Page 7 of The Nanny and the Hothead
Charlotte checked her watch, and her belly did a flip-flop.
She was three minutes late for the most critical meeting of her life!
She grabbed a business card from her bag. Her best friends had made them for her. She hadn’t given out one yet. But this was the perfect time to start. “Here, this has my information on it. Send me an email when you know where you’d like the pictures sent.”
Larissa took the card and skimmed it. “You’re the best, Charlotte Ames! Good luck with the speed date.”
“Thank you,” she answered, putting her camera away and zipping the bag closed.
Three minutes late couldn’t be that bad!
She looked again.
Okay, four minutes late was within the acceptable range of lateness, wasn’t it?
It had to be!
She inhaled a breath, working to calm her frayed nerves, when she glanced across the street, and a disorienting dizziness struck like a kick to the head.
“No!” she cried.
The open sign hanging in the gallery’s window had been replaced with one that read,Sorry, we’re closed.
Two
Charlotte
“Wait!I’m within the acceptable range of lateness!” Charlotte cried, booking it across the street like an insane toddler—without checking for traffic. Tires screeched, and horns blared as she stopped dead in her tracks and stared down a shiny Mercedes Benz. The vehicle purred mere inches from her body as the scent of burnt rubber hung in the air.
“Are you insane, lady?” a man called through a cacophony of honking.
She took a shaky step back. No, she wasn’t insane. She was simply a woman on a mission. A gal chasing her dreams.
“Get off the road,” the angry luxury car driver griped, leaning out the window.
Charlotte blew out a shaky breath. “Yes, sorry,” she panted, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she took a step and…
Crack!
She pitched forward as the spike on her left heel busted.
Could this get any worse?
“Are you all right?” the man called.
She pushed up onto her tiptoe, then took a tentative teetering step. “Yes, I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”
“Then get the hell out of the way!” he bellowed.
“Good grief! Give me a second.” She scooped up the broken remnant of her shoe, then did a graceless wobble-hop across the street as the honking died down and the traffic resumed.
“You’re not dead,” she whispered—at least she had that going for her. But death might have been a better alternative. She glanced at the gallery and saw none other than Professor Tran standing at the door, wide-eyed, with her mouth hanging open.
What a way to make an entrance, Charlotte!
The woman opened the door. “I heard the ruckus,” she said, her gaze dropping to the ground and the unfortunate shoe situation.
Charlotte held up the broken heel. “Yes, that was me.”
