As I stare at the water, a terrible idea strikes me. Faster than I can stop myself, I remove all my clothes and run into the ocean stark naked. Never skinny dip—I can cross you off the list!

I don’t linger in the cool water more than thirty seconds. Not just because I’m butt naked in a public space, but also because the Pacific is freezing. I re-dress faster than ever and with fresh adrenaline pumping in my bloodstream, I run back to the hotel, breaking every personal speed record ever made.

By seven, I’m showered, dressed, and ready to rock LA. I’m finishing applying makeup when a knock distracts me.

“Who is it?” I call.

“Richard.”

My stomach does a triple axel. I slip on my cord wedges—a good compromise between the necessity to wear heels and a long day of walking—and open the door.

“Whoa.” Richard’s eyes widen. “And I thought I was up early,” he says, eyeing my already-prim attire.

He’s still wearing gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt. Soft, damp curls are clinging to his forehead as if he just came out of the shower, which he must have. Someone, please shoot me now! Sweat-panted Richard is too good a sight, and showering Richard too good a fantasy, for me to preserve my brain cells.

“I’m a morning person,” I say apologetically. “And there’s the jet lag.”

“Yeah, so would it be okay to meet downstairs in fifteen?”

“Super, see yah there.”

***

Richard jerks his chin toward my shoes, unimpressed. “Are you sure you want to walk in those all day?”

So wedges aren’t his thing. Mmm, I’ll see if I can do better tonight.

“Yeah, I always wear heels.”

“Why?”

We are not all blessed with Saskia Landon’s legs.

“I just love heels.”

“But we’ll be walking a lot.”

“I’m used to it, no big deal.”

He shrugs. “I was thinking we should turn today into something different.” Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump. Can anyone else hear my heart beating? “Would your readers be interested in an ‘LA in One Day’ feature?”

Good thing I removed the fit watch. Otherwise, it’d be sending off all kinds of alarms at my heart stopping to beat due to mortification. When will my brain finally grasp that this is only work for Richard? Strictly business. No romantic agenda.

“You might’ve just dug your own grave.” I smirk vindictively.

“Why?”

“Because my readership would prefer something titled ‘One Day Shopping Spree in LA.’”

“Ah. You’re killing me.” Richard mockingly brings a hand to his chest. “Where should we start?”

“A walk towards the unique finds of Venice Beach, and then we’ll work our way up to Rodeo Drive.”

***

Richard bears the window-shopping like a man. From Venice to Beverly Hills to the Fashion District, he follows me around town not once complaining. I select a bunch of indie stores and interview the owners and designers. Richard is a good sport even when we try out a few male boutiques, going so far as to offer himself up as a human guinea pig—er, male model.