Set Up in SoHo (The Matchmaker Chronicles)
Read Set Up in SoHo (The Matchmaker Chronicles) Online
Authors: Dee Davis
Praise for Set Up in SoHo:
“Peppered with funny moments and occasional insight (especially regarding New York's food scene), Andi's story is as entertaining as an episode of
Gossip Girl
or an issue of
US Weekly.” Publisher’s Weekly
“Ms. Davis paints her brilliantly drawn characters with bold strokes, and her rich narrative and appreciation of Manhattan is a joy to behold. SET UP IN SoHo is smart, sexy and lots and lots of fun.”
Reader to Reader
“Set up in SoHo, the second book in The Matchmaker Chronicles, by Dee Davis is one of my favorite romances this year. It's funny, sweet, sexy and just great to read.”
About Happy Books
“Davis doesn’t write down to her readers (or her characters) and the result is what you might call a serious romantic comedy.”
CTNews.com
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Dee Davis
Set Up in SoHo
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
Published by Pocito Press.
Copyright 2009 by Dee Davis Oberwetter
All rights reserved.
Originally published as a mass market paperback in the United States by St. Martin's Place.
Cover design: Kimberly Killion
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
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This is a republication in ebook format of an earlier work. Every effort has been made to reproduce the original as accurately as possible. If you find an error, please let us know
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Table of Contents
Sneak Peek at A Match Made on Madison
Check out these books by Dee Davis
Also by Dee Davis:
Romantic Suspense
Dark Of The Night
Dancing In The Dark
Midnight Rain
Just Breathe
After Twilight
Eye Of The Storm
Chain Reaction
Still of the Night (Novella)
Last Chance Series:
Endgame
Enigma
Exposure
A-Tac Series:
Dark Deceptions
Dangerous Desires
Desperate Deeds
Daring (Novella)
Deep Disclosure
Deadly Dance
Double Danger
Dire Distraction
Women’s Fiction
A Match Made on Madison
Setup In SoHo
Time Travels
Everything In Its Time
The Promise
Wild Highland Rose
Anthologies
Hell with the Ladies (Marcus)
Hell on Heels (Jezebel)
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Chapter 1
"Don’t you think that dress is a little—revealing?” Althea Sevalas stared down the end of her nose at me, her withering glance serving as simultaneous judge, jury, and executioner. It was the quintessential mother’s condemnation, except that Althea isn’t my mother. She’s my aunt.
“It’s Alice and Olivia,” I said, as if that explained everything. “From Bergdorf s.”
“Well, I don’t care where you got it, it’s practically obscene.” Althea sighed, sipping her martini. “You might as well take out a personal ad in a gentlemen’s magazine. I can almost see your—”
“But you can’t,” I interrupted, flipping up the hem of the red silk bubble dress to reveal a pair of black boy shorts. “See, all covered.”
“
Andrea
," Althea protested.
I tried not to smile, but really, her look was priceless. “What? You thought I was pulling a Britney?” Okay, so I was probably overplaying my hand, but can you blame me? The dress was gorgeous. And short. But hey, it’s the style. And I say if you’ve got it—well, you know the drill.
“I don’t know, Andi,” Vanessa Carlson laughed, emerging from the party’s fray to join us, “flashing everyone might have livened things up a bit.”
Vanessa and my aunt used to work together, but Vanessa— showing a great deal of wisdom, I might add—had decided to strike out on her own. The move created a bit of a rivalry, but then a little competition never hurt anyone.
“Poor Stephen probably wasn’t expecting his first showing to be such a staid affair,” Vanessa said, taking a glass of champagne from the silver tray of a passing waiter. “But then my mother doesn’t know how to do anything without an excess of decorum.”
Actually, Anna Carlson was the epitome of Upper East Side. Everything she did simply reeked of money and propriety. A combination I can do without, thank you very much. Although, considering my lineage, it’s kind of hard to avoid. Anyway, despite her pre-Lagerfeld Chanel tendencies, she has a good heart— and a checkbook that guarantees that anything she attempts will be a fabulous success.
All of which boded well for Stephen’s opening, even if the party was a bit dull. Most of Manhattan’s elite had made their way to The Gallery in SoHo, and judging from the red dots decorating the paintings’ placards, they were in a buying mood.
Stephen Hobbs is an abstract artist with a lot of talent and the sheer luck to have married into one of Manhattan’s royal families. Not that it wasn’t a love match. Cybil Baranski Hobbs is crazy for her husband. And despite Vanessa and Althea’s sticking their noses into it (did I mention that they’re matchmakers?), love prevailed and Cybil and Stephen are sublimely happy.
This was his first official showing. A social coming out, if you will.
“Well, I think the show is a rousing success,” Althea said, echoing my conclusion if not the reasoning behind it. “Although Stephen looks a bit mystified by the whole thing.”
“He’s not used to all the attention,” I said, grabbing a canape from a passing tray. Shrimp in puff pastry. Pedestrian. But edible. It’d be better with a little cilantro and maybe a hint of cumin.
I probably should insert here that I’m a bona fide foodie, complete with a successful cable show called What’s Cooking in the City. The concept is Martha Stewart meets Entertainment Tonight. Dishes from Manhattan’s finest restaurants served up alongside gossip about who’s eating where and with whom. Some of the biggest deals in Manhattan are struck over the perfect osso buco. And more than one tiramisu has been witness to illicit affairs of the heart. Inquiring minds and all that, but I digress. . . .
“I’ll admit Stephen’s a bit rough around the edges,” Vanessa was saying. “But he’s a good man. And he and Cybil belong together.”
“Like you and Mark.” Althea smiled. Mark Grayson was considered by some the catch of the century. And, quite understandably, he’d fallen for Vanessa. But she’d been a bit slow to read the memo and, as is often the case, things sort of got all mixed up. But in the end true love, as usual, had won the day, and they’d found their way together again.
Althea, naturally, was taking all the credit. She and Vanessa had made a bet about who could marry Mark off first—it had been Page Six fodder for months. But I suspect Mark would have managed without their interference. He was a “take no prisoners” kind of guy. Not the sort to give up, even with two meddling matchmakers standing in the way.
“So where’s Dillon?” Vanessa asked.
“Here somewhere.” I waved at the room with my champagne glass. My third. Staid parties call for serious libationary intervention.
“He’s over there,” Althea said, disapproval dripping from her voice like melting ice sculptures. “Flirting with Diana Merreck.”
Dillon Alexander is my boyfriend (although saying it like that makes me sound all of sixteen). We’ve been semi-living together for a couple of years. I say “semi” because, although we invariably end up staying together at one of our apartments, despite pressure from Dillon I just haven’t been able to commit to the idea of giving up my own personal space.
“He always flirts,” I said with a shrug. “It doesn’t mean anything.” Truly, it didn’t. Flirting was like breathing with Dillon. It was part of what I loved about him. Althea just liked the idea of getting in a dig. She can’t stand Dillon. Thinks he isn’t good enough for me. Which translates to “not of the right breeding.” Dillon’s California. His money’s new, which in certain circles makes it completely suspect. And, according to Althea, he’s got no ambition. Which is totally untrue. He’s just got his own ideas about how to do things.
Which I find admirable.
Althea, not so much.
“It’s not the first time I’ve seen him with her,” she sniffed, taking a swig of her martini. Well, “swig” probably isn’t the right word. Althea is nothing if not ladylike. Still, she can put away alcohol with the best of them, especially if it’s served with olives. “And the truth is, I think you deserve better.”
“Old song, same verse,” I reminded her, wishing suddenly I hadn’t felt so strongly about supporting Stephen. It’s not like he needed me, and this was certainly not my idea of a good time.
“I just think you need to open your eyes and recognize the truth. Dillon isn’t the marrying kind.” She scowled at me over the rim of her glass, arched eyebrows zooming up into her hairline.
“You don’t know that. And besides, maybe I’m not the marrying type, either.” We stood toe to toe, voices rising with each word. I knew better than to let her draw me into battle, but the champagne had loosened my tongue—and dulled my brain.