Seduce Me. Jo Leigh

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      Iris squeezed Natalie’s forearm. “Great attitude. One I intend to adopt as soon as I’m eligible. Don’t get me wrong, I like that members have to submit men they know before they can select cards, but I can’t wait! I already know three guys who want to be Hot Guys.”

      Denise leaned toward Natalie. “You decide to put that card back into the pot, I want to know about it first.”

      Just as she was going to respond, a woman she’d seen but not met leaned into their small huddle. “Someone asked about Tracy Jackson?”

      “You’re Tracy?” Denise asked.

      “No, but she’s a friend.”

      “She’s not a practical joker, is she?”

      “Tracy?” the woman asked as if the question itself was nuts. “No. She’s... No. She’s really straightforward. She would have been here, but she’s at a meeting in Toronto. She submitted two of her friends, though. I haven’t met either one, but if Tracy likes them, they’re bound to be top-notch.”

      Natalie relaxed. Not all the way. She would still call Tracy and get more information before she called Max. That would give her time to build up her courage.

      “I’m Sandy, by the way. You’re Denise, right? You work at the Columbia University library?”

      Introductions were made, which was a good thing. It pulled Natalie back down to earth. Almost. She still couldn’t get over Max’s looks, but looks only went so far. He still needed to live up to the back of the card, which was no mean feat.

      * * *

      HE SHOULD GET UP, get showered, dressed, call someone, do something. According to the TV weather woman, anyone who wasn’t outside frolicking under the clear blue sky was an idiot. It was day three of Max’s three-week vacation, so he could do whatever the hell he wanted. After three years of operating on adrenaline, frolicking wasn’t anywhere on his list. But he was hungry.

      Max sighed as he gazed upon his best companion and constant source of succor: his 56-inch LED high-definition television. He couldn’t remember what baseball teams were currently playing. After slipping in and out of sleep ever since he’d crawled onto the couch following a full nine hours in his bed, that wasn’t a big surprise. Actually, he had no idea what the standings were, who was on the injury list, or if the Mets had any chance for glory. There’d been no fantasy baseball this year, or last year. Not for him, anyway. It was tragic. Some fan he was.

      Again, he thought about going out. A simple proposition at face value, but, in fact, it would require him to make a series of decisions. What to wear, where to go, how to get there, whether to go alone? Try to hook up? He was exhausted just thinking about it. After such a long stretch of the hardest, most consuming work he’d ever faced, he didn’t want to make another decision for the rest of his life. With one very big exception: what to do about his future.

      It wasn’t rhetorical. He really had to decide, and soon. Huh, he’d meant to call his dad again, get his advice this time instead of just saying a quick hey, but seeing as it was the middle of a workday, he figured he’d wait until that night to phone him.

      The tort case had devoured his life, and that included not checking in regularly with his folks. They’d told him not to worry about it, but he missed them. And his brother. Mike was busy, too, with his newest art gallery. At least they texted from time to time.

      Reaching behind him, Max adjusted his pillow and an unfortunate turn of his head made him realize he should have made the effort to shower several days ago. His sloth was all Manhattan’s fault. The only exercise he’d gotten since he’d come home to rest was walking to the door to get his deliveries. Takeout, groceries, fluff-and-fold laundry. A person could get anything in this city, any day, any time. He loved the hell out of it.

      What he also loved was burgers. His stomach gurgled and he snatched his cell phone from the coffee table. When he caught the actual time, his stomach made another loud protest and he hit speed dial fourteen. After ordering an Alpine Burger and fries from Paul’s Da Burger Joint, his hand dropped to his side like a dead weight. It wasn’t possible to be this tired for so long. Maybe he was sick or something.

      Or maybe he’d just worked hundred-hour weeks for three goddamned years with virtually no time off.

      He grinned as he put his phone back on the table. It had been worth it. Every hour. Because right now the senior partners at Latham, Kirkland and Jones were deciding just how much money they were going to spend to make him happy. Happy enough to stay put. To ward off the headhunters, who’d already come calling. His firm had won an unwinnable case, due in large part to his ideas and hard work. The whole damn seafood industry was falling all over itself sending gift baskets and champagne to the office. Even better, they’d been congratulating him. Personally.

      So, yeah. This break was not just going to rejuvenate him, it was going to make the firm sweat while Max considered every option available. Equity, naturally, but at what percentage? A new office? Use of the executive suite in London, absolutely, and the Malibu house in California.

      Once he hauled himself off the couch, the shower appealed greatly. Stepping under the hot water relaxed his muscles and felt amazing. It even helped remind him that a real life was once again an option. At least until the next megacase.

      Maybe later he’d venture out to his local watering hole. He liked Swift for its laid-back atmosphere, the good-looking women, excellent beer selection and...hell, the good-looking women were all that mattered.

      By the time he finished shaving, his arms felt heavy and his desire for action had diminished. The bar would be there tomorrow night. And maybe by then he’d be his old self again.

      * * *

      WITH TEN MINUTES to go until she had to leave St. Marks, Bobbie, a hairdresser Natalie had met at last month’s meeting, pulled her aside to talk about the card Natalie had submitted. Randy was a friend of her tenant, Fred Mason. Both guys worked for the Museum of Modern Art and the three of them had bonded over their mutual love of cards and board games. Randy was a rock-solid, wonderful man. She’d actually entertained the idea of a romantic relationship with him, but he wasn’t for her. He didn’t care much for movies, which was a deal breaker.

      After Natalie had offered a bunch of assurances about Randy, Bobbie whipped out her cell phone and called him. They had a date set up in under five minutes. Obviously thrilled, Bobbie looked at her card again, and then headed back to the other side of the room. Natalie didn’t rejoin her friends, however. Not yet. She pulled out her Android. Toronto was in the same time zone, and it was only 7:00 p.m. Tracy Jackson might have time to talk.

      “Hello?”

      “Tracy, this is Natalie Geller from Trading Cards.”

      “Oh, hi. How’s it going?”

      Natalie cupped her free ear to block out the laughter and chatter in the room. “Great. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

      “You’re not, but I’m waiting for a car that’s going to be here any minute. Did you pick one of my guys?”

      “Max Zimm.”

      “Oh, he’s wonderful. Exactly as advertised, I’m not kidding. Really. You’ll love him. Oops, my ride’s here. Sorry.”

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