The Rules According to Gracie Read Free Page A

even get me started on Christmas lists…
    Gracie
    P.S. I definitely did not make that up. Google it!
    Okay, so maybe she was a little extreme Type-A. Growing up with a mother who scrutinized every single detail of her life had made Gracie a bit of a control freak. She liked to do things properly. It was the only way to keep Cecilia Jane Greene at bay. Keeping her satisfied was one thing, but Gracie didn’t bother trying to make her mother happy. That would be like trying to cut an onion with a spoon—messy and definitely resulting in tears.
    Des Chapman
    Subject: Re: Making a list, checking it twice
    I’m not even going to touch the fact that you compared finding a partner with shopping for groceries. Maybe have a think about that next time you’re looking at dating profiles. Finding ingredients for soup is not the same as ticking off the attributes of a potential date.
    Des
    P.S. I’m not Googling flamboyant flamingos…how do you think that would look to my IT guy?
    P.P.S. Gotta run. See you on Tuesday.
    Gracie dragged the email chain into a folder marked “friends” and finished her lunch. She was already looking forward to Tuesday with much more excitement than she should—and it had nothing to do with her date.

Chapter Two
    The days dragged until Tuesday night. Gracie had a blind date with the cousin of a friend—a lawyer, divorced, no kids—so she returned to First . She’d changed at work, touched up her makeup, and ignored the fact that she was more excited to see Des than she was to meet her date.
    The city was dark and glittery. A hint of leftover winter chill caused Gracie to pull her coat tighter around her. She’d had one of those days—the drop your latte, ladder your tights, trip on the stairs in front of your boss kind of days— and she was late.
    Clicking up the narrow sidewalk, she kept her head down to watch for any cracks or grates which might claim her new stilettos. Breaking a heel would be the cherry on top of a perfectly crappy day and, if Murphy had anything to say about it, a broken heel would come at the worst possible moment.
    Her feet moved quickly, a blur of bright red patent leather, as she hurried toward First . As she was about to turn into the restaurant’s entrance she slammed into something hard and dark. Her flattened palms connected with a solid wall of muscle, her nose pushed against black fabric as she tottered on her heels.
    What in the—
    “Whoa.”
    Large hands gripped her arms and the scent of spice and wood-fire filled her nostrils. Forcing herself not to sigh against the man’s chest, she looked up and met two onyx eyes. She would recognize those eyes anywhere.
    “Gracie Greene, what a surprise.”
    “Des,” she squeaked, stepping back to straighten herself. She brushed his hands off before her brain decided to remember how they felt, and tugged her coat back into place. “You shouldn’t come storming out of a doorway like that. Someone could get hurt.”
    “Perhaps that someone should watch where they’re going.” He quirked a thick, black brow at her, his luscious lips curved into an amused smile.
    Why did he have to smell so damn good?
    “Isn’t the customer always right?” She tilted her head, hoping to hell her face wasn’t as flushed as it felt.
    Des stepped aside and pulled the door open with one hand, motioning with the other for her to enter. “I’m assuming the dude in the obnoxious suit is waiting for you? Be warned, he’s going thin on top. Give it a few years and you’ll be able to use his head for a solar panel.”
    “You’re awful,” she said, stifling a laugh.
    He didn’t move as she stepped through the doorway, the confines of the entrance forcing her to get close. At six feet something, he towered over her, and his huge shoulders crowded her as she slipped past. She kept her hands against her stomach, lest she brush them over the denim that melded to his thighs like a second