Perfect Match

inside girl

a novel by J. MINTER

       author of the insiders

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1 Out of range

Chapter 2 Don't knock it till you mocket

Chapter 3 Sweet misfortune

Chapter 4 Three scoops, two spoons, one shocker

Chapter 5 A latte with a shot of attitude

Chapter 6 Under cover … or over the top?

Chapter 7 The seaweed sessions

Chapter 8 Music to her ears

Chapter 9 Wandering eyes

Chapter 10 Two cupids are better than one

Chapter 11 The plan goes public

Chapter 12 Look what blew in from the windy city

Chapter 13 If you can't date him, trade him

Chapter 14 What we call a power lunch

Chapter 15 The matchmaker's tangled web

Chapter 16 Journey to a faraway palace

Chapter 17 Prescription: the epic date

Chapter 18 Club fof loses a founding member

Chapter 19 If the valentine fits …

Chapter 20 Bippity boppity ball gowns

Chapter 21 Sometimes it takes three to tango

Chapter 22 Do a little dance, shed a little tear, storm out tonight

Chapter 23 What's a pity party without pizza?

Chapter 24 The matchmaker grovels

Chapter 25 Consider this your lovefest

Chapter 26 Snowed out

Chapter 27 Flying high

Also by J. Minter

Imprint

for Jordan, future heartbreaker

Outside, behind the velvet rope on Houston Street, the winding crowd I'd just zipped past looked cold. But inside, at a private Screen Actors Guild party in the famously mod Angelika theater, things were getting hot, hot, hot.

“I want you to meet my girlfriend, Flan.”

I know, I know, these words have been said about me before. I'll be the first to admit that I've had my fair share of boyfriends. But truthfully, the introduction had never sounded so sweet as it did when it was uttered by Alex Altfest, the Prince of New York, whose arm was lovingly curved around my waist.

We were standing in the glittering atrium of the theater, all dressed up to attend this very choice Hollywood-style event—made even more choice by the fact that it was hosted by one of Alex's friends to celebrate the premiere of his new film,
Cache Creek
.

The Angelika is most Manhattanites' destination for taking in classic artsy flicks—from foreign shorts to Woody Allen revivals. I loved seeing movies there, but until tonight I'd never thought about it as a hot spot for Hollywood types. With its high glass ceilings, multilevel cocktail bar, and black-tie waiter service, the Angelika really felt like a place to see and be seen. Which is why I was glad I'd decided to wear my new sapphire Tory Burch heels—and why I was even gladder to have the Prince of New York on my arm. I sighed contentedly and leaned into Alex.

“Flan?” Alex said, giving me a sideways grin.

Oh, right, introductions. I probably wasn't making a dazzling first impression by gazing off introspectively.

“This is my old crew from lacrosse camp—Brady, Saxton, and Phil. Brady's the one I told you about, the producer for
Cache Creek
.” Alex moved his arm to my shoulders. “Guys, this is her.”

The way he said it—
this is her
—like he'd spent enough time talking about me that his friends could now put my face to the girl in his stories—well, it sort of made me glow inside. I mean, I talked about Alex all the time to my friends, but until then, I hadn't considered that he might do the same thing.

Brady stuck out his hand. He was almost as tall as
Alex, with curly dark hair and dimples. “We've heard lots about you.” He nodded at Alex. “In fact, it's kinda hard to get this guy to
stop
talking about you.”

I could feel myself blushing. “I've heard good things about you, too,” I said, taking a flute of acai spritzer from a passing waiter's tray. “Alex says the movie's getting lots of buzz.”

“Nah,” Saxton piped in, shrugging dramatically. He was blond and muscular with intense green eyes. “It was only
the
movie at Sundance last month, no big deal.”

“And Brady only has Scorsese on his knees to direct his next film,” Phil said, punching Brady's shoulder. “When are you going to break the news that you cast me as the lead?”

“Maybe when I find an actress worthy of your Yale drama school degree.” Brady laughed. “Or at least one the studio can bank on, considering you're not exactly a household name.” Brady shrugged apologetically as Phil feigned offense.

I was pretty impressed that Alex was friends with such a talented, artsy group of guys. Of course, I did have my token film-star best friend, Sara-Beth Benny. But SBB's movies weren't exactly the kind that got airtime at the Angelika. Although she had been moaning to me lately about her agent wanting her to do a
project to up her dramatic cred—i.e., not another of her famous teenybopper blockbusters.

Hmm … If Brady was already working on another film, maybe I could find a way to introduce them? Not that SBB didn't already have an agent and a PR team and four personal assistants … but it'd be so cool to hook her up with a connection who could help her career. I'd mention it to Alex later.

Alex squeezed my shoulder. “Come on, I want to show you around.”

As we mingled throughout the cocktail hour, I was struck by how great and attentive Alex was being. Even though he seemed to know everyone, he never left my side. As he spun me around the room for introductions, I got the feeling that a lot of people were sizing me—and my Tory Burch heels—up.

I'd been to enough parties and premieres to handle the scrutinizing gazes of the rich and fashion-conscious. Even so, there was something new about being introduced as one half of a couple. I wasn't used to it—my boy life and my socialite life had always been kind of separate entities in the past. But with Alex periodically planting his lips on my cheek and whispering funny details about all the people I was meeting—“that guy makes his driver take him to McDonald's in the Bronx so his nutritionist wife
won't find out he eats meat”—I realized I was totally into being his other half.

“This is amazing.” I turned to Alex, after I'd met more people than I could remember. “I'm so glad you invited me.”

He smiled. “You're going to be even more glad when I tell you who else I invited.”

I must have looked confused, because Alex spun me toward the entryway. My best friend, Camille, and her new boyfriend, Xander, were walking up the steps, hand in hand!

“Brady gave me two extra tickets to the screening at the last minute,” Alex said. “Thought you might like to see a familiar face in the crowd.”

“Hey, lovebirds,” Camille called, flipping her trademark long gold hair. “Swank party, Alex. Ooh, swankier shoes, Flan. Bendel's?” she asked.

“Scoop,” I corrected.

“Well, now that that important matter's settled,” Xander joked, “should we watch this movie or what?”

The boys put their arms around us and our foursome joined the glittering, black-clad crowd at the doors to the theater. The only thing better than Xander finally asking Camille out was the fact that Xander and Alex went way back to their days at Little Red Schoolhouse, so they were almost as tight as Camille and me.

“We definitely have to start double-dating more often,” I whispered to Camille as we entered the theater.

“I
know
,” Camille said. “Friend time and boy time at the
same
time. What's better?”

The theater was already packed, and everyone was rushing to claim seats. As a friend of the producer, Alex had a group of reserved seats right in the middle. The four of us were able to sit down and relax with no problem, just in time to catch the scene unfolding in the row ahead of us.

A barrel-chested, bald man in Prada shoes and a tight pink T-shirt that read
Don't Mess with the Diva
had spread out his winter gear across four empty seats and was watching over them like a hawk.

“Um, excuse me,” an equally muscular bald guy said to him in a huffy voice. “Where do you think you are, the high school lunchroom? You can't save seats in a New York City movie theater.”

“I can if you knew who my friends are,” Muscles Number One said defiantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“That doesn't even make any
sense
,” Muscles Two scoffed.

Camille and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows and I bit my lip to keep from laughing. It was a
favorite secret pastime of ours—eavesdropping on Chelsea boys in catfights. Sometimes we staked out the back table at the Pinkberry on Eighth Avenue just to see what kind of drama we could witness.

But these two dudes were getting serious about the seats. One of them was rolling up his sleeves like he was about to throw a punch. That only happened at Pinkberry when they ran out of mochi. Just when I thought things were going to get ugly, Muscles Two said: “Wait a minute—you look familiar.” He squinted at his opponent. “Did you do that Calvin Klein ad on the back of the M16 bus?”

Muscles One shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Ohmigod, huge fan,” Muscles Two said, making the I'm-not-worthy motion with his arms. Changing his tack, he sized up his opponent. “How about if I agree to find another seat, you agree to give me your number?”

Next to Camille, Xander leaned in to whisper, “You guys are so eating this up, aren't you?”

I giggled under my breath.

“Like it's Pinkberry,” Camille replied.

“I guess love is in the air,” Alex said, squeezing my hand.

He was right. Valentine's Day was a little over a week away. Even though I had a boyfriend, and so
should probably have given the holiday some thought, I was mostly aware of how close it was because of my single friends at Thoney. They were already complaining about how depressing the whole month of February was unless you had a valentine.

I'd thought my friends were being dramatic, but maybe it was exactly this fear of spending February fourteenth alone that stopped the guys in front of us from clocking each other. Maybe Cupid made them take out their Palms to exchange numbers instead.

Just before the lights dimmed, Muscles Two snapped a photo of Muscles One on his phone. “Text me!” he grinned, before shuffling off to his seat.

“Classic New York,” Camille said, whipping her hair into a giant bun and putting on her glasses to assume her I'm-watching-a-movie pose.

From the opening scene of the film, I was hooked—and even more impressed by Brady. It was the story of two star-crossed lovers, separated by distance, and family obligations, and some really incredible costume changes.
Hmm, I wonder where the lead actress got that belt. …

But after a few minutes, I found myself distracted by a faint blue light in front of me. When I leaned forward, I realized that it was the glowing cell phone of Muscles One. How rude. Was he already texting
Muscles Two? Maybe if I leaned forward just a little bit more, I could make out what they were saying. It was bound to be hilariously racy. A little further … a little further …
oooph
! Before I realized what was happening, I'd fallen out of my seat. Everyone around us turned to look at me and held their fingers up to their lips.

“Shhhhhh,” Muscles One said to me brusquely. Like he was paying
so
much attention to the movie!

Oh well, it served me right. I looked at Alex, who was shaking his head with a knowing smirk. I shrugged in apology, took his hand, and vowed to get back into watching the movie. No more spying!