That's (Not Exactly) Amore Read Online Free

major in accounting. But then he died from a sudden heart attack and my mom just knew his last request in life would have been for me to follow in his footsteps and be an ace accountant. I got close. Finished school, graduated near the top of my class at NYU, and went to work for Ace Accounting for a number of years. I almost wept with relief when one of the brothers embezzled from the company and I was laid off due to bankruptcy.
    You’d think as hard as I’m fighting to become an interior designer, I must have an actual aptitude for the whole thing. More than one instructor has gently mentioned that perhaps I should pursue a different field, but I can’t give up on my passion. Right? I can’t fail!
    Besides, I owe my aunt for the tuition plus some living expenses that she graciously offered to pay—after I buttered her up by dragging Tabby (her favorite soap star) to lunch at her house.
    At midnight I’m still pretty wide awake, so it doesn’t really bother me when my cell phone rings. I figure it’s one of the girls. Who else would be calling this late? And I did leave messages on their voice mails about the break-in. It’s a number I don’t recognize, so I almost don’t answer. But at the last second, I click the button. “Hello?”
    “Miss Sullivan?”
    Vaguely familiar male voice.
    “Yes?”
    “I’m sorry to call you so late, but I thought you’d like to know we apprehended the man who broke into your apartment.”
    My heart does a little loopy loop as I realize I’m speaking to Mark Hall. The hunky cop from earlier. “You did? That was fast.”
    “I had a hunch and it panned out,” he says nonchalantly, and I imagine him shrugging those wide muscly shoulders. “People like you make my job a lot easier.”
    “People like me?”
    “People who hang on to receipts and serial numbers.” He hesitates.
    “I come from a family of accountants. We never throw away receipts, paid bills, or bank statements.”
    He chuckles. “Lucky for you. We found your TV and DVD player. Your computer too.”
    “That’s wonderful.” A broad smile stretches my lips as I imagine this handsome, blond Norse-god type speaking into the phone.
    “The guy was an addict and lived in your building until a month ago. He knew you and still had a key to the downstairs door. Tomorrow, I’ll head to a few used-furniture stores in the area, and hopefully we’ll find the furniture you lost.”
    “Thank you, Officer Hall,” I say, because it really seems like the only thing left to say.
    “Well, I am here to protect and serve, after all.”
    How cute is that? He’s flirting.
    Oh, my stars! He’s flirting.
    “Well I definitely feel protected and . . .” Good grief.
    “Served?” His voice is rife with amusement.
    I really don’t know how to answer this man. Anything I say is going to sound so Magoo. While I try to think of something oh-so-clever, I finger the wedding-ring quilt my grandmother left me when she died. I’ll take it when I get married. If that ever happens.
    “Listen,” he says, maybe picking up on the fact that I have nothing to say. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in having coffee with me sometime?”
    Is he kidding?
    “Sure. Sounds good.” Real smooth.
    “Great. How does tomorrow strike you?”
    “Tomorrow?” I croak out, definitely no longer smooth.
    “Too soon?”
    You’re blowing this, Laini Sullivan!
I think in my mother’s voice.
Pull it together before he writes you off as a nutcase.
    I sit up straighter in my seat and pretend I’m dignified even though no one can see me. The action works because I feel better already. More confident.
    He clears his throat as though my long silence has made the poor guy uncomfortable. “Well . . . sorry to have bothered you.”
    Say something.
Quick.
    “No bother at all, Officer. I appreciate the call. And I’d love to have coffee with you.”
    “You would?” He seems genuinely surprised. I can’t say that I blame him. “I just