Page 2 of Blind Date with a #Doctor
“Hi, Rosalie. I need help with something, but it has to stay a secret.”
Rosalie smiles at us. “Will it get me in trouble if I’m caught?”
“Absolutely not.” I try to look innocent. “I just need you to drop this off in Aspen Hayes’ office. Do you know where that is?”
“I do…” she answers suspiciously. “I just have to drop off a note?”
“Yes.”
Rosalie holds out her hand and I give her the note. “Okay, when do you want me to do it?”
“Can you do it as soon as possible? It’s about something that’s happening tonight,” Marie chimes in.
Rosalie nods. “I’ll run it over now.”
She leaves to do our little errand, and I say, “Step one in the plan is a go.”
Sally watches with pure delight. “This is going to be so much fun.”
Marie raises her glass. “To our next happily ever after.”
We clink, and just like that, the game is on. They won’t know what hit them. But trust me… they’ll thank us later.
Chapter One
Aspen
There’s a note on my desk. Not an email or a calendar invite. Not even a passive-aggressive Post-it from my assistant reminding me about the paperwork I owe her. This is folded paper. Actual, honest-to-God paper. It’s sitting right in the middle of my desk, dead center on top of the contract I was supposed to be reviewing.
I stare at it for a long minute. Then the door. Then back at the note. I don’t know how, but I already know this is trouble. Still, I unfold it anyway.
You have a date tonight at seven. Bistro 9. Don’t be late.
That’s it. There’s no name and no explanation. Just a bold, handwritten command like this is a perfectly normal way for someone to schedule a date.
“Okay,” I say to the empty room. “This is how people get murdered.”
I flip the note over. Nothing. I even check under my desk, like someone’s crouched down there, watching me read it. But it’s just me and the note. I have the sudden, creeping realization that I now have to spend the rest of my afternoon trying to figure out which lunatic I know thought this was a good idea.
I run through the list. Coworkers? Doubtful. They’re all too afraid of me to try something like this. My brother? Maybe. Butonly if his sense of humor has gotten significantly darker since our last family dinner. Nan? Oh, God. This feels exactly like Nan.
The woman’s been on a matchmaking bender lately, and her favorite pastime is staring at me over the top of her wine glass and saying things like, “Sweetheart, you know men won’t wait forever.”
And if Nan’s involved, that means there’s a real possibility that when I show up to Bistro 9 tonight, Carter Reed is going to be sitting at that table. Which…no. That’s insane.
I shove the note into the trash. Pull it back out. Fold it. Unfold it. Stare at it like it’s going to reveal some kind of secret code if I just concentrate hard enough.
My phone buzzes on my desk, and I lunge for it like someone might be texting me the answers. It’s my best friend, Kendra, maybe she’ll be able to make sense of this note.
Kendra: How’s the case going?
Me: Forget the case. I’m being lured to my death.
Kendra: …what.
Me: Mystery note. Blind date. Bistro 9. 7 PM. This is how I die.
Kendra: Girl. That’s either a Hallmark movie or a Dateline episode.
