that.” I smiled, firmly back on solid ground again. “And in the meantime, I appreciate the insight into Grayson.”
“I read people for a living. Part and parcel of being a trial lawyer.” Belinda shrugged. “But Mark Grayson isn’t going to be an easy mark, and I figure you’ll need all the help you can get. And between you and me,” she leaned in close, glancing around her as if she were sharing state secrets, “I think it’s going to take more than Manolos.”
I opened my mouth to argue. Manolos were the crème de la crème of FMPs. One pair of four-inch heels and men practically crawled behind you begging. I had personal experience with the phenomenon. But before I could formulate a pithy retort, my cell phone rang.
Cybil.
Now, I’m all for business before pleasure, but Cybil trumps everything. We’ve been through too much together for it to be any other way. “Hang on.” I shot Belinda a smile and flipped open my phone.
“What’s up?”
For a moment there was only silence, and then a sort of muffled snuffling that was Cybil’s version of holding back tears.
“You okay?” My heart skidded into overdrive, my mind whipping out all kinds of possibilities. Belinda leaned forward, her eyes questioning.
I shook my head. “Cybil? Are you there?
More sniffing. And then after a moment’s silence. “It’s Stephen.” Another pause. “He’s left me.”
Relief flooded through me. That’s not very kind, I know. But I’ve already made it clear what my opinion of Stephen is. So his leaving can only be considered a miracle. Of course, Cybil wouldn’t see it that way.
At least not without a little help.
Chapter 5
Buttercup Bake Shop . 913 Second Amine (between Fifty-first and Fifty-second streets), 212.350.4144.
Buttercup Bake Shop is a place to walk into and feel deliciously overwhelmed by display cases filled with cupcakes in every color of the rainbow. . . . With information moving at the speed of light, the bakery lets you slow down and while away an afternoon sipping your favorite beverage and enjoying some delectable, nostalgic treats that spell comfort and love.
—www.buttercupbakeshop.com
∞∞∞
Comfort was exactly what I was looking for. And I knew the best way to ease a broken heart was with chocolate. Melt-in-your-mouth amazing buttercream chocolate. And no one in Manhattan does that better than Jennifer Appel with her fabulous cupcakes. Under the circumstances, it was tempting to just go straight for the chocolate layer cake, but I kept my head and bought a dozen cupcakes
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