Josh and Gemma Make a Baby(37)

“Success goes to those brave enough to ask for it. Come to dinner with me tonight.” He takes his fingers from my chin and steps back.

I swallow and try to shake out of my Ian-induced stupor. He gives me a charming, I’m-sorry-for-not-phoning smile.

“So, you had fun in LA?” I ask.

“It would’ve been more fun with you.”

A little bubble of pleasure rises at that and I give him a smile. Ian Fortune, the man I’ve dreamed of for years, wants me.

“Alright. What time?”

He winks. “Not soon enough.”





Ian takes me to the premier sushi restaurant in the city. It’s been written up in all the magazines and is impossible to get a table at.

“Are you trying to butter me up?” I ask. “I already work for you, you know.”

He pours more sake into my hand-painted pottery cup.

“Hmm, so you do,” he says. “How’s the planning coming for the conference?”

“Really well. Really good.”

He uses his chopsticks to pick up another piece of sashimi and pop it in his mouth. I grab a bit of edamame and nibble at it. I already downed two beautifully designed rolls that were more art than food and I’m full.

“The schedule is in place. The speakers are lined up. The sponsors are in order. I’ve launched the pre-sale campaign and tickets are selling-”

Ian leans closer. “Come back to my place.”

My breath catches in my throat and for a moment I can’t think. The noise of the restaurant, the people around us, it all disappears. I know what Ian is asking, I’d have to be a moron not to. I look at his face, the expression in his eyes, and for some reason, my mind flashes to Josh and how he looked sitting next to me on the couch the other night—relaxed, happy, joking.

I hesitate long enough that the expression on Ian’s face shifts and he says more self-consciously, “Too soon?”

I let out a sigh and the rest of the restaurant comes back into focus. “A little. I kind of have a lot going on right now.”

He gestures to our waiter and I hunch my shoulders. Is he seriously going to ask for the bill after being rebuffed? My dream image of Ian Fortune has been permanently destroyed.

“Yes, sir?” the waiter asks.

Ian looks at me and raises an eyebrow. Then, “Could we see the dessert menu?”

I look at him in surprise, and then a smile spreads over my face. He’s not a horrible douche, thank goodness. I can keep my years-long opinion that Ian Fortune is awesome.

I get the soba ice cream and Ian orders the sorbet. When it arrives I let the flavor coat my tongue. Even though I was full, I have a rule, “one is never too full for ice cream.”

As I’m licking the last of the ice cream from my spoon, a glamorous blonde in a tight sliver dress comes up to the table. I assume she wants to speak to Ian, but instead she smiles at me and says in a crisp British accent, “Gemma, darling, is this the FF? You chose well.”

It’s Carly. Holy cow, I didn’t even recognize her. I blush, thinking of the nudie photo I looked up.

“Carly. Hi. Hi.” Then I realize by FF she probably means the fertility fetish. She looks between me and Ian and wags her eyebrows suggestively. Oh no.

“Um. No. Carly this is Ian Fortune, my boss, the world-renowned self-help guru.”

Ian stands and holds out his hand for Carly to shake.

“Ian, this is Carly…” My mind blanks and all I can think of is “sexy nude model that I met in the pink uterus room.”

“Erm. Carly is a former model and my friend.”

“Enchanted,” Ian says.

“A pleasure,” Carly says. She holds her hand out in that delicate non-shake that looks like she wants someone to kiss the back of her palm.

Ian takes it and gives her a suave smile.

Carly winks at me and I can tell she’s having a lot of fun and that everyone is going to hear about this at our next meet-up.

“Are you having dinner?” Ian asks.

“La. We’re finished. I’m here with my husband.” She waves across the restaurant toward a man in his mid-forties. I take a second to study Carly’s kazillionaire. He has brown hair streaked with silver, he’s wearing an expensive business suit and is glowering down at his phone. He’d be handsome if he didn’t look so serious.

“That sounds nice,” I say and look back at Carly.

She lifts one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “It’s Tuesday. We always have sushi on Tuesday. It’s our chef’s day off.” She wrinkles her nose. “Someday, I’m going to ask for a pastrami sandwich.”

Across the restaurant her husband looks up from his phone. He searches the room and when he sees Carly his glower deepens.

“Ah, my husband calls,” she says dryly. “Laters, darling.”

“Bye,” I say. For a moment I watch her elegantly glide across the room. She slides back into her seat and gives her husband a bland smile. He shakes his head and looks back down at his phone.

Ian sits back down at our table. “How do you know her? She looks familiar.”

“Oh. Through a mutual acquaintance,” I say, keeping it vague.

Ian looks back to me. “She’s lovely. But I prefer the woman I’m with.”