Set Up in SoHo (The Matchmaker Chronicles) Read Online Free Page A

and living in a bodega cellar. Who knew?
    “But I’ll get blood all over it.”
    “So I’ll get it cleaned.” He shrugged. I slid in my arms as he held the jacket for me, grateful for the warmth. “How about I follow you up the steps?”
    The “steps” were actually more of a ladder, and the idea of him following behind me (even though I was wearing his jacket) felt pornographic somehow. So I hesitated, standing on my one good heel, staring upward.
    “It’ll be fine,” he soothed, as if talking to a child. “I won’t follow that closely. I promise.”
    Embarrassment flooded my face and I looked again to see if he was laughing at me. But he wasn’t. Just waiting patiently. “Sorry. Guess I’m not thinking very clearly.”
    Holding a hand to my hemline, I managed to climb up and out, relieved to find that no one I knew was standing on the sidewalk. There were a few curious stares, but as I said, this was Manhattan, and frankly, my falling into a cellar didn’t rank as Gawker material. Although my minor celebrity might have elevated things a bit had the odd paparazzi happened by.
    Fortunately, they had not.
    My savior emerged into the light and I was surprised to see that his suit was, in fact, a tux. An expensive one at that.
    “Oh my God,” I said with a wash of guilt. “This is Armani.”
    “No worries. You clearly need it more than I do,” he said, laughter coloring his voice as he took in my ragtag appearance. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call for help?”
    “No.” I shook my head. “Honestly, I can make it from here. It’s just a little way.” In truth, I wasn’t completely sure I could make it anywhere. But if I went to the hospital, they’d surely call Althea, and considering all that had happened, I simply wasn’t up to a confrontation.
    “How about I call someone?” he suggested, reading my mind. I shook my head again, ignoring the pain. “I’d rather not make this any more public than necessary.”
    “But you’re hurt. And you need someone to look after you.”
    “I’ve been looking after myself for a long time. Honestly. I can deal.”
    “Well, at least let me walk you,” he said, offering his arm. Which I took gratefully. The world was starting to spin again.
    “Thank you,” I said, struggling to smile. “I really don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
    “I suspect you’d have managed just fine.”
    I nodded my agreement, although it was an empty gesture, as I was having definite trouble just putting one foot in front of the other. We walked a couple of tentative steps, and then, without warning, I felt my knees turn to complete Jell-O.
    His arms tightened around me as I opened my mouth to apologize, but my tongue clearly wasn’t in the mood to cooperate. Instead, my entire body sagged against him, my nose buried in the Egyptian cotton of his shirt as the world faded into a hazy shade of blue-black velvet.
    The next thing I knew, I was lying in the ER listening to a screamer in the cubicle on the left and a woman behind the curtain on the right who clearly hadn’t been happy about anything since sometime in 1966.
    I had a vague memory of an ambulance and a rush of hospital personnel. Although, oddly, my clearest recollection was that my stranger had been there the whole time. Holding my hand, if my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. Of course, I probably hadn’t given him much choice.
    Anyway, apparently I was on my own now. Not even a doctor in sight. My purse had disappeared, along with my dress and his jacket. I gingerly felt along my hairline, my fingers encountering a gauze bandage just above my right eye.
    “You had to have stitches.” My aunt waltzed into the cubicle on a cloud of Opium, and I found myself wishing it were the real thing. “Seven along your hairline and five more under one rib. You’re lucky you didn’t break anything. But apparently you lost a lot of blood.”
    “That would explain the fainting.”
    “Yes, but not