One Little Kiss (Smart Cupid)

by Maggie Kelley

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Find love in unexpected places with these satisfying Lovestruck reads… Betting the Bad Boy

  The 48-Hour Hookup

  Blame it on the Kiss

  Best Man for Hire

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Maggie Kelley. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Lovestruck is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Vanessa Mitchell

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill

  Cover art from iStock

  ISBN 978-1-64063-114-4

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition May 2017

  For my friends in NEORWA

  Thank you for your support.

  And, um, for the record…I love Ohio.

  “The path to paradise begins in hell.”

  Dante Alighieri

  The Daily Blog: Smart Cupid.com.

  Posted by Senior Love Blogger, Kate Bell.

  Cupids, if you (like me) wake up one morning to find your live-in boyfriend has emptied his side of the closet and left behind nothing but a box of Krispy Kremes on the Formica counter—here’s what you do:

  First, accept that your relationship is officially over.

  Second, go get your iPod. Put Coldplay’s “Fix You” (preferably the acoustic version) on repeat until you literally cannot stand to hear it anymore.

  Eat three, maybe four, chocolate, cream-filled doughnuts and resist your sudden, desperate desire to re-read Dr. Phil’s Love Smart.

  It isn’t healthy.

  Then take a deep, seven-second breath, and on the exhale, acknowledge the fact that your track record with love is inexplicably terrible. Don’t ask, “Why didn’t I see this coming?”

  Promise to change.

  Swear (pinky swear is fine) that you will stop looking for love in all the wrong places, and never—ever—under any circumstances, no matter how charming he seems, no matter how often he says he needs you, date another super-hot, super-vain, pathologically shallow guy who’s more interested in a quickie in the hallway than calling you the next day. That man is not The One.

  No matter how hot he is.

  Especially if he’s hot.

  Chapter One

  Kate Bell, suddenly single and regretting the four doughnuts she’d eaten this morning while watching Dr. Phil On Demand, sat across from her boss and considered the idea that she might have a knack for the wrong guy.

  “So, the latest Prince Charming decided to hit the road?” Jane Wright tucked the dark curls of her pixie cut behind both ears and flashed a high-wattage, suspiciously Zen smile.

  Clearly the shit is about to hit the fan. The Manhattan matchmaker might look all cool and breezy, but nothing got in between her and the success of SmartCupid.com. Certainly not a friend’s rant-filled, anti-dating breakup tirade.

  Kate bit her bottom lip. “I guess you read my blog.”

  Jane pushed aside the remains of a pastrami sandwich and nodded at the glowing tablet on her desk. “Oh, I read it all right, and if the whole thing wasn’t so sad, I’d tell you it was funny.”

  Kate winced, knowing she was in serious trouble. Not only could she lose her job, but her meltdown had undermined all the work she’d done to catch the attention of a junior editor at Cosmopolitan. She’d been dreaming about landing a job as the magazine’s authority on Happily Ever After forever. Now she was one Google search away from working at The Farmer’s Almanac. “Probably not such a smart move—writing an anti-love piece for a matchmaking site.”

  Jane snapped the tablet cover shut in one quick motion. “Probably not.”

  Cringing at the less-than-subtle sarcasm, an apology raced out of her faster than the D-line into the city. “I know. I’m sorry. I was a total train wreck this morning, especially after the closet purge, and yes, I went too far with the whole pathological man comment, but…”

  “You think so?” Despite her obvious annoyance, a sympathetic frown worked its way across her friend’s face. “Did he really leave a half-eaten box of doughnuts on the counter?”

  “He really did.”

  The frown deepened. “Did he leave a rent check? A parting gift, maybe?”

  Kate considered the undershirt she’d stuffed in her tote bag this morning so the apartment wouldn’t reek of Irish Spring. “Not unless you count the T-shirt he left next to the doughnuts.”

  “I don’t,” she said, her eyes narrowing over the half-empty coffee cup on her desk. “Did he steal your MasterCard again?”

  She shifted in her seat, hoping to avoid a rehash of the whole credit card disaster. “Not funny, Jane.”

  “Who was being funny?” she asked, glancing around the office. “It’s a serious question.”

  A wave of heat infused her cheeks. “Borrowing your girlfriend’s credit card one time does not make you a felon.”

  “It does if you disappear to Vegas with it, run up the bill, and refuse to pay.”

  “It’s not like he killed somebody.”

  Jane tore at the edges of her sandwich wrapper. “No, he’s too dumb for that.”

  Kate drew in a long breath. A small—thankfully, very small—part of her wanted to defend him, but her friend was right. The man had cleared out without so much as a backward glance and stuck her with the remainder of the lease. Not technically a felony, but definitely romantically criminal.

  She slumped down in her chair. “I make terrible choices when it comes to men.”

  Silence filled the space between them, punctuated only by the sound of her boss tearing at the wrapper. “Well…not terrible terrible.”

  “No—more like disastrously terrible. The only question is why—why?” she asked the bronze Cupid perched on the edge of the desk. “I practice self-actualization, cultivate personal growth, embrace my ch’i, but hey, show me a guy with a sketchy romantic past and a working penis, and Hallelujah, I’m in love.”

  Jane’s smile aimed for reassurance, but landed closer to sweetie-you-need-a-new-game-plan. “You’ve got a super-sized heart, that’s all, and you’re lovely and trusting and … What is the term all your self-help books use…other-oriented? You’re other-oriented.”

  “Well, being other-oriented sucks.” Kate yanked a loose thread from the hem of her skirt and hoped the fabric wouldn’t unravel like her love life. “My super-sized heart is tired of being crushed. I’m a dating disaster. Why can’t I just find The One and be done with it?”

  “With dating or with love?”

  “Both.” A soft breath hitched at the back of her throat, and the longin
g in her voice broke her misguided heart all over again. “Dating and love.”

  Jane leaned forward in the upholstered chair and steepled her fingers. “Maybe you need to try a different tactic. A change of perspective. What if you stopped focusing on finding The One,” she said, tossing out a set of air quotes, “and started exploring more…possibilities?”

  She looked up from her hem. “What possibilities?”

  Jane let go a sigh. “A different kind of romance, one with less pressure and more potential for…”

  Her mouth twisted to one side as she wondered if her love-centric heart could handle a different kind of romance. “Spontaneity?”

  “That’s the word. You don’t have to plan everything.” Jane winked. “You don’t have to plan at all.”

  Don’t plan? No. Just no. How did you go out with someone and not try to figure out if you had any long-term potential? Love? Marriage? Family? And Jane wanted her to just forget everything and let it be. Let it be?

  “That doesn’t sound like romance at all.”

  A shrug of Jane’s shoulder. “I’m just saying. You can’t plan passion. You want a guy who looks at you like he can’t get enough of you.”

  Kate wrinkled her nose. Of course, she wanted a guy who looked at her like she was the be-all, end-all; she simply preferred a consciously committed relationship to spur-of-the-moment, no-strings passion. Then again, her relationship history was nothing to write home about. Not unless she wanted to give her mother another reason to marry her off to the neighbor’s desperately single son back in Arcadia. Which I do not.

  “Well…maybe,” she said, negotiating with her conscience. “Sex on the side does sound a lot better than dumped without a backward glance.”

  “Wait—what?” Jane blinked several times in succession. “Did I say sex on the side?” She shook her head. “No, no, no. I didn’t mean sex on the side. I meant something more along the lines of a new kind of relationship. One that doesn’t try to plan ten steps in advance.”

  Kate sat up in her chair and tapped her heels against the hardwood. Not her usual modus operandi, but…

  “A sweet, non-pathological guy might be just what I need to jumpstart the new Kate.”

  Her boss’s brows raised in a question, probably wondering what happened to her friend, the relationship junkie. “The new Kate?”

  “The brand new Kate.” After all, her closet was half empty, she’d listened to more than enough Coldplay to last a lifetime, and change was critical.

  “Brand new isn’t necessarily…” Jane’s phone vibrated against the vintage desk. “Damn.” She eyed the number, pressed mute, and tapped the screen with her finger. “Okay. So the first step to getting you past this is…” Her phone vibrated again. “Double damn.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Let’s just say you’re not the only one who can’t get a guy to do what she wants.”

  “Your fiancé?”

  Jane cringed. “Please never mention that word in the same sentence as this person again. No, it’s not Charlie; it’s this situation with…” She waved away the thought. “It’s my own fault for trying to get him to do the interview.” She glared at her phone. “If he’d just say yes, it would be over.”

  Oh my.

  Can you say opportunity?

  She’d just wrecked her career. She wasn’t about to ignore a chance to prove she was still worth her salt.

  “Sounds like you could use some help,” Kate said.

  “Oh no. You don’t want this one.”

  Kate put on her most confident smile and hoped it looked better than she felt. “Try me.”

  Jane read a text message, then sighed and put the phone down. “It’s next month’s interview for The Bachelor Profile.”

  Kate’s heart leaped forward like an eight-cylinder on the open road. The Bachelor Profile? Talk about a dream opportunity. If she could nail that, her career wouldn’t just be back on track, it would be headed into the stratosphere.

  “I’m the best at convincing people to do things they don’t want to do,” she said.

  Unless that means being with me…

  “Yeah,” Jane said, “you are. But this bachelor is…different. He’s high-profile…”

  “I can handle high-profile.”

  “Which means an exclusive, potentially challenging interview…”

  “Challenging is great,” she chimed in.

  “…with a semi-retired, totally reclusive, extremely stubborn relationship expert”—Jane wrinkled her nose at the phone—“who just happens to be my brother.”

  And there it was—the catch. Kate shook her head. “But Nick isn’t a bachelor or reclusive or a relationship expert.”

  Jane gave a short nod. “And thank God,” she said. “Only room enough for one sex and relationship therapist in the family. No, I’m talking about my other brother—Jake.”

  “Jake? Jake Wright?” Kate blinked several times, her pulse suddenly zooming past its target rate. “The Jake Wright, bestselling author of The Sex Factor?”

  An eye roll was all her friend could muster. “That’s the one.”

  “Jake Wright is your brother?”

  “Oh my God.” Jane scribbled a sarcastic “yes” into the air. “Yes.”

  This was incredible. Before he’d dropped out of sight, Jake Wright had been on everyone’s hot list. His treatise on modern relationships was considered a revolutionary discussion of erotic intelligence and contemporary intimacy. And now, he was her bachelor.

  If she could convince him to do the interview.

  “Let me take care of this.” She pulled out her phone and typed: buy copy of The Sex Factor. “Look at it this way: it’ll make up for my meltdown this morning.”

  “Kate…you know I believe in you. But this would be a serious step up from the daily blogs.” She inched to the edge of her Queen Anne chair. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  Ready? Tired of being pigeonholed as the blonde from Ohio State, Kate had been dying to prove her capabilities, and if this profile helped her land the dream job at Cosmo, she’d have a legitimate reason to stay in New York. A glossy national magazine equaled a career in her parents’ eyes, as opposed to “some job at an internet site.” Cosmo would compel her family to take her seriously and allow her to gently turn down her dad’s offer to run the family construction business back in Ohio. Heck, yeah, I’m ready.

  This was a chance of a lifetime. “I am more than ready.”

  Jane leaned forward, looking every bit the Manhattan hotshot she was. “He’ll be a tough sell. I’ve been trying for three years to get him to agree to this profile.”

  “Three years?”

  “Three years,” Jane said with a frustrated sigh. “But now he’s slated as our July bachelor, so it’s a done deal. Whatever he says, whatever he does, just roll with it.”

  A frown pulled at her brow. Whatever he does? Was he some kind of self-help guru turned axe murderer? Had he burned down a few retail stores? Skipped the country under an assumed name? C’mon, this was Jake Wright. The man sported a PhD and a bestseller on his résumé. How bad can he be?

  Jane cocked a dark eyebrow in reply, as if the question had been spoken aloud. “He won’t like the idea, not one teeny tiny iota, but if you make this profile happen despite his resistance, I’ll forget about the blog—maybe even call in a favor and talk to a friend who works for Cosmo.”

  There it was. The future that minutes ago she’d thought was lost. If she wanted a shot at her dream job, she needed to nail the interview as penance for this morning’s ill-conceived blog. Chances were good Jane would make the call anyway, but Kate wanted to prove she deserved her friend’s confidence. This is my chance. My chance of a lifetime…

  “I’m in.”

  The hint of a smile touched her friend’s lips, the kind that almost always meant trouble. “I’ll let Jake know it’s taken care of.”

  Too late to back out now.

  …

  “J
ane, there’s no way in hell I’m going to be your Bachelor of the Month.”

  Jake Wright forced a piece of plywood into the window frame with his shoulder and shoved a hammer into his back pocket, then clicked up the volume on his cell phone with his free hand. “No. Way. In. Hell. I’ve got enough on my plate right now, preparing for a little visitor known as Hurricane Dante. I’m not interested in your matchmaking.”

  “I’m proposing an interview, not a date, for crying out loud.” His sister’s exasperation filtered through the line from eleven hundred miles away. “And why are you preparing for a hurricane? What hurricane?”

  “Jesus, don’t you watch the news?” If only there were a 24-hour Matchmaking Channel.

  “Are you talking about C-SPAN?” she asked. “Because…no, not if I can help it.”

  “I’m talking about basic… Listen, forget it. I’m working against the clock here, preparing for a Category 1, so sorry, but no time to entertain your love reporter.”

  A pause filled the line, followed by an anxious sigh. “A Category 1 is on the low end of the scale, right? Not seriously dangerous. Because…um…the story’s kind of already slated.”

  “Then change it.” He grabbed another plywood board. He was on the island to find peace after his ugly divorce. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of single women tracking him down for love advice. Or worse—an actual date. “Being splashed across the Internet like man candy isn’t exactly a priority right now. Get back to me next month.”

  Not that he’d agree to be a bachelor on his sister’s matchmaking site next month, either, but maybe suggesting a delay would buy him thirty days of peace.

  “Next month?” Jane said. “No, no, no, can’t be next month. You’re Mr. July.”

  “Mr. July?” He set the plywood into the upper window frame. Jesus, next thing he knew he’d be sporting a pair of boxer briefs in the Smart Cupid Christmas calendar. “Forget it, Janey.”

  “But being interviewed as a bachelor for Smart Cupid is a once in a lifetime opportunity, like making the Maxim Hot List, only hotter and sexier—and male.”

  “I’m sure it’s the chance of a lifetime for a guy who’s interested in falling in love, but as we’ve discussed, I’m not interested in love. Period.” He pressed his thumb and index fingers against the bridge of his nose. Exhausted by the effort to prepare the island for the storm, the last thing he needed was his sister sending a reporter he’d have to look after.