Hard Sell (21 Wall Street #2)(15)

“How long you gonna be?” Matt asks. “I can wait outside.”

“Monica’s bringing you stuff to try on.”

“I don’t want to try shit on. I have plenty of clothes.”

“You have plenty of suits,” I correct. “Sweaters, though?”

“I’ve got some of those, too. I pay a personal shopper an obscene amount of money so I don’t have to endure this.”

“Endure? Yeah, because sipping Veuve Clicquot with Michael Bublé playing in the background while waiting for someone to bring you clothes is a really tough life.”

“Spare me the pretentious guilt trip. You realize that most people don’t count shopping as work, right?”

I turn toward him and lower my voice. “You’re the one who wanted to tag along, so we may as well get some use out of your crashing my shopping day.”

“How the hell is this going to help my—”

“Matthew. Be quiet and trust me. For the next five minutes, you need to forget that you’re pissy about shopping and pretend to be completely smitten.”

“Smitten with what?”

I exhale through my nose. “With me, you jackass.”

I turn around casually, noting the well-dressed woman on the far side of the shop. She hasn’t seen me, but I saw her the moment we entered.

She’s the reason we’re here.

Time to test Matt Cannon’s acting abilities.

I amble to a center rack with a cold shoulder dress, feigning interest in the gray fabric as I let my gaze scan the room until it lands on the woman in the jeans and red sweater, my eyes going wide as though just seeing her.

“Georgie?” I say, raising my voice slightly to get her attention.

The woman spins around, a wide smile on her face. “Sabrina. Hi, it’s been forever!”

I walk toward her, and though we do the air-kiss thing, it’s the genuine good to see you kind, not the vapid-socialite variety.

“You look amazing,” I say, pulling back and giving her a once-over.

That, too, is genuine. Her long reddish-brown hair falls to her waist in carefree curls, her sweater fitted to a figure that’s healthy without being gym-rat toned, her smile bright and cheerful.

Georgiana Watkins—wait, no, Georgiana Mulroney now—is one of my favorite people in the city. She’s sort of right out of a scene from Gossip Girl but in the best way possible. She’s rich, yes, but also sweet. Relentlessly happy, but in a charming way, not annoying.

“I forgot we both work with Monica,” she says, squeezing my hand. “I came in looking for a pair of black pants, but after trying everything on, I’ll have, like, eight bags. Marly too,” she says, pointing to her BFF, who’s chatting on her cell a few feet away.

I give Marly a friendly wave, and she finger-wiggles back and blows me a kiss.

“You just get here?” Georgie asks.

“Yup, me and—” I glance over my shoulder. “Matt, babe. Come over here a sec!” I call.

His eyes narrow just briefly, and I give him a this is what you’re paying me for smile in return.

“Georgie, do you know Matt Cannon?” I ask, setting my arm on his biceps as he approaches, letting my fingers linger, as though I can’t help myself from touching him. “Matt, this is Georgiana Mulroney.”

She laughs. “Wow, nearly a year after the wedding, and it’s still weird to hear that as my last name. Weird in a wonderful way,” she chirps as she shakes Matt’s hand.

“I actually know Georgie through her husband,” I explain to Matt. “Andrew and I’ve done business together.”

“I always forget he knew you first!” Georgie says. “Andrew’s a divorce attorney,” she explains to Matt. “Somehow I manage to love the cynical guy anyway.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Matt says with an easy smile, his hand finding my waist in a casual, absentminded sort of touch. “Couple guys in my office have hired him.”

Georgie makes a sad noise. “I’m so sorry to hear their marriages didn’t work out.”

Matt blinks and gives me a quick glance that I’m pretty sure translates to, Is she for real?

Yup. That’s Georgie for you—an optimist, true-love enthusiast, and so on. But her Pollyanna outlook on life isn’t why I sought her out. I need her connections.

Monica approaches from the dressing room area and beckons me forward. “Sorry about that, Sabrina, Mr. Cannon. I have two fitting rooms all set up for you.”

“Thanks so much,” Matt says with a cheerful grin.

Hmm, maybe the guy’s better at this than I expected. His rapid transition from the standard man-hates-shopping routine to the easygoing charmer, determined to please his girlfriend, is convincing as hell.

“I’ll get you some champagne refills,” Monica says with a smile. “If you guys want to head on back?”

“Absolutely.” I turn back to Georgie. “It was so good seeing you, hon. We should do dinner soon.”

“I’d love that. I’ll text you some dates.”

“Perfect.”

“Okay, so . . .” Georgie leans in with a conspiratorial smile and lowers her voice, as her eyes deliberately take in Matt’s hand on my waist. “Did I or did I not see you guys here together?”