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"DARN."
Olivia glanced over at me from her desk. "Something wrong?"
I dug desperately through my purse. When that failed I dumped everything out onto my desk. "I can't find my day planner."
"You still use one of those things?" Olivia asked. "Why not just use your smartphone, like everyone else?"
"Because I don't just use my day planner for appointments," I said, pawing through the pile of junk and hoping I'd missed something. "I write song lyrics, random thoughts, sketches. It's kind of like my personal journal. It's also my backup of numbers in case something ever happened to my phone."
Olivia peeked at my pile of junk. "It's clearly not there."
I slipped the junk back in my bag and sank into my chair with a groan. "Yeah, I see that.”
"When did you have it last?"
"I don't remember." Ice gripped my mind. Panic welled up inside. There were so many private thoughts in that book. So many important bits of information. Feelings. I needed to find it. "I was at the Purple Note last night. The planner was in my coat pocket. Maybe it fell out?"
"Easy. Just call the Purple Note and ask them if someone found it."
"Yeah, yeah I'm going to." Of course it could have disappeared anywhere between the club and home, including on the Tube. I looked up the club's phone number online and dialed. It took eight brings before some answered.
"The Purple Note. What’s your music?"
Oh, that was too cute. Unfortunately I wasn't in the mood. "Hi," I said. "This is Chloe Daniels, and I think I left my day planner at the club last night. Someone turn it in?"
"Hey, Chloe, this is Gabe. What’s it look like?"
"Oh, Gabe. Hey. About the size of an A5 notebook.” An A5 was half the size of a sheet of regular letter paper. “Purple leather cover."
"Let me check under the bar." There was a pause. "Sorry. Nothing here. But if you give me your number, I'll let you know if someone turns it in."
Heart sinking, I gave him my cell number and hung up. I felt like crying. My life was in that thing. So many personal things I didn't want anyone seeing. Who knew if I'd ever see it again or who had it?
"I'm sorry, Chloe," Olivia said, giving me a sad smile. "Hopefully it will turn up, and everything will be fine."
Yeah, sure." Like that was going to happen. Probably, whoever found it would just throw it away. I'd never see it again. I’d have to start all over again, and some of it would be lost forever.
I moped the rest of the day. Losing my book was far worse than losing Geoff. In fact, I hardly thought of him. I wanted to call Kate, but I knew she would be busy writing. Besides, I was supposed to be working, not moaning about a lost journal. It was almost three in the afternoon when my cell phone rang. I glanced at the screen. The number was one I didn't recognize.
"Hello?" I said.
"Is that Chloe Daniels?" The voice was rich, a little gravelly, and very British. It sounded familiar.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"This is Bram Halliday. We met last night at the Purple Note. Remember?"
Did I remember? Images of Bram would haunt my dreams forever, like they had for the past several weeks. "Of course I remember. How did you get my number?" I'd never given it to anyone at the club. How could he have gotten his hands on it? Was he stalking me or something? Like I was one to talk. The minute I’d gotten home last night, I’d done an internet search on Bram Halliday. I hadn’t come up with much. Apparently the man liked to keep off social media, more’s the pity.
"I found your planner last night after you left. I think it got kicked under the edge of the bar. Your number was inside."
“You found it?" Relief flooded me, followed by trepidation. "Did you read it?"
"Of course not," he said, sounding offended. "I only opened the front to see if there was a number inside and there was. If you’d like to meet up, I can give it to you."
"Sure. Anytime. As soon as possible."
He chuckled. "All right. How about tonight? Have coffee with me, and I'll give you the book."
"Are you blackmailing me?" But there was humor in my voice. My heart fluttered in anticipation. I reminded myself it was just coffee, and I was not getting involved with another musician.
He chuckled. "Maybe. Coffee?"
"I drink coffee."
"That's a relief. What time do you get off work?"
"Six."
"Why don't you meet me at Milk & Bean in Notting Hill at seven," he said.
Notting Hill? Did he know Milk & Bean was my favorite coffee shop? Did he know I lived near there? Stupid questions. He had my planner, which meant he had my address, as well as my phone number, and that put me at a distinct disadvantage in the information department. I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
"Seven it is."
"I look forward to it," he said, his voice a low rumble in my ear. My toes curled. So did I.
# # #
I STEPPED INTO MILK & Bean just before seven that evening. Immediately my breath caught in my throat. Bram was standing at the counter, talking to Sophie. He was wearing a short charcoal peacoat and jeans that hugged him in all the right places. I took in every long, lean inch of him. The boy had a body that didn't quit. And he was gorgeous and talented to boot. I repressed a shiver.
He caught sight of me and turned to give me a smile. That smile took my breath away. The way his eyes danced, the little quirk at the corner of his mouth, the dimple. I gave myself a mental shake. Jeez, Chloe. You’d think you'd never seen a pretty face before.
"Hi, Chloe," Sophie called. "Your usual?"
"Sure. Thanks, Sophie."
Bram raised an eyebrow as I joined him. "You come here often?"
I smiled. "I live just around the corner. This is my favorite coffee shop in Notting Hill. I come here every weekend with my friend, Kate. Or I did before she got married, anyway."
"Then I guess this was a good choice," he said.
"Yeah, it was. How do you know about it?"
"I don't live too far from here myself. I don’t stop in much on the weekends, but I come fairly often during the week. I'm surprised I've never seen you here."
I shrugged. "Lots of people coming in and out all the time. If you had, you probably wouldn't even noticed."
"Oh, believe me," he said in that sexy growl of his, "I would've noticed."
I told the butterflies in my stomach to behave themselves. Feeling my cheeks grow warm, I took my coffee from Sophie, which Bram insisted on paying for. Once we found a place to sit, he handed me my journal. "Here you are. Safe as houses."
"Thank you so much. I don't know what I would've done without it." I gripped the book tightly in my hands, as if it might try and jump off the table.
He eyed me carefully. It was as if he could see into my soul. "It's not just a day planner, is it?"
"No," I admitted. "I, uh, sometimes like to write lyrics for songs. Just, you know, little things that get stuck in my head. I like to write them down in the planner so I remember them. I can look back and see what I was thinking about that day, how I was feeling. Sort of like a journal."
"You write songs? That's amazing."
"Well, I've never actually written a whole song, per se. Just little bits and pieces. And lyrics only, no melodies or anything."
"Still, that takes some talent," he said. "Maybe we should put one of your pieces to music one day. We can play it down at the club. The customers would love it, and Gabe is totally into showing off original talent.”
"Oh no," I said with a shake of my head. "These are just for me. They were never meant for other people to hear.”
"And that's why it's so important that other people to hear." His gaze was so penetrating, I felt myself growing hot. “Your words speak to the soul. They move people. That sort of thing, it’s a gift.”
I quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, thank you for returning it.”
"I’m glad I was able to," he said. His eyes were so intense, I had to glance away.
I stared down at the cover and ran my finger along the edge, the smooth feel of the leather soothing. "I was sure I'd never see it again." I started to rise from the table.
"Where you going?" Bram asked. He reached out a hand to stop me. His hand over mine was warm, sending little zings of pleasure up my arm.
I swallowed. "Home," I said. "It's late." It wasn't late. It was half six. Six thirty to the non-Brits. My stomach rumbled embarrassingly. His eyes lit up. "Ah," he said. "How about we finish this coffee, and I take you to dinner?"
I flushed. Wonderful. Nothing like having a hot man hear your digestive juices at work. Talk about sexy.
"Thanks, but that isn't necessary," I said. I tucked my journal into my messenger bag. It was gray, but covered with pink, green, orange, and blue flowers. "It was more than enough for you to return my day planner and buy me coffee. You don’t need to take me out to dinner as well."
"Of course I don't need to," he said with an easy smile. "I want to. Please. Say yes."
I wanted to say yes with ever molecule of my body. My natural spontaneity, combined with having the serious hots for Bram, were enough to send me running to dinner and anything else he wanted, but he was a musician, which meant he was probably flaky and broke, like all the rest of them. Granted, he could have a real job on the side, like I did, but that didn’t eliminate the groupies, the late nights in bars, or the obsession over music instead of relationships. What was it about me that attracted this kind of guy? Why couldn't I just find a nice man with a decent job who could actually be relied on? Who could be a partner in life?
“I’m sorry, I can’t.”
He frowned. “You can’t? Or you won’t?”
I sighed. “I don’t date musicians.”
“Really?” He leaned back, eyeing me with interest. “Why is that?”
“I just don’t, okay?” I was suddenly irked. It was my choice. He didn’t have to get all up in my face about it.
Except he wasn’t. There was no judgment in his tone, no censure. Just honest curiosity and no little disappointment. Except I couldn’t give him a reason without sounding like a jerk.
“Thanks again for returning the journal. I appreciate it.” I turned to walk out the door.
“I’ll see you soon, Chloe.” His voice was so soft, I thought for a moment I’d imagined it. “I don’t give up that easily.”