Page 3 of Crossed Wires: The Complete Series

Monet raised an eyebrow. “I’m one-hundred-percent serious. I never joke around about getting laid. Let’s assume that every man in the United States knows your family’s name.”

“Prince Incorporated has large holdings in Europe and Asia too,” Annie pointed out. Her buzz was now full force. “So unless that service can find me a man on Mars, this is a waste of time.”

Monet kept typing. “So we’ll go extreme.” Her eyes widened as her gaze landed on something on the screen. “Ooo la la. What do we have here?”

Annie tried to peer at the laptop, but Monet turned it away from her.

“What is it?”

Monet grinned. “What’s your stance on a sexy Australian cowboy?”

“Jesus. They have those on there? Sign me up.”

Monet giggled—and then she did just that.

Annie sighed and glanced around the airport once again. Sitting and sulking was accomplishing nothing. There were a thousand possible scenarios for why Dylan wasn’t here. Maybe something had come up at the ranch.

Crap.Station.She’d never remember that.

Or maybe he was stuck in traffic, his car broken down. Maybe he’d gotten a nasty stomach flu. She’d walked by a customer service desk at least a dozen times during her trips around the terminal searching for her cowboy. She’d ask them to do an all-call over the intercom. She needed to determine Dylan truly wasn’t here before she tried to figure out her next move.

As she waited in line to speak to the representative, she remembered the morning after her impulsive, drunken decision to join the world of international online dating. She’d woken up bleary-eyed, with a pounding headache, and had decided to call in sick to work. Annie had never taken a sick day, but her boss’s determination to treat her like a nonentity and her queasy stomach made the choice to remain home an easy one.

She walked toward the kitchen for a handful of saltines, stopping to power up her laptop on the way. When she returned to her desk, she discovered an email from someone she didn’t know. Dylan Sullivan. Her hand hovered over the button that would send Mr. Sullivan straight to the trash, but something stopped her. Some niggling memory from the previous night.

She and Monet had drunk way too much and stayed up far too late. Monet had consoled her over work and Joel.

Oh fuck! The online dating gag. Monet had signed her up and then…

Some Aussie cowboy had expressed interest. Monet had talked her into sharing her personal information.

Annie rubbed her aching head. How could she have been so stupid? If the tabloids caught wind of the “practical Prince sister” soliciting for dates online, they’d be ruthless. She might as well give up any hope of avoiding the limelight. Maybe she should just pack it in and join her ditzy sisters’ ridiculous reality show,Life with the Princesses. It’s not like she’d ever be taken seriously after this little tidbit leaked out.

Her hand hovered over the mouse, and then she quickly clicked to open the email. She’d gone this far. She might as well see what she was risking her reputation for. She read Dylan’s message.

His email was nice, well written and humorous. It also seemed pretty clear he had no idea who Annie Prince was.

Feeling like she’d dodged a bullet, Annie responded, explaining nicely that she’d been tipsy when her friend talked her into signing up for the service. She let him down as gently as she could, turned off the computer and crawled back into bed with a couple of aspirin and a tall glass of ice water.

When she awoke later that afternoon, she was surprised to find a very funny response from her would-be Aussie suitor. Dylan had taken her rejection with good grace and he’d even sent her a list of ingredients for the Sullivan family hangover cure. Against her better judgment, Annie tried the hangover recipe, which worked, and then wrote Dylan again, thanking him.

After that, they’d fallen into a pattern of emailing every day. If anyone asked her to list her three closest friends at the moment, Dylan would be included on the list. For the past few months, they’d talked about anything and everything. She’d even taken a huge leap of faith and told Dylan about her family and their money. Monet had been correct. Australians—at least those in Dylan’s neck of the woods—didn’t have a clue who the Prince family was.

“May I help you, miss?”

Annie glanced up and discovered she was next in line. “Yes. I was hoping you could page someone for me. My friend was supposed to pick me up about an hour ago, but I can’t find him.”

The airport employee nodded and gave her what looked like a pitying smile. “Of course. What’s your friend’s name?”

“Dylan Sullivan.”

“I’ll page him right away. Should I have him meet you here?”

Annie murmured a quiet “yes, thanks,” then stepped away from the desk to wait as Dylan’s name was broadcast throughout the airport.

Please God, let him hear it. Let him be here.

Not only was her sex life depending on him being the good guy she believed him to be—she’d foolishly hitched the success of her career to Dylan’s wagon as well.

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