by Dylann Crush
We were still friends, but I was pretty sure at this point I could definitely get him into that mud puddle. I’d packed on some muscle since fourth grade.
“A tux, Ash. You’ve got one, right?”
I sighed. Unfortunately, I had a few tuxes hanging in my closet. I also had a full set of insulated fishing gear hanging next to it, along with a ton of thermal underwear and tights, which I honestly preferred. It was saying something when a guy preferred the Bering Sea to coming home to San Diego. But there you had it.
“I’ve got a tux, Max. But dude, can’t we just like, go get a beer or something?”
“Not this time. I’ve gotta go to this ball, and you can be my plus one. Tate had to go out of town.”
Max’s girl was a catch, and sometimes I envied him. But my life did not lend itself to finding pretty women, unless they were the temporary kind.
“You and my mother would get along well, you know.”
“Well if you’d move out of her house, she and I would have less time to spend together, plotting to get you into formalwear.”
“I’m not in town enough to get my own place.”
“So you spend your off time at the country club and balls. Suck it up Sir Ashton.”
“Shut it.” I lay back on the bed, closing my eyes so I didn’t have to look at the ridiculous space around me. My childhood bedroom was more of a royal suite than a kid’s room. It had always been this way—marble ensuite bathroom, sitting area with very fancy upholstered furniture, and this ridiculous four poster bed.
“Just meet me at my place at five. We’ll head downtown together. I’ve got a car coming.”
“See you.”
I dropped the phone at my side. Max had a point. Living with my mother at thirty was a bit ridiculous, but my whole life had been pretty ridiculous, which might have explained why I spent my off time in school getting into fights and scrapping whenever I got the chance. And why I spent most of my time now fighting the waves on the Bering Sea with a crew of hard-living dudes who were willing to lose a hand—or their lives—just to make a buck.
“Ashton, darling?” My mother was at the door.
“Yep.” I said it loudly, letting her know I was here, but hopefully tersely enough that she wouldn’t step in.
The door swung open. “Darling, we have dinner with the Pendletons tonight. Can you please get dressed?” She stepped nearer to where I was sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling and questioning all of my life’s choices.
“Ashton, really. Can we do something about all of this facial hair? It’s very unbecoming.”
“Keeps me warm, Mom.” It was like a sweater for my face, something I needed desperately on the deck of my boat, the Finder.
“It’s seventy degrees out!”
“Yeah, but in three weeks, I’ll be back in Alaska. It’s not seventy there.”
“Won’t it grow back? Can’t we trim it just a bit? I can have Langley pop in before dinner.” Langley was Mom’s personal stylist.
“Fine. But I’m not shaving it all the way off.”
“Perfect. And you’ll wear a suit? You know the Pendletons’ daughter Ashley will be coming.”
I sat up and gave my mother a skeptical look. “Even if we were a perfect match, Mom, I can’t be with someone named Ashley. Think about it.”
“Don’t be silly, Ashton.” She waved a slim manicured hand at me and then turned. “Langley will be here shortly.”
Langley, and everyone else at my mother’s beck and call, dropped everything when she said “jump.” That was what extreme amounts of money could do for you. And it was part of what made coming home so fucking stifling.
And it had nothing to do with the fact that it was actually my money. I hated that part of it all. If Mom managed to blow through it all tomorrow, I wouldn’t care. But Mom would.
I laid back down and pulled up a real estate site on my phone. Max was right. I should just buy my own place. I scanned listings for forty minutes, and completely forgot I was supposed to be showering and getting dressed until Langley knocked on my door.
“Ready for a trim?”
I sat up and tried to look like a guy who had a personal beard trimmer pop by on a regular basis. “Sure.”
“Perhaps in the bathroom?”
“Perfect.”
I followed the guy into the bathroom and prostrated myself to the workings of his beard-trimming implements. “Not too short, okay?”
“Of course.”
When my beard was trimmed and I was fully dressed for my mother’s fancy dinner, I shoved my phone in my pocket and left my room. As we got into the car together, my phone dinged, and I scanned the message from Max.
Max: By the way, I’ve set you up to meet someone at the ball.
Shit. There went my night of drinking and catching up with my old friend. Max had demanded a year or so ago that I fill out a profile for something called Mr. Match, but I was skeptical about the likelihood of meeting anyone willing to put up with me or my lifestyle. He was weirdly devoted to seeing me hooked up. Or maybe he had some ulterior motive.
Me: NO.
Max:
There were no words in his next message, only a photo.
Of a woman who could have been pulled directly from my deepest fantasies. She had bronze skin and sparkling dark eyes framed by lashes that could not possibly be real. And though the photo was only from the waist up, there was plenty to appreciate about the curves evident beneath the polished business attire she wore. Her hair was dark and glossy, hanging over one shoulder, and there was an expression on her face that was practically a challenge. And fuck if I didn’t love a challenge.
Me: Fine.
3
ROSE
Enter the Seafaring Lumberjack
I was still considering whether my words to PJ had been too harsh as I pulled the red sequined sheath up my body and over the strapless corset I wore.
There had been multiple emergencies at work the day of the ball, not the least of which was PJ’s emotional breakdown in my office first thing that morning. He’d burst through my door, practically falling down in the process, and I’d suggested he could try just opening the thing and stepping through.
He’d looked at me, and then his little doughy face had crumpled, and my heart had dropped, both in sympathy and with the realization that whatever this was would probably eat up a significant portion of the morning.
“I’m not good at anything,” he’d said, a tear sliding down his face as he sank into the chair across my desk.
“That’s not true, PJ, I’m sure it’s not.” Should I call Frank to come in here? He was PJ’s uncle, after all.
“It is,” he insisted, poking a finger down on top of my desk to make his point. “You know it, I know it. My uncle knows it.”
This was the most convincing he’d been about anything since I’d met him.
“Everyone has an off day, and this is your first job. Go easy on yourself.”
He shook his head. “How will I ever be able to provide for a woman if I can’t even answer the phone right?”
“Provide for a woman?” That got my back up, but I wasn’t sure exactly why.
“Yeah. Settle down, take care of a family.”
“What makes you think the second adult in that family scenario wouldn’t be providing for herself?” I glanced around my office, wondering if he was getting my point. After all, I was doing a damn fine job of providing for myself. And for my 138 employees.
He sighed. “Maybe. Maybe she will.”
I didn’t really have time for this, but I dug deeper, ignoring the phone ringing at PJ’s desk outside and the pinging from my email. “What’s going on, PJ? Did something happen today?”
He had been staring down at his hands, but now he looked up at me, his eyes doleful and wide, shining with unshed tears. Poor guy. “I’m just such a failure. And I’m meeting this girl tonight, and I really want to impress her, but . . .” Another sigh.
“I
’m sure you’ll impress her,” I told him. “Tell her how you talked that FedEx guy down off the ledge when he came in here so upset after the bird pooped on him outside.” Those birds were evil. I swore they usually waited out there for me, and I had been wearing purple and black that day. They probably just missed.
“That wasn’t even part of my job.”
“I disagree. Your job is to keep the office running smoothly so we can focus on the business we do. And that day, that’s exactly what you did.”
“I order food and answer phones.”
“We all start somewhere.”
“Did you start in my job?”
“Well no. I mean, I founded the company with your uncle. After getting a master’s degree and working for a few other companies while I was in school.”
He dropped his head again, staring at his hands.
“What’s your goal, PJ?”
A sad voice said, “I don’t know.”
“Well, why don’t you spend today going over some online course offerings, and see what hits a note with you? And here—” I handed him my paperback copy of Clifton StrengthsFinder. “There’s a code in here for a test you can take online.”
“I suck at tests,” he moaned.
“Take this one. It will tell you all the things about you that rock. And we can figure out how to apply your strengths after that. But I’ve gotta get out of here today at five.”
His face cleared and he looked at me with interest. “You never leave at five.”
“I have a . . .” I did not really want to confide in PJ.
He read my unspoken words on my face, and then he glanced over to where the dress hung in a garment bag at the back of my office next to the couch. “You have a date!” He seemed strangely enthused about this idea.
“I, ahem. Yes. I am meeting someone.”
“Not the Jingle Ball?” he was almost bouncing out of his seat.
He knew about the Jingle Ball? “Yes . . .”
“You got matched! Me too, boss.” The grin that spread across his young face was bright and shiny, and just a little bit too big, considering my match was evidently not my match at all.
“Well, I hope it works out great for you,” I said. “But I need to get back to work. Go take that test.”
He leapt to his feet. “Sure thing. And I’ll see you at the ball. Hey,” he leaned toward me, “wanna go together?”
The ball was only a few blocks away, but for some reason I really didn’t want to walk in with PJ. At the same time he looked so hopeful. “Sure. Okay.”
“Leave at 4:45?” Why on earth he wanted to be punctual now, when he was at least twenty minutes late for work every morning, had me baffled.
“Yeah, okay.” Tallulah would be thrilled if I showed up right on time. I’d planned to be late myself.
Now, as I smoothed the sparkling dress down my hips, I felt a strange twist of worry inside. The man in the photo was not the average San Diego “dude” I was used to. He was burly and tough looking, his face giving away a hint of something else. And for whatever reason, even his photograph made me nervous.
“I am a successful, strong, independent woman,” I told my mirror.
It said nothing back, but a knock came at my office door. “Ready boss?” PJ called.
“Yeah, you can come in,” I called back as I stepped into my heels.
“Holy shit,” my assistant said when he stepped through the door and laid eyes on me. “I mean, wow.”
That did a little to make me feel less nervous. “So I look okay?” I’d wrestled my hair up into a chignon, with tendrils escaping around my face, and had doubled down on eyeliner and lipstick.
“You look amazing.” He nodded his head to enforce the point.
“Well you look pretty good yourself,” I told him, taking in the dark suit and shiny loafers. “Very handsome.” I wasn’t lying. PJ was a good-looking kid. Secretly, I hoped his match didn’t work out, though. He needed some time to figure himself out, maybe travel a bit.
“Let’s go,” I said, stepping to pull my coat from the rack.
“Let me,” PJ said, lifting it from the hook and holding it open for me to step into.
“Thank you.” A little laugh escaped me at the gentlemanly move.
Moments later we were outside, a wind carrying a December chill blowing in off the harbor. The ball was in one of the big hotels lining the marina, and it took just a few minutes for us to get there from the office. Downtown San Diego glowed around us as we walked, holiday lights glowing in many of the restaurants and shops at street level, and the buildings themselves shining in the fading light of the sun.
We gave our names at the registration table, and checked our coats, and then walked into a ballroom that twinkled and glinted in shades of red and silver. It was beautiful. There was a bar set up in the far corner, and I turned to PJ, “Want a drink?” I was pretty sure he was over twenty-one.
“Yeah.” The confident guy who’d walked me to the party had vanished, and PJ looked almost sick in his nervousness. We’d each had a number pinned to us, the same number our matches would be wearing. And PJ was scanning the thin crowd, looking for his match.
“Have a drink, and don’t worry about finding her yet,” I suggested. “Maybe she’ll come find you. In the meantime, just enjoy the party.”
He nodded with a weak smile. “Thanks, boss. I’m glad you’re here.”
I picked up a flute of champagne and a beer, and we moved to gaze out the windows at the marina outside, the boats bobbing merrily in the water. Many of them had been lit for the holidays. I felt a little glow of cheer ignite inside me—I’d been so busy at work I’d hardly noticed the season arrive, but it was impossible to ignore when wearing red sequins and surrounded by twinkle lights and trees. I was just about to ask PJ about the test I’d suggested he take today when a deep voice rolled over my right shoulder.
“Rose?”
I turned and met the dark dancing eyes of the man in the picture Lulu had sent, and I nearly dropped my drink as my knees weakened. He was in a tux, the dark beard cropped close to his face and those perfect lips posed in that same sexy smile. The man was at least a foot taller than me, with broad shoulders and a presence that was both imposing and somehow regal.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice as weak as my knees felt. I cleared my throat and tried to get hold of myself. I was not a shy twenty-one-year-old, dammit. “Yes,” I tried again, straightening to my full height. I remembered with embarrassment that I didn’t know his name. I was pretty sure it wasn’t “Crab Man.”
“I’m Ash,” he said, relieving me of my burden of confusion. “I believe we are matched for the evening.” He said this with a confidence that set something inside me blazing with attraction. It didn’t even seem to matter that I was a melting puddle of nerves—this guy was confident enough for both of us.
“Yes,” I managed, having now said two whole words to this man. The same word twice, actually. “Good.” Shit.
“Hi,” PJ said, stepping up beside me. For once I was happy to have PJ interrupt a meeting. “I work with Rose,” he went on, shaking Ash’s hand.
“Do you have a fated match here tonight too, PJ?” Ash asked, smiling at my assistant.
I sipped my champagne, wishing I could think of some of the other words that I had once known.
“Yeah,” PJ said, ducking his head. “I’m supposed to. I’m pretty nervous, man.”
How was he able to talk to my giant cologne-model match when I couldn’t form a single word?
“Don’t be nervous,” Ash suggested. “She’s human too, she’ll be just as nervous, I promise.”
Yeah, just look at me.
“She’s really pretty, though,” PJ said.
Ash let out a little breath, and looked down at me, winking and nearly sending me to the floor. I sipped again, words still absent from my mind. “PJ, look at my match. You think I’m not nervous? Rose is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, between you and me.”
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Oh. My. God. He said these words, clearly not just between him and PJ but also between him and me. And my cheeks were flaming, and other things were . . . Happening to my body. Inside my body. God, I needed to think of something to say. I swigged the rest of my champagne instead, as his words ran over and over through my head. He thinks I’m beautiful.
I opened my mouth, about to try to respond, when Tallulah flounced towards us, wearing a tight green dress that hit just above her knees, grinning madly. “You’re here! Oh, and you met Ash already!” She pulled me into a fierce hug. “You okay? You look weird. I mean gorgeous, but weird.”
“No,” I whisper-shrieked. The hug was becoming unnaturally long, but I felt safe in Lu’s arms. “I’m a mess.”
She released me. “Rose, will you come with me for a minute? I need help with some, ah, some shrimp.”
PJ frowned as Lu took my hand and began leading me away. “Shrimp?” he asked.
“Crabs too,” Lu called back, giggling as she pulled me toward a Christmas tree and around the side of it, out of sight.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “He is effing gorgeous, by the way. What could possibly be wrong with that?”
I seemed to have recovered my ability to speak. “He is,” I agreed. “Maybe too good looking? I can’t even speak around him!”
“Maybe words are not required.” Lu lifted her eyebrows and smiled suggestively.
“Stop that,” I swatted at her arm. “You look amazing, by the way.”
“So do you, and Ash was totally checking out your ass as we walked away.”
“But if I can’t even talk to him, there’s no chance this will ever work.”
“You want it to work?” Lulu bounced and clapped her hands.
“Well, I don’t want to humiliate myself completely,” I said.
“Take the pressure off,” she suggested. “Ask about him.”
“Right, right.” I glanced toward the windows, where someone else had joined PJ and Ash—a young girl in a gold dress, who was fiddling nervously with her clutch as she talked to the men. PJ’s date?
