Page 9 of Upshot

I do. I don’t exactly have the time, but I’m ready to try. If not with the woman in Arizona, then with someone.

Everyone thinks being a wealthy playboy bachelor is a dream job. I’m sure it is to some. And don’t get me wrong, there are parts of it that I enjoy. I like deciding what I do with my days after work. I like hanging out with friends whenever I want.

But sometimes it would be nice to be told someone needed me to go to a family function simply because I’m their forever plus one. Of course, I’m not saying any of that out loud. Peter would laugh me out the door.

With a sigh, I stand and walk to the window. That crew should be just about ready to unroll that bigass banner. I hope it’s not something atrocious, since I have to look out this window every day. It’s almost the end of the workday, which is why Peter is into beer number two, but I’ve grown invested in the unveiling.

“Are you going to just pout at the window all evening?” I give Peter my best scowl. “Fine,” he says, holding his hands up. “We’ll wait.”

Ten minutes later, I watch as the crew across the street lets the banner unfurl itself. It’s almost the height of the building. It’s for a new fashion line. My jaw drops open looking at it. This had to be a sign. “Holy shit,” I whisper.

“What?” Peter gets off the couch and joins me at the window. “What is it? Oh damn, we might have to change offices.”

“That’s her.”

“That’s who? What’s her?”

“That’s Brontë,” I say excitedly. After all the searching, she’s hanging across from my office. Peter strains to look at the street below us. “No, not down there. There.” I point at the giant banner being secured at the bottom.

“No way. There is no fucking way you landed one of those two.” Nothing like having a friend that believes in you.

“Yes. the one on the right. The brunette.”

“That’s the one-night stand?”

“Yes,” I answer emphatically.

“How?”

“You’re being an asshole. I told you, she sat next to me at the bar, we had a good time, and the rest is all a little blurry. Do you think we can find her now?”

“Maybe. I should, at least, be able to narrow down the agency they used.” Peter stares at the banner for a few more minutes in silence before speaking again. “But only if she introduces me to the other one.”

“Perv,” I tease.

“Always.”

* * *

The next week goes by in a frustrating swoop. It takes Peter part of the week to work his way through his various part-time romantic partners until he finds someone who can get the name of the modeling agency. That doesn’t mean, however, that they’re willing to tell us anything.

“I have an idea,” Peter says as we slide into a booth at our favorite local bar. “Your sister is in charge of marketing for Randolph Properties.”

“Yeah,” I say hesitantly. I’m not sure I like where this is headed.

“So, she works with that advertising firm out of Sacramento.”

“Mhm.”

“All you have to do is get Geneva to set up an advertising campaign using that modeling agency.”

“An agency in New York.” I give him my best “you’re crazy” look.

“Yeah, it’s brilliant. Convince her you need to help review which models to use. You can arrange to hire Brontë again. Boom, one set of rocks getting off.” Jesus. That’s a horrible yet fantastic idea all at the same time.

“And how do I get the dragon lady to do it?” My sister, Geneva, is no joke. She might be a year younger than me, but she terrifies all of us. To say she’s driven is an understatement. Hmm. I broker multi-million-dollar real estate deals every day. Surely, I can negotiate one measly advertising scheme with my sister.

Might not be a bad idea to have a couple of gorgeous models standing in front of our properties anyway. Give them a little more sex appeal.

---