Heart Stopper (Dating In The City #2)

CHAPTER ONE

Well? Are you gonna do it? Or are you gonna sit there and stare at it?”

I know I shouldn’t since this is an important moment and my best friend is already annoyed with me for hemming and hawing and doing anything I can to avoid what needs to happen.

But I can’t help it.

“That’s what she said,” I quip, chuckling at my own rather lame and outdated joke.

Hayley merely rolls her eyes. “I knew you were going to say that as soon as the words were out of my mouth.”

And why not? We’ve known each other for years. She’s the sister I never had.

Because she’s known me for so long, she knows too well what’s going on here. I can’t hide much from her.

“You’re stalling.”

“Am not.” Why don’t I fold my arms and stick out my tongue while I’m at it? Maybe I can threaten to hold my breath until I get my way. That would be super mature.

“Are too.” She taps the device sitting between us in the center of the table. “All you have to do is activate the spinner and let it tell you who you’re gonna date next. It’s pretty simple.”

Pretty simple. Easy for her to say.

Ever since my editor informed me of my tanking book sales and basically dumped all over my writing style, life has been …

interesting. It was Hayley who came up with the idea for this spinner thingy she created, where all I have to do is take a spin and let fate decide the trope I’ll be tackling in my next book.

Only it’s not so simple. I’ll be seeking out and dating the type of man indicated by the spinning wheel. Because I love to torture myself.

“You know you need to get started on a new book.”

At least she sounds mildly sympathetic and concerned. She isn’t all but prostituting me, the way my editor would gladly do. Maggie even recommended I participate in a three-way, for Pete’s sake. I mean, there’s plenty I’m willing to do for my art and my career, but a girl’s got to have limits.

“Yeah, I know that,” I mutter in spite of her attempts at being kind.

“I can hear the clock ticking in my head all the time. Tick-tock, Kitty Valentine. Your career’s going down the flusher if you don’t spin up a new story—and fast!

” If we weren’t in public, I’d fold my arms on top of the high-top table and bury my head in them.

Actually, that sounds pretty good. I think I’ll do that.

“Get up,” Hayley groans, shoving my shoulder just a little. “Now’s not the time for drama. Now’s the time for taking a chance, having a little fun. This is only the first step.”

The thing is, it’s not like I’ve never done this before.

My latest book, cleverly titled Her Billionaire Boss—really, couldn’t Maggie have come up with something better than that?

—is based loosely upon the semi-relationship I had with my actual boss, Blake Marlin.

The spinner led me to him—or at least to the boss trope.

It just so happens my boss is a billionaire. I killed two tropes with one stone—or something like that.

All joking aside, the time I spent with Blake was invaluable.

No way would I have known how to describe the inside of a private jet or the sort of restaurants he took me to without having spent time with him.

I would never have imagined flying halfway across the country just for dinner or making a phone call and coming up with the most incredible seats to a show that’d been sold out since the day tickets first went on sale.

I would also not have imagined how punishing that life could be for a man without a sense of work-life balance.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have so much as a scrap of that balance myself.

I’m the queen of working until all hours, foregoing sleep and personal hygiene in the face of a looming deadline.

But I’m not a media mogul either. I don’t have assistants calling me at all hours of the day and night. I can go to a show or dinner without having it interrupted by some emergency or another.

What’s the point of having all that money and freedom if it can’t be enjoyed?

Which is a big part of what broke us up.

Now, I have to put myself through it again?

“You’re not the one who’s going through this,” I have no choice but to remind Hayley. “You’re not the one who has to meet these men and get to know them and maybe care for them a lot, only to leave them, so you can move on to the next one.”

Rather than offering sympathy, she tosses her ridiculously glossy blonde hair over her shoulders and fixes me with a knowing look. “Listen, you know I love you.”

“You sure sound like it right now.”

“I do, and what I’m about to say comes from a place of love.” She folds her hands on the table. “You’re taking this too seriously.”

That gets a laugh out of me, though there isn’t exactly any humor in it. “Uh, okay. Thanks for that brilliant legal assessment.”

“I’ll let that one slide since you’re feeling some type of way. This doesn’t have to be as fraught with emotion as you’re making it out to be. Okay, so you fell a little too hard for Blake. Lesson learned. You can’t let yourself get all mixed up in your feelings this time around.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Maybe you’ll get lucky, and this next guy will be a real jerk you couldn’t possibly fall in love with.” She shrugs before signaling for another round of drinks.

It’s happy hour, meaning the bar is packed with young business types just getting off work for the day. Considering how desperate they all seem for a drink, I’m glad I don’t work in a stressful office.

Though my work can be stressful enough. There’s a reason so many infamous writers also happened to be alcoholics.

“I don’t want to end up hurting again, is all. You know how much I liked Blake. It’s only been a month since we broke things off.”

“You didn’t even sleep with him.”

“So? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I’m just saying, I could see catching feelings if you had gone all the way.”

“Gone all the way? What is this? A teen movie from the eighties?” I snort.

“Fucked, okay? You didn’t fuck him.”

Needless to say, several pairs of eyes turn our way.

“Not that he didn’t want to,” I explain to these random strangers. “Because he did. He super did. We were totally gonna … bone.”

“Oh my God,” Hayley groans, picking up her fresh martini and downing half of it in one gulp.

“Anyway, I don’t see what that has to do with it,” I whisper once everybody goes back to minding their own darn business. “You can have feelings for somebody without doing it.”

“I’m only trying to give you a little perspective, okay? That’s all. You take life too seriously.”

“Says the lawyer.”

“Stop wasting time. Spin the damn thing and get this over with. You’re killing me with all this procrastination.”

Call me childish, but the fact that she’s so dead set on me doing it makes me even more determined to dig my heels in and refuse. Only she has a point—okay, many good points—and the thought that Maggie will straight-up murder me if I don’t start producing more work gets me to spin.

“Finally,” Hayley sighs. “What’s it gonna be? Sexy firefighter? Sexy single daddy? Sexy Santa?”

“Will you lay off the Santa idea?” I laugh. “Besides, it’s not the right time of year for that.”

“What can I say? I have a thing for sitting on guys’ laps.

” She says it just loudly enough to attract attention from a twenty-something with a killer smile and a custom suit, who’s been hovering nearby throughout our conversation.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she warns him when he sidles up next to her, which is enough to shoo him away.

“You’re too good at that,” I marvel.

She’s had practice. The girl attracts men like bees to honey.

“Ooh! Doctor!” she gasps, clapping ecstatically. “How exciting!”

“A doctor? How am I supposed to find a doctor to date?” I ask in despair. “What, do I fake an injury and go to the ER?”

“You could do worse.” She shrugs. “And knowing you and your clumsiness, it probably won’t take long for a real injury to send you there.”

“Sometimes, I wonder if you even like me,” I sigh.

“I do. I love you.” Even though she kicks me under the table when she says it, I believe her. She didn’t kick all that hard. It was more of a loving nudge. “I’m only trying to add a little levity. As for how to find one …”

She taps her chin, looking up at the ceiling while I start in on the drink, which has been sitting untouched all this time.

After drinking way too much and throwing up in my hot neighbor’s apartment, I’ve been playing it cool with the booze.

Not that I’m a big drinker, which is probably why it didn’t take all that much to get me to that awful state.

“Duh!” She smacks the table with both hands. “A dating profile. You can set one up and look for doctors in the city who are single and interested in dating.”

Here’s the thing: I’m a writer. A darn good one. Four number-one best sellers can’t be wrong.

But that’s not the same as writing about myself.

“I’ve never written one of those before,” I admit, playing with my glass. “I mean, how do I make myself look datable?”

“Uh, put a picture of yourself on the Internet and say, I’m available, babe.” She grins. “They’ll come running.”

“Will not,” I scoff.

“Yeah, they will. And if your gorgeous face doesn’t do it, there’s always the fact that you’re a successful author. A career woman with her act together.”

“Great. Now, I have to get my act together too?” I groan.

“No,” she assures me, shaking her head. “Just pretend to. All you have to do is attract a likely candidate and get him on the hook, and then you’re golden.”

“You could have at least humored me and said I already had my act together.” I pout.

She reaches across the table, taking my hand. “Honey,” she murmurs, looking me straight in the eye, “we both know you don’t.”

“I can always count on you.” I smile.