I needed to. One of the items I was particularly worried about (besides #3, Change someone’ s life, which did seem to be quite the tall order) was #7: Make Buddy Fitch pay. Who on earth was Buddy Fitch, and what had he done to her that was so awful? I suspected I’ d find a clue in those yearbooks-maybe a jock who tormented her for being fat. A bully who knew Marissa Jones would be easy prey. The very thought made my insides lurch.
Of course, Lizbeth didn’ t need to know any of that.
‘ Gee, I left one message,’ I lied sweetly. ‘ I’ ll try to follow up.’
Lizbeth nodded and then addressed the group. ‘ People, we have plenty of work here and not enough budget to move through the projects already on our plates. Let’ s stay focused, okay? Have a good evening.’
As I left the meeting, Brie whistled and made a gesture with her hand of a plane flying downward. ‘ Shot down in flames,’ she said, shaking her head.
I limped away in defeat.
After freshening my makeup and trying to get my hair to recapture the self-control it had hinted at achieving earlier, I met Susan at a boutique down the street. She’ d agreed to help me shop for an outfit that seemed sexy yet bookish after nixing the red shirt I was wearing-pointing out all too correctly that Sebastian had already seen it.
An hour and two hundred dollars later, I was dressed in a pinstripe jacket over a rock ‘ n’ roll T-shirt and a pair of jeans cut low enough that I had to bunch my underwear down to keep it from showing. I left for my date a new woman.
BOOK SOUP is a small independent bookstore on a trendy section of Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood. When I arrived, a line was already forming to get into the store.
I’ d arranged to meet Sebastian at the adjacent coffee shop. As I walked in, I was nervous that he’ d be disappointed when he saw me. Brie had warned that my biggest fear should be the other way around, adding grimly, ‘ The guys I met online looked like their pictures all right. If their picture had been taken twenty years earlier and fifty pounds lighter.’
I saw Sebastian right away. He was an exact replica of his photo, except now in full color and 3-D. Holy cripes, he was gorgeous, dressed in another suit that seemed to scream ‘ money.’ When he came up to say hello, I noticed he smelled good, too.
‘ Are you June Parker?’
‘ Yes, hi,’ I said, extending my hand to shake his.
He gripped my hand so firmly, it nearly fused my fingers together. ‘ Great to meet you. Your photo doesn’ t do you justice.’ Before I could say anything else or blush prettily, he added, ‘ Do you mind if we get going to the bookstore? I don’ t want to be late.’
We walked outside, and he bypassed the crowd to head straight for the entrance. The bouncer-or whatever one would call him-let us into the room. Folding chairs were set up in an open section of the store. A podium and microphone faced the chairs. People filled some of the seats, while others milled around, thumbing through books and drinking wine.
‘ Wow. Do you know the author?’ I asked.
‘ Actually,’ he replied sheepishly, ‘ I am the author.’
‘ Excuse me?!’
He picked up a book and held it out to me. One-Woman Man, a novel by Sebastian Forbes. ‘ This is mine. I’ m doing the reading tonight.’ He flipped to the back to show me the author’ s photo-the same one he’ d posted on the dating website.
‘ You wrote this?’
‘ Guilty.’
‘ I can’ t believe you wrote this.’
What I really meant was, I can’ t believe you wrote this and invited me here sight unseen to your reading.
‘ I can’ t say it’ s exactly Shakespeare. More of a romantic comedy. But I’ m proud of it.’
‘ But why,’ I began.
‘ Why did I invite you?’ he finished for me. When I shrugged a yes, he grinned. ‘ Can you blame a guy for wanting to impress a girl? My other idea was to fly you to Paris for dinner, but I decided against it. Too showy.’
I’ d have come back with equally flirtatious banter, but I was too busy thinking, He likes me! which was seriously impeding my ability to formulate clever retorts. Instead I gazed coolly around the room.
(He likes me!)
(He’ s a published author and he likes me!)
(Me!)
‘ Drink?’ he asked.
‘ Sure. Thanks.’
‘ By the way,’ he said as he handed me a glass of wine, ‘ I’ m all for keeping the fact that this is our first date on the QT.’
I smiled agreeably and took a sip.
(Oh no, he’ s ashamed of me.)
Attempting to check my insecurities, I harkened back to the advice I used to read in Teen magazine. I asked him about himself. Once I did, I relaxed. Sebastian Forbes put on his Armani slacks one leg at a time like anyone else.
Turned out he worked as a copywriter for DDB advertising agency and had written this book in his spare time over the past two years. That meant giving up any semblance of a social life, he told me, cashing in the evenings he used to spend clubbing by banging away on his computer. (And I wasn’ t sure what I envied more, the fact that he gave up clubbing to write or the fact that he’ d been clubbing in the first place.) He wasn’ t sure if he was writing anything people would care about. ‘ I had a story I had to tell, that’ s all I knew,’ he said. ‘ Corny as that sounds.’ After he found an agent and he started shopping the manuscript, he found himself in a bidding war, a rare occurrence for a first-time author. Only once he made it through the grueling editing process did he realize how much of his life he’ d let slide, and-pardon me while my ears perked-he was eager to get things back on track.
