Worth the Fall (30 page)

We walked to The Brew discussing what we were going to tell everyone about my stint in the slammer.

“And?” Max gave my hand a squeeze as he asked it.

“And, what?”

“And, what are we going to tell them about this?” He waved a hand between us.

“I was going to tell them that you blackmailed me into dating you to get me out of jail.” I gave him my sauciest grin. “Why, what were you going to tell them?”

“That you promised to rub my feet every day for a month if I’d pretend to be your boyfriend.”

My heart skipped a beat at the word
boyfriend
, panicking a bit more than I’d expected.

“Breathe, Tuesday. It’s just a status, not a prison sentence.”

“Right. Sorry.” I snuck a look at Max trying not to look hurt. “No. Really. I’m sorry. I’ve tossed my whole plan away and it takes some getting used to. But, this is…good. This is really good.”

“Whatever you say.”

Because that was probably the only time I’d ever hear him say that, I just smiled and soaked it in. And planned to spend the next lifetime dreaming of kittens.

~~*~~

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Thanks for reading
Worth the Fall.
If you want to learn more about Abby, John, Sarah, and the Brew Ha Ha ridiculousness, check out The Last Single Girl, where Mr. Right may not be the one with the shiniest online profile. 

Go back to where it all starts with THE LAST SINGLE GIRL.

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~~*~~

Caitie Quinn writes sweet and sassy rom coms because if you can’t laugh in love…when can you? Check out her non-story ramblings
HERE
.
 

~~*~~

Check out an unproofed excerpt of THE CATCHING KIND, the next in the Brew Ha Ha series, below.

THE CATCHING KIND

ONE

My love-hate relationship with deadlines was coming back to bite me on my yoga pants covered butt.

Well, that and the fact that Catherine Sutter was the world’s most clever puppet master.

I'd bought into her hype. Again
. Come into the office, Hailey. We'll have a lovely lunch brought in. Toss some ideas around for the next series. We need to submit a new book proposal to make sure we maximize your exposure.

You'd think after being represented by the woman for six years, I’d have known better.
 

I blame Deadline Brain for not seeing the trap before I walked into it.

Instead, I blithely took a cab downtown and headed toward the old art deco building my agent practiced world domination from. I'd always loved going into the office. It made me feel like a professional.
 
Like I was a grown up, not just a girl scribbling stories in math class. Not that I was going to buy a power suit for a once-a-year get together. Even without the suit, I was feeling pretty darn good. My story was coming together and I was going to hit my deadline. Life was good.

But there was nothing like another woman to completely deflate an ego.

I was almost to the entry when I saw her through the tall, glass door walking toward me—the kind of woman who put the other 99.9% of us to shame. Usually I lucked out and didn't bump into any of the beauties who sashayed in and out of the fourth floor modeling offices. But every once in a while I was
blessed
to get to walk by perfection.

Three steps from the door, a large mass of man rushed past me to grab the handle, his frame blocking the gorgeousness-in-motion for just a moment before he stepped aside to let her by.
 

She slowed down, allowing him a heartbeat to give her a once over, and flashed him a smile that would have lured Ulysses from his ship.

"Thank you." Even her accent sounded expensive.

"My pleasure."
 

He turned, watching her strut down the street, a little extra sway in her hips that could
not
be natural. Then, without so much as a glance down at my five-foot-five self, he stepped into the lobby and dropped the door shut behind him.

Class act.

I tugged the door open and made my way to the front desk hoping Frank would just note my arrival in the book and wave me by.

Instead, there was Mr. Door Dropper surrounded by every security guy who ever worked in the building. The level of excitement was too high to write off. He obviously wasn't going to the fourth floor because there's no way Frank and his crew would care about a male model.

That left the finance group on five and six, the marketing group on eight, the mysterious no-one-knows-what-they-do-but-everyone-wears-suits group on three, and the property management company on two...and my literary agency on seven.

By his physique, the chances of him sitting for hours a day seemed fairly slim. Plus, Catherine was pretty good at keeping us up-to-date on new authors. She liked making one of her interns send out an agency newsletter monthly. None of those updates included anyone who worked security guards into a frenzy.

No. This six-foot, slim-build, broad-shouldered, arrogant half-blind dropper of doors, ignorner of the average couldn't be going to floor seven. That was my floor and I didn't plan on sharing it with him.

Hoping to not have to share the elevator with him as well, I snuck around the back of the group and signed in before heading toward the brass-trimmed elevator doors at the back.

"Ms. Tate!"
 

Busted. I stopped, smiling as I turned. It wasn't Frank's fault they'd all been blinded by whatever charm this man had pulled out.
 

"Frank. How are you?"
 

"You were just going to sneak by. Shame on you, Ms. Tate." He smiled, shaking his head as he made his way across the slick-shined checkered tiled floor. "I wanted to thank you for the book basket. It raised quite a sum at the school's fundraiser and made my granddaughter the envy of her girlfriends."

"No problem.” I smiled knowing my basket probably brought in about ten bucks. “I'm glad to help. Did they get their new computers?"

Every time I spoke at a school, I wished writers made more. I wished time wasn't the only thing I could give the kids in the school systems our taxes seemed to forget.

"They did. Three brand new ones sitting right there in the library. My Becky got to be one of the first students to try them out because of your donation. It meant a lot to us to see her that excited about school on a Monday morning."

I pressed the up button again and waited.

"I'm so glad." I glanced back at the group, wishing for a magic elevator. "I signed in. I'm just going to head up. You know how Catherine is if you're not on her time schedule."

 
"Isn't that the truth? That Ms. Sutter. Always on the go. I don't know how her new assistant keeps up with her."

The elevator door slid open with a chime, I thanked Frank, and stepped in, glad to slip away from the guy-scene going on. I'm sure whoever he was, he was very important to middle-aged men.

I, not being middle-aged or a guy, couldn't have cared much less.

Frank gave me a little wave as the doors started toward one another.

And then I heard it.

"Hold the door!"

I reached for the close-door button, hoping it would rush the process, but Frank, kind man that he was, stuck his hand between the rubber bumpers and forced them back open.

"Thanks." The tall, shaggy-headed blond stepped into view, his gaze crashing into mine for less than a moment.

Connor Ryan
. No wonder. Now the super model
and
the middle-aged men made sense.
 

I was probably going to end up in a tabloid just by being on the same block with him, let alone sharing an elevator. Of course, that brought marketing on floor eight and modeling on floor four back into play.

I glanced at my watch, wondering why he was holding the doors open and not stepping in. His gaze stayed glued to the front of the building and his feet firmly planted on the floor outside the elevator.

"Excuse me."

Connor Ryan glanced in and down at me with a look that said he was more curious about what I was doing interrupting his standing around than he was in what I was going to say.

"I have a meeting I'm trying to get to."

I'd hoped he'd let the doors shut, but I'd already lost his attention as his gaze turned back toward the lobby. I got a vague, distant
Uh-huh
in response.

"So, if you could just let the doors go, I'll be all set."

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah. Not really a yes-or-no question,” I pushed.
 
“More of a suggestion."

He glanced back my way, his eyes dropping down to take in my yoga pants and baby tee.

"I'm sure you can wait another moment. You don't look like you're really needed anywhere."

 
I couldn't believe he just said that. It wasn't every day someone was that unkind to me without even knowing me. Or, to be honest, typically even when they knew me.

"That wasn't very nice." The words slipped out, something making me braver than normal...unless you consider the fact that I’d barely whispered them.
 

"Excuse me?" he shifted his body to glare down at me.

I finally seemed to have his full attention.

"That wasn't very nice. You're holding me up for a meeting and instead of just being considerate and taking the next elevator—which would have been back by now—you insult me, my appearance, and my importance...or lack thereof. You don't know me, so I'm pretty sure you're not in a place to make a call on any of those things."

"Sweetheart, I am an
expert
on women's appearance. And, trust me, you are not exactly rocking the important vibe." With a dismissive shake of his head, he turned back to the lobby.

I fought to keep my jaw from dropping as I registered the clipped sound of heels clicking on the tile floor. Connor Ryan's expression had changed from one of rude condescension to pleased appreciation.

Great. More floor four.

"Thank you so much for holding the elevator. I'm almost late for appointment."

"I know the feeling." I'd said it under my breath, but Connor Ryan's hearing must have been worse than his manners.

He angled himself away from me and turned on the charm. "I'd never want to leave a lady in distress."

I may have actually snorted.

"So, why don't you guys finish flirting inside the elevator and we can all get to our appointments."

To be fair, the model gave me a slight smile...or at least, she tilted her head down toward me and smiled while she ogled the guy holding the doors open.

Finally, they both stepped in and turned their backs to me. She pushed a button and they continued flirting in hushed tones until the doors opened again.

She slipped him a card and he leaned out the elevator to watch her long legs strut their way down the hall to the frosted doors of the modeling agency.

I considered pushing him out. Just one big shove and I'd be on my way. My phone read six minutes past and I had no interest in dealing with one of Catherine's Timeliness Lectures. They were bad enough when I was on deadline. When I was just coming by for a lunch and chat, it would be tortuous.

When we got to the seventh floor, I stepped around him, glad to just get out of his arrogance sphere and instead walked straight into his side as he stepped from the elevator.

"You're coming here?" All the shock I felt slipped out with the words.

He glanced down as if he'd forgotten I was there. He probably had. "I'm not sure how that's any of your business."