Page 5 of Ticket to You

“Which is whyIget to do the dirty work of narrowing down the eligible bachelors for you. And there’s someone I think you’d enjoy if you get to know him, one of my photojournalists.”

“You want me to go out with someone fromOutdoorsy?Why? So he can explain to me how travel bloggers are modern-day imperialists? Or give me a review on the newest e-bikes on the market?”

“So youdoreadOutdoorsy,” Gemma jokes. “Come on, what do you say? I swear this one isn’t geriatric.”

I groan through my dubious chuckles. “Only because you’re my best friend and I’m desperate to get my mind off Jane Sommerland.”

Gemma practically squeals and dashes off to find the other half of my doomed-to-fail set-up, and I fold into the group nearest me. There are eight magazines under Hoffman Publishing in a wide range of genres, from fashion and architecture to current events and pop culture. That should mean this group, full of writers and their varied conversations, should be enough to hold my attention. But I find my eyes drawn to the well-dressed crowd, studying the outfits around me as I so often do.

I’m caught up in a haze, trying to spot Gemma’s bronze dress in the blurring motion of swaying gowns and busy servers when a hand waved in front of my face brings me back to the moment. I startle and shake my head.

The guy who pulled my attention has sandy blond hair that hangs down in waves to the collar of his sage green suit. Under his jacket, his white shirt has a few undone buttons. Add his tan skin and golden hair to his goofy grin, and he’s the perfect embodiment of a Golden Retriever. Even though he hasn’t introduced himself to me yet, I know from his carefree style that he’s anOutdoorsyemployee.

“Uh, sorry, were you saying something?” I ask, lifting my mouth into what I hope looks something like a friendly smile.

“Are you okay?” Golden Boy’s eyes dance from my face to the wine across my dress and back again. From the corner of my eye, I see the others in our group follow his gaze.

So much for my hope that the dim lighting would help hide the stain. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Are you looking for someone?”

“My friend, Gemma, wants me to meet someone she works with. It’s nothing.”

The alcohol must already be in my fellow writers’ systems because they all join in on a collective—and rowdy—ooooh, loud enough for those around us to notice.

I spot Gemma near the back of the room. Next to her is a man with tousled brown hair. Even from behind, it’s obvious that it’s him.Adam. He looms over everyone around him. Dread courses through my veins.

Golden Boy stifles a laugh. His gaze, too, is on the two of them. “Is–is your friend trying to set you up on a date withAdam Abrams?”

I fold my arms over my dress and its stain. “Would that be such a surprise?”

“I worked with Adam for a while before I started working at the California office. You’re…just not like his usual women.”

I tip my chin up playfully. “Well, I usually date guys who can come up with something more creative than a black suit for a formal event, so he and I are even.” How someone presents themself says a lot about their personality, and Adam’s suit saysI like mayonnaise sandwiches and watching golf tournaments.“So…whatisAdam Abram’s usual type?” I ask Golden Boy. Even a conversation centered on Adam is better than dwelling on my last interaction with Jane.

“Adam usually goes for women with similar interests. You know, rock climbing, skiing, hiking—”

“Saving the ice caps?”

“Something like that.”

“What makes you think I’m not into those same things?”

Golden Boy stammers and shifts his weight back and forth. “Are you?”

“Not especially. But you know what they say about assuming.”

I give him a wink before turning away from the group and heading to the bar. There, eight signature drinks are available, representing each of Hoffman’s eight magazines. I pick theAtelier, a sparkling vodka cocktail with fig and vanilla. It’s light, tart, and just sweet enough to make me want two more.

Being alone sends me back into jitters, so I head toward Gemma and Adam, ready for another dose of distraction, even if that comes in the form of talking to someone who I didn’t exactly knock it out of the park with. As I near the duo, Adam still with his back to me, I catch on to their conversation.

“Ophelia is even smarter than she is beautiful,” Gemma says. “And that’s saying something.” I smile to myself. I can always count on Gemma to be in my corner.

“She’s not my type.” Adam sounds bored and completely withdrawn from the conversation.

Gemma chuckles. “Yeah, those tall, beautiful, successful types are justsooverrated.”

“No, but the materialistic, vapid, conceited types are.”

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