New York City, January 1998
Robin Ballard stood by the bar, a fresh gin and tonic in her hand. She was smiling vaguely as the man beside her told a joke. She'd been prepared to throw her head back in false laughter just to be polite, so she was pleasantly surprised when the punchline was actually funny and she genuinely laughed instead.
The loud sound echoed joyously through the party, and Napoleon Solo's head snapped up as he heard it, so fast that he almost spilled his dirty martini down the front of his bespoke three-piece suit. He swiveled his head, trying to locate the person it belonged to.
When his eyes landed on Robin, they widened in surprise. He recognized her from the poster that had been by the door when he'd arrived. This was her party.
She was even more beautiful in person. In her picture, she'd looked nervous, like she wasn't comfortable having her photo taken. He could tell that she was still a little tense as she leaned against the bar, but overall, she was much more natural.
He stayed where he was for a moment and just stared at her, wanting to take in every detail that he could before he approached her. It was more than likely that she knew who he was, and if she was like every other woman he'd talked to recently, she'd change instantly when he introduced himself.
He fervently hoped she wouldn't be like that. There was something about her that was irresistible, drawing him in immediately, like the proverbial moth to a flame. But he was also aware of the dangers of building someone up in his head too much. It so often led to greater disappointment.
Her dark brown hair was thick and shiny and piled on top of her head in a loose bun. Several tendrils had either been left loose on purpose or escaped to frame her sweet, round face. She had big dark hazel eyes, a nose with an adorable swoop at the end of it, and full pink lips.
She was short, almost a foot shorter than him, he was guessing. And she had curves everywhere, which the dress she was wearing drew maximum attention to. She had thick thighs, pear-shaped hips, and a soft, rounded stomach, all topped off by the most exquisite pair of breasts he'd ever seen. They were incredibly full and practically spilling out of her neckline.
He knew a lot of people here would have called her overweight, but he thought she was perfect.
He remembered that she'd just moved to the city. It would have been obvious even if he hadn't already known. Most women in New York, especially ones who moved in this social circle, prided themselves on being fashionable and would never be caught in public looking anything less than what they considered perfect.
She was exhibiting several less than perfect traits at the moment that he found very refreshing. Her hair was neat, but not styled. The only make-up she was wearing was lip gloss, and she was devoid of jewelry. Her clothes weren't by any recognizable designer, and her shoes were flats. Perhaps most telling of all were her glasses, which had thick black frames.
He glanced at his watch and grimaced. He had to leave soon, so if he wanted to talk to her, it was now or never. He had no idea when he'd see her again otherwise.
Besides, it was better to figure out it could go nowhere sooner rather than later.
He downed half of his martini and slipped through the crowd toward her. He hoped he looked decent. He didn't have time to find the men's room and check.
He settled into the open spot beside her at the bar and gave her his most dazzling smile. She smiled back at him and he saw the flicker of recognition in her eyes. It took everything he had not to let his smile die immediately as he waited for her to start fawning over him.
But, to his surprise, she didn't. And when he didn't follow up with any sort of comment, she looked down nervously and bit her lip before taking a sip of her drink.
"My apologies," he quickly covered for himself. "I'm Napoleon Solo. It's a pleasure to meet you, and welcome to New York."
She looked back up at him, her eyes sparkling. "You hardly need an introduction, Mr. Solo," she replied. "I'm Robin Ballard. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, and thank you for the welcome. I greatly enjoyed your last film. The helicopter sequence was incredible. Very visually dynamic. And it was fun to see you finally play a villain. You're very talented."
He blinked in shock. He was used to women talking about the bathroom fight sequence in that movie and how good his ass looked during it. Her compliment was sincere, though, and he appreciated it.
"Thank you," he told her, feeling his cheeks heat self-consciously. "You're very kind."
"I haven't had a chance to watch your show yet," she apologized. "I've heard it's very good."
"I think we've found our stride," he agreed, hoping it still came off as humble, because that was how he meant it. "We've been renewed for a second season, so I'll get to explore the character more. Hopefully there will be other seasons after that." He took another sip of his martini. "But this is your party. We should be talking about you."
It was her turn to blush. "There's not much to talk about," she disagreed honestly. "I'm not nearly as exciting as this party implies."
"You're an author," he observed. "I'm afraid I haven't read any of your books. I'll have to pick some up on my way out. What do you write?"
"Thrilled based on classic horror movie concepts," she explained. "All female leads, fairly gory, and usually involving a romantic subplot with a few steamy sex scenes."
She took another drink to hide another blush. It was strange, talking to people about her books. She was used to only discussing them with her agent, editor, and publisher. It felt dangerously close to bragging, and that wasn't her style.
"They sound interesting," Napoleon assured her. "I'd love to let you know what I think once I've done some reading. May I have your number?"
She looked momentarily stunned, but after a brief silence, she stammered, "Of... of course."
She opened her purse and took out a business card and pen, then wrote something on the back before handing it to him. "My personal number," she explained. "The one on the front is for my publicist."
"Thank you."
He slipped the card into his inside jacket pocket and finished his martini, setting his empty glass down on the bar.
She tilted her head to the side and grinned at him. "Can I have your olives?"
"Pardon?" he clarified, not expecting the question.
"Your olives," she repeated, gesturing to his glass. "Can I have them?"
"Oh. Of course. Please."
He picked up the toothpick and gave it to her. She took it and gently plucked one olive off the end with her teeth, sighing as she chewed and swallowed it.
"I love olives," she confessed. "I never let one go uneaten."
He chuckled and slowly licked his lower lip, watching as she wrapped the lips he'd admired from a distance around another of the green orbs. Despite the fact that his thoughts didn't usually turn to sex so quickly after meeting someone he was attracted to, the action certainly made him think about her wrapping her lips around something else.
He reached up and pulled on the knot of his tie slightly, loosening it. If he allowed himself to elaborate on that thought, the something else he was imagining would get hard in his pants and make a very interesting photo op for any press who caught him leaving.
"I'll remember that," he promised her, prompting her to raise her eyebrows curiously. "I'm afraid I must excuse myself, Mrs. Ballard."
He held his breath as she giggled and shook her head. "Not Mrs., Mr. Solo. Just Miss. I am very single. And please, call me Robin."
It was the oldest move in the book, but it had worked, and he was elated with the results. "We'll talk again soon, Robin. And please, call me Napoleon."
"I'd like that, Napoleon," she murmured.
She watched as he turned and left, unable to resist noting his broad shoulders, which were highlighted by the tightness of his suit jacket. She didn't look lower, even though she was tempted to. She'd seen the movie. She knew how great his ass was, and she liked a man with a great ass.
As soon as he was out of sight, she downed the rest of her drink and attempted to collect her thoughts. She wasn't sure what had just happened. Before today, she never would have assumed she lived in a world where someone like Napoleon Solo wanted to flirt with her.
"Robin, darling, there you are! I have to introduce you to my fabulous friends."
Robin turned, glad to be pulled out of her thoughts by her publicist, Samantha Jones. She'd never had a publicist before, but she was already enjoying the experience, especially since Samantha knew everything about New York and Robin knew basically nothing.
Suddenly, she was surrounded by women. She shook hands as Samantha introduced everyone.
"This is Miranda Hobbes. She's an incredible lawyer. Charlotte York runs one of the city's most elegant art galleries. And Carrie Bradshaw, newspaper columnist extraordinaire. Everyone, this is my new client I was telling you about, Robin Ballard. She writes the most amazing scary, sexy novels. She's finally moved to New York to be closer to her publisher, and I am going to make sure she's seen in the most fabulous places with the most fabulous people so everyone knows who she is. She's a New York Times bestseller, and she deserves a bestselling life to go along with it."
"Samantha's being kind about my books." Robin brushed off the compliment, but she was beaming. "It's so wonderful to finally meet all of you. Samantha has told me so much. Carrie, she sent me your columns as a guide to dating in the city, and I just loved them all."
Carrie beamed back at her. "Oh, thank you. That's so kind of you. Now that you're here, we can exchange writing tips and tricks."
"I would love that," Robin enthused.
"Have you found a place to live yet or are you at a hotel?" Miranda inquired, handing out fresh drinks from the bar.
"I have an apartment on East 85th," Robin revealed. "I really like it, though it's a bit empty right now. I need to do some shopping."
"Oh, I love decorating!" Charlotte exclaimed. "Would you like some help?"
"You would be saving my life, Charlotte, especially with taste like yours," Robin accepted. "And once I have something for you all to sit on, I want everyone to come over for dinner."
"How fun!" Charlotte continued. "Will anyone else be coming? How many people do you know in the city so far?"
"No one but you," Robin admitted. "But I believe in quality over quantity."
"Good answer," Samantha complimented her.
"You should come to Miranda's birthday party tomorrow," Carrie invited her. "We're going out for dinner and dessert and tons of dating talk."
"Speaking of," Samantha drawled, slipping an arm through Robin's, "I thought I saw you talking to Napoleon Solo. He is so hot right now."
"His ass alone was worth the price of admission to his last movie," Miranda chimed in.
"Miranda!" Charlotte chided her as Carrie giggled.
Miranda shrugged. "What? It's true."
"So, did you get his number?" Samantha prodded Robin.
"No," Robin answered, "but he asked for mine and I gave it to him. He said he'd call me after he read some of my books."
"But now he has all the power," Charlotte immediately disapproved.
Robin laughed, enjoying how easy it was to talk to all of them, even though they'd just met. "He had it all to begin with, Charlotte. I was never going to ask for his number. I am way out of his league, for one, and besides, he's a celebrity. It's a huge privacy issue."
"Out of his league?" Charlotte repeated. "But you're so pretty."
"And you're also a celebrity," Samantha interjected. "Don't get that twisted."
"All right, you two. I appreciate the support, but that doesn't change the facts. I love the way I look, but he is much more attractive than me. And while I am marginally recognizable, I'm nowhere near his level of fame. He's a movie star."
"When he calls, you have to let me know for my column," Carrie begged.
"Price of her friendship," Miranda joked.
"I know you're kidding, but I would gladly pay that price," Robin decided.
Samantha raised her glass and they all followed suit. "Then you definitely belong with us," she declared. "To five fabulous single ladies in New York City!"
They all clinked glasses and laughed. Robin was thrilled to find that she had never felt more comfortable. For the first time, it really seemed like New York could finally be the home she'd always been looking for.