Page 39 of Maverick Mogul

I’m not there for long before my dog-walker friend, Kellen, shows up juggling five leashes with ease.

“Hey, Grace,” he says. A black, fluffy dog I’ve never seen before jumps onto my lap. “Where’s Henri?”

“Henri’s wretched human brother fired me,” I say. The dog licks my cheek with her tiny tongue, and truthfully, it helps a little.

“No!” Kellen says. “What a jerk.”

“Water under the bridge.” I say brightly as another dog scrambles for my attention. “It seems like business is booming for you, though.”

“Not exactly,” he says, groaning. “I mean, I love these guys. But I have to take on so many lately.”

“Oh?” The dog in my arms nudges into my hand, asking to be pet. “Why?”

“The app I use for booking jobs takes a huge cut of my earnings. But itdoeshelp find clients. So, I’m kind of stuck.” Kellen sighs, looking at the dogs all around. “I wish I could give them more personal attention, but at least they get socialization, I guess?”

“Hmmm,” I murmur, an idea beginning to take shape. “But that’s the challenge, right? The apps make it easy to find work, but none of them pay enough on their own, so you wind up juggling too many smaller jobs just to get by.”

“Bingo.” Kellan says. “But what can you do? That’s just the way things work.”

Good question.

I must have had a hundred of these conversations before, but this time, Charlie’s mind map visualization pep talk is still fresh in my mind. Because if someone helped connect all these brilliant assistants, dog-walkers, house sitters, and personal shoppers with the right clients, but minus the highway-robbery booking fees they have to pay right now…

That person would be a genius, right?

“I should get in there,” Kellan says, nodding to the dog park’s gate. “See you around!”

“See you!” I call.

On the way home, I scroll through my contacts, the idea growing now. After all these years running around town, it’s quite the black book: Everyone from Ahmed (Bisou maître d’) to Zora (bookseller with basically clairvoyant recommendations). If you need a plumber to pull Barbies out of the U-bend at three a.m, I know the guy, and if you have to get those Barbies restored to perfect condition? I even know a miniature model-maker for that. I basically have everything I need right here already to make this idea work.

Except, you know, start-up funding and the nerve to follow through.

Ignoring those pesky details, I pop by my neighborhood stationery store and fill out a form for sample business cards. I buy a lot of birthday cards and small gifts there, so the woman who owns it is excited for me. It’s the tiniest step, but at least it’s forward motion.

Charlie Fox is in my head. Yes, because of that freakin’, I-saw-stars kiss. But also because he’s said the phrase “luxury concierge service” enough that I’m starting to think he has the right idea.

Damn him all over again.

10

GRACE

By the next wedding (nautical-themed),I’ve boxed up all my fluttery Charlie Fox feelings and stored them on a very high mental shelf, way out of reach.

This time, I refuse to swoon. I made myself reread thatNew York Nowarticle where they called him a “notorious bachelor.” His unavailability is a known fact! In print! Besides, Olivia warned against this very thing—the romantic settings, the proximity. It’s natural to have a tiny crush, but that’s all it can be. I’ve already had more than my share of romantic humiliation in life. I have zero desire to taste any more.

Even if a taste of Charlie would be worth it.

Nope!

Charlie may have kissed me back in a very get-a-room way, but he’s acting like it never even happened, so I need to follow his lead. He stopped by the store, but only to hand off my wedding costumes. He had every opportunity to bring it up, and he didn’t.

Message received.

So, I get all dolled up and head over to meet him at

Chelsea Piers, the light breeze tossing my swingy skirt and beachy waves. For the 1920s theme of this event, Maya found me an amazing flapper-style dress, which I’ve accessorized with a simple, bejeweled headband and a hand fan for added drama. Charlie’s fake-it-till-you-make-it strategy has legs. The more I try to project confidence, the more I feel it rising in me for real.

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