“I hope you don't mind my calling you,” he apologized smoothly. “I got your number from Marjorie Fleischmann, who got it from her mother-in-law. Rather a circuitous route, but apparently effective. How are you, Cinderella?”
“Fine.” She laughed at him, impressed by the effort he'd put into locating her, and wondering why he had bothered. She hadn't been all that friendly, in spite of the dance they'd shared. “We've been busy. We had a lot of cleaning up to do today. And I nearly delivered a baby on the way home from the party the other night.” She told him about Jane, and he sounded amused. And then she waited to hear the reason why he had called her. Maybe he wanted to give a party himself.
“I thought we might have lunch tomorrow. How does that sound to you, Paris?” Silly was the first word that came to mind, but she didn't say it. And why was the second. She was definitely not in the right mind-set for dating. It was the last thing she wanted.
“That's very nice of you, Chandler.” She remembered his name. And she didn't want to have lunch with him. “I don't usually go to lunch. We're awfully busy.”
“Your blood sugar will plummet if you don't. We'll make it a quick one.” He was not in the habit of taking no for an answer. And he didn't intend to in this case. He was so forthright that she didn't know what to say to him, other than to be rude, which didn't seem appropriate either. He was a perfectly nice man.
“Well, very quick then,” she conceded, and then was annoyed at herself for being pushed into a lunch she didn't want to go to, with a man she didn't know. “Where shall I meet you?” She was going to make it in and out and businesslike, no matter what he had in mind.
“I'll pick you up at your office at noon. And I promise I'll have you back in an hour.”
“It'll be easier if I meet you,” she insisted stubbornly. “I don't know where I'll be in the morning.”
“Don't worry about it. I'll pick you up. That way you don't need to worry if you're late. I can return calls from my car while I wait.” It was exactly what she didn't want, to drive off with a total stranger in his car. “See you at noon, Cinderella,” he said blithely, and hung up as she sat at her desk and stewed as Bix walked in.
“Something wrong?” he asked as he saw the expression on her face.
“I just did something really stupid,” she said, annoyed at herself. The man on the phone had been in complete control.
“Did you hang up on a client?” he asked with a blank expression. He couldn't imagine what it was.
“Nothing like that,” she reassured him. She had already thanked him for brunch the previous day, and told him how much she had enjoyed meeting Steven Ward, and what a nice man he was. Bix had been pleased. He wanted the three of them to be friends. “I let some guy talk me into having lunch with him, and I didn't even want to. But before I knew it, he had spun me around and told me he'd pick me up at noon.” Bix smiled.
“Anyone I know? The guy at the Fleischmanns' anniversary party?”
“How did you know?” She looked surprised.
“I figured he'd call. That type usually does. What's his name again?”
“Chandler Freeman. He's an associate of Oscar Fleischmann Jr. I don't know what he does.”
“I've read about him here and there. Sounds like a professional dater to me. Buyer beware.”
“What does that mean?” She was an innocent lost in the woods of a brave new world.
“It's a particular breed. Some of them have never married, others have had ugly divorces that cost them a lot of money, from women they hated anyway. They have a chip on their shoulder as a rule. And for the rest of time, they date and they date and they date and they date, and tell everyone what a bitch their ex-wife was. And according to them, the reason they never remarried is because they haven't found 'the right woman' yet. And the key is they never will. They don't want to. They just want to date. To them, temps are more fun.”
“Well, that certainly takes care of them,” Paris said with a broad smile. “I'll see how much he'll tell me about his history, and I'll let you know if any of it matches up.”
“Unfortunately, it probably will.” Bix felt sorry for her. Dating was something he hoped never to have to do again. Gay or straight.
“Do you mind if I go out to lunch tomorrow?” she asked him as an afterthought, and he laughed.
“Do you want me to say yes?”
“More or less.” She wasn't entirely sure. He had been a good-looking man, seemed like fun, and it was only lunch, she told herself.
“Go. You'll have fun. You have to get your feet wet. He looks like a decent guy.”
“Even if he's a professional dater?”
“So what? It's not marriage. It's lunch. You'll be safe. It's good practice for you.”
“For what?”
“The real world,” he said honestly. “You're going to have to get out there one of these days. You can't stay home forever. You're the kind of woman who deserves to have a good man in your life, Paris. And you aren't going to find one if you don't go out.”
“I thought I had one,” she said sadly, and Bix nodded.
“It turned out he wasn't as good as you thought.”
“I guess not.”
Half an hour later he showed her a four-foot white teddy bear made of roses that he was sending to Jane, and it was so spectacular it took Paris's breath away. “How on earth did you do that?”
“I didn't. I designed it. Hiroko did the rest. Cute, don't you think?” He was proud of it, and pleased that Paris liked it too.
“It's incredible. She's going to fall in love with it.” He took it back downstairs to the shop at street level and sent it off to Jane with a note, which reminded Paris that she wanted to get a baby present for her, maybe over the weekend, when she had time, if she did. She had to work one of the Valentine's Day parties, but she was free for most of the day before that. She couldn't believe how busy her life had gotten in barely more than a week. And she said as much to Anne Smythe when she called her that night when she got home. They had to do their sessions now at night or on weekends, in spite of the time difference, and Anne said she didn't mind. She was happy to hear from her, and delighted that things were going so well. They had already agreed to reduce their sessions to once a week. Paris didn't have time for more. Except, in an emergency, she knew she could always call.
She told Anne she was having lunch with Chandler the next day, and what Bix had said about him, about being a professional dater possibly.
“Keep an open mind,” Anne reminded her. “You might have fun. And even if he's a ‘professional dater,’ as Bix says, he might be an interesting person to know. You were going to meet people, remember. You don't have to love them all. He might introduce you to a whole circle of his friends.” It was a good point. She was starting from scratch, and she had known when she left Greenwich that it would be hard work. This was only the beginning.
At five minutes before noon the next day, Paris heard a roar beneath her office window, and when she looked down, she saw that it was a silver Ferrari. And seconds later she saw Chandler Freeman get out in a blazer, gray slacks, blue shirt, and yellow tie. It looked like Hermès. He looked very chic, and extremely prosperous. He rang the bell, came upstairs, and a moment later, was standing in front of her desk, with a dazzling smile.
“I'm very impressed. This is quite an office.”
“Thank you. I've only worked here for about five minutes.” She didn't want to take credit for it. Bix had done all the decoration himself.
“How so?”
“I moved out from Greenwich, Connecticut, less than two weeks ago. This is only my second week in the
job.”
“You look like you've been here forever.”
“Thank you.” She smiled.
“Shall we go?” he said with a wide smile. He had perfect teeth, and looked like a toothpaste ad on TV. He was an incredibly good-looking man. It was impossible not to notice, and she felt flattered somehow that he was taking her out.