Vanity Fare Read Online Free

Hari.
    “Okay,” I agreed. “Thank you. I’ll take it. So tell me more.”
    “Simon—that’s the owner—is opening a bakery near the New York Public Library, the big one on Forty-second Street. He wants to do something relating to both the library and his store. He needs a hook .”
    “Like, to drag people in?” I was being deliberately obtuse. It gave me time to think.
    John grimaced in that “you’re being deliberately obtuse” kind of way. “No. To get people talking about his shop. I think you can help Natalie with the copy—you’re the worst punster I’ve ever met, and I mean that in the nicest possible way. She’ll do the big-picture concepting, of course, but the fleshing-out stuff will be you.”
    I sat back, finishing the rest of the coffee. “Sounds doable,” I said in a hesitant voice.
    “Great. Look, I’ll just buzz Simon and set up a meeting. He’s very hands-on, he wants to be intimately involved with the project.” He leaned back in his chair. “Simon was the pastry chef at The Modern, he’s appeared on some of those cooking shows, too. The buzz is growing on him, and this shop will be so much more than a bakery.”
    “And what about Natalie? When will I meet her?”
    He scowled. Was it just me, or was he not at all pleased with his new partner?
    “She’s out on calls this afternoon. I’d rather you met Simon alone for the first time. I’ll bring Natalie up-to-date later.”
    No, it wasn’t just me. There was something fishy about John’s new partner.
    I looked around John’s office while he punched in the phone number. He had the magazine covers of his various projects framed and hanging on the wall. My favorite had to be “Have a Heart,” published by a company that made artificial hearts. Although I also appreciated “Playing Footsie,” put out by the National Podiatrists’ Association.
    John hung up the phone just as I was envisioning what “Intestinal Fortitude” or “Braindead” would cover.
    “Great news! I got Simon on his cell, and he’s actually right down the block. He’ll be here in a few.” John checked his watch, an overly large, overly masculine timepiece strapped to his hairy wrist. “You’ve got at least half an hour before you have to be back on the subway, right?”
    I nodded and took a deep breath. Work, of sorts. Money, of green.
    John checked his BlackBerry for a few minutes, then sat back in his chair. He looked hesitant. “I want to let you in on what Natalie’s done thus far.” He scowled. “Not very much, actually. Not that I want either of us to let Simon know that.”
    I nodded encouragingly. “Of course not.”
    He sighed and planted his elbows on his desk. “So far she’s come up with Books and Bread as a name.”
    We both frowned. He continued, “But she’s good enough that if she really concentrates, she’ll be able to nail something.”
    That sounded unpleasant. As did the name she’d thought of.
    A male voice down the hall conjured up much pleasanter visions. He had a British accent, the upper-crust, devil-may-care Hugh Grant kind of accent. The kind that made me a little weak at the knees, so I was glad I was sitting down.
    “John, just give me a sec while I flirt with this lovely lady out here.” Only when he said it, it sounded as if he had just said something much naughtier. Judging by her husky laugh, the redhead agreed. And that voice came from someone who made those pastries?
    There had to be something wrong with him. I held my breath as the door opened.
    He walked into the room, and I just about fainted. He was gorgeous.
    He had curly chestnut brown hair, the kind that must’ve trailed romantically in a breeze, green eyes— green, not hazel—and a dimple. I was surprised I didn’t faint, actually. He was tall and slim with a very British detachment to his walk.
    And he was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and black flat-front slacks, and he had on faux Beatles boots: shiny, pointed, and dangerous.
    Why