LITMIR.BIZ

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of him. If he underwent a personality transplant or at least learned to take a deep breath, he might be perfect—strong jaw with a devilishly square chin, close-cut scruff along his jaw, thick head of mahogany brown hair. Her vision dipped lower and she shuddered as images of his glorious chest and astounding abs flashed in her head. She hadn’t been lucky enough to see his torso live and in person, but she’d unearthed photos of him on the internet. He was one of Britain’s most eligible bachelors, as billed in a charity calendar full of hunky guys. A bachelor raising a baby—divorce was a terrible thing.

      Somewhere in the world was a true match for this stunning-on-the-outside, stodgy-on-the-inside man. Ashley believed that about everyone. It wasn’t a made-for-TV act she put on for her reality show, her namesake, Manhattan Matchmaker. True love and soul mates were real, just as real as the things in life everyone feared—broken hearts, family illnesses, life-or-death obligations.

      Ashley still believed she’d find her own match someday, but after getting dumped before Thanksgiving by the guy she’d thought was “the one,” she’d decided to take a year off from dating. Focus on herself in the context of “me,” not “we.” She hadn’t lasted long. Marcus had moved in during the first few days of January, he asked her out a week after they’d met, and she’d stupidly said yes. That night three months ago had done nothing but prove her thesis: she had no business being with a man right now. She didn’t trust her instincts when it came to love, at least not where her own heart was concerned. Not after the heartbreak of James. And her life was indeed chaos.

      Marcus moved his head to the side as if working out a kink in his neck. A waft of his aftershave settled on her, its effect on her as unavoidable as the heat of a South Carolina summer. Damn. He even smelled good—warm and masculine, just like the finest bourbon, peculiar since Marcus was CEO of his family-owned gin distillery.

      The elevator dinged. “After you.” His velvety accent echoed in her head. If only he’d used it for something along the lines of, “Don’t you look smashing? I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass the last three months.”

      Ashley strode down the hall. Her skirt was too tight to take the extralong strides she hoped could convey her determination to come out of this confab unscathed, but she still marched into the meeting room, stilted gait and all. The five members of the building’s board sat at a long table, conferring. Ashley’s stomach lurched when she saw the board president, Tabitha Townsend. Tabitha regarded Ashley as if she were a red wine spill on white carpet. Ashley wasn’t exactly about to invite her over for cosmos and girl talk. And now it was time to charm Tabitha and the board, when Ashley had just had an exhausting day of publicity for the new season of Manhattan Matchmaker.

      “Hello, everyone.” Ashley shook hands with her only ally, Mrs. White, a longtime building resident. She was not only upper-crust through and through but also a reality TV addict. Ashley’s show was one of her favorites.

      “Will you say it for me? Just once?” Mrs. White asked, looking hopeful.

      Ashley didn’t have a choice. She had to make somebody in this room happy. “I’m Ashley George, and I find true love in the city that never sleeps.”

      Mrs. White clapped her hands together in glee. “I love it when you do that. I brag to all my friends about it.”

      “Anytime for you,” Ashley replied.

      The corners of Mrs. White’s mouth turned down. “I only wish tonight’s meeting was under better circumstances. We should be talking about the new season of your show, not neighborly squabbles.”

      “I assure you, they’re more than squabbles,” Marcus interjected with all the warmth of an iceberg.

      Mrs. White shook her head, eyes darting back and forth between them. “It’s a shame, you know. You two would make a lovely couple. Have you ever thought about that? Going out to dinner to work out your differences?”

      Marcus huffed. Oh, they’d been out to dinner, and it had gone horribly. Nervous to a fault, Ashley had one too many glasses of wine before the appetizers arrived. Apparently she hadn’t fully processed her breakup with James because she rambled on and on about it, about how he’d dumped her because she cared too much about her career, because she wasn’t ready to commit, wasn’t ready to have kids. The list of reasons she’d been rejected was long. Marcus had reacted to it so badly that the night ended with a handshake. That had been a major disappointment... It wasn’t like she’d been foolish enough to think she and Marcus Chambers would fall in love, but he was such a hottie. She’d been looking forward to a kiss.

      Her renovation project started the next day. Thus the battle of Chambers vs. George, a fight she wished would die, was born.

      “Careful, or people will start to think you’re the matchmaker.” Ashley held on to Mrs. White’s hand, wanting to stay with the one person in the room who was on her side.

      She eventually moved along, arriving at Tabitha, who didn’t offer her hand but rather a stabbing glare. Luckily she turned, and her eyes landed on Marcus. “Mr. Chambers. It’s nice to see you this evening.” She ran her manicured fingers along the neckline of her blouse. Despite her attempt at being alluring, Tabitha was definitely not Marcus’s perfect match. Anyone could see that. He belonged with a woman carved from marble, not one made of fire and brimstone. “Take a seat, Ms. George,” Tabitha snapped.

      Ashley twisted her lips but followed orders, perching in one of two chairs facing the table. This wasn’t quite the setup for an HOA meeting. It was more a firing squad, especially given Tabitha’s presence. Ashley crossed her legs, setting her handbag on the floor. Marcus took the seat next to hers.

      “Ms. George,” Tabitha began. “It’s apparent to the board that your apartment renovation is out of control.”

      Off to a great start. Ashley squirmed in her seat.

      Tabitha opened a thick folder overflowing with papers. Marcus had been thorough with his complaints. “Your workers, and in particular the foreman, have little regard for the only other tenant of your floor, Mr. Chambers. There have been circular saws at seven in the morning...”

      “I was out of town,” Ashley interjected. “I’m sorry that happened.”

      “Ms. George. Please raise your hand before speaking.” Tabitha flipped to the next page. “There has been loud music of some sort...”

      Ashley thrust her hand into the air. “It’s just pop music, and the carpenters love it. If you’d just let me explain...”

      “I’m not finished, Ms. George. Quiet. Please.”

      Ashley slumped back in her chair. “Sorry.”

      Tabitha cleared her throat. “As I was saying, the workers have repeatedly made a mess in the hall you share with Mr. Chambers, tracking drywall dust and dirt. They don’t clean up after themselves, and worst of all, they have been seen smoking in the building, which is a fire hazard and strictly prohibited.”

      Ashley’s stomach turned. The most tragic event of her entire life had been a fire. “They know they’re not supposed to do that. I’ve told them. I’ll tell them again.”

      “Frankly, I’m tempted to tell you right now that you must halt the project and hire another contractor.”

      Ashley’s queasiness became nearly unbearable. She’d been on this contractor’s waiting list for a year, and they were her second choice. The wait for her first choice was closer to eighteen months, and that time frame was given to her after she’d pulled celebrity strings. The contractor she’d hired did solid work affordably, an absolute necessity with her sizable obligations to her family back in South Carolina.

      She couldn’t put the project on hold. She’d lose every penny she’d paid the contractor up front. It would take months to recover from that financially, and she’d be stuck living in a construction zone when her entire aim this year was to make her life more stable. With her work schedule and her father’s worsening health after several strokes, visions of Ashley’s dream apartment were the only thing

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