Page 25 of VOGUEish

Chandler rolled his eyes. “I will not set her up with any of my friends.”

“Then you will be her fiancé.”

He studied his Nonna for what felt like an eternity to Isabella. “Your plan has a fatal flaw.”

“What could that possibly be?”

He jammed his fingers in his hair. “There will be no sparks between us to fool the public into believing we’re in love. And you know some damn reporter will be all up in our business the moment they catch wind of our involvement.”

“He’s not wrong,” Isabella chimed in. “He’s not even my type, so I have nothing to work with for pretending sparks.”

“Name one way he’s not your type?” Ms. Birdie demanded.

“Well, for one thing,” Isabella said. “I approach life with a healthy dose of whimsy. Your godson, on the other hand, is known as the Grinch of Manhattan. You must agree, Grinch and whimsy do not mix.”

“Darling, you have a contract that requires you to bring your billionaire fiancé to your big comeback moment. Everything that’s in the contract is in there for a reason. To leave out one part is like leaving out an ingredient to your favorite recipe. Even the absence of the smallest of the ingredients will give you a different result. Your whole comeback moment could explode in your face.”

Son-of-a-skinny-pants-wearer. Isabella stood and paced in front of the window. Her comeback moment had to succeed. “Don’t you know of another guy?” She turned and stared at Ms. Birdie. “One you could temporarily fix me up with other than Chandler?”

“Of course I do. I have a spreadsheet of all the eligible billionaires in Manhattan under the age of forty-five. But that’s not the problem.”

“What’s the problem?” Isabella asked.

“What if it takes twenty first dates to find the one you spark with? Time is not on our side. It was such a shock to learn your reunion would take place in February and not July, like most ten-year reunions.”

Isabella rubbed the back of her neck. “Fix me up with the candidate you believe best matches my personality. If after the first date I’m not feeling it” —she paused and gave Chandler her full attention— “you will quietly be my Prince Charming the night of my class reunion.”

“I will agree to your plan with one caveat,” Ms. Birdie said.

“And that is?” Isabella asked.

“You will first go on a date with Chandler to make certain my intuition is off where the two of you are concerned. I have no desire to create a triangle situation where both men end up in love with the woman.”

Isabella sighed. Going on a date with the Pillar was a risk. Not because she was afraid she’d lose her heart to him. Only a fool would fall in love with a man who wasn’t her type simply because her vagina found him sexy. It was a risk because what if her coworkers found out? If that happened, she’d never be accepted as one of them.

Then again, if it wasn’t for Ms. Birdie, Isabella wouldn’t be living this life.

Now was not the time to become all difficult and demand changes in a contract she’d happily signed ten years ago. “Deal. I’ll go on a date with Chandler.” When he asked her where she wanted to go, she’d recommend some place lowkey and not frequented by the fashion-forward. Like maybe the biker bar in her neighborhood. “But when it doesn’t work out, and it won’t, you promise to introduce me to your best candidate and then back off,” she said to Ms. Birdie. “Falling in love is a private matter. It’s not something to be approached as if living one’s life on some reality show.”

Ms. Birdie was slow to agree. “As you wish,” she finally said. And then quickly added, “That is as long as Chandler promises to be your fiancé at your reunion should the need arise.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Five minutes later, Chandler’s mood matched the color of his sweater. Black. And he blamed it on Isabella. She’d lived rent free in his head all weekend, and now she’d been given permission to swim with his thoughts until after her class reunion.

All because Nonna had called in a favor.

One that forced him to abandon his vow to never date one of her projects. Thank God it was just one date. A date he’d tank in the eyes of Isabella so she’d be well motivated to find a reunion replacement man.

He took a seat at the head of the conference table, and Isabella, smelling like a freshly squeezed glass of orange juice, took a seat on his right. Unlike him, she appeared quite cheerful and amused by all that had gone down with Nonna. Why? Not because they were to go on a date. She’d made it abundantly clear he wasn’t her type. Was he a grump?

The only other reason he could think of for her cheery disposition was that she had actual aspirations to marry.

“Good morning,” he said to those who’d gathered for this, his final meeting at Naked Runway.

“Good morning,” they sounded off in haphazard fashion.

He noticed several of the employees he’d summoned hadn’t shown for the meeting. Strange. Not that it mattered to him. He’d accomplished what he’d been tasked with achieving. Nonna would uncover the reasons for their absences. “There’s been a new develop—”

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