Set Up in SoHo (The Matchmaker Chronicles) Read online

  “I just didn’t want to look at him.”

  “Looks like fun,” Bethany said. “Can I help?”

  “All done, actually.” I smiled. “So what brings you guys to SoHo?” Bethany lived on the West Side and Clinton had a fabulous loft in the East Village, neither of which is exactly in the neighborhood.

  “Just wanted to see how you were doing,” Bethany said.

  “And I brought sustenance,” Clinton said, holding up a bag of groceries. “Got everything here for your favorite mac and cheese.”

  “The one from Artisanal?” Artisanal is a restaurant at Park and East Thirty-second that’s known for its cheeses, particularly fondue. But personally, I love their macaroni and cheese. I swear it’s the best I’ve ever tasted. The key is using good Gruyere, and majorly buttered bread crumbs. It’s not diet friendly but it really hits the spot when you need a little comfort food. “Just what the doctor ordered,” I said, tossing the last of Dillon into the trash. “You’re wonderful.”

  “I try,” Clinton said with a smile, laying the groceries on the counter and beginning his prep. “Anyway, we figured you could use a little TLC.”

  I smiled, suddenly feeling absurdly happy. “So what else have you got?”

  “Bordeaux,” Bethany said, flourishing a couple of bottles of my favorite French Medoc. “And chocolate. Martine’s.” She pulled the signature pink box from a Bloomingdale’s bag.

  “Perfect.”

  Fifteen minutes later, mac and cheese bubbling in the oven, we settled down on my sofa and chairs with glasses of wine and a plate of freshly made crostini. It pays to have a chef as a best friend. (Not that I can’t manage a spread when called upon, mind you. It’s just that sometimes it’s nice to have someone else do the cooking.)

  “You don’t look as bad as I expected,” Bethany said. “I mean, you can hardly see the stitches, and your bruises are already fading.”

  “Actually, they’ve gone Technicolor,” I laughed, lifting my T-shirt to show off the yellow, green, and purple staining my rib cage.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “Only when I breathe.” I laughed again, taking a sip of wine. “Actually, it really doesn’t hurt that much.”

  “So how many Vicodin are you taking?” Clinton asked, reaching for a crostini.

  “I’m down to one at a time. But I admit I’m still taking them right on schedule. All in all, though, I was pretty lucky. It could have been a lot worse.”

  “So what about your rescuer?” Bethany asked. “Has he called or anything?”

  “Well, as a matter of fact,” I said, a blush staining my cheeks, “I ran into him in the park.”

  “Small world,” Clinton observed.

  “That’s just what I said. The whole thing was all Bentley’s doing, really.” Bentley’s ears perked up at the sound of his name and he gave up hovering for dropped crostini, jumping up beside me on the sofa instead. “He managed to get off leash. Chasing a squirrel. And anyway, one thing led to another and there he was—my stranger. He was jogging and intercepted Bentley at a bend in the path.”

  “So did you find out who he is?”

  “Of course. His name is Ethan McCay.”

  “Never heard of him,” Clinton said. “But then even I don’t know everyone in the city. Bethany?”

  “The last name is vaguely familiar but nothing concrete is coming to mind.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t,” I said. “He’s only just moved back to the city. He’s an attorney. Works for his family’s business.”

  “Sounds interesting. What else did you guys talk about?"

  "Nothing specific, really. We talked about my accident. And I told him about my show and the mess I landed myself in. Which reminds me. He mentioned Metro Media. Thinks maybe someone there is handling DeBois’ PR.”

  “If that’s true,” Clinton said, “it might just give us the in we need.”

  “I thought the same thing. The trick, of course, being to find out who it is.”

  “I might be able to help there,” Bethany said. “I sold a sweet little co-op on West Eighty-second to a woman who works for Metro Media. She’s really chatty. Do you want me to see what I can find out?”

  Bethany’s a real estate broker. With Corcoran. She spends most of her time squiring people around town trying to find the perfect space for them to land. And considering average apartment prices have passed the million-dollar mark, it’s a pretty lucrative way to make your living. Anyway, in this city, once you find a good broker you tend to hang on to them, which means that Bethany has a very eclectic and often quite connected list of clients.

  “That would be wonderful,” I said, Clinton nodding his agreement. “I take it Clinton filled you in on my morning’s misadventure?”

  “Yeah. And I think it’s a fabulous idea.”

  “Except for the fact that it’s probably impossible,” I said.

  “Well, if anyone can convince Philip DuBois to step into the limelight, it’s you,” Bethany said with a nod.

  “I appreciate your confidence. But let’s just take it one step at a time.”

  “Yes, but prime time," she said, her exuberance catching.

  “I know. It would be amazing.” I sighed.

  “And well deserved,” Clinton agreed. “But Andi’s right. We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. First step is to get a name. And then an appointment. From there we’ll see what develops.”

  “Ever the practical one,” Bethany said with a shrug. “Anyway, Andi, you haven’t finished telling us about Ethan McCay.”

  “Yes,” Clinton added, walking into the kitchen, “was he as charming in the daylight as he was in the dark of night?”

  “The cellar, you mean?”

  “You’re taking all the fun out of it,” Clinton said, opening the oven door to check on the mac and cheese. “I think it’s incredibly romantic.”

  “You think Hallmark commercials are romantic.”

  “Well, they are. Besides, what’s not to love? Damsel in distress rescued by dark stranger dressed in Armani.”

  “I was lucky he was there. But considering the fact that I was covered in blood and vegetable guts, which I managed to get all over him when I passed out, I kind of think the romantic bit is a stretch.”

  “I wish it had happened to me,” Bethany said on a sigh. “So are you seeing him again?”

  “He asked me to dinner.”

  “What did you say?” Clinton asked, dropping back onto the sofa.

  “I said no. I just broke up with Dillon. It’s too soon."

  "Sometimes fate has other things in mind.”

  “Well, not for me.” Although a part of me was still regretting my decision.

  “I can’t believe you turned him down. I mean, a date might be just the thing you need to get your mind off of Dillon.”

  “Or make me think about him even more. Just because he dumped me doesn’t mean that I’m over him.”

  “Well, first off,” Clinton said, “you broke up with him. As I recall, he wanted to keep seeing you.”

  “And Diana.”

  “True. But you still get credit for the breakup. And in my book that’s extremely important.”

  “I suppose you’re right. But it still doesn’t mean I’m ready to start something new.”

  “It’s just dinner,” Bethany protested.

  “You sound like Ethan.” And just for a moment I could hear his voice in my ear. See the soft brown of his eyes. ... I shook my head, banishing the image. Clinton and his romantic talk were clearly getting to me. Or maybe it was the combination of painkillers and wine.

  Either way, I’d made the right decision.

  “He’s a nice guy. But I’m not interested. The timing just isn’t right.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll stop pushing,” Clinton said.

  “Right. Like that’s possible. Sometimes I think you’re as bad as Althea when it comes to matchmaking.”

  “Perish the thought,” Clinton s
aid, lifting his hands in protest.

  “Speaking of Althea,” I said, shooting a significant look in Bethany’s direction, “before my night quite literally fell apart, I seem to remember something about you letting her set you up? Funny you didn’t mention that when you told me you were going out with Michael Stone.”

  I sat back, watching her struggle to find words, delighted that I’d managed to turn the conversation away from me and my train wreck of a love life.

  “I was going to tell you, but I figured you weren’t going to be too pleased with the news.”

  “Well, I don’t like the fact that my aunt went behind my back to set up my friend, but that doesn’t mean I’m not happy about you and Michael. That is, if you’re happy about it?”

  “I’m ecstatic. I mean, I can’t really believe it. We had the most marvelous time. Incredibly romantic. It was like we’d known each other forever. We stayed up half the night just talking. It was magical.”

  “Sounds like something straight out of the movies,” Clinton said.

  “I know.” Bethany nodded, grinning like a loon. “And all because of Althea. I think maybe we’ve underestimated her abilities.”

  “No way.” I shook my head so vehemently my stitches hurt. “It’s just a fluke.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “I didn’t mean you and Michael,” I said, regretting my outburst. “I just meant that Althea got lucky. Besides, she told me it wasn’t a real match. I mean, Michael isn’t her client or anything.”

  “Well, that’s true. But anyway, the point is that I had an amazing time.”

  “Why didn’t you call me and tell me?” I asked. After all, I am her best friend.

  “Under the circumstances, I didn’t think you needed to hear about someone else’s happiness.”

  “It wasn’t someone else. It was you.”

  “Well, I’m telling you now.”

  “And, Althea’s part aside, I’m happy for you,” I said. “So when are you seeing him again?”

  “Lunch tomorrow.” Now that I was really looking, I realized Bethany was positively glowing. “And then we’re going out this weekend.”

  “Well, I want to meet him,” Clinton said.

  “I know—I’ll give a dinner party. It’ll be great fun.” I clapped my hands with excitement as the idea began to grow.

  “That’s really sweet of you. I’d love it. Of course, I need to run it by Michael first.”

  “Of course.” I nodded, already planning the guest list. “We can do it whenever you like. Just let me know. It’ll be the perfect opportunity for us to get to know him and for you to introduce him to your friends.”

  “And you can bring Ethan,” Clinton said, his smile just this side of goading.

  Fortunately, before I was forced to answer, my phone rang, the sounds of “Macarena” filling the apartment. (What can I say? I can’t hear any other ring when I’m on the streets. It’s a little embarrassing but I don’t miss calls.)

  I pulled out the phone and checked caller ID, all thoughts of dinner parties vanishing as my heart threatened to beat its way right out of my chest. “It’s Dillon.”

  “What the hell is he doing calling you?” Clinton spat, anger sparking in his eyes.

  “He wants his stuff back—including the dog.”

  The phone continued its merry jingle as we all three stared at it.

  “Don’t answer it,” Bethany said.

  “It’s tempting,” I whispered. “But I can’t dodge him forever. And he needs to understand that Bentley isn’t going anywhere.” I flipped open the cell.

  “Andi,” Dillon’s voice filled my ear, and I steeled myself. “You haven’t been returning my calls. I was worried.”

  “I’ve been busy.” My stomach had joined my heart, the two of them together making my head spin. I squared my shoulders, praying for a calm I most certainly did not feel. “What do you want?” I could barely recognize my voice as my own.

  “I heard about the accident. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Honestly. No major damage.” If I’d been Pinocchio my nose would have hit the breakfast bar.

  “Good. Glad to hear you’re okay,” he said, sounding relieved. “I was also calling about my things.” There was an awkward pause, and my chest tightened. Just the sound of his voice made me weak. Damn it to hell. “I, uh, thought maybe I’d come over to get them,” he continued. “If you don’t mind.”

  “There’s no need.” The new, icy version of me would have been quite impressive if it wasn’t for the fact that my hand was shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone. “I’ve already boxed everything up.”

  “What do you mean?” He actually sounded perplexed. Sometimes Dillon could be incredibly obtuse.

  “I mean that there’s no need for you to come over here. I’ll have everything messengered in the morning.”

  “Andi,” he started, but I hung up.

  The phone immediately started to ring again, and I dropped it as if it had suddenly become radioactive.

  Bethany grabbed it, and barked angrily into the receiver. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  There was a moment of silence as Dillon replied, and Bethany’s eyes narrowed. “Well, that’s not likely to happen, is it? You’re lucky she didn’t burn the lot. As far as I can see, you don’t have any rights at all here. Frankly, I think you’re a son of a bitch and I hope you rot in hell.” She clicked the phone shut and Clinton applauded.

  It’s nice to have friends.

  “Thanks,” I said, my voice now as shaky as my hands. “I don’t think I could have talked to him again.” I licked my lips, and drew in a breath. “So what did he say?” I know I shouldn’t care, but old habits, right?

  “You were right. He wants Bentley.”

  “Maybe I should give him up,” I said, my fingers tangling in Bentley’s silky fur. “I mean, technically, he does belong to Dillon.”

  “No fucking way." Bethany never curses. And she’d just done it twice. Which gives you some idea of how angry she was. “You’ve taken care of him since he was a puppy. Bentley belongs to you.”

  “You’re right. I just had a moment of weakness. I may have lost my boyfriend. But I’m not giving up my dog. Dillon can take a flying leap.”

  “Which is pretty much what we told him,” Clinton said. “So now you’ve just got to hold on to your guns. Or however it goes.”

  “I’m proud of you,” Bethany said, lifting her glass in salute.

  “This is just so damn hard.”

  “Which is exactly why you need a distraction,” Clinton said, his eyes narrowing in a way I knew meant that he was about to suggest something I wasn’t going to like. “I think you should go out with this McCay fellow.”

  “I told you, I’m not ready for that.”

  “Yes, well, you weren’t ready for a television show, either, and look how that’s turned out.”

  “Dating is a completely different thing,” I argued. “And in case you’ve forgotten, my track record isn’t all that great.”

  “And Ethan McCay isn’t Dillon,” Bethany said.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Call him,” Clinton said, holding out the phone.

  “I can’t just call him.”

  “You’re right,” Bethany said, and I shot her a grateful smile. “You need fortification first.” She held out my wineglass. “Drink. Then call.”

  I shook my head, even as I dug Ethan’s card out of my pocket. “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can,” Clinton cajoled, “just press the little buttons. Technology is an amazing thing.”

  “That’s not funny,” I said with a glare.

  “Maybe just a little bit?” He smiled.

  “Honestly, this is a great idea,” Bethany said. “If for no other reason than because this is a small town and once the word gets out that you’re dating again, Dillon will know that you’ve moved on.”

  “But I don’t want to go on a date. And I don’t w
ant to move on.” Except that I did—at least a little.

  “Yes, but what about revenge?” Clinton asked.

  “I got that when we dissed Mardi Gras.”

  “That was Diana,” Clinton said. “This is your chance to show Dillon that you honestly don’t care.”

  I drained the contents of my glass as Bethany held out the phone.

  “You really think I should do this?”

  “Yes,” they answered simultaneously.

  And so, as the slow burn of the wine spread through my chest, I dialed.

  The phone rang three times, and just as my thumb covered the button to disconnect, Ethan picked up.

  “Hello.”

  I swallowed, the butterflies in my stomach doing a mambo. “I, um, this is Andi Sevalas. You know, from the cellar.” Talk about stupid intros.

  “Yes,” he said, laughter lacing his tone. “I remember.”

  “I know. It’s just that, well, I was thinking, and, if you haven’t changed your…not that I’d blame you if you had, I mean, it would be perfectly understandable under the circumstances, but if you haven’t…” Clinton was making motions for me to breathe and I tried to comply, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember how.

  “You’d like to go out to dinner with me after all,” he thankfully finished for me.

  “Yes,” I answered breathlessly, feeling like an idiot. “I would.”

  “Great. How about Saturday?”

  I nodded, then realized he couldn’t hear me. “That’s perfect. Where?”

  “Nino’s. The one on First? At eight?”

  He had me at Nino’s. One of my favorite Italian restaurants, it might not have the buzz of some of its more nouveau competition, but what it didn’t have in gastronomical cutting edge it more than made up for in old-world ambience.

  “That would be great. I’ll meet you there.”

  “I think the way it’s normally done, I’m supposed to pick you up.” He still sounded amused, but for some reason the idea that he found me entertaining actually served to calm my jangling nerves.

  “You’ve been away from the city too long,” I said. “No one picks anyone up here. Besides, you’re all the way uptown. I’ll just meet you there.”

  There was a pause and then an audible laugh. “All right, have it your way. I’ll see you at Nino’s on Saturday.”