the Overnight Socialite by Bridie Clark Read Free Book Online

again. And again. On the sixth sneeze, he finally looked back at her.

    Her dark hair hung lifelessly on either side of an open, friendly face. From the Midwest , he judged, and she hasn't lived here longer than a year. She was tall, maybe five-nine, and not thin. Even though she was buried under a Michelin-man-size winter parka, Wyatt could tell there was meat on her bones. But her features--particularly her dark, expansive eyes--weren't bad. All in all, she struck him as a fixer-upper; a block of clay ready for Pygmalion's chisel. "What's your name?" he asked.

    "My name?"

    "That's right, your name." Wyatt handed her his business card, hand-engraved on card stock that was thick enough to cut butter.

    "It's . . . um, Lucy Jo Ellis," she said reluctantly, taking the proffered card.

    Wyatt scratched his chin. "Not much of a name, but we could work on that."

    "Excuse me?"

    He studied her carefully. She was the walking definition of average. Except for her outfit, a soggy rag of a neon pink cocktail dress, there wasn't anything memorable about her appearance.

    "Wyatt! You're scaring the poor girl." Trip admonished under his breath.

    "That's ridiculous." He guessed she lived in Murray Hill, or maybe in the nineties near the FDR, possibly with a roommate. No wedding ring--he guessed she was single. There was just something about her that said alone in the world. "Please, Peters, I'm offering to expand the girl's entire social status, her entire life."

    "Improve my social status ?" Lucy Jo repeated, her voice rising about an octave.

    "Give me a few months," Wyatt continued deafly, still addressing Trip, "and I could turn her into a social luminary. She'd make the rest of the pack look like dim little tea lights."

    "Are you insane?" the woman spat at him. "You don't even know me!"

    "I'm really sorry," Trip said. "My friend's been drinking." She just shook her head. Her lips were pursed into a tight line, and a blotchy red circle had formed on each of her full cheeks. "Please just ignore him. Wyatt, let's go."

    But Wyatt felt more certain than ever. Meeting this girl tonight--it felt like fate. And her selection would be truly random, making a perfect start to his book. "I could turn her into the toast of Manhattan. She'd make those silver-spooned heiresses green with envy. I'd put her up in a nice apartment. With the right clothes, education, social grooming--"

    Whaaaaaaaap! The girl's right hand laid twenty pounds of slap against his cold cheek. "What the hell was that for?" Wyatt bellowed, rubbing his face to erase the pink impression of Lucy Jo's palm. "You idiotic--"

    "Do I look like the Happy Hooker? Or a charity case? I don't know what your issue is, buddy, but I'm not that kind of girl!" Lucy Jo yelled. She stepped indignantly out into the rain, which beat down so hard on her that she could barely open her eyes.

    "Calm down." Wyatt grabbed her arm to pull her out of the waterfall. In one motion she wrenched it free, and he quickly stepped back, surprised by her strength. "You think I'm trying to pick you up or something? You're missing the entire point!"

    "Well, you're--you're missing some marbles!" Lucy Jo shouted over a peal of thunder. But she stepped back under the awning. There were no taxis in sight.

    Wyatt, still pressing his injured cheek, felt his temper rise. "Imagine flying off the handle because someone offered you the opportunity of a lifetime!"

    "Imagine having your head so far up your ass that you feel entitled to insult a perfect stranger!" Lucy Jo snapped back.

    The two of them stood silently under the awning, huffy as an old married couple having the same fight for the umpteenth time. Then, as though remembering she was free to go, she stepped back toward the street. "Your handkerchief--" Lucy Jo glanced down at the wet linen square that Trip had given her.

    "All yours. And here, please take my umbrella."

    "Nah, that's okay--"

    "It's the least I can do," Trip insisted. "I'm sorry that he