Instead, Grace had woken up an hour late to a malfunctioning coffeepot, absolutely no time for yoga, and so not a good-hair day.
Now some too-tall, perfect-haired stranger was about to take her cab.
As though he could feel her death glare on the back of his head, the man turned his face toward her just as the cab slowed to a stop in front of him.
Grace froze. He might be a cab stealer, but as far as thieves went, he was gorgeous. His black hair was just long enough to be interesting without being sloppy. He was tall—an inch or two over six feet, for sure—and he wore his height well, all broad shoulders and trim waist. Just the tiniest bit of stubble on the chin—more than a five o’clock shadow, less than scruff.
Yummy.
She would have been embarrassed by her gaping if he hadn’t been doing some looking of his own. His brown eyes skimmed over her, briefly enough to not be lecherous, but appreciatively enough to make her tingle.
When their eyes met, he grinned, his teeth perfectly white and perfectly even. This man knew what he had going on and was well accustomed to peddling his wares.
Watch out for that one, Grace 2.0 whispered. That smile will have you tucking your heart into your panties and handing the whole shebang over before he even buys you a drink.
Her attraction turned instantly to wariness. Okay, then. That was quite enough ogling.
Grace 1.0 was wailing that he could be a perfectly nice man that deserved a chance.
Well, Grace 1.0 could shove it. Grace 1.0 and her dreamy, happy-endings-really-do-happen dogma was the reason Grace was twenty-nine and unexpectedly single instead of wedding-dress shopping.
Grace 1.0 was the reason that she actually missed Greg instead of consigning his memory to her mental compost pile.
Thinking about her wretched ex reminded Grace just how anti-man she was feeling these days, so instead of returning the stranger’s welcoming smile, Grace purposely moved her eyes beyond him to look for another cab.
“You want this one?” he called.
That got her attention. “What?”
Mr. Too-Good-Looking gestured toward the open cab door. “The cab. You want it?”
She narrowed her eyes as though to ask, What’s the catch?
His grin never faded as he nodded toward the cab. “Come on now. You have I’m-in-a-hurry written all over you.”
She did?
Of course she did.
She was in a hurry. Normally, being a little late to a Monday staff meeting wasn’t a big deal. As long as it didn’t happen regularly, her boss was pretty chill about such things. And Grace in particular was likely to get a free pass—she’d been out of the office for a month, and everyone would figure she was struggling to get back into the swing of things.
Everyone would be understanding. Oh, poor Grace, give her a break. She’s been through a lot.
Her stomach twisted at the thought. Hell, no.
A quick scan showed her that another cab had turned onto the street but had already been flagged by someone upstream. Crap.
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” she asked, not making eye contact with the stranger.
In response, he stepped aside and gallantly swept his arm toward the open door. All yours.
Apparently chivalry wasn’t entirely dead after all, and for that, Mr. Charming got a smile. A small one.
“Thank you,” she murmured as she hurried to the waiting cab. “I really appreciate it.”
“Consider it a thank-you,” he said in a low voice when they were face-to-face.
“A thank-you for what?” Damn it. She hadn’t meant that to come out all low and flirty.
“For looking the way you do.”
Grace blinked in surprise, torn between flattery and disgust. “Wow. Wow. That is some line.”
He grinned, and suddenly the perfect white teeth looked a little … predatory.
“Too much?” he asked, looking slightly sheepish.
Grace lifted a shoulder as she lowered herself into the cab. “A little obvious. Maybe go back to the drawing board on that one.”
She tilted her head up to give the guy one last thank-you only to realize that he was no longer standing beside the cab. He was getting into the cab.
“What are you—what the—hey!” she said as he gently tapped the backs of his fingers against her hip in a universal move-over gesture, before crowding her to the other side of the taxi.
“Where to?” he asked as he shut the door. The admirably patient cab driver started the meter and turned around. Both men looked at her expectantly.
Pride demanded that she exit the cab, but practicality … she glanced at her watch. Crap. Fine. She’d share a cab with this cretin.
“Fifty-eighth and Eighth,” she said.
The cab-crasher paused in the process of pulling his phone out of his pocket, looking startled.