Page 31 of Fireworks & Forehead Kisses

“No. We broke up. Well, he broke up with me. He said he wasn’t ready to be serious.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“So, are you living here now? In Atlanta?”

“Close. My sister moved to Firefly Island, so I transferred to SCAD last year. What about you?”

“I’m actually just here for the week. I’m doing some training. I work for Wolfe Hotels, but I manage the Central Park location in New York.”

I was about to tell her that I worked for Wolfe clothing when the doors opened and a call came over the radio attached to her hip. She picked it up and responded, saying she’d be right there, then clipped it back to her belt before giving me a quick hug.

“Good luck with your interview. Let’s try to get a drink tonight. I’m off at eight.”

“Okay!” I nodded and watched her disappear behind an employees-only door.

It might sound crazy, but I felt like seeing Fatima was a good sign. Maybe this interview or audition or whatever it was would go my way, and I would get cast on the show and meet the man I was meant to marry.

A surge of confidence swelled in me as I left the hotel and headed down the block. On the way I was feeling very Carrie Bradshaw,a laSex and the City,walking on the sidewalk montage. Which fit since I had been labeled the Carrie of my friendship circle. I was a creative who was actually working in fashion now, and Carrie had always been the most fashionable one of the group. I was a hopeless romantic and clearly unlucky in relationships.

Zoe, who was currently dealing with the movie being made of her late husband, was the Charlotte of the group. She was dependable, family-oriented, loyal, and definitely believed in her one true love. It was just so sad that he had died at such a young age. I hoped she would find love again.

Nadia was a textbook Samantha. She was confident, always dating a new person, sarcastic, and said what was on her mind. She was my spirit animal. I wanted to be Nadia when I grew up.

And Daphne was Miranda. Her character option was more by default since she was the latest member of our group, but it actually fit, and she wasn’t mad at it. She was very driven, Type-A, career-oriented, and successful.

Speaking of my SATC girlies, I promised I’d send a pic of my OOTD before my interview. I scrolled through the photos I’d taken in the hotel room mirror and sent one to the group chat. I looked up and realized that I’d reached the address I’d scouted out earlier when I’d driven into the city before checking into my hotel.

I put my phone back in my purse and glanced at my reflection in the glass door before taking a deep breath and heading inside. This was it. This could be the first step tomeeting my happily ever after. Maybe I would find my very own Mr. Big. I walked into a lobby area that served the entire building and stepped up to the large reception desk.

“Hi, I’m here to meet with Carmen Connor.” I relayed the name of my contact person to the stunning young woman behind the desk with striking blue eyes, full raspberry-tinted lips, a hoop nose ring, a jet-black pixie cut, and a colorful tattoo peeking out of her long-sleeved crew-neck shirt winding around her wrist and hand.

“Name?” she asked without sparing me a glance.

“Ashley Thompson.”

The dark-haired stunner typed on her keyboard and asked, “I.D.?”

I pulled out my driver’s license and handed it to her.

She wasn’t the friendliest of people, but she was efficient.

“Tenth floor.” Her voice was monotone as she handed me my I.D. with a lanyard.

“Thank you.”

For the first time, her gaze lifted to me. “Good luck.”

I smiled, and since she’d acknowledged me, I was tempted to ask how many other women had been in today. Actually, I was even more tempted to ask about the men. Part of me had wanted to stake out the place and see what the eligible men who walked in looked like. Not that I was shallow or anything. But I hoped that if I was chosen, whoever they matched me with, I would at least be a little attracted to.

It wasn’t themostimportant thing, but it would help.

I didn’t ask, though. I didn’t want to do anything that might hurt my chances of getting chosen.

The ride up to the tenth floor was a blur. I was a bundle of nerves. When I stepped off, I walked into an empty waiting room. There was a woman behind a large, oval white desk. She glanced up at me and, unlike the woman in the lobby, greetedme with an open, friendly smile. If the woman downstairs was alternative Barbie, then this woman was librarian Barbie. She wore cat-eye glasses, a slicked-back brunette bun, and a gray crewneck sweater layered on top of a white collared shirt. “Ashley?”

“Yes.” I nodded.

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