“Absolutely, Mrs. Bishop—I’m happy to go over that again with you. I have a booking for two weeks at Disney’s Four Seasons beginning March 15, and I’m putting together a comprehensive list of dining reservations beginning March 17, beginning with a character breakfast that morning.”

“Private? Or one of those awful things with all the tourists?” Mrs. Bishop’s nasally voice wavers, as if having to attend a buffet breakfast with commoners would be the end of her.

I consult the list. “Yes. I’ve arranged private reservations whenever possible, but some of the venues—”

As usual, she switches gears before I’ve finished my sentence. “Of course, Kennedy, I understand—we can’t be shutting down every restaurant in the park. Arthur will be so shaken if we’re surrounded by strangers when he’s about to meet his idols.” She lets out an indulgent laugh. I’m not sure that her four-year-old son will actually have his sense of security compromised if, in a stunning twist of fate, other guests are attending the most popular theme park in the country on the same day, but it’s not my place to comment.

It’s simply my job to coordinate.

I laugh along with her, pretending to be in on the joke. “You’re in good hands, Mrs. Bishop. Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”

“Not now, Kennedy.” Irritation tinges her voice, and I almost let a genuine laugh escape. I didn’t call her, but you wouldn’t know it. “I’ll be in touch.” There’s a click as she disconnects the call.

I put the handset back in the cradle and lean back in my seat. This morning at the agency has reminded me why I might possibly need to use up some more of my vacation time. My entire body is still wound tight from the weekend, but there are at least ten urgent calls waiting for me to return from Sunday alone. My clients are not patient people.

But they pay me enough to afford my own one-bedroom apartment in Sunnyside, one of the least exciting neighborhoods in Manhattan.

It’s perfect for me.

I sigh a little, thinking of the sun streaming in through the window in my living room, and wish I was curled up on the sofa with a hot mug of tea in my hands. 

Of course, even in this daydream of taking another vacation day, the tea is a prop, something for my hands to hold while I picture, in excruciating detail, Gideon Hawke’s handsome face.

It’s all that’s been on my mind, all that I’ve been able to think about, since we left the club on Saturday night. There was nothing I wanted to do more in my life than to have been able to leap back out of that car, push Leah away from me, and kiss him. My heart aches when I think back on that moment, perched in the back of the car with the other bridesmaids, all of them still shrieking, as I tried to breathe deeply and prepare for the ride to the Peninsula, while every cell in my body was desperate to have Gideon’s hands on me again.

I close my eyes, shutting out my office, shutting out the day, and force myself to focus.

I cannot let myself get hung up on a couple of hours spent with a man who’s so far out of my league that he’s probably forgotten my name already. Gideon Hawke probably isn’t even in the city anymore—by now, he’s halfway across the planet, jumping off some stupidly high cliff or flying through the jungle on a zipline reserved exclusively for rich people.

I can’t help but laugh at that image—a luxury zipline? Does such a thing even exist?—and then the Executive Travel Coordinator in me takes over. If it does exist, a client of mine will eventually want to book it, so I should know about it.

I spend fifteen minutes doing the research—it turns out that there are luxury zipline packages available, though the ziplines themselves are your run-of-the-mill stainless steel cable—and when I see what’s included, I purse my lips. I could put together a more luxurious experience than what’s being offered that also includes a high-speed trip over the canopy.

By lunch, I’ve checked off three more calls from my list, started planning another client’s vacation to Aspen for this winter, and had to snap myself out of vivid daydreams about Gideon at least twenty times.

I definitely need a change of scenery.

I yank my purse out of my desk drawer and throw it over my shoulder, before tapping on my supervisor Marina’s door to tell her that I’m walking down to the Halal cart on the corner to grab some lunch.

It’s a breezy August day, and midtown Manhattan is soaked in sunlight. The heat beats down on my shoulders as I walk the two blocks to the food cart, buy a chicken gryo, and then eat it while I stroll back to the office.

I can’t take a single bite without thinking of him.

It’s ridiculous. It’s absolutely ridiculous to be so enamored with a man I met at a nightclub, who I danced with once, who pestered me about things I’m never going to do. This is exactly the kind of distraction that could lead a person into making poor decisions, and that’s the last thing I need to be doing with the rest of my life.

I’m halfway back to the office when my cell phone rings in my purse.

I dig it out with one hand, smiling when I see the name on the screen.

“Hey, Abby. What’s up?”

“How’s my famous travel agent sister?”

I laugh out loud. “Not famous. A travel agent. Is there anything new in Westport?”

“Same old rotten view of Lake Champlain. I’m thinking of going for a swim.”

My heart twists in my chest. If it wasn’t for me, Abby could go for a swim without having to coordinate an entire team of people. “It’s that kind of day, isn’t it? It’s hot as hell in the city.”

“You should go for a swim.”

“I would,” I sigh, “but I don’t have a private pool. This guy I met at the club on Saturday, though…”

“Oooh,” she squeals. “Was he hot? Was he rich? No, start with the bachelorette party. Which bridesmaid is the bitchiest?”

I take the last bite of my gyro and toss the tin foil into the next garbage can I pass. “It’s a toss-up,” I tell Abby, “and I want to tell you everything about it, but I’m back at work. Can I call you when I get home tonight?”

“I’ll be holding my breath!” she jokes, then hangs up on me before I can turn sentimental.

Riding the elevator on the way back up to the Ruby Reservations offices, I let myself imagine Gideon, dancing with that animal sensuality, one last time. I’m not going to let him take over my life. I’m going to throw myself back into my work. At least in the office everything will be normal, routine…safe.

“Normal” lasts for another ten seconds, and then it shatters into a million pieces.