Set Up in SoHo (The Matchmaker Chronicles) (16 page)

“You’re carrying a really large chip on your shoulder,” he said, pushing his ice cream away. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I sighed. “I guess I do. Only it usually doesn’t rear its ugly head in quite this vocal a way. It’s just that when I found out who you were I felt like such a hypocrite. I’ve been so angry at Dillon for choosing Diana—the poster child for New York society women. And then at Bethany for her defection.”

“I take it her new boyfriend is
connected
?” He asked, repeating my words, his lips quirking as he tried not to smile.

I nodded. “Michael Stone.”

“He’s a good man.”

“That’s what Bethany said. And I don’t want to be judgmental. But Althea set them up. Which makes it so ... so .. . elitist. And archaic. Like arranged marriages or something.”

“But it’s not like your aunt forced it on Bethany. I mean, her parents didn’t give her an ultimatum, right?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then it’s not really the same thing. Althea just facilitated their meeting. Nothing more.”

“You make it all sound so simple.”

“Well, it is. You’re angry with your aunt. Understandably so. But you’ve let that anger color your opinion of an entire population. Me included.”

“But I explained . . .”

“Yes. You did,” he said, cutting me off with a gentle smile. “And I’m more than aware of how judgmental certain people can be. But I don’t think that’s limited to one stratum of society. And besides, I think you’ve managed to miss one major point. Your grandfather married your grandmother.”

“Yes, of course. He loved her.”

“In spite of her background.”

“Exactly.” I nodded, not certain why he was making my point for me.

“So even though he distrusted the upper classes, and was disgusted by your great-grandfather’s behavior, he still loved your grandmother enough to risk marrying her. Heritage and all.”

“You’re saying it’s about the individual. And I agree with that. But that’s simply not the prevalent attitude among the Upper East Side ladies who lunch.”

“But you’re not going out with them. You’re going out with me. And so all that matters is what we think. And I, for one, am willing to overlook your somewhat anarchical point of view because, regardless of your opinion of our relatives, or maybe because of it, I find you fascinating.”

“I . . . um ... I ... I don’t quite know what to say,” I stammered, for once at a total loss for words. No one had ever called me fascinating. Ever.

“Say that you’ll go out with me again.”

“I will.” And I was surprised to find that I really meant it. Whatever else Ethan McCay was, he was intriguing as hell. “In fact, if you’re up for it, you can come to a dinner party I’m having. That’s why I’m working on the agnolotti. It’s for Bethany and Michael. The party, not the pasta. So that he can meet her friends. Anyway, I’d love it if you’d come.”

“When is it?”

“Oh, right,” I said, shaking my head at my own ineptness. “This Saturday. Seven o’clock. My apartment.”

“I’d be honored.”

I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, surprised at just how very much I’d wanted him to say yes. “Good,” I said, “that’s settled then.” I stared down at my hands for a moment. And then at my dog, still nestled in Ethan’s lap. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re anything at all like them.”

“The ladies who lunch?” he said with an exaggerated shiver. “I certainly hope not. Look, I’ve had my share of run-ins with them. So I can’t say that I don’t understand at least a little of what you’re saying. But as I said, I think to ostracize an entire social class for the sins of a very unenlightened few might be cutting off your nose, so to speak.”

“At least when it comes to the two of us,” I said.

“Just at the moment,” he shrugged, with a crooked smile, “I think that’s all that matters.”

Chapter 12

“I can't believe how stupid I was. You should have heard me carrying on like a crazy woman.” I sighed, sorting through bunches of parsley until I found one that seemed really fresh.

The Union Square Greenmarket was one of the best places in the city to find produce, bread, cheeses, and even fish. The long-running farmers’ market, a favorite of local chefs, was bustling even this early in the morning. I’d risen with the birds, so to speak, to score the freshest food for my party. And Clinton, not really a morning person, had thankfully agreed to come along.

“I can understand the reaction,” he said as I sniffed tomatoes. “It’s sort of a hot button with you. But it sounds to me like Ethan more or less took it in stride.”

“Well, he agreed to come to the party. I suppose that’s a good sign.”

“I’d say so. And in some ways I think it’s just as well that you got it all out. At least now he knows where you’re coming from.”

“But this can never work, Clinton. Can you imagine me getting serious about a Mathias?”

“Andi, you’re not interested in ‘a Mathias.’ You’re interested in Ethan.”

“Yes, but if I got really serious about him, it would have to involve the whole family. I mean, ultimately, they could wind up being my in-laws. Can you imagine?”

“Don’t hit me,” he said, lifting his arms in mock defense, “but I can, actually.”

“Clinton.”

“Andi,” he retorted with a shake of his head. “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself?”

“I suppose so. You know I always overanalyze everything."

"Well, stop it,” he said. “For the moment why don’t you just sit back and enjoy the ride?”

“Because I just went through a breakup and I don’t want to set myself up for another.”

“Again, you’re borrowing problems you don’t have.”

“I know. And I don’t mean to. Honestly, I don’t. It’s just that if I’d known who he was when I first met him, I’d never have agreed to go out with him.”

“So maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t know. Sometimes fate steps in when you least expect it. Maybe Dillon met Diana just so you could find Ethan.”

I paid for the parsley and tomatoes and we made our way between vendor stalls to my favorite baker. “Well, as lovely as that sounds, I hardly think Dillon was trying to do me a favor.”

“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that sometimes we’re so caught up in the small dramas we miss the bigger picture."

"Focaccia, please,” I said, pointing to a stack of loaves.

“I think the peasant loaf would be better,” Clinton observed. “You’re using it for bruschetta, no?”

“Yes. And I always use foccacia.”

“Well, I think the density is better with the rustic round,” he said as the vendor suppressed a smile.

“Fine,” I said with a wave of my hand. “I’ll take the peasant loaf.” I’d learned long ago never to argue with Clinton when it came to food. He could be quite dogged in his opinions—and besides, he was usually right.

“Look,” he said, continuing the conversation, “I totally understand your disdain for people who are quick to judge.” Clinton was one of those people that sort of just sprang fully formed from the creative well of Manhattan. He never talked about where he’d come from, insisting instead that he had all the family he needed right here in Manhattan. Considering that I’d spent most of my childhood wishing that my relatives would be voted off the island, I could totally understand the sentiment. “But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t good people out there with sizable bank accounts and impressive social standing.”

“That’s what Ethan said, more or less.”

“Smart man. Face it, the Mathiases might just be the exception to the rule.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I’ve worked on several charity events with Ethan’s grandmother. And I’ve done business with his father and grandfather over the years. Walter Mathias’s company even invested in one of my early restaurants. So maybe you’re the one being too quick to judge?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” I laughed.

“So you’ll give Ethan a chance?”

“Yes. I said I would. Besides, how can I not?” I smiled. “Bentley adores him.”

“From the mouths of canines... or something,” Clinton said as we stopped to buy some fresh mozzarella.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

We turned to find Cassie, briefcase in tow, standing just beyond the cheese stand. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Cassie in anything but a business suit. Even on the weekends. She’s just one of those people who is more at home at work. If that makes any sense.

“What are you doing here?” Clinton asked, clearly as surprised as I was. “You don’t cook.”

“I eat. And that’s almost the same,” she said with a shrug. “But actually, I came to find you two.”

“How did you know we’d be here?”

“You’re having a party tonight. And you weren’t home. So it followed that you’d be here.”

“I didn’t realize I was so predictable,” I protested, not liking the implication at all.

“You’re not. Really,” Cassie soothed. “It was just an educated guess.”

“Not that we’re not happy to see you,” Clinton said, “but you could have called.” He patted his cell phone in testament to the fact.

“Yes, but that would have spoiled the fun.” Cassie’s smile assumed Cheshire proportions. “So aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?”

“You suddenly had a yen to help with the party preparations?” Clinton teased.

“Right. And pigs are delivering the Post. No. I heard from Monica Sinclair.”

“And ...” I prompted, my heart rate ratcheting up a notch or three.

“She’s gotten us a meeting with DuBois. Says he’s interested. Of course, it’s not a done deal, but it’s definitely a step forward.”

“Oh my gosh, this is fabulous,” I gushed, my heart still beating three to a bar.

“I knew it was going to work out,” Clinton said, raising a triumphant fist. “Prime time, here we come.”

“Not so fast,” Cassie warned. “DuBois has granted us an audience, but we’ve still got to convince him to come on the show.”

“Yes, but getting in to see him was half the battle,” Clinton said. “I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

“When’s the meeting?” I asked.

“Next week. She’s going to call with the exact time and place once she confirms everything with Philip. In the meantime, we’ve got to plan our attack. Figure out exactly the approach we want to take with DuBois.”

“Not today,” Clinton said. “Andi’s got too much to do as it is.” I shot him a grateful smile. As I said, Cassie tends toward all business all the time. “And besides, Andi seems to have nailed it the first go-round. I say our best bet is for her to deal with DuBois one on one.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Cassie agreed, “but there are still things we need to talk about. Anyway, I can’t do it today, either. I’ve got a meeting with the network this afternoon.”

“On Saturday?”

“Jameson Dinwiddy is in from Dallas and this was the only time he could meet.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I want to be sure we’ve hammered out the specifics of what we’ll be offering DuBois. As well as what’s expected of him in return. That way I’ll be able to guarantee network approval at our meeting, which means that if we can convince DuBois to sign on, it’ll pretty much be a done deal.”

“You’re still coming to the party, right?” I asked. Cassie was notorious for last-minute cancellations. Blame it on her aforementioned workaholic tendencies.

“Absolutely, I wouldn’t miss it. Don’t worry, I’ll be finished with the network in plenty of time.”

“Good, we’ll celebrate,” Clinton said.

“Or at least drink to the possibility that we might just pull this off,” Cassie corrected.

“Either way, it’s all good.” I smiled.

A few hours later, I’d finished my shopping and was heading upstairs to my apartment thinking that really my life had pretty much done a one-eighty since the night I’d fallen in the cellar. I’d managed to parlay a chance at prime time into a real opportunity, I’d met a really amazing guy, he was actually interested in me—despite my mouth—and I had a whole afternoon of cooking ahead of me. Totally my idea of paradise.

Things were definitely looking up.

I slipped my key into the door and, balancing my grocery bags, stepped inside.

“Andrea, where have you been?”

I dropped two of my bags, and almost had a heart attack. So much for things getting better. “Althea,” I rasped, kneeling to pick up the fallen produce, as Bentley tried to beat me to the prize. “You scared the life out of me. How did you get in here? I’ve got new locks.”

“Ah, but you hide your spare key in the same place as always,” she said, lifting the pink and gold owl key ring for effect. “Not a good idea if you’re trying to keep someone out.”

No shit. Note to self: move key.

“So how long have you been here?” I asked, still juggling the groceries.

“Not long. Maybe half an hour.”

I shot a surreptitious look around the apartment, relieved to see no signs of obvious pillaging. Althea has never been good at recognizing personal boundaries. Especially mine.

“I thought maybe something had happened to you,” she said, with just a hint of condemnation. “I’ve been calling for days.” I knew that, of course, but I wasn’t about to admit that I’d been screening my calls.

“I’ve been really busy. With the show and the dinner party.” I pointed at the bags, now safely sitting on the counter.

“Oh, that’s right,” she said, “for Bethany and Michael. What a lovely idea. Especially considering how much you despise the circumstances that brought them together.”

“You mean you,” I said, not willing to pull any punches.

She shrugged. “Although I can’t understand why you’d begrudge Bethany her happiness just because it originated with a matchmaker.”

“It’s not just any matchmaker,” I said, trying to maintain my calm. “It’s you.”

“Well, anyway,” she said with an imperious wave of her hand. “I think it’s lovely.”

“Your meddling?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Your party.”

“Well, I’m glad you approve.” Sarcasm was not so easy to control.

“And I’m glad you’re okay. You are okay?”

“I’m fine. In fact, I just had really good news. It looks like I might score an interview with Philip DuBois. Which could mean a prime time slot for the show.”