Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Brilliant,” she says, before continuing in a voice that’s pure satin as someone answers at the roller rink, “Hello, my name is Caroline Cane. I’m calling about a last-minute skate rental for a television production in Central Park. Could I speak to your manager please? Yes, of course, I’ll hold. Thank you so much.” She glances my way with a grin. “What?”
I shake my head, murmuring, “Nothing. You just…” I clear my throat. “That’s one hell of a customer service voice.”
She winks and whispers in that same, satin and silk panties tone, “Thank you. I give excellent customer service.” A moment later, a male voice rumbles on the other end of the line, and she shifts seamlessly into professional mode. “Yes, thank you Mr. Katz, so nice to meet you. As I told your associate, I’m part of a production filming tonight in Central Park, and we’ve run into an issue with slushy ice on the rink.”
As she helps put out our latest production fire without breaking a sweat, I force myself to locate my contact in the parks department and place the call. But all I really want to do is listen to Caroline talk in that voice for the next hour.
Or the entire night.
Or, possibly, the rest of my life.
Reminding myself that love at first sight isn’t real—and even if it were, it doesn’t happen to jaded reality show producers, even ones who are secretly also cranky romantics—I make my call, crossing my fingers we’ll be able to pull this off.
nine
. . .
Caroline
What have I done?
What in the name of very hard, very cold concrete, that will splinter my bones into tiny pieces if I fall on it, have I done?
“You were too busy flirting and chasing the dragon of crisis management to remember that you don’t know how to skate,” I mutter as I grip the makeshift railing around our new “rink” with sweaty palms.
I’m supposed to be wearing red mittens to match the white coat with the red polka-dots the costume department gave me, but my anxiety sweat is too intense.
“You too?” the woman next to me asks, tugging at the black scarf wrapped around her pale throat. In her black dress, black coat, black scarf, and dramatic black eyeliner, she’s like a character from the Addams family, but the look in her blue eyes is friendly as she adds, “I grew up in the woods on a gravel road. I never learned to do anything on wheels. I can’t ride a bike or roller skate. Pretty sure I’m going to break every bone in my body.”
“Me, too.” I exhale a shaky laugh as I extend a hand her way. “Caroline, but my hand is a sweaty mess so don’t feel obligated to shake it.”
“No worries.” She grins and gives my elbow a bump with hers. “I’m Jenna, the other last-minute recruit. I think I’m supposed to be the ‘bad’ girl to your ‘good’ one.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Well, you don’t seem bad to me. And I don’t think I’m going to be America’s Hospitality Sweetheart. I’m more of an acquired taste.”
“Nah, you’ll make a fine sweetheart,” Jenna says. “You have a Laura Ingalls Wilder smile. Remember that show? The Little House on the Prairie? God, I loved it when I was a kid.”
“Me, too,” I say, grinning. “I used to watch reruns with my grandmother and daydream about what it would be like to have siblings. I always wanted a big sister and a little sister.”
Jenna snorts. “No, you didn’t. I mean, it’s fine now that we’re grown. But growing up, Jessica stretched out my shoes and Jane never let me come smoke cigarettes in the park with her and her friends.”
I nod, humming softly. “Probably a good thing in the long run. You dodged an addiction to nicotine.”
“I did,” she agrees. “And I have middle child mediation skills that come in handy with cranky customers. Though, most of my guests are cool. You don’t get a lot of uptight people at a goth-themed inn an hour from the city. What about you? You’re from Vermont, right? I bet you get a lot of cranky old geezers.”
I laugh. “I mean, yeah, we have our share.”
Her smile widens. “Tell me more. I need a horror story about blue hairs behaving badly to keep my mind off the horror of being on wheels.”
“Hunh. Let me think…” I look up at the dark sky, searching my mental files for a good story, when I notice the cameraman lurking quietly behind us, filming. I tense and glance back to Jenna, whose smile has taken on a cunning edge. “Were you trying to trick me into saying unkind things about my guests on camera?”
A husky laugh emerges from her red lips. “What do you think? Going to have to wise up, Snow White, or you won’t last ten minutes in this competition. See you at the starting line.”