My Lucky Groom

angle. There was a whole section dedicated to that. Thanks to Ventura’s forays into journalism job-hunting , Mary had become greatly inspired . What a wonderful way to influence the world for the better. Just imagine! Mary might someday craft articles that inspired Washingtonians to dress better! It made her tingle all over—just at the thought.
    “Have a great first day!” Ventura called as Mary raced up the stairs.
    “Thanks!” she shouted back. “Break a leg at the interview!”

    Thirty minutes later, Ventura scurried down the front steps and lost a heel. Great , she thought, racing back up the stairs to grab it, I’ll never make the Metro on time. She stepped back into her shoe and her too-tight blouse popped open. Ventura quickly scanned the street for passersby and rebuttoned it with a shake of her head. She should have known better than to borrow this from Mary, but right now it was the most upscale-looking thing she had.
    The front door opened, and Nanette stuck her head outside. “Hey, Ventura! When will you be home?”
    “I’m not sure,” she answered, remembering Mary’s warning. Fearing the look in Nanette’s eyes, she purposely stretched the truth a bit. “The interviews could take all day.”
    “All day, but not into the night, eh?” Nanette said with a wink. “Just be sure you’re home for dinner. I have a special surprise in store. For you and Mary both!”
    That was all she needed, Nanette trying to make her disastrous day better.
    Ventura hiked up her skirt and ran down the street, her damp hair flying behind her. She hadn’t had time to dry it, much less press it flat with that torture implement Mary called the Magic Wand of Fashion. She was halfway down the escalator when she heard a light rip . Ventura glanced down in horror to see her hose had run right at mid-thigh. Well maybe her skirt would cover it. If not, she’d primly cross her legs. What a mother of a day this is turning out to be , Ventura thought, springing into the silver Metro car seconds before metal doors closed.
    Ventura gripped the handrail, studying the Metro map plastered on the wall and catching her breath. She thought she was supposed to take the Blue Line. But maybe she’d made the wrong connection at Metro Center. What if she was headed to Northern Virginia when her interview was downtown?
    “Need help?”
    Ventura turned her attention from the map on the wall toward his voice, encountering that incredibly handsome face. “Richard!” she cried, scarcely able to believe it. Here she stood, looking perfectly horrible, and his gorgeous brown eyes were gazing at her.
    He grinned, apparently pleased by her recognition. “I’m surprised that you remember.” As if in a million years she could forget. “We met at the gala a few weeks ago. It’s Ventura, isn’t it?”
    She nodded numbly, wanting to sink through the subway car’s floor. How he’d positively identified her based on how she’d looked before and the way she did now, she had no idea.
    “You look different.”
    She sucked in a breath, wanting to die.
    “Have you changed your hair?”
    “It’s, um…” She nervously flipped wet tresses back over her shoulder. “Just not dry yet.”
    He appraised her with a nod. “Well, I like it this way. Very natural.”
    “Oh.”
    “So many people in this city are into pretense. Overdoing everything, when sometimes it’s best to just let things be.”
    “Yes.”
    “So, where are you headed?”
    “I have an interview on K Street.”
    “Which end?”
    “I have the address right… Hang on a second.” She fumbled in her purse for her billfold, then pulled it out and flipped it open. She’d written the particulars on a Post-it note, which she’d tucked in the flap for cash. She pulled it out and handed it over. To her dismay, she saw something else had stuck to its gummy back.
    Richard studied the address, then, feeling something on the back of the Post-it, turned it over and read the message on her secret fortune. Ventura winced.
    His face warmed all over. “I keep a four-leaf clover in my pocket, you know.”
    “You do not,” she said, barely breathing the words.
    He shrugged noncommittally. “Suit yourself.”
    Ventura reached over and pulled the white slip of paper off the Post-it, then jammed it back in her wallet. “I have no idea how that got there,” she said with a little laugh. “Could have been there for ages.”
    “Really?”
    Subway bells chimed, and the doors slid