by Marie Carnay
“I’m sorry. I’ll rework the design.”
“I’ve given it to Steve.”
Harlow’s stomach twisted. “What?”
Her boss inspected his nails as he spoke. “I couldn’t trust you to finish on time. Steve’s taking over your portion of the project.”
“What about Leanne?”
“She’s still responsible for her portion of the project. That part isn’t the issue.”
Thank goodness. If Harlow’s screw-up had hurt Leanne, she’d never forgive herself. But having to work with Steve was punishment enough. She held the stack of papers out to Bill. “Does Steve need these?”
Bill waved her off. “No. He’s already provided mockups a million times more appropriate than yours.”
Harlow nodded as Bill walked away. She ordinarily took such pride in her work. Being able to juggle her full-time job and the matchmaking business gave her a sense of pride. Accomplishment.
Lately she hadn’t been doing a good job at either.
She pulled up her matchmaking email on her computer and almost fell out of her chair. Three hundred and sixty-two messages unread. Oh my God. How could she let this happen?
If she didn’t get her head out of the bedroom, she risked losing not only her day job, but her matchmaking business, too. All the years she’d worked and she was going to throw it away on two guys who wanted to buy her company.
Harlow snuffed back a rising wave of tears. She didn’t even know what they felt about her.
“There’s no crying in coding. That’s rule number one.” A box of Kleenex appeared over the edge of the cubicle and Harlow glanced up.
Leanne stood on the other side, a sympathetic smile on her face. She waggled the box and Harlow plucked a tissue from the box. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. It’s the least I can do after all the staples I’ve pilfered.”
Harlow tried to laugh but it came out more of a sob. “I’m sorry I’ve screwed everything up. You should have told me my work sucked. I’d have come in and worked the weekend, done something to fix it.”
“But then you’d have missed out on those two awesome guys of yours.”
Harlow shook her head. “I should have been here. You needed me.”
“Pfft. Did not.”
Harlow picked up the stack of papers on her desk with a snort. “Bill hates it. Everything I’ve come up with is crap. He’s given the project to Steve.”
Leanne braced herself on the padded wall, her silver bracelets jingling as she crossed her arms. “It’s okay, Harlow. Sometimes you have to let someone else step in when you need help.”
“You’re not mad?” Harlow wiped at her nose and tossed the tissue in the trash.
“I’m furious.”
Oh. Harlow grabbed another tissue and held it up to her face. “I’m so, so sorry. I know—”
Leanne cut her off. “I’m furious that you’re still here.”
“What?” Did she want her to be fired? Was she that mad?
“You should be living it up with Foster and Dixon and letting them turn your matchmaking business into something huge. Not wasting your time at a dead-end job that you don’t even like.”
Harlow blinked. “You think I should sell Crane Matchmaking?”
“I think you should do what’s going to make you the most happy. I don’t believe that’s working here.”
“But I’ve been here five years.”
“Four years too long, if you ask me.” Leanne walked around the divider and leaned against Harlow’s desk. “What is it about this place that makes you stay?”
Harlow shrugged. “The bad coffee?”
Leanne crossed her arms. “It’s not the coffee or the Eighties decor. So out with it. Why won’t you quit?”
A rising surge of anxiety rose in Harlow and she swallowed. “Maybe I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Failing. Putting myself out there and finding out I don’t have what it takes.” Harlow stole another tissue and folded it in her hands, ignoring Leanne’s stare as it bored into the top of her head.
“What else?”
Finding out Foster and Dixon don’t want me. But Harlow wasn’t about to admit that to Leanne. Admitting that she stayed in her job not because she enjoyed it or had a plan for the future, but because she was terrified of being alone, was too much to share. She offered another admission instead.
“I’m afraid of losing my friends.”
“Me?”
Harlow nodded and Leanne crouched down in front of her, grabbing her hands and giving them a squeeze. “You’ll never lose me, Harlow. It doesn’t matter if you work here, from your apartment, or while traveling in your private jet to Paris.”
“I’ll never have a private jet.”
“You will if your company becomes a raging success.”
Harlow tried to smile. “You really won’t be mad if I leave?”
“Furious. But only because it took you so long. You need to take a chance. Even if whatever you have with Foster and Dixon doesn’t work out, isn’t it worth it to try?”
Harlow frowned. She honestly didn’t know. After all that Tyler put her through, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to love like that again. “What if they’re lying?”
Leanne squeezed her hands again. “What if they aren’t?”
“You’re not going to give this up, are you?”
“Nope.” Leanne stood up and reached over the wall to grab her phone. She pulled up a picture and held the phone out to Harlow. “Maddie sent this today.”
Harlow glanced at the screen where Maddie, Clark, and Mitch stood grinning for the camera in front of the little shed out back. Maddie had stenciled Madeline Designs above the door.
They couldn’t have been happier if they tried.
“You could have that too, Harlow.”
“I don’t think Dixon’s the country-living type.”
“You know what I mean.”
Harlow nodded, not trusting her voice. It shouldn’t be this hard to go after what she wanted, but no matter how many times she daydreamed about her own happy ever after, when reality crashed back in, she hesitated.
Tyler had put her through hell. She smiled up at Leanne and hoped the doubt didn’t show. “Thanks, babe.”
Leanne patted her on the arm. “That’s what friends are for.”
Harlow turned back to her inbox stuffed full of unopened emails as Leanne went back to work. She might not have ruined her friendship with Leanne by dropping the ball at work, but she still had a mess of things to take care of at Crane Matchmaking.
She pulled up the first email and scanned the contents. A potential new client who wanted a man in the city with a stable job and a commanding presence. One immediately came to mind, but he wasn’t a client. If Harlow took Leanne’s advice, he might be the owner.
Chapter 19
DIXON
This wasn’t how he’d planned things.
Dixon leaned back in his desk chair, eyes closed, hands laced behind his head. All of his thoughts, all of his dreams… they centered on Harlow.
He’d never planned to take it this far. Not with any woman. Dixon had made himself a deal: no relationships, ever. In exchange, he could date, fuck, have a blast. But no more heartbreak. No more lies.
Kendra had made sure of that. He still couldn’t get over how she’d left him. Run out on the day of their wedding like a made-for-TV movie star, white dress trailing behind her as she jumped into some other guy’s car and sped off.
He never saw it coming. She was perfect: good job, knockout body, sense of humor. Everything he’d want in a wife and a mother to his future children. They spent a year planning the wedding. Dixon had paid for everything, without a single hesitation in his check-writing fingers.
And then she’d left.
No explanation. No apology. He stood up there in front of hundreds of guests like a total ass, apologizing for the lack of bride.
Scrubbing his hands down his face
, Dixon sat up and turned on his computer. He’d tracked Kendra down a year or two ago, just to see where the wench had gone. She’d dumped whatever boy-toy she’d hitched a ride with on their wedding day and was living it up in Cancun.
A tour guide, of all things.
He pulled open a web browser and entered her name in the search: Kendra Tate. Up came a million hits of people all over the country, none of them her.
Dixon scrolled, checking a few out here and there, eyes darting over the descriptions, until one caught his eye.
What the hell?
He pulled up the page, disbelief making him blink. It can’t be.
Kendra Tate.
Age: twenty-eight. Profession: tour and backcountry guide. Likes: Nights on the town, fancy dinners, vacations to faraway destinations.
Ideal man: A confident man with entrepreneurial spirit and discipline. Tall, broad-shouldered. Rugged beard a plus.
Dixon scratched at his own facial hair and kept reading.
Reason for joining: Ready to return to Chicago, settle down, and start a family.
He clicked on the thumbnail image and her face popped up to fill the screen. Same auburn hair, lying green eyes, and a few more freckles across her nose. Dixon closed the window and read the details again.
To contact Kendra, join Crane Matchmaking. One-on-one service, perfect matches. Guaranteed.
He pushed away from the desk in a disgusted rush. Kendra had hired Harlow to find her a match. Dixon stalked over to the window and looked down at the city.
It didn’t take a genius to know the man she described was him. Did she know he was trying to buy the company? Did she seek out Crane Matchmaking just to twist the knife deeper in his gut?
He watched the cars drive by, his vision clouding over as he thought of the past. Kendra had been his everything. The reason he got up in the morning. The only thing bringing him home at night. He’d loved her so damn much.
And now there she was, back to rub his nose in it with Harlow’s help. He pounded a fist against the glass and leaned forward until his forehead touched the cool pane.
How could Harlow do this? She knew about Kendra. She knew the pain that woman had caused him.
Dixon swallowed as a new thought crept into his mind. What if that was the point? What if she’d done it on purpose? Did she doubt him? Was this a test?
He rushed back to the computer and logged into the Crane Matchmaking website. Harlow had given him an account days ago after he’d nagged her for one. Just to research the company, he’d said. Maybe give her a few pointers if she still didn’t want to sell.
But that was before he couldn’t get the taste of her lips off his tongue or the feel of her body pinned against him. Before he fell in love.
He searched for Kendra in the database and her full profile appeared. Dixon scanned it, looking for anything that would give him a why. A reason to trust Harlow and let this go.
Before he could finish reading, a message popped up in chat.
Hey, stranger. Long time, no see.
Dixon leaned back in his chair, mouth hanging open. He’d never spent time logged into the matchmaking service before, and he’d missed the ability to open chat with other members.
Kendra’s message hung in a little window at the bottom of the webpage, taunting him.
He could block her and tell Harlow to never let the woman contact him again. But what if…
Before he could talk himself out of it, Dixon typed a reply.
Surprised you’re using a matchmaker when there’s so many cars you can just jump into in the city.
She replied almost instantly. Maybe I’m ready to quit jumping and start living.
He snorted. Then you should find some sucker willing to put up with your bullshit.
Kendra wasn’t giving up. Her reply came immediately. There’s only one man I want.
Dixon exhaled. She couldn’t be serious. After all the hell she put him through, now she wanted him back? He wasn’t giving her an inch. Sorry, I’m taken.
Is that so?
Her reply itched at the worry lingering in the back of his mind. Did Harlow know who Kendra was? Had she enrolled her in the service on purpose? Dixon thought about what to say and how to find out the truth. He needed to know if Harlow was part of this, or if it was an innocent mistake.
At last, he settled on a middle ground. You’re a couple weeks too late. Should have tracked me down sooner.
The little dots at the message window wiggled as she typed a response. I’m surprised Harlow would keep you in the program if you’re seeing someone. She told me no cheaters allowed.
Dixon blinked. She was just pulling his chain. Had to be. How well do you know Harlow?
She promised me a match.
He hesitated. There are hundreds of men in her program. She can find you one.
I only want you.
Harlow can’t promise what she can’t deliver.
Dixon waited for a response. Kendra’s little chat icon stayed silent, no notification of another message in the works. Dixon grew impatient. Did you get that? I told you, she can’t deliver me. Go find another sucker to catfish. I’m not biting.
He waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Nothing.
“Damn it!” Dixon shoved back from the desk and spun his chair around. Kendra wasn’t answering one way or the other. Without her confirmation on how well she knew Harlow and whether Harlow had put her in the program on purpose, Dixon didn’t know what to do.
All he could think about were all the whispers they had shared, the little secrets about their lives. The kisses in the dark, her hands on his skin, the way she came alive beneath his touch… It all had to mean something, didn’t it?
His mind drifted to how Harlow had run out on him and Foster earlier in the week. Since then, he hadn’t heard a word from her. It had been three days and not a single phone call or text.
Had she given up on them? Was this her way of telling him it was over?
Dixon ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands. He couldn’t think straight. He needed to see Harlow, ask her in person what the hell was going on.
If she was ducking out, shoving Kendra in his face and running for the hills, then he needed to know. Losing the woman he’d let himself fall for would gut him. After all that he’d been through, all the promises he’d made himself, just to fail again.
It was devastating.
But it might not be over. All of the fears and questions bounding around inside his head might be just that. Harlow might love him as much as he loved her.
Three days without a single phone call didn’t mean she didn’t want him. It didn’t mean rejection. Kendra could be a coincidence.
He powered off his computer and headed for the door, hand hovering at the light switch.
If Harlow was really turning her back on him, did it mean she picked Foster? Was she more in love with his business partner than him?
Holy fuck. Could that be it?
What if shoving Kendra in his face was her way of telling him? Did she think Kendra was a better match for him? That she could have Foster, and Dixon could get the scraps of his past?
Matchmaking was Harlow’s business. She knew people better than anyone.
Dixon flicked off the light at last and headed toward the elevator. He needed to confront Foster and have it out with him. Once he knew where his business partner stood, then Dixon could make the tough decisions.
Either go after Crane Matchmaking with all the firepower at his disposal, or tell Harlow the truth: that she’d unlocked his heart.
He just hoped she hadn’t thrown away the key.
Chapter 20
FOSTER
The waiting was killing him.
Three days. Harlow hadn’t returned a call or sent a note in three days. When she had rushed out of his bedroom, panic in her eyes, he’d tried to rationalize the fear inside him.
She needed to work and ha
d told him it would be insane at the office; he needed to relax.
But then the hours had stretched on and on and he’d given in to those nagging doubts at the back of his mind. Those what-ifs.
She hadn’t said she loved him. Harlow hadn’t looked up with those big blue eyes of hers and shown him the inside of her soul. Sure, he could explain it away: nerves, insecurity, a million other reasons.
But Foster only kept coming back to one: Dixon.
Had Harlow picked Dixon instead? Did the prospect of dating two men finally become too much and she’d picked the logical choice? The man with all the swagger and ego that Foster never had. The one who made women drop their panties with just a look.
Foster knew in a competition, most women would pick Dixon. But Harlow was different. He thought she really saw him—the real Foster. The one with all his faults. The scars lingering below the skin and not just running across it.
Foster ran his fingers over the white line running down his cheek. He’d opened up more to Harlow than any woman he’d ever met. And yet he still didn’t know her intentions or what the future held.
A few tortured breaths later and Foster tried to push it all from his mind. Harlow would come to him. He had to have faith. Three days didn’t mean anything. She was probably underwater at work, trying to right whatever ship had upended over the weekend.
A ding of his phone brought him back to the present and he tugged it out of his pocket and swiped it on. He scanned his unread emails until one caught his eye.
Subject: Contract of Sale.
Foster clicked on it and began to read, his hand shaking more with every line. He slumped onto a barstool at his kitchen counter, unbelieving.
The email contained a formal contract laying out the terms of a sale of Crane Matchmaking to MacSwift Development, sent via an attorney Foster had never heard of.
Per the terms, Harlow would sell, not the ninety percent stake Dixon had offered, but the full one hundred percent. Instead of staying on as president, she would step down. Effective immediately.
