Page 37 of Hopeless Romantic
“It’s not him,” she announced. “So yes, to the top.”
Beckett waited until Cecilia was out of sight to check the name on her phone screen, in case it was Levi, which—thank you, God—it was not. The caller was her no-show client, Kevin Porter, a CPA whose company was moving him to New York to run the office there. Kevin was expected to start in less than two weeks, so his company had hired Beckett to assist with the move and make all the necessary arrangements for a relocation.
If all went well, Beckett could be looking at her first corporate client, responsible for all relocations in and out of the Boston and Rome offices.
“Kevin,” Beckett greeted. “How are you?”
“Confused,” Kevin said. “We have an appointment. You’re not here.”
“Yes, we did have an appointment at two. I rang your bell three times, but no one answered.” Even though it was clear from the voices inside the house that more than one someone was home. “I also called to see if maybe you hadn’t heard the bell and left a message.” Then she’d waited twenty minutes, huddled under her raincoat on a cold stoop.
When the clock struck half-past, she called it.
“I was on a video conference with the office. As soon as it ended, I opened the door to find you gone.”
“It’s nearly three-thirty.”
“Like I said, I was on with the office,” Kevin explained, as if that clarified any confusion. “But I’m free now.”
“Unfortunately, I’m meeting another client in a few minutes. But we can reschedule for Monday.” Beckett opened her planner and flipped the page twice. Completely booked. So was Tuesday. And Wednesday was art class. “Actually, how about Thursday? Does three work for you?”
“No. Thursday doesn’t work for me at all. How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is Sunday.” The only day of the week that was all hers. Although Beckett’s business was growing so fast that she’d spent the last three Sundays dealing with overflow from the previous weeks. In addition to her regular clients, she’d organized spring inventory for a boutique in town, arranged transportation and lodging for a visiting team of doctors, and found a real estate company a new office manager.
Being busy was a good problem to have, but also exhausting.
“I can’t. But maybe I can swing by your place after my last client on Monday. It would be late, around seven.”
“I prefer tomorrow,” Kevin said, obviously not giving two shits about Beckett’s availability. “There’s a lot of hours in a Sunday. I’m sure you can find a slot for me or rearrange your schedule.”
“I rearranged my schedule to fit you in today.” Which had knocked one of her regulars to Monday.
“Well, I’m free now. Or you can come tomorrow after your last client.”
Beckett could practically hear the guy writing in his calendar. “It’s not that. I try to keep Sunday reserved as my family and personal time.”
“What exactly happens during this ‘personal time’ of yours?” a different, much sexier male voice inquired.
Beckett looked up from her planner to find Levi. A damp blue Henley clung to his I-lift-kegs-for-fun shoulders, and his hair stood up in wet spikes. The man even wore rain well. Instead of resembling a drowned cat, he looked like Aquaman rising out of the ocean.
“Asking for a friend,” he added.
Beckett covered the mouthpiece with her palm and whispered, “I still have five me-time minutes left, so can we not do this now?”
“Excuse me?” said Kevin, who apparently had the owl-like hearing.
“Not you,” Beckett apologized. “Some guy was trying to get my table.”
“Some guy?” Elbows on the table, he leaned in and whispered. “We’re planning a wedding, Girl Wonder. You can call me Levi. Unless you prefer something more personal. Maybe a nickname? I like Babe, Sugar, or Sweets, but I must admit I’m a little partial to Hott Stuff—with two Fs and two Ts.” All smiles and easy confidence, he picked up her mug and took a leisurely sip. “The only no-go is Boo.”
“Get your own!” she mouthed, unable to concentrate on what Kevin was saying.
“You mean, ‘Get your own, Hott Stuff.’ And it’s sweet of you to treat.”
Before she could tell him to buy his own coffee, he was gone.
“And I will need all that on a spreadsheet,” Kevin continued, as if Beckett had been listening and taking thorough notes. “As for the boxes, I want each one numbered and tagged with easy-to-read labels. Let’s just make that printed labels, to be sure.”
