The rest of them looked my way. June is going to trot out another idea even as her Friends of Rideshare program lies flopping and gasping for air like a dying fish?

It would have been nice if Brie had warned me she was going to do this. I’ d have preferred to have charts or stats or a write-up or something besides me. Still& the idea of completing two tasks in one day spurred me on.

‘ My idea,’  I said, trying to put some punch in my delivery, ‘ is that we do a gas giveaway. Gas prices are hitting record levels everywhere. So I thought we could let people know that L.A. Rideshare is rewarding people who carpool by paying for their gas when they fill up. The media would eat it up.’

‘ Interesting. The problem,’  Lizbeth said slowly, ‘ is the same one we always have. Funding. Who’ d pay for this gas?’

‘ A sponsor. It wouldn’ t cost that much. We wouldn’ t give gas to every carpooler. We’ d let them know we were out there& then sneak up on them at the pumps. Say, ‘ Surprise! We’ re paying for your gas!’

‘ If we’ re sneaking, then how would the media know?’  Martucci asked.

‘ We’ d tip them off ahead of time,’  I replied smugly, pleased that I had an answer and therefore wasn’ t giving him the pleasure of tripping me up. ‘ We’ d just tell them to keep the locations a secret from the public.’

‘ It certainly sounds& interesting,’  Lizbeth said. ‘ And I admire your initiative in bringing it up here today. Unfortunately, I don’ t believe that’ s the direction we should be going. No, we should be putting our energies behind partnering with a traffic reporter. By the way,’  she purred, ‘ have you contacted Troy Jones?’

My mind flashed to the box sitting on my desk filled with Marissa’ s yearbooks, along with a note from the traffic reporter in question: Hope this helps. I hadn’ t worked up the stomach to dig through them yet, although I needed to. One of the items I was particularly worried about (besides #3, Change someone’ s life, which did seem to be quite the tall order) was #7: Make Buddy Fitch pay. Who on earth was Buddy Fitch, and what had he done to her that was so awful? I suspected I’ d find a clue in those yearbooks-maybe a jock who tormented her for being fat. A bully who knew Marissa Jones would be easy prey. The very thought made my insides lurch.

Of course, Lizbeth didn’ t need to know any of that.

‘ Gee, I left one message,’  I lied sweetly. ‘ I’ ll try to follow up.’

Lizbeth nodded and then addressed the group. ‘ People, we have plenty of work here and not enough budget to move through the projects already on our plates. Let’ s stay focused, okay? Have a good evening.’

As I left the meeting, Brie whistled and made a gesture with her hand of a plane flying downward. ‘ Shot down in flames,’  she said, shaking her head.

I limped away in defeat.

After freshening my makeup and trying to get my hair to recapture the self-control it had hinted at achieving earlier, I met Susan at a boutique down the street. She’ d agreed to help me shop for an outfit that seemed sexy yet bookish after nixing the red shirt I was wearing-pointing out all too correctly that Sebastian had already seen it.

An hour and two hundred dollars later, I was dressed in a pinstripe jacket over a rock ‘ n’  roll T-shirt and a pair of jeans cut low enough that I had to bunch my underwear down to keep it from showing. I left for my date a new woman.

BOOK SOUP is a small independent bookstore on a trendy section of Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood. When I arrived, a line was already forming to get into the store.

I’ d arranged to meet Sebastian at the adjacent coffee shop. As I walked in, I was nervous that he’ d be disappointed when he saw me. Brie had warned that my biggest fear should be the other way around, adding grimly, ‘ The guys I met online looked like their pictures all right. If their picture had been taken twenty years earlier and fifty pounds lighter.’

I saw Sebastian right away. He was an exact replica of his photo, except now in full color and 3-D. Holy cripes, he was gorgeous, dressed in another suit that seemed to scream ‘ money.’  When he came up to say hello, I noticed he smelled good, too.

‘ Are you June Parker?’

‘ Yes, hi,’  I said, extending my hand to shake his.

He gripped my hand so firmly, it nearly fused my fingers together. ‘ Great to meet you. Your photo doesn’ t do you justice.’  Before I could say anything else or blush prettily, he added, ‘ Do you mind if we get going to the bookstore? I don’ t want to be late.’

We walked outside, and he bypassed the crowd to head straight for the entrance. The bouncer-or whatever one would call him-let us into the room. Folding chairs were set up in an open section of the store. A podium and microphone faced the chairs. People filled some of the seats, while others milled around, thumbing through books and drinking wine.

‘ Wow. Do you know the author?’  I asked.

‘ Actually,’  he replied sheepishly, ‘ I am the author.’

‘ Excuse me?!’

He picked up a book and held it out to me. One-Woman Man, a novel by Sebastian Forbes. ‘ This is mine. I’ m doing the reading tonight.’  He flipped to the back to show me the author’ s photo-the same one he’ d posted on the dating website.

‘ You wrote this?’

‘ Guilty.’

‘ I can’ t believe you wrote this.’

What I really meant was, I can’ t believe you wrote this and invited me here sight unseen to your reading.

‘ I can’ t say it’ s exactly Shakespeare. More of a romantic comedy. But I’ m proud of it.’

‘ But why,’  I began.

‘ Why did I invite you?’  he finished for me. When I shrugged a yes, he grinned. ‘ Can you blame a guy for wanting to impress a girl? My other idea was to fly you to Paris for dinner, but I decided against it. Too showy.’

I’ d have come back with equally flirtatious banter, but I was too busy thinking, He likes me! which was seriously impeding my ability to formulate clever retorts. Instead I gazed coolly around the room.

(He likes me!)

(He’ s a published author and he likes me!)

(Me!)

‘ Drink?’  he asked.

‘ Sure. Thanks.’

‘ By the way,’  he said as he handed me a glass of wine, ‘ I’ m all for keeping the fact that this is our first date on the QT.’

I smiled agreeably and took a sip.

(Oh no, he’ s ashamed of me.)

Attempting to check my insecurities, I harkened back to the advice I used to read in Teen magazine. I asked him about himself. Once I did, I relaxed. Sebastian Forbes put on his Armani slacks one leg at a time like anyone else.

Turned out he worked as a copywriter for DDB advertising agency and had written this book in his spare time over the past two years. That meant giving up any semblance of a social life, he told me, cashing in the evenings he used to spend clubbing by banging away on his computer. (And I wasn’ t sure what I envied more, the fact that he gave up clubbing to write or the fact that he’ d been clubbing in the first place.) He wasn’ t sure if he was writing anything people would care about. ‘ I had a story I had to tell, that’ s all I knew,’  he said. ‘ Corny as that sounds.’  After he found an agent and he started shopping the manuscript, he found himself in a bidding war, a rare occurrence for a first-time author. Only once he made it through the grueling editing process did he realize how much of his life he’ d let slide, and-pardon me while my ears perked-he was eager to get things back on track.

So the guy set my hormones in motion. Even more amazing was how comfortable I felt talking to Sebastian. Like talking to one of my girlfriends-only a handsome girlfriend who was starting to get the faintest shadow of stubble along her strong, masculine jaw.

‘ Aren’ t you nervous?’  I asked.

‘ A bit. I can’ t believe this turnout. And the L.A. Times book reviewer is supposed to show up.’

‘ That seems like a pretty big deal.’

‘ It could make me or break me.’

The room filled, and I was taking up the attention of the man of honor. ‘ I feel like I’ m hogging the bride and groom at a wedding,’  I confessed to him.

‘ I’ m grateful for the distraction, but you’ re right. I should be mingling. Here, let me introduce you around.’  He took my arm, then hesitated before saying, ‘ June& you have any nicknames?’

‘ My mom calls me June Bug. My brother had a few that don’ t bear repeating. Why?’

‘ You don’ t strike me as a June. I see you as having a spunkier name. Like, oh, I don’ t know, JJ.’

Then he led me into the crowd. ‘ Come on, JJ, I need you with me to face the firing squad.’

I met his agent and his publicist, each one shaking my hand and saying things along the lines of ‘ It is so wonderful to meet you’  and, even more strangely, ‘ JJ, you’ re everything I imagined.’

I’ d heard movie people were a bunch of phonies. Maybe publishing people were the same-lots of air kissing and pretending to be fabulous friends. It was baffling, however, how many congratulated me. I could understand Sebastian& but me? After the third time it happened-the woman had even grabbed my hand and said, ‘ Sebastian, you bad boy& why is this still bare?’  I turned to Sebastian.

‘ What the heck was that all-’

‘ Sorry to interrupt,’  he said, ‘ but we’ re ready to get under way.’

He escorted me to a chair in the front of the room. ‘ I saved this seat for you,’  he said, and he kissed my cheek before heading to the podium.

Sebastian read several excerpts from his novel, which was quite good. It was the story of a man who met the love of his life in the 1960s at a Peter, Paul & Mary concert and followed their courtship against the backdrop of the folk music era. It was quirky and smart-a romance novel, only from the man’ s point of view.

After reading, he answered questions from the audience. Then he introduced and thanked the agent and publicist I’ d met earlier. Before finishing, he said, ‘ And lastly, allow me to introduce my beloved JJ.’  Everyone applauded, and he motioned for me to stand, which I did, waving around to the people while confusion and dread formed a stew in my stomach. My beloved JJ?

Psycho. The guy was clearly a psycho. Oh, why did I ever let Susan talk me into the Internet? Everyone knows it’ s crawling with loonies.

As I entertained thoughts of being held captive in a cellar later while Sebastian decided which part of me he’ d use to make his coat of human flesh, the guy who’ d served as bouncer earlier announced that we’ d be taking a brief break, after which Mr. Forbes would sign books.

Sebastian came over and this time kissed my forehead. ‘ How’ d I do?’

Be calm& be cool& don’ t aggravate the crazy man.

‘ Great! But you know what I realized? I need to go.’

His face fell. ‘ You’ re leaving?’

‘ I forgot I have this big meeting tomorrow.’  I faked a yawn. ‘ But I loved your book. Thanks so much for inviting me.’

‘ Can’ t you stick around a while longer?’

No sudden movements that might startle him.& ‘ It was lovely, really. But I need to get going.’

‘ Give me a few more minutes, please. Let me explain.’  He pleaded so earnestly-and even though he was a psychopath, his face still seemed sweet-I let him lead me behind a bookshelf, where I figured my screams could be heard. ‘ The L.A. Times book reviewer isn’ t here yet, and my publicist says he’ s due any minute. Can’ t you stay for that, at least?’

‘ To be honest, Sebastian, I don’ t understand what’ s going on here.’

‘ Going on?’

‘ Everybody acts as if they know me, and they keep congratulating me. Then you introduce me as your beloved JJ.’

‘ What, people can’ t be friendly?’

‘ Thank you, I’ ll be leaving now.’

‘ Wait!’  he whispered urgently, grabbing my arm. ‘ There’ s something else.’

‘ I’ m listening.’

‘ I may have let it get around that we were engaged.’

‘ Engaged?! Why!?’

‘ Think about it. I’ m writing about a lifelong romance between a man and a woman, but I’ m coming to my own event stag? No one would take me seriously.’

‘ You couldn’ t get a friend to pretend for you?’

He released my arm. ‘ I didn’ t want to be that& devious. I was hoping you wouldn’ t catch on, the press would write it up-and by the time anyone was the wiser, my book would already be at the top of the best-seller list.’

‘ Weren’ t you scared people might see your personal ad?’

‘ It was a chance I had to take.’

‘ Sebastian, I wish you luck. I do. But-’

‘ No buts, please! I’ m begging you! Just for another hour or so, pretend to be my fiancée. Please& as a favor to a fellow writer. I hate to ask this of you, but when I got your letter and photo, you seemed so nice.’