be single.
“If I were—” she started, just as he said, “That’s an—” They both broke off, and he said, “You first.”
She cleared her throat. Did she really have the guts to ask this question? Oh, why not, it was perfectly innocent. “If I were a betting woman, I’d bet you’ll be taking your wife for dinner too.”
He shook his head, his lips curving up and his eyes sparkling. “You’d lose that bet. No wife. No girlfriend. No dinner date.”
Okay! That was way more information than she’d asked for, though it was everything she’d wanted to know. Was he just unusually chatty for a guy, or was he taking pains to let her know he was single?
The elevator pinged again, and she gave a silent curse. Just her luck that he’d get off when things really got interesting. But he didn’t. Instead, a courier got on and punched a button.
Anne barely noticed. The “no date” man was gazing at her so intently that heat rose to her cheeks. Hurriedly she said, “What were you going to say before? When we spoke at the same time?” Had he, by any chance, been going to ask if she was involved with anyone? Hey, she was wearing her lucky red suit. That had to count for something.
“Hmm? Oh, I was going to comment on those flowers. That’s an unusual arrangement.”
The flowers? He was more interested in the flowers than in her? Anne’s heart sank, but she forced a smile. “Aren’t they lovely?”
She heard another ping. The courier said, “Could you hold the elevator for a sec? I’ll be right back.”
Her new acquaintance said, “Glad to,” and reached for the button. “Your husband has good taste,” he said to Anne.
Oh, yes! She felt like grinning from ear to ear. Her suit was finally working, and the man really was interested. And so was she. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so attracted to a man at first meeting. “No husband,” she said as the courier came back on.
“Then the flowers are—”
Another ping. “Thirty-four,” the man said. “Your floor.”
Regretfully she moved forward. “No boyfriend either,” she murmured over her shoulder, only to find him following her.
“My floor too,” he said.
The reception desk was directly in front of them. A redhead gazed up expectantly. Anne’s companion seemed to assume this was her office because he touched her arm and said, “Would you wait a minute?” Then he addressed the receptionist. “I’m here for Anita d’Amato.”
Anne gasped. “You’re Tony!”
He turned to her. “How did you—? Oh, you know my mother?”
She shook her head and thrust the flowers toward him. “No, I work on the fourth floor. My name is Anne Damian. The florist’s delivery man got confused.”
He took the bouquet. “You mean, the florist delivered my mother’s flowers to you on Valentine’s Day?” His eyes sparkled even brighter than before.
“They made a mistake,” she said, counting her blessings for that mistake.
“A very lucky mistake.” He beamed at her. “So, Anne Damian, who doesn’t have a husband or boyfriend, does that mean you don’t have plans for dinner tonight?”
She shook her head, hoping with all her heart that Tony d’Amato would ask her out. Earlier, she’d thought about new lovers whose smiles were full of hope and promise. Might she and this man—
“Tony!” A female voice interrupted her train of thought.
Anne turned to see a striking dark-haired woman in a stylish green dress hurry across the reception area. Quickly Tony thrust the flowers back at Anne so he could greet her—presumably his mother—with a big hug. When the woman emerged from his embrace, she gazed curiously at Anne. “And this pretty young lady in red is . . .”
“Anne Damian. Anne, this is my mother, Anita d’Amato.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Anne said, holding out the flower arrangement. “These are yours. They were delivered to me by mistake.”
Mrs. d’Amato took the flowers. “Thank you, dear.” She
“If I were—” she started, just as he said, “That’s an—” They both broke off, and he said, “You first.”
She cleared her throat. Did she really have the guts to ask this question? Oh, why not, it was perfectly innocent. “If I were a betting woman, I’d bet you’ll be taking your wife for dinner too.”
He shook his head, his lips curving up and his eyes sparkling. “You’d lose that bet. No wife. No girlfriend. No dinner date.”
Okay! That was way more information than she’d asked for, though it was everything she’d wanted to know. Was he just unusually chatty for a guy, or was he taking pains to let her know he was single?
The elevator pinged again, and she gave a silent curse. Just her luck that he’d get off when things really got interesting. But he didn’t. Instead, a courier got on and punched a button.
Anne barely noticed. The “no date” man was gazing at her so intently that heat rose to her cheeks. Hurriedly she said, “What were you going to say before? When we spoke at the same time?” Had he, by any chance, been going to ask if she was involved with anyone? Hey, she was wearing her lucky red suit. That had to count for something.
“Hmm? Oh, I was going to comment on those flowers. That’s an unusual arrangement.”
The flowers? He was more interested in the flowers than in her? Anne’s heart sank, but she forced a smile. “Aren’t they lovely?”
She heard another ping. The courier said, “Could you hold the elevator for a sec? I’ll be right back.”
Her new acquaintance said, “Glad to,” and reached for the button. “Your husband has good taste,” he said to Anne.
Oh, yes! She felt like grinning from ear to ear. Her suit was finally working, and the man really was interested. And so was she. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so attracted to a man at first meeting. “No husband,” she said as the courier came back on.
“Then the flowers are—”
Another ping. “Thirty-four,” the man said. “Your floor.”
Regretfully she moved forward. “No boyfriend either,” she murmured over her shoulder, only to find him following her.
“My floor too,” he said.
The reception desk was directly in front of them. A redhead gazed up expectantly. Anne’s companion seemed to assume this was her office because he touched her arm and said, “Would you wait a minute?” Then he addressed the receptionist. “I’m here for Anita d’Amato.”
Anne gasped. “You’re Tony!”
He turned to her. “How did you—? Oh, you know my mother?”
She shook her head and thrust the flowers toward him. “No, I work on the fourth floor. My name is Anne Damian. The florist’s delivery man got confused.”
He took the bouquet. “You mean, the florist delivered my mother’s flowers to you on Valentine’s Day?” His eyes sparkled even brighter than before.
“They made a mistake,” she said, counting her blessings for that mistake.
“A very lucky mistake.” He beamed at her. “So, Anne Damian, who doesn’t have a husband or boyfriend, does that mean you don’t have plans for dinner tonight?”
She shook her head, hoping with all her heart that Tony d’Amato would ask her out. Earlier, she’d thought about new lovers whose smiles were full of hope and promise. Might she and this man—
“Tony!” A female voice interrupted her train of thought.
Anne turned to see a striking dark-haired woman in a stylish green dress hurry across the reception area. Quickly Tony thrust the flowers back at Anne so he could greet her—presumably his mother—with a big hug. When the woman emerged from his embrace, she gazed curiously at Anne. “And this pretty young lady in red is . . .”
“Anne Damian. Anne, this is my mother, Anita d’Amato.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Anne said, holding out the flower arrangement. “These are yours. They were delivered to me by mistake.”
Mrs. d’Amato took the flowers. “Thank you, dear.” She
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