He handed it over, a curious smile on his face. “He addressed it to Lara, your heroine. I presume that is some sort of private joke.”
“Yes.” Her mouth dry, she scanned the bold handwriting on the envelope. “Private joke.”
“If you know him well, then you probably know that my brother and I lost touch a few years ago. Just one of those family things. Thanks to you and this manuscript, we’re back in touch.”
“I’m glad.” And she was. She really was. Chase needed people in his life he could trust. People who cared about him for who he was, not for what he was.
Clutching the note, she stood up and picked up her bag.
Brett Adams looked at her expectantly. “Aren’t you going to read it?”
“Later.” It was too precious to read in public. She needed to be somewhere private in case she made a fool of herself. She knew that even the envelope was something she was going to keep forever. A reminder. A memory of a single amazing night when reality and fantasy had merged.
The next hour passed in a whirl of excitement as she met her editor, discussed ideas for the next book and agreed to a deadline. By the time she finally stepped out of the door into the sunshine, her head was spinning.
She was going to be published.
She was a published author.
And it was all thanks to Chase.
It was a bittersweet moment to think that he was the one who had made her dream come true. He’d done that for her.
Finally, hands shaking, she opened the note.
There were just three words, written in the same bold, black scrawl as the envelope.
Midnight at Tiffany’s.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WOULD SHE COME?
Probably not, but that didn’t stop him pacing outside Tiffany’s every night like a desperate, discarded lover.
He glanced at the store and gave a humorless laugh. They probably thought he was casing the joint. He half expected to be arrested.
Brett had assured him that he’d handed the note to her personally, but that didn’t mean she’d come.
Midnight at Tiffany’s.
He could have written her a note saying “call me at the office,” but he knew that would have intimidated her.
She’d found the courage to speak to him when she’d desperately wanted to contact his brother, but did she have the courage to speak to him when the interaction was more personal?
He hoped so.
This was a place she knew and loved. He hoped she’d come.
And then he felt a soft touch on his arm and heard a familiar voice.
“Chase?”
WHAT WAS SHE doing here?
She’d watched him for at least five minutes before plucking up the courage to approach him.
What was she even going to say? Where did they start?