Moonstruck In Manhattan Part 7

"Why not?" Daryl asked.

"Because he's...because I'm..." pausing, Chelsea waved a hand in the air "...because we just don't mesh."

"Because you're attracted to him and you run from any man like that thanks to Boyd Carter," Daryl said, taking the pink polka-dotted piggy bank off the bookshelf and carrying it to her. "That's why you're pretending it's not a date."

Was she pretending? She was attracted to Zach McDaniels. But he was everything her mother had ever warned her about in a man-rich, handsome, the kind of man who would eventually walk away because she just didn't fit into his world. That was the only description her mother had ever given her of her father.

Daryl waved the piggy bank in front of her eyes. "Remember the rule. If it walks like a duck... Help me out here, Ramn."

"And if it talks like a duck..." Ramn said.

Chelsea found herself looking into two very determined pairs of eyes. Ramn had even paused in the act of shooting tiny bullets of green frosting at his row of cookies. They'd made a pact not to date and the fine for accepting one was twenty dollars. The funds they collected were to be spent on fixing up the place. That was Daryl's pa.s.sion. And buying food for the times when they entertained. That was Ramn's pa.s.sion. The pink piggy had a very hungry expression on her face. "All right." Chelsea gave in. "It is a duck."

"A date you mean," Daryl said, shaking the piggy at her again.

"Fine. A date," she agreed as she fished in her purse and finally stuffed a twenty-dollar bill into the waiting mouth. "But I'm telling you that the only reason I'm going is because I intend to get an article out of it. I'm wearing the skirt."

"You're what?" Daryl said, shock clear on his face.

"I'm going to wear the skirt to the ball."

Daryl frowned at the piece of black clothing which he'd draped over a chair near the fireplace. "You can't be serious."

"I'm depending on you to think of something."

"Do I look like Cinderella's fairy G.o.dmother?" Grinning, Daryl waved a hand. "On second thought, don't answer that."

"Please. It will make a great article."

"It will take a great miracle."

Chelsea bit back a sigh of relief as Daryl moved to the skirt and began to examine it, rubbing the material between his fingers.

"There's a beaded top I saw at the last Versace show. I could copy that and with the right pair of shoes..."

Behind her, Ramn laid down his frosting gun. "Who wants a pizza?"

Daryl shook his head. "Junk food. A master chef and that's all you eat, Ramn."

"Pizza meets all the requirements of the food pyramid," Chelsea said, suddenly realizing that she was starved. "Count me in."

"No anchovies," Daryl warned.

"The message light is on," Ramn said. "You both know the rule. The first one home is supposed to check the messages."

Chelsea met Daryl's eyes and rolled hers.

The first voice to pour out of the machine was Ramn's in command mode. "Leave a message."

The next voice was deeper pitched and raspy, barely more than a whisper.

"Your articles in Metropolitan are disgusting. s.m.u.t like that should be stopped. And so should the writer."

Despite the fact that her feet were soaking in hot water and the fire was burning brightly in the fireplace, Chelsea felt her skin turn ice-cold. "Who?" she asked, looking at Ramn.

"The caller ID says 'Out of Area.'"

Daryl sat down next to her on the couch. "Not to worry. There are a lot of freaks in the world. Some of them get their kicks scaring people. The anonymous ones are always cowards."

Chelsea put her hand over his. "I'm not afraid. I'm angry. And starved. Order that pizza, Ramn."

He was reaching for the receiver when the phone rang. Frowning, he lifted it to his ear and listened. "Who is this?"

Chelsea watched the expression on his face lighten. "Really? I'll put her on." Ramn pa.s.sed her the phone. "He claims to be somebody from WNY's Good Morning, New York show. Let us know if he isn't and we'll handle it."

Lifting the receiver to her ear, she said. "Chelsea Brockway here... Yes, I'm the one who wrote the 'Hottie' articles for Metropolitan." Her eyes widened as she listened to what the man had to say. "Sure. I'll be waiting."

The moment she hung up the phone, she turned to her roommates. "That was James McCarthy, the host of the show. He wants to interview me on Friday and he's sending a limo for me at 5:00 a.m."

"You go girl!" Daryl said.

"Ditto," echoed Ramn.

"I'm going to wear the skirt." Chelsea said. "Do you suppose it might work over the airwaves?"

6.

"ZACH? ARE YOU AWAKE?"

"Yes." At 7:00 a.m., Zach was not only awake, but he'd already finished his morning workout and meditation. What surprised him was that his aunt Miranda was up. "What's wrong?"

"Turn on your TV. Hurry."

Striding into the living room of his apartment, Zach snagged the remote and pressed a b.u.t.ton. "What is so important that you're watching TV at this hour?"

He heard a m.u.f.fled groan from the other end. "I'm on my treadmill. TV makes it slightly less boring and you'll never guess. It's that woman you rescued in the bar the other day. She's on the WNY Good Morning, New York show."

"Which channel?" Zach asked.

"Five. She's talking about the articles she's going to be writing for Metropolitan."

Frowning, Zach pressed another b.u.t.ton and a picture sprang to life-Chelsea Brockway sitting in front of a fireplace, chatting cozily with a handsome young man who had the slick good looks and toothy smile of a typical TV news anchor.

He'd missed her. That simple realization deepened his frown. While his aunt chattered on in his ear, he had ample opportunity to notice that she was wearing the skirt and that it was hiked up a good two inches above her knee.

He'd purposely kept away from her for four days. Oh, she'd delivered her article right on time. Esme had put it on his desk just as soon as she'd sent it off to the printers. He'd found Chelsea had a knack for creating vivid vignettes laced with humor and a very deft hand at creating character. The wickedly accurate picture she'd drawn of the Texans had made him laugh out loud. He'd been much less comfortable with her portrait of the man who'd impulsively rushed to her rescue.

From start to finish her personality, her fresh style of seeing things had shone through.

It suddenly struck him that he'd been missing her all this time. That was why he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind.

Watching her laugh at something Mr. Teeth had just said to her, he felt the sharp twist in his gut and he had to acknowledge once again what he'd known from the first moment he'd seen her. He wanted her. Not seeing her for four days hadn't changed that one bit. Weighing the pluses and minuses of pursuing a relations.h.i.+p with her hadn't worked either. He hadn't even been able to come up with a decent list. How could he be with a woman as unpredictable as Chelsea? A woman who'd get herself on a morning talk show to promote her skirt articles without even clearing it with him!

"She's the woman Esme bought those articles from. The one I mentioned at lunch on Monday. Why didn't you tell me that?"

"I didn't know at the time," Zach said.

"She just mentioned that she has another article in the issue that hits the streets today and a contract for two more. I thought you were taking the magazine in a new direction?"

"I was. I am." When Mr. Teeth reached over to put a hand on Chelsea, Zach strode closer to the TV and pumped the volume b.u.t.ton on his remote.

"She's talking about a skirt that attracts men," Miranda said.

The camera moved in for a close-up on Chelsea as she explained the history of the skirt to the viewing audience. Zach couldn't help but think that some island con artist had really done a snow job on her college roommate. Then she went on to compare it to "lucky" hats and s.h.i.+rts. She even had Mr. Teeth admitting that he wore a special tie when he had challenging interviews to do.

"She's good," Miranda said in his ear.

Too good. Zach had to hand it to Chelsea. She was making a man-magnet skirt sound like a real possibility.

And she was laughing and talking with Mr. Teeth as if they were on a date.

"That was a smart move on your part to get her on TV to promote the articles," Miranda said.

"I didn't," Zach said, not adding that the last thing he wanted to do was promote the skirt articles.

"Whoever did is a genius. Ninety percent of the single women in Manhattan are going to want to borrow that skirt. And they're bound to want to read Metropolitan to find out more about it. Do you know how many people in this city watch Good Morning, New York?"

Zach preferred not to think about it. His aunt's chatter in his ear nearly caused him to miss the s.h.i.+ft that Chelsea's interview had taken.

"...mind if I ask you a few questions about your last article in Metropolitan, 'Hanging out for a Hottie?' Could you define what a hottie is, Chelsea?"

"Hottie is just the current term for every woman's dream guy," Chelsea said.

"But you've got to admit that hottie carries a certain s.e.xual connotation that dream man doesn't."

"Absolutely."

"While I can't really ask you to be more specific on morning television, my staff has made up a list of people, most of them fairly well-known. We thought since you're the expert, you could let us know how they rate on the hottie scale. That way our viewing audience will have a better idea of what the term means without hurting our G-rating."

Once again the camera focused on Chelsea as the show's host began reading names. The first few were movie stars and politicians.

"I want to meet her," Miranda said. "Can you arrange it?"

"Tomorrow night. I'm taking her to your ball."

There was a small beat before Miranda said, "I can't wait to talk to her."

He was going to have a little talk with her himself.

Suddenly, his attention was riveted on the TV screen. It was his own picture he was staring at.

"Come on, Chelsea. You're starting to hedge on some of these people. You're the expert."

"I haven't met all of them in person. Sometimes you have to in order to be able to tell if they're really a hottie."

"Okay. Our viewing audience is looking at a picture of Zachary McDaniels, your new boss at Metropolitan. Have you met him in person?"

"Yes," Chelsea said.

"Is he a hottie?"

"Yes," Chelsea said without so much as a blink. "Definitely."

With Miranda's delighted laugh ringing in his ear, Zach watched his picture be replaced by a shot of the show's host grinning at the camera. "You heard it here, New York. Our expert here tells us that the new editor-in-chief of Metropolitan magazine is a hottie. Mr. McDaniels, if you're watching, I want to invite you to come on this show next Tuesday, the day after Christmas, to respond to Chelsea's opinion." He winked at the camera. "And you'll have your chance to get in on the fun, New York. All day today and over the Christmas weekend, you can vote on whether or not you think Zach McDaniels is a hottie by simply accessing our Web site. We'll have the results for you next time we meet." He tapped two fingers to his head in a little salute. "Time's up for today. Good morning, New York."

Miranda was still laughing as the picture faded from the screen and an advertis.e.m.e.nt flashed on.

"Do you know how many people will be tuning in on Tuesday to find out the results and to see if you accept the challenge?"

Zach definitely did not want to think about that.

"THANKS A LOT, Ms. Brockway," said the young production a.s.sistant as she led the way toward a bank of elevators. "Mr. McCarthy is very happy with the segment, and it was sweet of you to sign autographs for those Cub Scouts. They certainly were fascinated by your skirt."

The moment the elevator doors closed, Daryl wrapped Chelsea in a big hug. "You were marvelous!"

Chelsea shook her head. "Somehow, I do not think that Zachary McDaniels is going to be enthused about being identified as a hottie."

"What else could you do?" Daryl said. "He's your boss. Are you supposed to tell the whole world that he's not a hottie? Believe me, given those two choices, you did the right thing, Chels."

"He's not going to think so. I can see the expression on his face right now." That was part of the problem, Chelsea thought as the elevator doors slid open and they stepped out onto the marble floor of the lobby. She could picture too clearly every single one of Zach's expressions in her mind-the way his mouth curved when he laughed, the heat in those dark eyes when he'd been about to kiss her.

"Are you kidding? He's going to be laughing all the way to the bank. Metropolitan hits the streets today and any woman who saw you this morning is going to grab it off the stands. A magic skirt that attracts men? I'm seriously thinking of designing some knockoffs of this little number myself. Besides, the man asked you out on a date."

"No," Chelsea said, shaking her head. "He asked the skirt out."

Daryl stopped short in front of the revolving door and turned to face her. "You can't be serious."

"I am."

Daryl put his hands on her shoulders and lowered his face so that they were eye to eye. "The only magic about that skirt is the way I make it look on you."