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“Is that the yardstick you’re measuring me by?” he continued more congenially.

“Of course not. I don’t expect either fromyou.I was just giving examples of spontaneity that can easily fall within my week-notice rule.” The rule she’d just made up and had now taken on a life of its own. That was what she got for her attempt at playful messaging.

“What can I do to get you to pare that down to something sooner?”

Eager to move the conversation along, Kennedy said, “How about for our next date, I make the arrangements. Dining out is great and everything, but there’s a lot of other stuff we can do.”

Lots of other stuff we can do?

What is wrong with you? You might try thinking before you speak.

Nate chuckled softly. “You’re right about that. Okay, I’ll leave the arrangements up to you and I’ll send a car to pick you up. Just tell me the time, date, and attire.”

Kennedy knew better than to argue with him about the car. The man was intransigent on the subject, as she’d discovered on their first date. She’d never dated someone of Nate’s wealth. The closest she’d come was Aidan, who owned a lovely condominium in Astoria and drove last year’s BMW Coupe but certainly didn’t makepersonal car service ready at his disposalmoney. Nope, that was for the people who played in Nate’s rarefied league.

“Good, then. I’ll contact you with the details.”

“And I’ll be waiting. Have a good day, Kennedy.”

Suddenly, she was overcome with a sense of uncertainty, and had to remind herself thatthis—what they were playing at—wasn’t real.

“You too,” she said softly.

After she ended the call, she stared at the phone, her mind swirling.

For something that was supposed to be for show, it sure was starting to feel a tad too real. She needed to slow things down to a crawl and create some healthy distance between them.

13

“You picked up,” Sahara exclaimed, the smile in her voice unmistakable.

“What time is it where you are?” Kennedy asked, surprised by her friend’s early morning call.

Phone pressed to her ear, she skirted two men in business suits stopped in the middle of the sidewalk carrying on a conversation. An unheard-of sight at seven-thirty in the morning in Manhattan. People had places to go, people to see, and work to get done. All of which applied to her at the moment.

“Way too early. But it’ll be the last time I’ll be up this early for a while. Today’s the last day of filming and I’m due in the makeup chair at five-thirty sharp, so I have to make this quick. Instead of clubbing it on Saturday, how would you like to go to the launch party for the new couture line? Things have been so hectic, I forgot to tell you about it the last time we talked. And you know I want you and Aurora there. Please say you’ll come. Pretty please.”

Kennedy chortled. “You had me at ‘new couture line.’ We will be there in our evening best.”

Sahara had told her about the line a year ago, when it was nothing but a long-held dream and rough sketches of princess gowns and elegant dresses. And now, a year later, the budding fashion mogul was about to realize that dream with a splashy launch party.

Kennedy dared someone to try and keep her away.

“I’ll leave tickets for you at the door. Will six be enough?”

Kennedy did a quick count in her head. If she and Aurora brought dates, that would be four. But if six was Sahara’s starting-off point, she would also ask Jonathan if he wanted to tag along, and of course he would bring Darrell.

“Six sounds good.”

“Great. Gotta run now, sweets. My scene is up next. I’ll see you Saturday.” Lately, Sahara was doing more acting than singing, although the movie she was filming now allowed her to show off her vocal skills. After her last world tour, she’d wanted to stay put for a while and bought a beautiful mansion in the Hollywood Hills. There were bargains to be scooped up for a cool ten mil, something Kennedy would have to keep in mind the next time she went house hunting. Right.

She bade her friend goodbye and made her way up to the third floor. She quickly deposited her handbag in her office and then made a beeline for caffeine. The coffee was ancillary.

The agency’s small break room contained the standard lunchroom fare, and a vending machine that included healthy snack options. If granola bars counted as healthy. Mina sat at one of the tables, mug in hand.

“Hey, Mina.”

She regarded Kennedy, her expression strangely void of emotion. “It should be a crime to be that happy coming into work in the morning.”

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