Can I See You Again? Read Online Free

until the release?”
    â€œMy book? Six weeks. October eleventh, to be exact.”
    â€œClaiming your spot?” He nods toward the bestseller Web page.
    â€œOh, no.” I feel my cheeks blush. “I . . . no . . . I don’t expect to make
the list
. Heck, I’m thrilled just to get my book published. The
Times
is something my grandmother and I follow. We keep tabs on the big guys.”
    â€œWell, good.” He points at the screen. “Because that list isn’t the only threshold of success. Be proud of your accomplishment. I am.”
    He is?
“Um . . . thanks, Nixon, that’s very sweet.” I reach for my pencil again.
    â€œSo, you’ll find me the right woman?”
    â€œYou know what they say, twelfth time’s the charm.”
    â€œSounds good. See you later.”
    â€œGod, that man is highly attractive,” Andrew says, joining me at my desk. “One of those silent but deadly types.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œYou know, the kinda guy that’s aloof and guarded just enough to be sexy, but not conceited.” He watches Nixon leave. “You don’t see it?”
    I follow his gaze, stifling a laugh.
Yeah, I see it.
    The paper clip is stuck to Nixon’s butt.
    That’s what he gets for calling me old.

two
    I work through lunch interviewing prospective new clients. The one that looked to “bump uglies with a banging chick” was shown the door. I pay my electric and credit card bills online, order a sugar-pearl KitchenAid mixer off Bed Bath & Beyond’s wedding registry for one of my soon-to-be-married couples, then type a quick e-mail reminding a client with a date tonight not to drink too much Pinot Grigio and mount the bronze horse outside P. F. Chang’s. Like last time.
    â€œAndrew?” I glance in his direction. “Bring the profiles, will you?”
    A moment later, he sinks into the chair, then opens his laptop on my desk’s edge.
    When I hired Andrew six years ago to help answer phones, I never expected him to stay on this long. Figured I was a stepping-stone to bigger and better things and once my business established itself, he’d pursue his teaching interests or venture into something kid-related, a mentor or guidance role of some sort.
    â€œTeaching little nuggets, that’s where my heart belongs,” he’s said more than once.
    But one month rolled into two, one year into another, and now I can’t imagine this office without him. Plus, clients love Andrew—one hairstylist we married to a plumber drops off hair gel and fancy shampoos all the time, while an insurance adjuster we paired with a veterinarian takes him out for ice cream every year on his birthday. Andrew’s an integral part of my company, and I’m damn glad to have him.
    â€œWhat are we looking for?” he asks.
    â€œWho do we have for Nixon?”
    â€œBesides me?” Andrew teases, clearly aware of the Bree Caxton and Associates strict no-dating-the-clients policy.
    â€œWhat happened to the FedEx guy?”
    â€œDidn’t I tell you? When he picked me up the other night, I looked down at his feet and said, ‘Now that’s a nice-looking pair of Crocs.’”
    â€œYou did?” I say with an arched eyebrow.
    â€œOf course not. Has anyone
ever
said, ‘Now that’s a nice-looking pair of Crocs’?”
    â€œOh, sweetie,” I say between laughs, “I’m sorry.”
    â€œIt’s okay. I read my horoscope today and it said true love is on the horizon.” Ever since the lucky numbers on Andrew’s daily forecast won him a thousand dollars from the California lottery a couple of years ago, he lives and breathes by their predictions.
    â€œThat’s promising.”
    â€œMore promising if it listed his GPS coordinates.”
    â€œWell, how about for now we search for Nixon’s potential true love,