The Marriage List (3 page)

Carrie straightened her skirt and made sure
her blouse was slightly unbuttoned but not too revealing. She
picked up her manuscript and synopsis and walked in, feeling
anything but confident. She sat down across from him and
smiled.

He smiled back and looked down at a printed
sheet. "You're Carrie Tucker?"

She nodded.

"Tell me about your book," he said, sitting
back, folding his hands together behind his head, watching her.

Just as she was about to open her mouth, a
man strode into the room.

"Paul! Wait. We need you in the conference
room," the man said.

"I'm just about to hear a pitch, Grey, can't
it wait?"

"Sorry, John is only here for an hour and if
you want that loan…"

Paul looked at Carrie and smiled again.

"Miss Tucker…Carrie, I'm sorry but we're
going to have to reschedule this pitch. I have a meeting with an
investor I can't put off," he said, looking down at the papers in
his hand, "I have your contact info here. I'll get in touch to
reschedule."

With that, Paul marched out of the room with
the man he called "Grey" right behind him. Carrie stood up and put
her hand on Grey's arm.

"Hey! You ruined my opportunity to get my
novel published! I've been waiting six months for the chance to see
Paul Marcel," she shot at him.

Grey turned. His gaze swept over her hair,
eyes and figure making her feel slightly naked and yet warm at the
same time. She stared back boldly at the handsome man with a
dazzling smile and an impeccable gray suit, noticing how snugly his
suit fitted his trim physique.

"Give it to me," he said, reaching for her
manuscript, "I'll make sure he reads it."

Before she could move, snatched the
manuscript out of her hand and walked quickly out of the room. She
trailed along behind him, trying to speak, but soon he was lost in
the crowd.

What happened here? Where's my manuscript
and who was that guy?
Carrie found a cup of coffee and a chair.
Everyone was rushing around, looking for various lectures and rooms
where they were meeting with agents, editors and publishers. She
watched the bustle die down as people found their places. She sat
there wondering what she was supposed to do now. Her manuscript was
gone and she had no interest in the workshops, lectures and
marketing panels addressing attendees. Carrie looked at her watch,
four thirty p.m., an entire vacation day squandered on this
opportunity. She might as well wait a while to see if Paul Marcel
reappeared.

By six o'clock, most of the people had
cleared out. Workers stacked chairs and collapsed tables. Famous
authors chatted among themselves as they packed up and moved toward
to the door. Still no Paul Marcel. But the good-looking guy wearing
a gray suit who grabbed her manuscript came into the center hall,
looking around. He spotted her and sauntered over.

"Glad you're still here," he said, his eyes
looking directly into hers.

"And?" she said, trying to ignore the little
shiver running up her spine.

"I gave your manuscript to Paul and he
promised me he'd read it tomorrow."

"Why should I believe you?" She asked,
noticing how broad his shoulders were but trying to keep her gaze
on his face.

"Because I'm the silent investor in his
publishing house. He wouldn't lie to me. I'm Grey Andrews," he
said, offering her his hand.

"Carrie Tucker," she said, losing her small
hand in the warm, dry flesh of his powerful one.

"Carrie, I'm gathering information on eBook
publishers now. Would you be willing to join me for dinner and tell
me what you know about eBook publishing, from an author's point of
view?"

He's smooth, gotta give him that.

"How do you know you want to talk to me? I
might be new to this business."

"I read some of your book, your synopsis and
biography. You're a good writer, can't be that new."

"An advertising copywriter, not the same
thing," she corrected him, fascinated by the wry grin on his
perfect lips.

"Maybe not. But the work of yours that I
read…was well written. You'll probably get published and be pretty
successful at this."

"So you want my opinion?" She asked,
impressed he had read her work.

"If you don't mind. Can I pay for it with a
nice dinner?" He asked, moving closer.

"Why not?" She agreed, feeling warmth in her
body growing as he neared.

"How about Le Chien D'Or?" he asked,
mentioning a chic French restaurant, located on West
55
^th
Street.

She smiled at him as he took her elbow and
guided her out of the Hilton Hotel where the meeting was being held
and toward the restaurant only a few blocks away.

****

Carrie didn't know if she was disappointed
Grey Andrews spent the entire dinner actually grilling her about
eBooks, publishing and her dreams as a writer or not. She blushed a
few times under his scrutiny and when his hand brushed hers
reaching for the cream, the tingle went all the way up her arm.

She thought they had chemistry, but when he
took her home, he didn't make a pass or ask to come up for coffee.
He didn't even kiss her goodnight! It felt weird to be out with
such an attractive man and only talk business.

Maybe he's gay.

"You've been very helpful, Carrie. Thank you.
I'll make sure Paul reads your manuscript and gets back to
you."

She nodded and went in the door, puzzled.

Win some, lose some.

Carrie shrugged her shoulders and flipped on
the radio as she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She found
herself dancing to Michael Bublé's "Haven't Met You Yet."

Chapter Four

The next day at work, Dennis, her supervisor
called her into his office.

"I haven't seen much of you lately," he said,
leaning back in his chair.

"New business," she said, as she slid into a
chair facing his massive desk.

"Great. Country Lane Cosmetics had just been
put into review."

"What?" Carrie sat forward, her eyes
widened.

"The client is looking at us along with three
other agencies."

"Oh my God, why?"

"There's a new president…he favors a
different ad agency. He brought a new ad director with him. She
likes us but doesn't have the final say. The account is in
jeopardy, Carrie…and so is your job."

"What do you mean, my job?"

"You're the head copywriter on Country Lane.
Most of your salary is paid by the fees from this account. If we
lose it, there goes the money to pay you. Get it?"

Carrie sank back into her chair and scowled.
One minute I'm going for creative director, the next I'm almost
out the door!

"Don't make any plans for the next two
months, Carrie," Dennis told her.

"But I have new business work, too."

"Yeah? If we lose this account, you won't be
here to do new business. Your new business will be looking for a
job. If we lose an account, heads roll. And this time yours is on
the chopping block with the rest of us."

"Tell me what you want me to do."

"I want you available twenty-four seven. Tell
new business to take a hike."

"I can't do that. Mr. Goodhue put me on the
team."

"Then don't plan on getting much sleep," he
said and stood up.

The meeting was over. She got up and left his
office thinking about how quickly her opportunity to advance might
vanish into thin air. Then she wondered how she could work any more
hours than she already was. It was bad enough that her work as part
of the new business team kept her there a couple of nights a week
and at least one weekend a month, now with this extra load, she'd
never have time to write…or to date. She would remain alone.

Worry about her job preoccupied her mind
until she got home and heated up a frozen dinner. Taking her plate
and a glass of wine out onto her tiny terrace, Carrie sat and gazed
out at the huge city before her, thinking about her non-existent
social life. She knew men found her attractive because she had no
trouble finding men to date, but none of them were right for her.
If they weren't jerks, being immature or selfish, then the
chemistry was lacking. Then this guy, Grey Andrews, came along,
with fabulous chemistry, and he was probably gay. No man, maybe no
job…she felt discouraged.

The phone rang and she managed to grab it
before the answering machine went on. She took the cordless phone
out on the terrace and sat down.

"How's my favorite niece?" Delia Tucker
asked.

"Ha ha, I'm your only niece, Delia. That is
getting pretty old by now."

"Sorry. It's a habit. What's up? I haven't
heard from you in a while. Working hard or occupied with a new man?
I'm hoping both."

"I wish, I wish. No man. Just work and maybe
not even that for much longer…"

****

Across town, Grey escorted his sister, Jenna,
out to dinner. She was in the Big Apple to go shopping, visit a
museum or two and attend the ballet with her brother. Tonight, Grey
loaded Jenna in his silver Jaguar XK and drove her down to
Chinatown to his favorite Chinese restaurant. He reluctantly parked
his convertible on a side street.

After they were seated at their table, Jenna
opened up conversation.

"We're a little worried about you, Grey," she
began.

"Hmm?" He mumbled, pouring out two cups from
a steaming pot of hot tea.

"You're not getting any younger. What are you
now? Thirty-four? And no wife in sight, eh?"

"Chopsticks?" He asked his sister, offering
her a pair.

"Fork," she said, making a face and putting
the chopsticks aside.

"Jenna, just because you and Bill are happily
married, doesn't mean everyone can be so easily. I've been looking,
believe me."

"Are you still holding tight to your
list
?" She asked, stirring a little sugar into her tea.

"I told you, the items on the list were not
negotiable." Grey opened the menu.

"So have you met anyone who fits yet?"

"A woman I met this week meets the first
criteria. Can I order for both of us?"

"Which one is that? Nothing weird, okay?"
Jenna sat back into the red vinyl booth.

"She's smart. Very smart. A writer."

"Good. Maybe she'll be smart enough to figure
out how to win you over."

"I'm easy, Jenna. I told you…"

The waiter returned and Grey ordered fried
dumplings, sesame chicken and scallion pancakes. The waiter nodded,
smiled and left.

"I know, I know…" Grey blushed.

"So this woman has made it past step
one?"

"That's not uncommon."

"If you would only compromise…"

The sesame chicken arrived. The waiter also
deposited two small bowls of steaming white rice on the table.

"Why should I? Those are three simple wishes
to fulfill. Those are my keys to marital bliss. Without them, I
cannot be a happily married man, so why should I even bother?

"Sometimes you can be infuriating," Jenna
said, scooping rice onto her plate.

"Determined. Determined to have my way in
this." Grey piled the sesame chicken on a small pile of rice in his
plate and dug in, deftly moving the food from the plate to his
mouth with chopsticks.

"Make your own rules and I hope someday you
find this elusive mystery woman who is as good in the kitchen as
she is in the bedroom," Jenna said, picking up her cup of tea.

Grey grinned and motioned the waiter for a
check.

"If I find her…when I find her, you'll be the
first to know."

"I believe
you'll
be the first to
know, Grey," Jenna laughed as she clinked her glass with his.

Grey dropped some bills for the tip on the
table and took the check up to the cash register. Jenna returned
from the ladies room and the two climbed into his car and drove
uptown.

Chapter Five

It was eight o'clock and the Upper West Side
of Manhattan was quieting down from the traffic and honking horns
of rush hour. Men and women were going to restaurants, curtains
were going up on Broadway shows and Carrie was arriving home from
work.

She felt tired from brainstorming on two new
business pitches and working on a new product line for Country Lane
Cosmetics. She barely had time to breathe and was now looking
forward to settling in at home with a glass of wine, a frozen
dinner and a good book.

Carrie locked the front door behind her when
her cell phone started to ring. She groaned, sure it was Dennis
from the office. Seemed there was always one last thing to tell her
about some project or other. But the number on the phone display
was not Dennis, in fact it wasn't recognizable to her at all.
Curious, she answered it anyway.

"Carrie?"

"Speaking."

"It's Grey Andrews."

"Oh, hi."

"Have you heard from Paul yet?"

"Haven't but it's only a few days since you
gave him the manuscript."

"I'll call him. He shouldn't keep you
waiting."

"That's nice of you. Thanks," she said,
moving to hang up the phone.

"Wait! Wait!"

"Something else?"

"I was wondering if you would like to have
dinner with me and go to the ballet on Tuesday night?"

A date?

"Is this business?"

"A date, actually."

"Oh…I'd love to. How did you know I liked the
ballet?"

"I believe you made reference to it at our
dinner last week," he said.

Wow! A man who listens.

"You'll have to pick me up at work, or I can
meet you at the restaurant."

"I'll pick you up. Give me your address and
I'll be outside in a car, waiting for you at six o'clock. Does that
work for you?"

"That's fine. I have to go back to the office
after the ballet…"