Hex and the Single Girl by Valerie Frankel

Author:Valerie Frankel [Frankel, Valerie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, C429, Extratorrents, Kat
ISBN: 9780060785543
Publisher: Hachette UK
Published: 2006-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The doors began to close. The man blocked them with his arm. Emma kicked at his hand. While fending off blows, he shouted, “Twenty thousand dollars!”

She stopped kicking. Emma stepped over him and back into the lobby.

“Twenty thousand dollars?” Her keenly sensitive hearing had to be mistaken. For that amount, she felt suddenly refreshed and ready to work.

“You stomped my pinkie,” said the short man, standing, rubbing his finger. “And, yes, I said twenty grand.”

“That figure is quite the blimp,” she said. “Who’s the client?”

He stood up, dusted himself off, and said, “I didn’t go to Harvard Law School for this.” He handed her a business card.

She read, “Sherman Hollow, Esq. of Park Avenue.”

“I do entertainment and contract law,” he said. “Currently, I’m acting as personal manager for one of my clients.”

“The client with the matchmaking emergency,” said Emma.

“She’s waiting for you around the corner. In her limo,” he said. “When you speak to her, don’t tell her that I referred to the Good Year blimp in our conversation. In fact, don’t use the word ’blimp’ at all. Or ’inflated.”’

Emma followed Sherman Hollow, Esq. back outside. They walked down Waverly Place and onto Gay Street. A six-

door white limousine with blacked-out windows idled at the curb. As they approached, one of the rear doors opened.

Emma peeked inside.

Marcie Skimmer squealed, “Roses? For me? ”

The blond bombshell swiped the roses out of Emma’s hand, buried her bobbed nose in the bouquet, inhaled deeply, and then tossed the bunch at Sherman Hollow. He obediently—one could say, slavishly—received them and placed the flowers in the front seat next to the driver. Then he joined the ladies in the back.

Sherman said, “Marcie, this is Emma.”

They shook hands. Marcie said, “Have we met?”

Emma was still adjusting to the model up close. At eleven on a Wednesday morning, Marcie looked like Saturday night. Platinum hair piled atop her head, strands artfully flowing downward with haphazard perfection. Her makeup, especially the black vamp eyeliner, was penciled on with the precision of a diamond cutter. Her lips were glossy and frosty, her skin spritzed with peony perfume, dazzling Emma’s eyes and nose.

The Good Witch said, “We haven’t met. I’d remember.” But they had. Twice. At Ciao Roma (but Emma looked a lot different that night, with straight hair, no shades, and full makeup), and with Victor at Haiku, when she’d been disguised as Emeril. Also, like hundreds of others, Marcie had seen her face in William’s portraits.

The model almost connected the dots. She said, “You seem so familiar.”

“I must have one of those faces.”

Frowning, the model said, “No, your face is unusual. That low forehead and pinched chin and too-wide cheekbones, those kooky blue glasses.”

Sherman Hollow, Esq., interjected. “Marcie, why don’t you get to the point?”

“I hear that you are a witch and you cast spells and boil potions, then invade the minds of men and haunt their dreams and make them fall in love with whoever you tell them to.”

Emma laughed. “Your sources are a bit off. I’m a telegraphopathic matchmaker.

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