The Matchmaker's Happy Ending: Boardroom Bride and Groom

by Shirley Jump

  A part of her wanted to run, to retreat to her familiar comfort of organization and schedules. But the other part of her, the part that had seen hundreds of happy couples walk down the aisle, wanted to take a chance. To trust in the very process she had built her business upon.

  Still, she hesitated. This was Jack Knight, she reminded herself. Going out with him would only complicate an already complicated situation. Could hurt those she loved. “I should get home. It’s my only day off—”

  “And yet you were working.”

  “Well, my only half day off. I have laundry and other things to do.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather grab a picnic lunch, spread a blanket on the grass at the Esplanade, and listen to some really amazing jazz?” he said, his voice like a siren calling to the part of her that craved a break, and the need for more in her life than her work. “Enjoy the beautiful spring day, maybe have a glass of wine, and just...be?”

  God, yes, she wanted that. She relaxed far too little, worked far too much. Work kept her from thinking, though, and also prevented her from dwelling on her regrets. Oh, how tempting—and wrong—Jack’s offer sounded.

  Yet at the same time, he was a man who personified the very thing she avoided—taking risks. Trusting in others. Letting down your guard.

  “That walk we took the other day did me some good, too, and I’m not just talking about in a cardiovascular way,” he said. “Sometimes, I need to be forced out the door or I work too many hours. This weekend, the geeks are doing some maintenance on the server. That means I can’t work, not while the computers are down. And my cousin is really counting on me to be there. I couldn’t bear to let him down.” Jack grinned.

  Why did he have to keep being so nice? So...normal?

  She kept waiting to see the side of him that had swooped down and shredded her father’s company, and she hadn’t. Now here he was, admitting he was a workaholic like her, striking yet another sympathetic chord in her heart. One who, like her, also spent far too little time in the sun and with close family. She liked him, damn it, and really didn’t want to.

  She shook her head even as her resistance eroded a little more. “You don’t need my company to do that.”

  “Ah, but a day like today is so much better when it’s enjoyed with someone else, don’t you agree?” He reached back and opened the rear passenger door of his car. “I already have a picnic and a blanket ready to go.”

  “So sure I was going to say yes?”

  “Quite the opposite. I wanted to sweeten the pot because I knew you’d say no.”

  He could have read her mind. Five minutes ago, she’d written “take some time off” on a Post-It note and tacked it onto her desk, a reminder to stop working seven days, to have some time to regroup, recharge. Except for her thrice-weekly runs at the gym, there’d been far too much work and far too little relaxation in her days. In her business, a tired matchmaker wasn’t as inspired when it came to putting matches together, hence the reminder for time off.

  But a picnic with Jack? How could that be a good choice? He was the kind of man who tempted her to take the very risks she’d avoided all her life. The kind of man who came with heartbreak written all over his face.

  The kind of man she tried so very hard to resist. And failed.

  She peered past him, and into the car. A bright green reusable shopping bag sat on top of a folded red plaid blanket. The shopping bag bulged, and the amber neck of a bottle of white wine stuck out of the top, alongside a spray of daisies.

  Daisies.

  Not roses. Not carnations. Not orchids. Daisies, their bright white faces so friendly and inviting.

  Jack caught where her gaze had gone, and he reached inside, tugged out the flowers, and presented them to her. “I thought an unconventional woman deserved an unconventional flower.”

  She took them, and despite everything, her defensive walls against Jack melted a little more. “Did my mother tell you these were my favorites?”

  “Nope. You did. When you told me about your nickname.”

  He’d remembered that tidbit. It touched her more than she wanted to admit. She fingered one of the blooms, and a smile curved across her face. “Every time I see daisies, they bring back great memories.”

  “Tell me,” Jack said, his voice quiet and soft.

  She inhaled the light scent of the delicate flowers. “When I was a little girl, there was a field near my house where daisies grew wild. Every spring, I couldn’t wait for them to bloom. Once they did, I’d go and gather as many as I could carry and bring them to my mother. She’d arrange them in this big green vase of my grandmother’s, set it in the center of the dining room table, and every night over dinner, we’d give one of the daisies a name. She said they have so much personality, they deserve to have their own names.”

  Jack leaned forward, and ran a finger along the delicate petals of one of the flowers. “And what’s this one’s name?”

  She shook her head. “Jack, I’m too old for that.”

  “We both are. But it’s fun to be young once in a while, don’t you think? Believe me, I wish I’d taken more time to be a kid when I had the chance.”

  She heard something in his voice, something sad, regretful. She wondered again about the Jack Knight she thought she knew—who had ruined her father’s company—and the Jack Knight she had met—a man with a definite soft spot. Which was the real Jack? Curiosity nudged her closer to him. “Why didn’t you have more kid time?”

  “Long, involved, unhappy story. I’ll tell it to you if I’m ever on Oprah.” He shook off the moment of somberness, then plucked one of the daisies from their paper wrapper. “I’m calling this one Fred.”

  She shook her head, stepping away. “Jack—”

  He plucked a second flower from the arrangement and held it out to her. “Let go of all those rules and regulations you live by, Marnie.”

  “How do you know I do that?”

  “Because we’re two peas in a pod, as my stepfather would say. I have kept such a tight leash on everything in my life, trying to make up for the past, trying not to be the man my father was. And where has it gotten me? Working too many hours, eating most of my meals on the run, and living the same lonely work-centered life he lived.”

  “I’m not...” She shook her head, unable to complete the sentence.

  Jack touched her cheek, his blue eyes soft, understanding. “I see a woman who works too much and plays too little. As if she’s afraid to go after the very thing she helps her clients find.”

  It was as if he’d pulled open a curtain in Marnie’s brain. How many times had she thought the same thing? Heard those same words from her sisters, her mom? She glanced at the daisies and saw her younger self in those happy white circles. When had she gotten away from that carefree person? When had she become this woman too scared to take a chance on love?

  She reached out and took the flower, caught in the game, in Jack’s infectious smile, in the echoing need to forget her adult problems for just a little while. “That makes this one Ethel.”

  “Sounds perfect, Marnie.” He closed his hand over hers, capturing the flowers and making her heart stutter at the same time. “Let’s put the rest in water, and take Fred and Ethel to the concert. They’ll be our table decoration, even if our table is a blanket on the ground.”

  It was a beautiful day, warm, sunny, the kind of day that begged to be enjoyed. She thought of the things she had planned to do at home—laundry, vacuuming, dusting. Catching up with her life, essentially, after a long week of work. Not an ounce of that appealed to her right now, but the thought of spending time outside, with Fred and Ethel and Jack, did.

  He’s the enemy. The one who destroyed your father. Every time you see him, it will remind you of that history.

  But was that really what had her hesitating? Or was it what Ja
ck had said, that she was afraid to go after the very things she helped her clients find?

  “Come on, Marnie. Enjoy the day. Consider this your civic duty, supporting local high schools,” he said, “albeit, civic duty accompanied by a glass of chardonnay.”

  “Oh, that sounds really good,” she said, because it did, and because her resistance had been depleted when he’d named the daisy. She bit her lip, then shoved the doubts to the back of her mind. She wanted this afternoon, this moment. She pressed the Ethel daisy into his hand. “Hold these and I’ll be back in two minutes. I have a vase in my office.”

  She ran back into the building, and up the stairs. In a few minutes, she had the daisies in some water, and had placed the vase by her desk, so she’d see them first thing every day. She was about to leave, then put a hand to her hair, and ducked into the restroom instead. She washed up, then placed her hands on either side of the sink and stared up at her reflection. Excitement and anticipation showed in her eyes, pinked in her cheeks.

  Excitement and anticipation because she was going out with Jack Knight.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she said to her image. “You can’t get involved with him. He’s all wrong for you, remember?”

  Her image didn’t reply. Nor did her brain rush forward with any reasons why Jack was wrong, exactly. For some reason, she couldn’t come up with a single objection.

  Even as she told herself she didn’t care what Jack Knight thought about her appearance, she gave her hair a quick brush, then refastened the barrette holding the chestnut waves off her face. A quick swipe of blush, a little lipstick, then a quick exchange of heels for a pair of flats she kept under her desk. She grabbed a cardigan from the hook by the door, then, at the last second, she unclipped the barrette and dropped it on the counter. Her hair tumbled to her shoulders.

  Unfettered, untamed.

  His words came back to her, tempting, sexy, urging her to take a chance, to give him a chance. To just...be.

  She stopped when she saw him standing by the silver car, holding Fred and Ethel. The last of her reservations melted away.

  One day, one concert, wouldn’t change anything. She’d have a good time, and be home before dark. Right?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WRONG.

  The thick plaid blanket had seemed big when Marnie and Jack spread it on the grassy field that lay in front of the famous Hatch Shell. Hundreds of other families were camped out around them, armed with video cameras to capture their child’s performance. The first band sat on the stage under the giant white dome, tuning their instruments while the A/V staff ran back and forth, doing last minute prep.

  Marnie took a seat beside Jack and arranged her skirt over her knees and legs. She’d kicked off her shoes, left her cell phone in the car. Sitting in the sun, barefoot, with nowhere to go but right here, right now, had a decadent quality. For a while, the nagging thought that she should be doing something tensed in her shoulders. But as the sun washed its gentle warmth over her, Marnie began to relax, one degree at a time.

  Well, relax as much as she could sitting next to Jack. He was so close that she caught the spicy dark notes of his cologne with every inhale. Her hand splayed on the blanket, inches from his. He had strong hands, the kind that looked like they could take care of her in one instant, and send her soaring to new heights in the bedroom in the next.

  “Hungry?” Jack asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” she said, then colored when she realized that her hunger was for him, not food. Damn. What was with this man? Why did he draw her in so easily? She had already made that mistake with someone else. She straightened, putting a few centimeters of distance between them. “Uh, did you say you brought sandwiches?”

  “Yep. Ham and cheese good with you?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She took one of the paper wrapped sandwiches from him and opened it. A thick pile of honey ham, topped with a generous portion of provolone cheese, as well as deep green Boston lettuce and juicy red tomato slices peeked out from between two rustic slices of sourdough bread. She took a bite, and goodness invaded her palate. “Oh, my. This is amazing. What’s on this?”

  “Hector’s own jalapeno/cilantro mayonnaise. He owns the deli, and there are some meals that I think could get him nominated for sainthood.”

  Marnie took another bite. “Oh, this, definitely.”

  Jack chuckled, then uncorked the wine and poured it into two plastic cups, handing her one of them. “Plastic isn’t exactly high brow, but I’m not exactly a fancy glass kind of guy.”

  “Really? You strike me as, well, as the opposite. Or at least, you have the other times I’ve run into you.”

  “It’s those damned suits. They make me look all boring and dull.”

  She laughed. “Those are not the adjectives I’d use to describe you.”

  “Oh, really?” He arched a brow. “And how would you describe me?”

  She thought a minute. “Mysterious. Guarded. An enigma.” That much was true. Every time she thought she had Jack figured out, he threw her a curveball.

  “Ah, the elusive guy in the shadows who never opens his heart, is that it?” He raised his cup toward hers. “To guarded hearts.”

  “You talking about me?”

  He laughed. “You, Marnie, have the most guarded heart I’ve ever seen.”

  “Touché.” She gave him a nod of concession, then a smile. “To guarded hearts. And mysterious enigmas.” They touched cups, then drank. Two kindred souls, in relationships at least.

  “I don’t think I ever thanked you for introducing my stepfather to your mom.”

  “I should be thanking you for encouraging him to go to the mixer. He really seems perfect for her.” Marnie didn’t think she’d ever seen her mother this happy, yet at the same time, the caution flags stayed in her head. Dan came with Jack—and could her mother handle that? “He’s a nice guy.”

  Jack nodded. “He was a heck of a stepdad, too. He married my mom when I was eight, and was one of those hands-on dads. The kind that plays catch in the yard and teaches you how to build a fire with a flint and some kindling. But the years before Dan came along were...rough.”

  “I’m sorry.” And she was. No child should have a difficult childhood. Hers hadn’t been perfect, but it hadn’t been rough, either.

  Jack shrugged like it was no big deal, but she got the sense it did bother him. “My father was never there. Not then, not later.”

  “Did he work a lot?”

  Jack snorted. “My father made work a world-class sport. Heck, I saw the Tooth Fairy more than my own dad. And when he was home, his attention span lasted about five minutes before he was off on another call or writing another memo. Eventually, my mother had enough of being, essentially, a single mom, and divorced him.”

  “Yet you followed your father into the family business, from the day you graduated Suffolk.” When he arched a brow in question, she gave Jack a little smile. “I Googled you.”

  “So you are interested in me?”

  “Cautious. You never know who you’re riding home with.”

  Jack laughed and tipped his cup of wine toward her. “True.”

  She picked off another tiny bite of ham. “So if you and your father had such a bad relationship, why did you go to work for him?”

  Jack leaned an arm over his knee. His gaze went to somewhere in the distance, far from the performance at the Hatch Shell, far from her. “Even though I loved Dan, I never got past that need for a father’s love and attention. Pretty pathetic, huh?”

  “No, not at all.” Another thread of connection knitted between them. Her father had worked countless hours as he built his business. She could relate to that craving for a relationship, a connection. She too had missed out on the camping trips and ball games with her father.

  Her sympathy for J
ack doubled. In his eyes, she could still see that hurting, hopeful boy, and it broke her heart.

  Across from them, a mother and father took turns playing peek-a-boo with a baby in a stroller. The baby’s laugh carried on the air, infectious, bubbly. That was what a family looked like, she thought, the kind of family Jack should have had his entire childhood, and it added a sad punctuation to their conversation.

  Jack sighed. “Anyway, I guess I hoped that if I worked for him, we’d finally have that relationship I had missed out on.”

  She had wondered the same thing. If she had worked for her father, would she have had a closer relationship with him? Been able to help his business? Help him? “And did you get that relationship?”

  “Oh, I saw him at work. When I was getting called into his office for another ‘stupid’ mistake. We didn’t have long, father-son talks or take lunch together or even work on projects together. Everything I learned came from the other guys who worked for my father. Many of those men still work for me today, and they’re almost like a second family.”

  “Why didn’t you leave the company?” she asked.

  “I did. Took a job at another business brokerage firm, and barely had time to put my pens in the drawer of my desk before I got a call telling me my father had had a heart attack. Two days later, I was in charge. After he died, I stepped into his shoes. Well, his office.” A wry, sad grin crossed his face. “I made my own shoes.”

  She picked at an errant thread on the blanket, hating that they had this in common, too. Of all the people in Boston, why did she have to relate so closely to Jack, and his loss?

  Jack’s blue eyes met hers and his features softened. “I’m sorry, Marnie. I know your father died too, a few years ago. He was a heck of a nice guy, and I’m sure that loss was hard on you.”

  She heard true sympathy in Jack’s voice and it made tears spring to her eyes. He covered her hand with his. An easy, comfortable touch. One that eased the loss in her heart, yet at the same time it drove that pain home.

  Damn him. Damn Jack for making her care. Damn Jack for caring about her. And damn Jack for being the reason behind all of this.