Chapter 9
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“He called,” Clare announced in a singsong voice, waving a square of yellow paper as Lisa walked into Indulgence at eleven for her shift.
Uh-oh. Reese knew where she worked? That wasn’t good. “What did he say?” she asked, tensely.
“Not much.” Clare held out the sticky note with a sly little smile. “Apparently he wants you to go up to his room later.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
Lisa stared. “He got a room here? Are you serious?” She snatched the note from her friend.
Clare looked confused. “He checked in yesterday. You knew that.”
“Reese is staying at the Keiko? And you didn’t tell me?” A panicky feeling was digging its claws into the pit of her stomach—until she read the note, and saw the message was from Adam Masters.
Instantly, a flush of pleasure coursed through her. Adam had called. He wanted to see her.
He’d asked if she could come to his room.
“Wait,” Clare was saying, “you thought I meant Reese? Your date?” She barked out a laugh. “No, Adam called. Hey, did you get a chance to watch his interview yesterday?”
“No,” Lisa said distractedly. “I was busy.”
“I missed it, too,” Clare said. “But I DVR’ed it, in case you want to watch it this weekend. I mean, since he’s kind of your boyfriend now, and all.”
Lisa snorted. “Yeah, right. If only a lunch date equaled a relationship.” She sat down in one of the chairs opposite Clare’s desk and drummed her fingers on the sticky note.
“So,” Clare said, watching her. “I take it this morning’s date with Reese wasn’t the best you’ve ever experienced?”
“Oh no, sweetie,” Willow said, swishing into the room. She was wearing a skirt covered in tiny mirrors that caught the light and winked at Lisa as Willow sat next to her. “You didn’t like him?”
“Not exactly.” Lisa looked from one friend to the other. She actually felt a little bad for disappointing them. They seemed to have had high hopes.
“That’s so strange.” Willow frowned. “I did his birth chart. I could have sworn he was a good match for you.” She stared off into space. “Maybe he lied about his birthday on his Mister Match profile.”
“Or maybe,” Lisa ventured, “astrology doesn’t work as well as you think it does.”
“Heresy!” Clare declared mockingly. “Never say such things!”
“Or,” Lisa went on, “maybe I was telling you guys the truth when I said dating and I just don’t mix.”
“It’s just weird,” Willow said. “I mean, if he gave his real birthday, he’s a Cancer, which is normally a very solid match for a Virgo.”
Lisa raised an eyebrow. “He’s a vegan. I’m a meat eater. Not a solid match at all.”
“I wonder how the whole Mister Match algorithm works,” Willow mused. “I mean, how it matches you up with people.”
Lisa shrugged. “No idea. You guys are the ones who found the site and set the whole thing up. Don’t you know?”
“It’s all based on stuff like whether you use deodorant or not,” Clare supplied, “and if you do the dishes right after cooking dinner or just leave them in the sink till the next day.”
Lisa blinked. “Are you serious?”
“So Reese is a vegan?” Clare wrinkled her nose. “I hate vegans.”
“Clare.” Willow’s tone was censorious. “I respect anyone who believes in taking a stand against cruelty to animals.”
“Yeah, but if God didn’t mean for us to eat meat,” Clare drawled, “he wouldn’t have made smoked brisket. Plus, as I’m sure you’re both aware, men who don’t eat meat also tend not to eat you-know-what.”
“What?” Willow asked, and Clare raised an eyebrow, and Willow said, “Oh.”
Lisa snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“I swear, it’s true. So what was he like?” Clare asked. “I mean, beyond the whole vegan thing.”
“He was really...nice.” Lisa nodded. “Very, very nice.”
Clare made a face, but Willow nodded hopefully. “Nice is good, right? You could use some niceness in your life.”
“Yeah,” Clare deadpanned. “How nice, that he was nice. That won’t get dull in the least.”
Lisa laughed again. “Okay, okay. But Will’s right. Nice men are in way too short supply these days. It really was nice that he was nice.” She sighed. “Too bad he was also an anxiety case with zero sex appeal.”
“Oh, no,” Willow said sympathetically.
“Yeah. He actually brought up his therapist at one point.”
Clare started laughing.
“Although, I don’t know. There were several moments when I found him...somewhat endearing. Maybe I didn’t give him enough of a chance.”
“Somewhat endearing?” Clare repeated, and shook her head emphatically. “No, no, no. Please, do not settle for somewhat endearing. And don’t second-guess yourself, either. Trust your instincts. He was not your only match on the site. We missed the mark on this one, but we’ll find you someone better. In fact, I think I already have.”
“You have?” Lisa sat up straighter, feeling wary. “Who?”
Just then the phone on Clare’s desk rang. She lifted the receiver. “Indulgence Spa, Clare speaking, how can I help you?”
“His name is Jacob,” Willow told Lisa. “Clare’s been messaging with him. Posing as you, of course. She’s going to set up a date with him.”
Lisa shook her head. “This is just so wrong. It’s some seriously Cyrano de Bergerac kind of crap. But I don’t even have a huge nose, so you guys should not be lying on my behalf, or trolling for dates for me.”
“Huge nose?” Willow repeated, apparently mystified.
“Didn’t you see Roxanne? The Steve Martin movie, based on the play about Cyrano de Bergerac? He had a really long...” She started to point at her own nose, but then waved a hand at Willow’s blank expression. “Never mind. I forgot, you have cable. You have a lot more movie options than I do. I have to watch whatever comes on basic TV.”
“Okay,” Willow said brightly, clearly having zero idea what Lisa was talking about. “Well, I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Reese, but as my grandmother used to tell me, there are many, many more fish in the sea.”
Clare hung up the phone. “My granny used to tell me that men were like buses. Don’t worry if you miss one, because there’ll be another one coming along just around the corner, and he’ll be just as stinky and dirty as the last one.”
There was a pause, and then Lisa and Willow burst out laughing.
“What?” Clare demanded.
“It all just makes so much more sense now,” Lisa said, still grinning. “Your philosophy about men.”
“My granny was a smart lady.” Clare shrugged. “Kind of a bitch, but smart. Anyway, you’re booked for an eleven-fifteen, Lisa. And Will, that was Ms. Longbaugh, calling to reschedule next week’s appointment.”
Lisa stood. It was time to get back to reality.
“You dropped this, sweetie,” Willow said, handing her the yellow sticky note.
“Oh. Right.” She frowned at it. What could Adam want with her, asking her up to his room?
There was only one way to find out. But calling him back would have to wait.
“Your client’s in room seven,” Clare told her. “She asked for a ninety-minute session. And remember to call Adam Match back when you’re done.”
“Believe me,” Lisa sighed, “I couldn’t possibly forget.”
Clare eyed her critically. “You have got it so bad for that guy,” she announced, shaking her head, making her bluntly cropped hair swing about her chin.
“What are you talking about?” Maybe if she acted blasé, she could throw her friend off the scent. But Clare just stared at her knowingly.
“Oh, come on. It’s written all over you. Lust, pure and simple.”
&nbs
p; Lisa rolled her eyes. “How the hell do you know these things? And at your age?”
“Oh, you think you’re more equipped to read the telltale signs of lust at your advanced age than I am at my mere five-and-twenty years?” Clare raised imperious eyebrows. “Then allow me to disabuse you of that notion. I, at age twenty-four, am far closer to the basics of simple lust than you, at twenty-nine.”
Lisa squinted. “Have you been reading Jane Austen lately, or something?”
Clare laughed. “No, I’ve been on a Regency romance binge. Same thing. Some of those books are really kinky!” She began organizing her desk as she spoke. “I’ll put it in plain English for you. I spend a lot of time in bars, watching people hook up. And sometimes, I’ll admit, I do the hooking up myself.” She winked at Lisa. “All in the name of research. So I know the body language. The signs.”
“And which signs are those?”
“Well, one is nervous fidgeting, like twisting your fingers into the hem of your shirt.”
Lisa looked down at her lap and disentangled her fingers from the plaid cotton of her button-down blouse, now creased from her mindless twisting. “What else?”
“High color in the cheeks.” Clare’s voice went a bit dreamy. “A shine to the eyes. Shoulders square, chest out, back straight.”
“You can’t tell how I feel about Adam Masters from my posture,” Lisa protested.
Clare just shot her a knowing look, and turned back to her computer.
The trouble was, Lisa thought, heading down the hall toward massage room seven, her friend was exactly right. She had it bad for Adam. Not only had the date with Reese been a train wreck in its own right, it had made her feelings for Adam stand out in stark relief.
She was in big, big trouble.
She was just going to see what the man wanted, Lisa told herself that afternoon, as she took a deep breath and stepped off the elevator onto the sixth floor. Adam had been cagey on the phone, when she’d called him back. He’d only told her there was something important, and private, that he wanted to discuss.
Clare had given Lisa her cell phone. “Call me at the spa before you go into his room,” she’d instructed, “and put the phone in your purse. That way, I can hear everything. If he turns out to be a murderer or a rapist, Willow and I can come save you.”
She’d said it so cheerfully, as if there were actually a chance that Adam Masters was a murderer or a rapist—and if he was, it was no big deal.
Lisa, of course, didn’t think he was either one. Still, she couldn’t wait to find out what was so important, and so secret, that they had to meet in his room instead of someplace more public.
She let her breath out slowly as she moved down the quiet hallway toward his room, trying to quell the sensation of bubbles fizzing in her stomach. She hated that sense of excitement, of anticipation, that made it feel like she was eight years old again and she needed to get to the bathroom, fast.
“Lisa.” The door to six-fifty-three was already open, and Adam was leaning against the doorjamb, watching her approach, a slightly crooked grin on those pretty lips of his.
“Hi,” she said, trying to act simultaneously casual and aloof. “What, were you waiting for me?”
“I was.” He moved back to allow her into the room.
She stepped in past him, and then she couldn’t help but stop in the entryway.
She had been in the Keiko guest rooms only a handful of times. She had to take a moment now to glance around at the enormous room’s décor.
The place looked bigger than her whole apartment, and about a thousand times nicer. Like the spa downstairs, its Japanese theme felt both upscale and relaxed. A sleek, black chest of drawers, pushed against the wall to her left, had long, low lines. The bed’s matching headboard and side tables looked simple and spare. The sheets were slightly rumpled, she noticed, as if Adam had been taking an afternoon nap.
There was a spray of cherry blossoms in a simple, rectangular glass vase positioned above the bed. They had to be fake, Lisa knew—it wasn’t the season for cherry blossoms—but they looked real, and perfect. The lamps flanking the bed had white paper shades that matched the window coverings, which were lowered halfway. Through the glass below them she could see downtown Austin, laid out stories below. Traffic crawled slowly along the one-way streets. Up here on the sixth floor, all was quiet and serene.
“So.” She turned to Adam. “You wanted to see me?”
His hands were in his pockets, and he looked slightly nervous. “Yes.” He simply looked at her for a long moment, during which Lisa found herself wanting to fidget. The man had a way of looking at her—so directly and intently.
“How are you?” The way he asked it made it seem as if he were referring to something specific.
“Fine?” Lisa answered, hesitantly. There was something going on here—some subtext she didn’t understand.
“Good. That’s good.” Adam squinted at her. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you didn’t see my Access Austin interview yesterday.”
Lisa blinked. “No, I missed it.”
“And...” He shook his head. “No one’s called you, or anything? No photographers showed up at your house?”
“What? No. What are you talking about? Why would they?”
He released a breath, as if he’d been holding it. “Good. That’s—that’s good. I’m really glad to hear that. Although, it could just mean they haven’t figured out your home address yet, or your number.” He looked pensive.
“Will you please tell me what you’re talking about?” Lisa said. “Because you seem kind of weird right now.” She raised her eyebrows. “Kind of paranoid, honestly.”
Adam laughed. “I guess it would seem that way, wouldn’t it. Look, please, come sit down. I’m sorry—I should have offered sooner—can I get you something to drink?” He went to the chest of drawers and opened what looked like two drawers, but turned out to be the door of a mini-refrigerator. “Let’s see, I have regular water, sparkling water, um, looks like there’s some champagne, whiskey—”
“I’m fine,” Lisa said. She moved farther into the room. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
Adam closed the door to the mini-fridge and straightened, and then tapped his hands on his thighs.
He just looked so nervous.
“Did something bad happen?”
“No, no.” He shook his head. “No, it’s nothing bad, it’s just...” He broke off, and frowned, and chewed his lower lip.
“Look,” Lisa said, suddenly wanting to do whatever he needed to help him relax. “Just tell me. Whatever it is, it can’t be that terrible, right?”
He watched her for a moment, and then he smiled, those blue eyes of his lighting up with relief. “Right,” he said, and Lisa found herself smiling back.
“Okay,” Adam said, and took a deep breath. “I guess I’ll just—I mean, this is such a weird situation, there’s no easy way to—” He laughed, ran a hand through his hair, and then gestured toward the foot of the bed. “Will you at least sit? What I need to talk to you about, it’s unusual. Maybe you should be sitting.”
“All right.” She sat down and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m ready. Let’s hear it.”
“All right.” He spread his arms, dropped them to his sides. “Um, well. There’s no great way to say this, so I’ll just—” He cleared his throat, gave her a dazzling smile, and said, “How would you like to be my fiancée?”
Chapter 10
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“Wait, what? You want— I don’t—” Lisa stopped, blinked, and worked to produce a coherent sentence. “I don’t understand,” she finally said.
Adam heaved a sigh and came to sit next to her on the bed. “I know. It’s kind of complicated.” He frowned, as if he were as confused as she was.
“Just tell me the whole story,” Lisa said. “Whatever it is. From the beginning.”
“Okay.” He took another breath. “Remembe
r yesterday, the paparazzi photographers at the sushi place?”
“Of course.”
“And they took a bunch of pictures of us, together,” Adam said.
“Right.”
“Right. And by the time I met with Kiki James—”
“Who?”
“The interviewer at Access Austin,” he clarified. “Kiki James. The interview was at three yesterday afternoon, and when I got there, it turned out Kiki had already—the photos were already online.”
Lisa frowned. “The photos of us? Online, where?”
Adam shrugged. “I don’t actually know. Any of a dozen or more tabloid sites, I’m guessing. Those guys work so fast. They shoot some pictures, and an hour later they’re up on TMZ or Perez Hilton or whatever Hollywood gossip site—”
“But we’re not in Hollywood,” Lisa pointed out. “We’re in Austin. And I’m just...nobody.”
Adam frowned. “You aren’t nobody.”
“You know what I mean. I’m not famous. There’s no reason I should ever show up on any celebrity sites.” She laughed at the sheer preposterousness of it.
“I know.” He shook his head. “I know. It’s ridiculous. But for whatever reason, they’ve picked up on me in the last few months, so I’ve got these guys following me around, photographing everything I do, and as soon as the pictures are up, people are sharing them to Instagram and Facebook, and minutes later, they’re all over the—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Lisa said, holding up her hands. “The IRS repo’ed my computer a year ago, and I don’t have a Smartphone. I’ve heard of Twittering, and I used to have a Facebook account, but I never really used it.”
“The IRS took your stuff?” Adam sounded startled.
“Yeah. Long story. My point is, I’m not really Internet-literate. So everything you’re saying is kind of...” She waved a hand above her head, to indicate that his Web-speak was beyond her.
“You called it Twittering.” Adam grinned. “That’s adorable. Do you know that?”
The way he was looking at her made her blush. “Look, just give me the lo-fi translation, okay? The Luddite version.”
Mister Match (The Match Series Book 1) Page 9
