Page 18 of VOGUEish

A bouquet of wildflowers sat on the coffee table by the couch, and lamps offered ambient light instead of the overhead fluorescents.

Chandler strolled back in, and she sat up straight, dropping her arms to her sides.

“We need to talk about your future.” He handed her a glass of ice water and gave her a smile that screamed lazy-Sunday-morning sex. A smile punctuated by two dimples in his cheeks.

Her heart floundered. Why was it again she’d decided to resist seducing him while he was the temporary boss? “I’m listening.” She took a slow sip. “What exactly did you have in mind?” Sex on your desk?

His lips twitched. Like he could read her brain and found it amusing. “Your continuation as an employee at the magazine.”

Relief burst through her chest like a flooded dam. Oh yeah. That’s why. She wanted to continue to work here and to be liked. She stuffed the urge to throw herself in his arms and give him a thank-you hug. Instead she stood, walked to the windows, and stared out at the city. “I assume you’re promoting me to fashion editor.” Ms. Patricia had taught her the importance of faking it until you make it. Attitude is everything.

“I’ll need the input from the owner to move you into any position.”

She turned back toward him. “You’ll put in a good word for me?”

He loosened his tie. “I will. In the meantime, why don’t you take the rest of the week off? We’ll talk about a new job for you here at Naked Runway when you return.”

She removed her glasses and pretended to clean them. “Why the rest of the week? Couldn’t I step out of the office, and you call her now?”

“You could, but she’s not one to make rash decisions. If for some reason she surprises me and does, I’ll call you.”

“When you speak to her, please let her know I’m not interested in an entry level job. Quite honestly, I can make more as a freelance author than I can working as an assistant.”

“I will pass on that information.”

Isabella placed her hand on her stomach. The darn thing was jumping around like it was doing trampoline flips. “I’d appreciate that.”

A vee formed in his brows. “One more question, and I only ask it because I’m certain the magazine’s owner will ask it as well—why have you waited so long to apply to work for a magazine?”

Working as a freelance travel writer had helped round her out as a person. Plus, it was a fountain of exciting material for her to talk about at her class reunion. She could entertain them with stories of how she’d ridden camels in Morocco, donkeys in Santorini, rickshaws in Tokyo, and gondolas in Venice.

Or ones about how she’d watched the sun come up over the Rio Grande from a hot air balloon, mountain biked down a volcano in Maui, zip-lined a rain forest in Costa Rica, and slid down a chute in a salt mine inside a mountain in Switzerland.

If that didn’t impress them, she’d relay how she’d kayaked with humpback whales, swum with stingrays, backpacked the Sierras, and jumped out of an airplane.

Not to mention, she’d been to a fashion show in Paris, the theater in London, and had high tea in Dublin.

She’d also stood inside of soaring cathedrals, Buddhist temples, ornate mosques, and Indian sweat lodges. She’d kissed the Blarney Stone and stood in the Acropolis, inside the Colosseum, and atop the Eiffel Tower.

She had ridden the bullet train, seen a bullfight in Spain, and had marveled at great art inside the Louvre, the d’Orsay, the Prado, and the Uffizi.

Plus, she just really liked writing.

If it weren’t for her comeback, she’d still be doing the gig. But it had been time to place it on hold and jump into the driver’s seat of her plan. “My reason is complicated and not something I wish to delve into deeply with you. But I will be more than happy to have the conversation with the owner.”

“I will relay that to her.”

Isabella nodded. “Thank you. What time shall I report on Monday?”

Chandler gave a curt nod. “Shall we say 9:30?”

CHAPTER SIX

Chandler stood and pulled out the chair for his godmother, who had summoned him to dinner. Summoned twice in one day. Not good.

Normally, when he saw a lot of her, it was because she was in the midst of a Fairy Godmother Project. A scheme that would affect him in some way. Usually in the way of a donation to a good cause, because he’d made it clear to her years ago, he would never be a love-interest pawn in one of her projects. Too many things could go wrong, and he’d never jeopardize his relationship with his godmother or risk breaking the heart of one of her charges. It wasn’t like anyone had ever accused him of being relationship material, let alone for a battered soul. In fact, on more than one occasion he’d been accused of running from commitment.

Why he’d been summoned this morning was still a mystery. She’d not asked for a donation. Instead, when he had arrived—late because his driver had called in sick—she’d snapped at him for his lack of timeliness then kept glancing at the clock while making small talk about how life is funny and sometimes you have to meddle where you have no business meddling. Which was rich coming from her because she’d made an entire not-for-profit project out of meddling.

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