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"That's rough," he says when I finish. "I know we talked about this at dinner the other night, but it sounded like the end wasn’t so imminent."

"Yeah." I trace the rim of my wine glass with my fingertip. "Things have... accelerated. My friend Beck dropped the bomb today that we'll be lucky to make it to August."

"God, Tess. I'm so sorry," Charlie says.

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance even as anxiety thrums beneath my skin. "It sucks, obviously. But maybe..." I take a deep breath, the words feeling strange as they form. "Maybe it's just the universe telling me it's time for a change."

Jane raises her eyebrows. "That's surprisingly zen of you."

"Don't get me wrong—I'm terrified." I laugh, but it comes out hollow. "I've been with PacWest for a long time. It's comfortable. Safe." I bite on the inside of my mouth. "But maybe I've been too comfortable. Too safe."

"Any prospects lined up?" Charlie asks.

"Boston Symphony is hiring a new cellist for next season." The words come out in a rush. "Applications close in three weeks. But I don’t want to move."

"Plus, the competition will be fierce," I say, voicing the fear that's been churning in my stomach since Beck mentioned it. "We're talking about musicians from top orchestras all over the world. I’d much rather stay in Seattle and work for the Seattle Symphony. But I really think you have to have connections to get a job with them. And, unfortunately, I don’t have any.”

Charlie looks thoughtful for a moment but doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll think about if there’s anyone I know who could help,” Jane says, narrowing her eyes. “There’s got to be somebody.”

Wanting to change the subject to something lighter, I ask Jane to regale us with another juicy client story and she launches into a story about a couple who couldn’t decide on whether to buy a fourth house in Aspen, Vail or Deer Valley. Apparently the wife gave her husband the silent treatment for months because he didn’t agree with her choice.

A little later Jane says, "Well, as much as I'd love to stay and hang out more, I promised Mom I'd help her with some of the gala details tonight."

"You're leaving already?" I ask.

"Duty calls." She stands, collecting her purse. "But you two stay and finish the wine.”

And just like that, she's gone, leaving me alone with Charlie and the sudden awkward silence between us.

He breaks it first. "I’m glad I’ve got you alone. I wanted to talk to you about something..."

"What’s that?" I ask, attempting lightness, while my heart skips a beat.

"I have four weddings to get through in the next couple of months. Huge, fancy events with lots of people I know personally and professionally."

I laugh despite myself. "Sounds grueling."

"It would be more bearable with the right company." His eyes meet mine, a hint of something serious beneath the casual tone.

My pulse quickens. "So, who are you taking?"

"Well…" he leans forward slightly, "I’m still looking for a date. Someone who can handle small talk with Seattle's elite without falling asleep from boredom. Someone who knows which fork to use for the fish course. Someone like...you."

I blink, processing this. "You want me to be your date? To four weddings?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" A smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes," I say bluntly. "You could ask literally anyone. Models. Socialites. Boss Lady CEO’s. I’m sure any woman you asked would happily be your date."

"Maybe I don't want to ask anyone else." He holds my gaze. "Maybe I think you’d be my perfect date."

The sincerity in his voice throws me. This is Charlie Astor—notorious playboy and permanent fixture in Seattle's social pages. And me? I'm...well, possibly soon-to-be-unemployed, perpetually anxious, and currently wearing a blouse I've owned since college.

"I don't think it's a good idea," I say, even as part of me screams to reconsider.

"Because...?"