Passion on Park Avenue (Central Park Pact #1)(11)

Audrey smiled. “No, it’s our mistake. Claire and I thought it would be fun to surprise—”

“You thought,” Claire muttered. “I thought we should call first.”

Audrey waved this aside. “Champagne needs no appointment. We thought some bubbly might make packing go a little easier.”

“And cupcakes,” Claire said, holding up the box. “I was going to make muffins, but Audrey made me buy cupcakes.”

“Noooo, I made you buy muffins with frosting on them,” Audrey argued.

Dylan looked at Naomi. “Damn. Champagne and cupcakes. Two things no man will ever be able to compete with. I’ll take off, but I’m holding you to that dinner date.”

Naomi saw Claire and Audrey perk up, and her friends give Dylan a closer look. Curious on Audrey’s side, skeptical on Claire’s.

She let out the slightest sigh at Dylan’s use of the word date, but manners dictated that she give a perfunctory introduction. “Dylan Day, this is Audrey Tate and Claire Hayes. Ladies, Dylan.”

“You’re in the accessory business?” Claire asked politely.

Dylan shook his head. “Nope. I’m a TV producer, trying to woo your girl here into letting me take her from semi-famous to super-famous.”

“Huh.” Claire looked unimpressed.

“How do you two know Naomi?” Dylan asked. “Maybe there’s room for your story in the movie. A guy can hope, anyway.”

“Yeah, no. Big no. My friends are off-limits,” Naomi said before Claire or Audrey could reply. She stepped forward and gestured pointedly toward the door.

He took his dismissal gracefully. “Until our date.”

“Our business meeting,” Naomi corrected.

“Sure,” Dylan said with a wink.

“Ladies.” He nodded farewell at Audrey and Claire.

Her friends managed to hold their tongues until she’d closed the office door. Audrey’s brown eyes were wide with curiosity, Claire’s hazel ones narrowed in suspicion.

“That was the big-time television producer you’ve been avoiding?” Audrey said.

“Yup.” Naomi pulled her hair into a messy bun. “I thought he’d given up, but he’s more persistent than I expected.”

“He was super flirty,” Audrey said.

“He was, wasn’t he?” Naomi mused thoughtfully, glancing through the glass walls at Dylan’s retreating back.

“You can’t be serious,” Claire said.

“Why not? He’s cute,” Naomi said, reaching out and pulling the box of cupcakes from Claire’s hands and taking it to the desk, where she rummaged through the mess and pulled out a stack of napkins.

“What. You don’t think he was cute?” She paused in the process of peeling the wrapper off the cupcake.”

“He was,” Audrey said hesitantly. “But . . .” She looked at Claire for help.

Claire didn’t mince her words. “He’s a Brayden.”

“Nope.” Naomi shook her head and wiped frosting off her lip. “He’s not married. I asked.”

“Yeah, because guys like that always tell the truth.”

“Guys like what?” Naomi asked with just the slightest edge in her voice. “You met him for seven seconds.”

“And you met him for what, ten? And you’ve got a date set up.”

Exasperated, Naomi looked toward Audrey for an ally. “Dylan did not give off Brayden vibes. Did he?”

Audrey hesitated. “It’s hard to know. I mean, he seemed nice, but so did Brayden . . .”

“Why are we even talking about this?” Naomi said, shoving the rest of her cupcake in her mouth. “He’s just some guy.”

“Maybe,” Claire said, her tone gentler than before. “But let’s not forget how we first met—why we first became friends. I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I didn’t tell you that guy wants to jump your bones. Which I would have no problem with if he weren’t also trying to get you to sign a contract to turn your life story into a TV show.”

“She’s right, sweetie,” Audrey said with a sympathetic smile. “Maybe he’s a super-nice guy, but we’re just saying be careful, okay? Make sure he’s not using all that yummy charm to get what he wants.”

Naomi sighed. They weren’t wrong. If there was a line between professional and smarmy, Dylan Day walked it.

“I’ll be careful,” she said dutifully.

“Good,” Audrey said with a nod. “And now, I have to say, Naomi, your office is exactly how I imagined it.”

“What, a hot mess?” Naomi asked, debating another cupcake but deciding against it.

“No, I mean it’s so what a New York fashion entrepreneur’s office should be,” Audrey proclaimed. “You look like you belong here.”

Naomi supposed she knew exactly what Audrey meant, because the moving clutter aside, it was exactly what Naomi herself had envisioned the space to be. It had gloriously beat-up wood floors and exterior brick walls that looked like they’d been around for centuries. The only modern thing about the place was the Wi-Fi and glass walls, which she’d selected mainly to ensure that those employees working in the bull pen at the center of the office could still enjoy the same natural light as the offices around the edges.