Of course at that point, as I stood behind him in line, eavesdropping as he ordered a “double tall cappuccino extra dry,” the matter was completely theoretical. He wasn’t wearing a ring ( I noticed instantly), but he gave off an unavailable vibe as I tapped him on the shoulder, introduced myself, and issued a brisk, professional welcome. I knew how old he was by the press release still sitting in my in-box—forty-seven—but with a full head of dark hair, he looked younger than I expected. He was also taller and broader than I thought he’d be, everything on a larger scale, including his hand around his cup of extra dry cappuccino.
“It’s nice to meet you, Marian,” he said with a charming but still sincere tilt of his head, pausing as I ordered my own tall latte, even lingering as the barista made my drink, telling me I was doing a hell of a job on my show. “It’s got a nice little following, doesn’t it?”
I nodded modestly, trying not to focus on the elegant cut of his suit and the cleft in his clean-shaven, square jaw. “Yes. We’ve been lucky so far. But we can do more to expand our audience…Have you ever watched it?”
It was bold to put your boss’s boss on the spot, and I knew the answer in his hesitation, saw that he was debating whether to admit he’d never seen my show.
He sheepishly told the truth, then added, “But I will tonight. And that’s a promise.” I had the gut feeling that he really was a man of his word—a reputation he had earned in a business full of lecherous, egomaniacal slicksters.
“Well, at least you know it’s on Thursday nights,” I say, feeling a wave of attraction and suddenly sensing that it wasn’t completely one-sided. It had been a long time since I had felt anything close to chemistry with someone—at least not someone so eligible on paper.
The next morning, to my delight, we both showed up at Starbucks at 7:50 A.M., once again, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he had done it on purpose, as I had.
“So, what did you think?” I asked with a hint of coyness—which wasn’t my usual style, especially at work. “Did you watch it?”
“Yes. And I loved it,” he announced, ordering his same drink but this time opting for whipped cream, proving he could be spontaneous. I felt myself beaming as I thanked him.
“Tight writing. And great acting. That Angela Rivers sure is a pistol, isn’t she?” he asked, referring to our up-and-coming, quirky, redhead lead who often drew comparisons to Lucille Ball. During casting, I had gone out on a limb and chosen her over a more established star, one of the best decisions I had ever made as a producer.
“Yes,” I said. “I can see an Emmy in her future.”
He nodded, duly noting. “Oh, and by the way,” he said, an endearing smile behind his eyes. “I not only watched the show, but I went back and watched the pilot online. And the rest of the first season. So I have you to thank for less than four hours of sleep last night.”
I laughed. “Afternoon espresso,” I said as we strolled to the elevator bank. “Works like a charm.”
He winked and said, “Sounds good. Around four-thirty?”
My heart pounded as I nodded, counting down the minutes to four-thirty that day, and for several weeks after that. It became our ritual, although for appearances, we always pretended that it was a coincidence.
Then one day, after I mentioned my love of hats, a package from Barneys appeared by messenger. Inside was a jaunty, black grosgrain beret with a card that read: To Marian, the only girl I know who could pull this one off.
I promptly called his direct dial from the network directory, delighted when he answered his own phone.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” he said—with what I could tell was a smile.
“I love it,” I said, beaming back at him.
“How about the card? Was ‘girl’ okay? I debated ‘girl’ versus ‘woman.’” His second-guessing confirmed that he cared—and that he could be vulnerable. I felt myself falling for him a little more.
“I like ‘girl’ from you,” I said. “And I love the beret. Just glad that it wasn’t raspberry.”
“Or from a secondhand store,” he deadpanned. “Although I would love to see you in it. And if it was warm…”
I laughed, feeling flushed, a churning in my stomach, wondering when—not if—he was going to ask me out on an official date.
Three days later, we flew to Los Angeles for the Emmys on the network jet. Although my show hadn’t been nominated, we were getting a lot of great buzz and I had never felt better about my career. Meanwhile, Peter and I were getting some buzz of our own, a few rumors circulating, clearly due to our coffee break repartee. But we played it cool on the red carpet, and even more so at the after-parties, until neither of us could take it another second, and he sent me a text I still have saved on my iPhone: That dress is stunning.
I smiled, grateful that I had not only overspent on an Alberta Ferretti gown but had opted for emerald green instead of my usual black. Feeling myself blush, I turned to look in his direction as another text came in: Although it would look better on the floor.