Been Searching for You

Chapter One-2

“Modern or classic?”

“You pick.”

“Modern has to be Anne Fortier’s Juliet. It’s a retelling of Romeo and Juliet in dual time periods.”

“So it’s both modern and a classic. Nice. Does this one have a happy ending?”

“Yes and no. You’ll have to read it to find out what I mean. What about yours?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “If you were any other woman, I’d say Ulysses by James Joyce and try to convince you I actually understand it. But I have a feeling you’re too smart for that.” Alex rubbed his scruffy cheek with the back of a finger, considering me. “If I’m honest, I’m obsessed with Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe mysteries. That’s why your stories intrigued me. Stout’s books are light and fun, plus they touch on all the timeless themes: betrayal, revenge, fine food.”

I laughed “That they do. They make me hungry.”

“You’ve read them?”

I shook my head. “No, but I loved the A&E TV show that starred Timothy Hutton. I was a little in love with his Archie Goodwin.”

His eyes twinkled. “Seems I have a lot to live up to.”

I raised a mental eyebrow. So, he was comparing himself to my fantasy man. That was a good sign.

“Seriously though, A&E did a great job with adapting that series. But you should still read the books. As usual, they are better.” He leaned closer to me. “Speaking of books, Miles said the two of you came up with tonight’s theme? It’s both culturally relevant and clever. You should be proud.”

“Thank you. I thought it was rather silly, but I’m glad you appreciate it.” I stared at my glass, suddenly unable to look at him even though that was all I wanted to do. I searched my brain for some way to turn the conversation back to him and forced myself to look up. “What brings you here tonight?”

He took a sip of his drink, some sort of scotch or whiskey judging by the color. “Supporting a friend—Paulo Rodriguez. He’s a professor of Romance languages at the University of Chicago.”

I knew that name. “Wait. Is he the one they called ‘Hot for Teacher’ in the Chicago Magazine article?”

“One and the same. I don’t know if I’m embarrassed or proud to admit to nominating him for this event. You can see for yourself in a few minutes. He told me he was early in the lineup.” His eyes swept over me from head to toe then back up again, leaving a tingling heat on my skin as they moved. “Will you be bidding tonight?”

“Me?” I croaked. Wait. Was that his way of finding out if I was single? “No, I’m here with a friend as well. She’s up first actually.”

Alex’s brow wrinkled. “That’s Mia, right? She’s the one Paulo asked me to bid on.” Seeing my confusion, he added, “The Top Singles can’t bid on each other, but the rules say nothing about bids by proxy.” He shot me a mischievous grin.

We lapsed into momentary silence, so I mentally leafed through my lackluster catalogue of topics to discuss with strangers.

“So you and Miles go way back? How did you meet?” I asked. It was such a banal question, but small talk had never been my forte. There I was, wanting to impress him with my sparkling wit, and the best I could do was basic niceties.

He started to respond, but his answer was drowned out by an ear-splitting squeal as Eva took the stage, manhandling the microphone.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen to the Windy City’s most popular singles event of the year, sponsored by Chicago Magazine and Heart+Soul online dating. Each of our fifty Top Singles will be up for auction. All proceeds will benefit the University of Chicago Medicine Comer Children’s Hospital, so please bid high. As each single walks out, I’ll read a brief bio, and they’ll explain which synonym of the word great they have chosen to describe themselves—no two will be the same. The bidding will begin when they have finished speaking.” She gave a small nod, and the lights dimmed, plunging us into near darkness.

A moment later, they flashed to life as Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” blared through the speakers, then it quieted as Eva read Mia’s bio. I almost choked when Mia emerged from the wings, hands on her hips in supermodel style, long red hair swinging with each stomping step. I hardly heard Eva’s account of Mia’s time gracing the runways of Paris, Milan, and New York because I was too busy staring slack-jawed as Mia strutted down the catwalk in a one-shouldered metallic-silver cocktail dress ruched at the waist to accentuate her curves. It was longer than her other dress but left little to the imagination.

When she approached the end of the runway, she paused, turning once. Then the music quieted, and she addressed the crowd. “I’m Mia LaRue, and my synonym for great is wicked!” She made rock n’ roll devil horns with the pinkie and forefinger of her right hand. “I chose this word because being great is about more than excelling at something. You have to have a special little spice to rise from good to great.” She paused for half a beat. “And just so you know, I’m accepting bids from men and women.” She winked at the crowd, which tittered in response.

Eva cleared her throat with a touch of disapproval. “Thank you, Mia. We will begin the bidding at one hundred dollars.”

I tuned out as the room exploded in a volley of shouted figures, each higher and louder than the next. Miles emerged from the crowd and rejoined us at the bar. I leaned into him to be heard over the noise.

“How do you stand this?” I gestured toward the chaos. “When you’re together, I mean.”

He sipped his drink through a thin straw. “Comes with the territory. You don’t like it, then you’d better run because you certainly won’t be able to handle Mia. She’s this multiplied by a hundred all by herself.”

After only a few minutes of bidding, Mia’s price was in the thousands and the auction was down to two contestants: Alex and a sultry brunette with huge doe eyes who looked as if she could have given Mia a run for her money. The bidding was up to five thousand dollars, and she wasn’t backing down. Her bright, sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks betrayed the thrill she was getting out of the competition. Alex, however, did not look as excited. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he stared the woman down.

“Ten thousand dollars,” he shouted.

The crowd gasped. All eyes turned toward the woman. She considered his offer for a moment then slowly shook her head.

Eva brought down her gavel. “We have a winner! Mia LaRue has just raised a record-breaking ten thousand dollars. Isn’t that wonderful?”

As the crowd cheered, Mia winked at the brunette—whose number she would no doubt be in possession of by the end of the night—then blew a kiss at Alex before turning on her spiked heel and exiting the stage.

I had to rise up on my tiptoes to get near Alex’s ear. “Does she know you were bidding for someone else?”

“I have no idea. I’m just glad I don’t have to pay for her.”

Was it my imagination or had his voice held a hint of disgust? So he wasn’t interested in supermodel-perfect, trampy Mia. Good. Maybe his tastes ran more toward the girl next door.

Inspired by that thought—or perhaps it was the alcohol kicking in—I bit my lower lip and asked, “Would you have bid on me?”

He turned to me and looked me over again. “Now that’s a different story.” A breathtaking grin lit up his face. “I’d pay a lot more for you. Fine things are worth more than what’s common for a reason.”

My heart melted. I opened my mouth to respond but was interrupted by an auction official who’d come to collect Alex’s—or rather Paulo’s—p*****t information. By the time Alex had explained the situation to the official, Mia was strutting toward us as quickly as her sky-high heels would let her.

“There’s the man with the best taste in the room,” she yelled over the chaos of Paulo’s auction. She grabbed Alex by the lapel and planted a noisy kiss on his cheek. “Hello, handsome.”

So she didn’t know he’d bought her for someone else. I couldn’t wait to see Alex set her straight. But before Alex could even react, Miles took my hand and dragged me over to the nearest standing table.

“What the hell, Miles? We’re going to miss all the fun.”

He fixed me with his I-mean-business stare. “I heard what Alex said to you. Enjoy the compliment, but don’t take it as anything more.”

“Why not?”

“He referred to just getting out of a long-term relationship earlier. From the sound of it, the wound is still pretty fresh. I think he wants her back, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“You just reconnected with him. What do you know about his heart?”

“I knew the woman. She was special to him.”

“Was being the key word. So what if he wants her back? He doesn’t have her right now, does he?” I narrowed my eyes at him as a thought occurred to me. “If the situation was reversed, would you be warning Mia off him?”

“Of course not. She can handle herself.”

I threw up my hands. He was always big-brothering me. “Happy birthday, Annabeth! Here’s a hot guy who might be interested in you, but Miles thinks you’re too fragile to handle him. Thanks a lot.” Before he could reply, I turned away and went back to Alex’s side.

As I eyed a tall Latino man who had joined our group—had to be Paulo—Alex leaned down and whispered, “You okay?”

“Fine. Miles was just being an overprotective friend,” I said, crossing my arms to show I didn’t want to talk about it.

My face must have betrayed my emotions more than I thought because Mia leaned over to me. “Buck up, Pookie. This is no way to spend the last few hours of your birthday.”

I gave her a withering look, not in the mood for her to patronize me.

“So where’s the lucky lady who ‘won’ you?” Miles asked Paulo, mercifully changing the subject.

Paulo nodded toward the crowd, where a noisy volley of figures signaled the beginning of another auction. “Back into the fray. She’s bidding on someone for her daughter. I’m supposed to call her tomorrow.”

Behind us, two women erupted into a high-pitched yelling match over the current bachelor.

Paulo winced. “I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather finish our evening somewhere quiet than listen to forty-seven more of these. Since we’ve all fulfilled our obligations, what do you say we head out?”

“I know the perfect place,” Mia cooed. “There’s a little jazz bistro on Eire that’s just cozy enough for us to get to know each other.” She squeezed Paulo’s bicep while smoldering at Alex and Miles. “Oh, remind me to tell you what that Vogue photographer said to me last weekend. It’s the funniest thing.”

I rolled my eyes. So that was how the night was going to go. Queen Mia would hold court with her suitors and regale us with stories of her latest worldwide escapades. That was pretty much par for the course, but I didn’t want to deal with it. With her in control, Alex and I wouldn’t be able to get a word in edgewise, much less get to know one another, which was all I really wanted.

“Why don’t we ask the birthday girl where she wants to go?” Miles said. “That’s your agreement, right? You do what she wants tonight?”

Mia’s face fell as she remembered our pact. “Yeah.”

I could have forced the issue and insisted on getting my own way, but my inner introvert was exhausted. Finishing out the evening with a hot bath and a good book was sounding better by the minute, especially since I couldn’t spend the evening talking with Alex.

I forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it. Go wherever you’d like. I’m getting a headache—probably too much champagne. I think I’m going to head home.”

“Are you sure?” Alex asked. “Maybe you just need some fresh air. At least let me walk you out.”

I took his proffered arm. “That’s very sweet, thank you.” Looking over my shoulder, I called, “Have fun, you guys.”

While we waited for the coat check girl to emerge from the sea of leather, down, and faux fur, Alex drummed his fingers on the countertop. “So what’s with Mia calling you ‘Pookie’? Is there something I should know about?”

It took me a second to realize he was asking if Mia and I were together. When I finally did, I burst out laughing. “No, no, it’s not like that at all. I mean, she’s into girls too, but I’m not.” I found myself reaching out to touch him, but I changed direction to fiddle with my hair instead. “It’s an inside joke. She says it to annoy me.”

The girl returned with my coat, and Alex gallantly took it from her and helped me into it. “So what’s the story?”

He walked me to the curb as I explained. “It goes back a few years. I told her once that ‘The Tango Maureen’ from the musical Rent should have been called ‘The Tango Mia’ because she’s as complicated and manipulative in her relationships as Maureen. She responded by calling me ‘Pookie,’ and it kind of stuck.”