Free Set Up in SoHo (The Matchmaker Chronicles) by Dee Davis Page B

expected,” Bethany said. “I mean, you can hardly see the stitches, and your bruises are already fading.”
    “Actually, they’ve gone Technicolor,” I laughed, lifting my T-shirt to show off the yellow, green, and purple staining my rib cage.
    “Does it hurt?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
    “Only when I breathe.” I laughed again, taking a sip of wine. “Actually, it really doesn’t hurt that much.”
    “So how many Vicodin are you taking?” Clinton asked, reaching for a crostini.
    “I’m down to one at a time. But I admit I’m still taking them right on schedule. All in all, though, I was pretty lucky. It could have been a lot worse.”
    “So what about your rescuer?” Bethany asked. “Has he called or anything?”
    “Well, as a matter of fact,” I said, a blush staining my cheeks, “I ran into him in the park.”
    “Small world,” Clinton observed.
    “That’s just what I said. The whole thing was all Bentley’s doing, really.” Bentley’s ears perked up at the sound of his name and he gave up hovering for dropped crostini, jumping up beside me on the sofa instead. “He managed to get off leash. Chasing a squirrel. And anyway, one thing led to another and there he was—my stranger. He was jogging and intercepted Bentley at a bend in the path.”
    “So did you find out who he is?”
    “Of course. His name is Ethan McCay.”
    “Never heard of him,” Clinton said. “But then even I don’t know everyone in the city. Bethany?”
    “The last name is vaguely familiar but nothing concrete is coming to mind.”
    “Well, it wouldn’t,” I said. “He’s only just moved back to the city. He’s an attorney. Works for his family’s business.”
    “Sounds interesting. What else did you guys talk about?"
    "Nothing specific, really. We talked about my accident. And I told him about my show and the mess I landed myself in. Which reminds me. He mentioned Metro Media. Thinks maybe someone there is handling DeBois’ PR.”
    “If that’s true,” Clinton said, “it might just give us the in we need.”
    “I thought the same thing. The trick, of course, being to find out who it is.”
    “I might be able to help there,” Bethany said. “I sold a sweet little co-op on West Eighty-second to a woman who works for Metro Media. She’s really chatty. Do you want me to see what I can find out?”
    Bethany’s a real estate broker. With Corcoran. She spends most of her time squiring people around town trying to find the perfect space for them to land. And considering average apartment prices have passed the million-dollar mark, it’s a pretty lucrative way to make your living. Anyway, in this city, once you find a good broker you tend to hang on to them, which means that Bethany has a very eclectic and often quite connected list of clients.
    “That would be wonderful,” I said, Clinton nodding his agreement. “I take it Clinton filled you in on my morning’s misadventure?”
    “Yeah. And I think it’s a fabulous idea.”
    “Except for the fact that it’s probably impossible,” I said.
    “Well, if anyone can convince Philip DuBois to step into the limelight, it’s you,” Bethany said with a nod.
    “I appreciate your confidence. But let’s just take it one step at a time.”
    “Yes, but prime time," she said, her exuberance catching.
    “I know. It would be amazing.” I sighed.
    “And well deserved,” Clinton agreed. “But Andi’s right. We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. First step is to get a name. And then an appointment. From there we’ll see what develops.”
    “Ever the practical one,” Bethany said with a shrug. “Anyway, Andi, you haven’t finished telling us about Ethan McCay.”
    “Yes,” Clinton added, walking into the kitchen, “was he as charming in the daylight as he was in the dark of night?”
    “The cellar, you mean?”
    “You’re taking all the fun out of it,” Clinton said, opening the oven door to check on the mac and cheese. “I think it’s