Can I See You Again? Read Online Free Page A

twenty-eight to thirty-five years old, career type, educated.”
    Andrew opens the client database and clicks through a few head shots before a particular woman comes to mind. “Find Sara, the art curator.”
    â€œNice choice,” he says. “Thirty, college educated, likes to travel. And look, she lives close, in Pacific Beach.”
    â€œWhat’s her coffee preference?”
    Andrew scrolls to the answer. “One sugar.”
    â€œExcellent.” Had he said something fussy like a half-caf soy latte with medium foam and a whisper—not a sprinkle, nor a smidgen—of cinnamon, I might have reconsidered Sara as a viable candidate.
    Coffee preferences are a lot like ringtones.
    â€œShe looks like Sandra Bullock,” Andrew says. “Remind me why she’s still single.”
    â€œMarried her college sweetheart who developed second thoughts on their second anniversary. She drove her anger and free time into her career at the gallery and has been single ever since. Look at her, she’s perfect for Nixon.” I return to my chair. “Let her know he’ll be calling. Better yet, see if she’s available to stop by my office today. I’d like to meet with her in person, make sure we’ve cleared the air from last month’s fiasco.”
    â€œCut yourself some slack. The guy’s background check came back clean.”
    â€œTrue, but spending a Saturday night decked out in heels and a classic black shift dress, dodging taunts by drunks, druggies, and derelicts while being fingerprinted and questioned by the cops because your date picked you up in a hot-wired car is less than an ideal evening.”
    â€œSounds more exciting than holding hands with a Croc-wearing delivery man.” Andrew closes the laptop. “Want me to call Nixon, too?”
    â€œYes, tell him about Sara. And remind him, no coffee.”
    â€œGot it.” He scribbles a note, then looks at me. “What’s so funny?”
    â€œNothing. Just remembered something I said to Nixon.”
Dinner is the slow seduction.
“Oh, and mention that bar and grill with the fire pits on Prospect.”
    â€œBecause they have high tables, right? And people are more attentive when seated at a high table.”
    â€œMy little boy is growing up.”
    â€œTold you I’m more than a pretty face. Now remember, we’ve got three dates scheduled for tonight. I’ll follow up with them tomorrow morning. And this month’s meet-and-greet is at the Marston House, right?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œAm I including Nixon on this list?”
    Sara’s charming smile comes to mind. “Nah, he’ll be off the market soon.”
    An hour later, I’m buried in another client’s file when Andrew places a manila envelope on my desk. “This just came for you.”
    â€œThanks.” I tear open the package and dump out a thick stack of papers filled with “tiny, fancy words,” as Jo’s sweet, albeit frantic voice had said.
    â€œWhat are those?”
    â€œForms for Sean and me to sign. We met with a financial advisor last week and decided to pool our savings accounts to obtain stronger financial holdings, solid margins, and more advantageous yields.”
    â€œSorry, I fell asleep while you were talking. What did you say?”
    â€œHa. Ha.” I skim through the paperwork, noting the spots for our signatures. Okay, a blue chip mutual fund might not be the sexiest thing in the world, but it’s what I love about Sean, his sturdy footing. Just like with the flowers. In all our years together, he’s sent no other color but white. Some people crave surprises in a relationship, the mystery of the unknown. Not me. I cherish Sean’s consistency. His dependability. His control.
    I return the documents into the envelope and type Sean aquick text, hoping to catch him before court. He’s arguing a lucrative case against a real estate