I waited for him to explain who the hell he was talking about. "Who?"
"The Magnolia people? The Fixer Upper people?" He was spewing gibberish.
"These are friends of yours?"
He put his drink down and rubbed a hand over his face. "Oh shit. It's wearing off on me." He shot a look at Erica, who waved from the table where she was sitting next to her brother, smiling. "She makes me watch these shows, man. Where people are decorating houses and stuff, using a bunch of shit called 'shiplap' and like, renovating things."
I stared at him. "I don't even know who you are right now."
"I know. It's bad. I think we're going to Home Depot this weekend because they're doing a class on backsplash tiling." He dropped his eyes, looking ashamed.
"It's not like you can't pay someone to do that," I pointed out. "Why would you do it yourself?"
He just shook his head, spreading his hands in front of himself like there was no explaining it, no saving himself.
"Why are we talking about shiplap suddenly?" I asked him.
"Chip and Joanna," he said again.
"People I still do not know."
He explained the show to me, told me how this married couple with an army of children managed to maintain a relationship and work together, and how it was all wonderful and fine.
"I don't really think that's a fitting example for this situation. Tate will basically be in charge. It sounds like Joanna and Chip are partners. And they started the business together. This is mine. I'm probably going to struggle as it is, giving up control."
Fernando laughed. "Make no mistake. Joanna is in charge." He smiled fondly like he actually knew these people.
"Dude, I'm not sure married life is working out for you." But it was. I could see it in the relaxed set of his shoulders, the way he glanced over at Erica to make sure she was all right. Fuerte was happy.
I wanted that. Wished Tate's face didn't flash through my mind as I had the thought.
"Look," Fuerte said, leaning forward. "You look miserable about this. I think you really like this woman. Why not take a chance? See where it goes?"
I shook my head. "Taking chances isn't a good plan when it comes to romantic relationships."
He sighed, and then the dude fucking rolled his eyes at me like I was a twelve-year old girl.
"You're living proof." And so was I. So was bendy Samantha back in college, and my heart still ached a tiny bit when I thought about how that had all gone. I'd trusted back then. I'd let myself believe in the possibility of love instead of the science of it.
"Max," Fuerte said, his eyes meeting mine. "You told me one time about your parents. About how happy they were together, how much they loved each other, right?"
I knew where this was going.
"Did they have Mr. Match to tell them it was right?"
"No. And they didn't work together."
"Fine. Get her into your little database. Do the math. Maybe she's actually your perfect match. Would that make you feel better?"
"I was actually just about to do that when you losers called." I swallowed what was left of my drink.
"But here's the thing," he said. "What if she's not? Will your feelings magically go away?"
I sank back, feeling the satisfaction I'd just gained melt out of me. Would they? "Probably not."
"Because no matter how scientific you try to make everything, there's an element to all this I think no one can explain. It just is."
"Nothing just is. Everything can be explained."
"Stonehenge."
"Druid worship," I shot back.
"Loch Ness Monster."
"Proven to be a hoax. Look it up."
"Man's existence in the universe." Fuerte's eyes glimmered.
"Dude, I'm not going to get into a philosophical debate with you right now, but I'm holding my position. Just because we don't know what the explanation for something is yet, doesn't mean there isn't one."
"Has anyone ever told you that you suck the fun out of everything?"
"Did you have fun winning the Cup this year, Fuerte?"
"Except that. That was fun."
Jones dropped another vodka tonic in front of me and I thanked him, pulled some bills from my wallet and stood. "I don't want to do any more soul searching tonight," I told Fuerte.
"Okay," he agreed, standing beside me.
We returned to the big table and Trace turned to shoot me a hard look. "Meant to thank you," he said, loud enough to catch the attention of most of the other guys.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Magalie loves those chairs you sent us." He was saying nice words, but his tone was harsh.
"You're not a fan?" I tried to keep the smile from my face.
He narrowed his gaze, like he was weighing the rules of etiquette against his true feelings. With Trace, you could be pretty certain which would win. "Those are the most fucking uncomfortable chairs I've ever seen," he said. "I think I have a scar from one of them." He rubbed his low back.
"They're art," I explained with an innocent smile. I loved it when an evil plan worked out.
"Maybe we'll hang them on the wall then," he said. "I don't want to get sued when they kill someone."
I shrugged, and sipped my drink as the rest of my teammates went back to their boisterous conversations. And my mind went immediately back to thick silky dark hair, deep chocolate eyes, and the best kiss I'd ever had.
* * *
I didn't make it back to the office, and I hadn't brought my laptop home in the Uber. Plus, the database was backed up in the cloud, but we didn't make it accessible there. Too much danger of compromise. The only place the hard numbers got run was at the office, plugged into the server. So running my profile against "Susan Rose" would have to wait until the morning.
When I got home, my mind was a mess—and I didn't like it.
Warring thoughts about Tate, about fucking feelings, and about statistical probability all jousted in my head, making me jittery and grumpy. I took the thoughts to bed with me and didn't sleep much at all.
And thanks to Fuerte, when I did sleep, I dreamt about the fucking Loch Ness Monster.
Chapter 16
It all comes down to Fish Tacos
MAX
In the morning, I had a text.
From Tate.
Tate: I think we need to talk.
I let that sit a while as I made an egg white omelet and ate it on my patio under the sun. I felt only slightly more settled than I had the night before.
One thing had become clear though, and maybe I had Nessie to thank for that. Somewhere between that dream and the light of day, I'd come to realize there was no reason to be twisted up over Tate.
So I had feelings? I could handle those. I was a fucking adult.
I had no doubt her job could be at risk if we did as Fernando had suggested and "explored" the feelings any further, and I didn't want to jeopardize her position. Because I was a nice guy like that.
Beyond that, the company I'd worked hard to build could suffer too—after all, no matter what happened between Tate and me, Mr. Match was in the middle of it all. And I didn't want to lose what I'd built.
It didn't make sense to continue to entertain any kind of possibility of a romantic entanglement with Tatum Archer, physical fling or otherwise. There could be no more kissing, no more fantasies about her fucking hair, no more guts flipping around when I got a whiff of her warm vanilla scent.
We were colleagues. And that would absolutely be it.
Me: You're right, we should. When are you free?
Tate: Mom wants to go to the zoo today. Can we meet late? Like six?
I cringed. Dinner was what got us in trouble the night before. All sunset glow and ambiance. But now I'd made a decision. It would be fine.
Me: Dinner? There's a good place in Mission Beach. Grandins. Fish tacos.
Grandins was decidedly not romantic. Unless you liked your romance with a side of nachos.
Tate: ...
I added a bit.
Me: It's halfway between us. Dinner will be totally professional. We'll figure out how to proceed.
Tate: Okay. Good. See you there.
I put down my phone and gazed up at the deepening blue of the sky, actively pushing down the irritating roll of excitement trying to pump through me.
Business. This was just business.
And fish tacos.
Chapter 17
Delirious Elf-Gnomes Take Over
Tatum
The San Diego Zoo was huge. And really amazing. Even though Raaah-jjjer came with Mom and me on our outing. (I can't figure out why I cannot manage to say his name normally. This is how it sounds in my head, and I'm working not to address him by name in person because this is how it comes out of my mouth, too. Raaah-jjjer.)
I don't know why it bothered me that she invited him out with us.
Okay, that's a lie. I know why. First of all, she told me she really wanted to see the zoo with me, and made me feel like if I didn't drop everything and go with her to peer at giraffes and hippos, her day would be ruined. Secondly, I need to talk to someone. And while Mom hasn't always been my first choice of confidant, she's what I've got. I had girlfriends before I married Austin, but in that marriage and the years of hard work that had come after, I hadn’t managed to maintain those relationships.
I tried talking to Charlie, but he just stared at me with those enormous understanding eyes and then kind of groaned and dropped to the floor, rolling over like he thought if I was going to just sit there and talk, I might as well rub his belly while I was at it.
He didn't have any helpful advice about my entangled feelings for Max.
Mom seemed annoyed with me all day, probably because I was annoyed about having to share her with Raaah-jjjer (who was perfectly nice by the way. He insisted on buying our tickets and paid for lunch, he acted as tour guide and shepherded us around.)
Peter, our landlord, had agreed to take Charlie out for a walk while we were at the zoo, and I sensed he might be a little annoyed too. It seemed he had begun to develop an affection for my mother. They'd been going for walks with Charlie almost every day while I was out endangering the career I'd built by considering what one of my clients might be like in bed. Today, when Peter had come over to say hello and assure us that he and Charlie would be fine, he'd been introduced to Raaah-jjjer, and I caught a definite competitive vibe. Mom was practically starring in her own version of The Bachelorette.
Mom had two perfectly single and available guys vying for her attention, both of which she seemed to like.
Me? I managed to fall in lust with the one man I really shouldn't even be thinking about touching with a ten-foot pole. Or touching with other things. Like my hands. Or my tongue. And thinking about his pole was strictly off limits.
That's what I kept telling myself.
Max had kissed me. Or I had kissed him.
And it had pretty much rocked my world. Not that I'd been wildly experienced before Austin, and definitely not since, but Max had clearly known what he was doing. I shivered, just at the memory of his tongue sliding against mine, his hand buried in my hair, that smell of leather and cologne that surrounded him invading my senses.
"Are you cold, Tatum?" Raaah-jjjer asked, watching me as we stood in front of the polar bear tank, watching the huge bears swim and play like puppies.
I was not cold. The opposite, actually. Between the warm sunshine and the memory of Max's hands on me, I was potentially overheating. "I'm okay, thanks."
We saw every animal known to man, and I tried to feel happy for my mother when Raaah-jjjer put his arm around her shoulders as we walked the thirty-seven miles back to the front of the zoo to leave. She seemed content, and I was glad. Maybe it should have bothered me to see someone next to her who wasn't my father, and in a tiny way it did, but it was less about the man and more about me. Why was it so easy for Mom to find someone to stand next to her? To hold her hand? Why was it so hard for me?
It honestly wasn't something I thought about a lot. Work usually kept me too busy for that kind of deep introspection, and that was maybe by design. But this week, in the time and space I'd been given to set up a temporary change of residency and get established in my new role, I'd had a little time to think. Kissing Max hadn't helped. It had only illustrated for me how impossible my own dating life really was. Maybe I needed Mr. Match. Maybe I should fill out the intake form for real.
But as soon as I had that idea, I pushed it away. My stomach actually turned when I considered what it would be like to kiss someone else, someone who wasn't Max.
This was not good.
As Raaah-jjjer drove us home, he and my mother chatting happily about flamingos and koala bears, I stared at the passing landscape of my new home, feeling a bit like an aimless and confused teenager in the backseat of the adults' car.
I had to see Max for dinner in a couple hours. I needed to assure us both that my behavior from this point forward would be strictly professional. Beyond the success of this particular engagement, my entire career could be on the line. Women who made a habit of becoming involved with clients didn't go far in the world in which I worked. There had been another woman at my firm when I started, Lana Holmes. Within a year of working there, I'd been told she would never be a partner because she was unable to keep her personal and private lives separate. Evidently she'd slept with a client—maybe two or three, it was hard to tell by the variable rumors swirling around about her—and it had permanently marred her record. I hated it, but women had to be especially careful in male-dominated fields. We were held to a higher standard sometimes, and while it might not have been fair, it was true. And I had known it for years and promised myself I'd never be that woman, never ruin my reputation and career in the eyes of my manager.
Foster and I got along well. He knew a lot about me, had met my mother and even Charlie. We were friends, in a way, but I managed to keep a professional distance there, too.
I'd spent years building my reputation at the firm. And kill my shot at Foster’s position.
This attraction I felt to Max Winchell could ruin it all. I told myself I could not let that happen.
And yet, I couldn't seem to completely tamp down the odd tingles I felt run through me when I pictured his serious face, thought about his low careful voice. Imagined his mouth on me again.
I was potentially screwed.
"I hope you ladies had a nice time," Raaah-jjjer said as he opened the back door to let me out.
"I did, thank you. The zoo here is incredible."
"World famous," he agreed. "Thanks for letting me crash your day with your mom, Tatum. It's really nice to see her again." He gave me a genuine smile and something in his voice made me soften toward him a bit. Raaahj seemed like a nice guy.
"It was nice seeing you together, Roger. It's nice seeing Mom smile again." I meant it, and I smiled at my mom as I went inside to give them a few minutes to say goodbye.
Charlie heard my key in the door and I could hear him galloping to meet me as I stepped in. He skidded to a halt, sliding across the hardwood, and crashed into my legs, nearly sending me to the floor. As soon as he got his feet back under him, he was up, paws on my shoulders and head pushed up close to mine in a huge-dog hug.
"Hey buddy," I said, laughing. He was out of control, but his love was tangible. Why couldn't all relationships be so simple?
I put my arms around the big guy who never asked too much or complicated my life and buried my face in the scruff of his neck.
When we were finished greeting each other, Charlie and I went to get him a snack, and then he came to watch me fret about what to wear to my casual professional
fish taco meeting with Max.
"It's just business," I told Charlie, who settled himself in a heap in the doorway of my room. "So there's no need for like, a dress or anything."
Charlie cocked his head, looking unsure about this, as I pulled on black slacks and a white button-down shirt. He made a grumbling noise and dropped his head on his paws.
"You're right. I look like a waiter." I tried again, swapping the shirt for a faux-wrap tank in a shade of pink and a light cardigan. "Better?"
"Oooh, you look nice," Mom cooed from behind Charlie. "Date?"
Immediately, I stripped off the pink shirt. "No, dinner with Max. Business."
"Date business," Mom said knowingly.
I pulled on a black three-quarter sleeve shirt. "No, just business." I had a sudden thought that maybe Mom could sense that I’d kissed Max somehow. “Business business,” I assured us all.
Charlie groaned again.
"You look like you're in mourning," Mom said, shaking her head at the black shirt. "How about this?" She stepped over the big dog and came to stand beside me at the open closet, pulling out a swingy red skirt that was part of my aspirational wardrobe. I never wore it, but it was gorgeous. I had it just in case I ever had the perfect opportunity, and I was pretty sure fish tacos with a man I was definitely, completely, totally not trying to lure in any kind of sexually related way was not it. "This is perfect," she said, holding it up to me.
I sighed and put on the skirt.
Mom bent down and pulled a pair of black espadrille wedges from the closet floor. "And these."
I put the shoes on and looked into the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. It was kind of datey, but she had a good eye. It was a little bit casual, fitted only enough to be flattering but not suggestive, and the little bit of leg that showed acknowledged the casual nature of the place Max had chosen, while the black shirt still said I was serious. "Yeah?"
Scoring the Boss: Mr. Match Book 4 Page 12
