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do to you.”
    “Really.”
    “I’d like to kiss you until you saw spots of light behind your eyes and had to cling to my shoulders or melt to the ground.” She bit down on her lip. “I wish you had been on my arm tonight. I sure as hell wish you were in my bed now.”
    “You’re in bed?”
    “Aren’t you?”
    “Yes,” she said. “Reading,” she added quickly.
    “You’re not a romantic either, Hannah.”
    “I never said I was.”
    “Then why keep the ex-husband’s last name?”
    “What do you know about that?” She demanded, enjoying the distance that fury gave her, a release from the embarrassment. “Did you bother to ask what my maiden name was? Abbracciabene. Try using that as your professional name. No one can spell it or say it.”
    “Hannah Abbracciabene?”
    “No. Hannah Filomena Abbracciabene. My stupid father had never even been to Italy, but he was all about his heritage, so I got saddled with this unpronounceable crap name. My dad filled out the birth certificate. They’d agreed on Hannah, but he really let his freak flag fly with the rest of it while my mom was passed out on painkillers. When I was fifteen, I decided I was going to change it legally, but he dropped dead and I felt bad about making such a fuss over my name. So I left it.
    “Then when I married Alex, it was like a reprieve. The only thing I really got out of that doomed relationship was a nice, normal last name that everyone could pronounce the first time. I like having a name that doesn’t have six syllables. It was a great deal easier to get an agent once I had a more recognizably American last name.”
    “I don’t like Largent.”
    “You don’t like your name either.”
    “My name is at least my own. You have some guy’s name. Some jerk who didn’t even stay married to you.”
    “I left him, Jasper.”
    “Why?”
    “That’s personal.”
    “This whole conversation is personal, Hannah.”
    “He cheated on me. More than once.”
    “He was an idiot.”
    “I thought so by that time. It turned out well, though. I have a job I love, a good life.”
    “But tonight you were crying for me.”
    “I may have cried a little, but it had nothing to do with you, egomaniac. I’m under a great deal of stress right now. I’m worried about my sister.”
    “I wish I hadn’t made you cry,” he said. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
    “Working.”
    “No. You’re going out with me. I’m putting dial-a-blonde on ice for the evening.”
    “Like a date?”
    “Not like one. An actual date.”
    “I don’t meet your criteria.”
    “You burned it down with your big mouth and your Vitamin D deficiency, Hannah. Seven o’clock?”
    “Yes. Now hang up before I change my mind,” she said, clicking ‘end’ before a giggle escaped her.
    She hated to admit it to herself, but she was excited. She paced her apartment, practically giddy. She usually dreaded dating and any kind of social engagement that required leaving her apartment and neglecting her work for more than an hour. She got antsy just having her nails done with Becca every couple of weeks. Somehow, sequestering herself with a bunch of PowerPoints seemed to have lost its appeal for the night.
     
    *                                                                      *                                                                      *
     
    “Where are we going?” she asked Miss Hollingford by phone.
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    “I’m sorry I yelled at you, okay? Now help me out. I don’t know what to wear for tonight.”
    “Again, I’m not sure what engagement you’re referring to. I have Mr. Cates’ schedule right here on spreadsheet, and you are not listed.”
    “What does it say for seven p.m.?”
    “It’s blank,” Miss Hollingford said, confounded. “If he were planning an evening out,