Miss Match

by Laurelin McGee

  Lacy offered an innocent one-shoulder shrug. “I knew I’d talk you into it. Eventually.” She grinned. “And I didn’t want you to drag your feet and find the opportunity gone. We need the money.”

  “Okay, I get it. Now. I should have realized before, I’m sor—”

  “Stop! I don’t want to hear that word from you again today, okay?”

  “Fine. Fine.” Andy laced her fingers and stretched them out over her head. Why did she feel like she’d just been manipulated by a master con artist?

  Oh, yeah. Because being coerced by her sister was pretty much the same thing.

  Andy ran a hand through her hair. “Guess I better figure out what I’m going to wear.” Her new suit would be perfect. But how to sneak it on without Lacy discovering she’d bought it instead of paying the web bill …

  “Thank the Lord you’re finally changing out of those TARDIS PJs. You’re starting to smell.” Lacy reached for the tablet. “Now I’m taking back my iPad. I have some Internet stalking to do. Darrin said there’s a new sound coming out of Cambridge. I need to check it out. See if it’s competition.” Lacy swiped at the screen. “What the hell?”

  “What’s wrong now?”

  “It says we have no Internet connection. I don’t get it. It was just working.”

  Andy was up out of her seat before her sister had finished talking. “I’m just going to jump in the shower.”

  She’d made it halfway to the bathroom when Lacy screamed after her. “Dammit, Andy!”

  At least Andy didn’t have to figure out how to break the Internet news. Now to get a job.

  Chapter Two

  Andy read the letters on the gold nameplate of the office door for the millionth time since she had arrived. BLAKE DONOVAN, PRESIDENT. Even his name sounded pompous, old-moneyed, and Republican. And if he hadn’t been born with money, he certainly had it now. His waiting room looked like it should be featured in an HGTV special—the leather couch she was sitting on had to cost Lacy’s whole year’s rent. What a waste.

  She leaned into the cool material and swung her crossed leg back and forth while she bit the inside of her cheek. She was nervous. Which was ridiculous. Yes, she needed a job and Lacy was counting on her to land this job, but Andy had already decided this was not the job for her. She was only here out of consideration to her sister, to show that she was determined to get employment. She’d sit through the silly interview, then tomorrow she’d stop by one of those temp agencies she’d been avoiding.

  Besides, even if this job as personal matchmaker was up her alley, she could tell from looking around the waiting room of Donovan’s office that she did not fit in with the surroundings, and she didn’t mean the environment. It was the other employees that made her feel frumpy, underqualified.

  The glass walls gave her a perfect view of his staff outside. They all looked like they walked out of a commercial—good-looking, perfectly dressed, put-together, gliding around as if on rails. That was definitely a count against her.

  Strike one: not a model.

  The office door opened and Andy looked up from the book she was reading on her phone. A leggy blonde exited, her eyes downcast. She was gorgeous—tall, model-thin. Her cheekbones could cut someone they were so sharp, which somehow added to her beauty. She fit in with the rest of the runway-ready girls that it seemed Blake Donovan liked to employ.

  In fact … Andy glanced around the staff’s desks again, this time looking only at the women. Yep, she wasn’t imagining things. There wasn’t a single brunette among them.

  Strike two: not a blonde. Two strikes and she hadn’t even made it into the interview yet.

  Andy pretended to keep reading, but her eyes followed the blonde as she passed through the waiting room and out to the main work area before they darted back to her book. She was starting to feel more than a little insecure, despite the sharp new outfit. As proud as she’d always been of her auburn locks, it didn’t feel good to think they were a liability.

  A rustle in front of her drew her glance back to the office door. A man had stepped out to speak to the secretary. Ah, this must be the illustrious Mr. Donovan. His back was to Andy so she couldn’t see his face, but from behind he was pretty good looking. Stunning, actually. His shoulders were wide and defined. Even though the jacket covered his butt, she was certain it was equally sculpted.

  Then he turned around and her mouth opened in a silent gasp. Stunning didn’t do him justice. He was gorgeous. Like knees-knocking, panty-soaking gorgeous. His jaw was strong, his cheeks high. His broad forehead and short dark-blond hair accentuated his blue eyes. Piercing blue eyes. Eyes that left a person feeling dazed and confused. Eyes that made a woman do silly things like forget her name or her reason for being in his office or her predetermination to hate him. Those kinds of eyes.

  Strike three: Mr. Donovan is hot.

  Too hot. There was no possible way she’d get through an interview with a man that smoking. How would she even be able to speak? She might as well lock her phone, grab her bag, and leave right now.

  Except she was frozen, caught up in staring at the man who couldn’t not be stared at.

  “Definitely not that last one,” Mr. Donovan said to his secretary. “She has man-calves.”

  And with that, Andy was back to reality. The guy was a chauvinistic ass-wad, and that made everything about him look downright ugly.

  As long as she focused on that, this interview would go fine. She hoped.

  “Andrea Dawson.” He pronounced it AND-ree-uh, which made her skin crawl. She followed Blake Donovan into the richly appointed office. It was masculine and modern at once, all clean lines and neutral shades. At least his taste in art and furniture wasn’t as tacky as his Craigslist ad.

  “It’s Andrea,” she said to his back. “It rhymes with Leia. Like Princess Leia. You know, Star Wars? That’s how I tell people to remember it.” Jesus, she sounded like a moron. Star Wars references; way to land that job at the pizza place, Andy! And he hadn’t even looked at her yet. Even as he called her name he’d been studying her application rather than focusing any attention on her. Ass with a capital A.

  “Andrea. Drea. Drea.” He tapped his finger against his desk as he seemed to be committing the correct pronunciation to memory. That was something at least. “You have sufficient computer skills, it appears.” Mr. Donovan unbuttoned his Armani jacket and sat down in a gray wingback chair without inviting her to do the same. He began running one finger down her résumé. One long, strong finger.

  “I do.” She sat in a matching chair and tried not to stare. He continued perusing her résumé, and she continued ogling his body. It was long, and very fit. His chest muscles strained against his dress shirt and, wow, did he have pecs.

  Perhaps it was better that he didn’t look at her. Then he wouldn’t notice her ogling.

  And why was she ogling? He was inside-ugly. Total inside-ugly. She had to remember that.

  Without glancing up, he asked, “Do you know your way around social media?”

  “Yes.” Who didn’t these days?

  He didn’t even process her answer before moving on. “Ah, I see you worked for Max Ellis as a personnel consultant.”

  Andy tensed. “I did.” Her voice sounded meeker than it should. Maybe she should clear her throat? No. She’d sound awkward and awkward didn’t bode well when trying to appear attractive. Attractive as in a job candidate, not as in the sexual sense, though everything about the man did make her want to check herself in the mirror one more time.

  God, why was she still so nervous? She didn’t even want the job. It had to be because Donovan was asking about Max. Yeah, that was it. This was the part of the interview she’d been dreading. She didn’t want to talk about her past employment. But it was inevitable. The faster she got it over with, the faster she could walk back through those pristine glass doors and forget this ever happened.

  “Hmm.” Donovan continued staring at her résumé, though Andy was sure he must have read it over
three times by now. “What did you do for him exactly?”

  Just keep it simple, she told herself. And vague. “I helped him pick personnel for his key positions.” Well, that was true enough.

  “You worked in human resources then?” Donovan flipped the page.

  “Not exactly.” Ah, fuck simple. She’d go for the truth. What did she have to lose? “I went with him to business dinners and events where he was seeking potential candidates, and I’d mingle with them. With the people he was interested in hiring, I mean. Afterward, I’d give Max my opinion.”

  His forehead wrinkled. His mouth may have twisted, too, but she couldn’t see it with his head still down. “Your opinion? On their job-worthiness?”

  “Well, sort of. More like on their personality and social skills. Whether they were married or not. Whether they were the type to cheat on their girlfriend. Stuff like that. Max wanted a complete picture of every candidate.” She glanced around the room as she spoke, taking in the stark details of his office. There was nothing warm about it. No family pics, no personal mementos. Closed off. She wondered how he thought someone could possibly make a love-match for him given how sterile he was.

  He cleared his throat and she guessed it was a cue to say more. “Max would use that to help determine whether he wanted to hire them.”

  “In other words, you manipulated them.”

  Andy grimaced. “I wouldn’t call it that…” Although it was kind of accurate.

  “What would you call it then?” He paused, but not long enough for her to fill the space with an answer. “Did the candidates know that you were working for Ellis?”

  She hesitated, still stuck on the question he hadn’t let her answer. What would she call the work she’d done for Max? Practical, smart, maybe borderline unethical. Actually, spying did seem to be the most correct term.

  Donovan cleared his throat again.

  Right; he’d been asking her something. “Excuse me, could you repeat the question?”

  “Were the candidates that you spied on aware of your position?” He said it slowly, enunciating each word as if she had a hearing problem. Or was just stupid. And at this point she was feeling very much like the latter.

  This time she had to clear her throat, awkward or not. “Some of them. Or at least they knew I was with him. Sometimes. Maybe not. I don’t know.” She felt flustered. That was his intent, she was sure of it. She really hated men like that—confirming their own power by intimidating women.

  Donovan scratched a note on her résumé. Andy imagined what he’d written. Flusters easily, no ethics, total spy.

  “And how did you get to know them, so to speak? Were these candidates always men?”

  Uses her feminine wiles to obtain information from otherwise unaware men. She was sure that was what he was thinking even if he didn’t write it down. It’s what she’d be thinking. Might as well just own it. “Mostly. Yes.”

  Donovan’s head rose, and he looked at her for the first time since she’d arrived in his office. His shockingly blue eyes squinted slightly as he tilted his head at her. She stared back, caught up in his penetrating gaze.

  “I see.”

  “What? What do you see?” What the hell was he implying? His voice was judgmental, but his expression showed almost … attraction? No, that couldn’t be right. Maybe she had something in her teeth? That wasn’t exactly the image she had hoped to project, even if this was just a practice interview.

  Andy felt unbalanced. Normally she’d have a read on someone by now. Instead, all she had were her own reactions. This guy must be great at poker.

  He went on as if she hadn’t said anything. “Why you? Why did he care about your opinion? I don’t see anything listed on your résumé that even remotely qualifies you to choose experts in banking.”

  Oh, God. This was the part that was always hard to explain, difficult to sell to a new employer who hadn’t seen her in action. Or who, as Donovan obviously did, read sexual undertones into the job. She took a deep breath and plunged in. “I worked a temp job for Max as an administrative assistant one summer while I was in college, and—”

  “Pursuing a degree in psychology?” he asked, looking again at her résumé.

  “Yes. He noticed that I had a ‘unique talent for discerning people’s true motives’—his words, not mine.” Though they were words that always made her smile. She was proud of what she could do, even if it was unusual in terms of job employment.

  She swallowed then went on. “He started taking me with him to business functions out of curiosity, and we sort of developed this working relationship. At the end of the summer he offered me a generous amount to continue working for him in the way I described before. He basically created a position for me. So I dropped out—left college and kept the job.”

  Instead of looking skeptical as she’d suspected he would, Blake Donovan seemed interested. Intrigued, even. “You worked for him in this capacity for eight years? Why did you leave?”

  She gritted her teeth. “A difference of opinion.” That dickwad, Max. It still made her see red to recall, even nine months later.

  “And you haven’t held a job since?” Again, he sounded more perplexed than judgmental.

  Maybe she was reading him wrong. Which meant she wasn’t as good at her so-called abilities as she thought. “No job since. I haven’t been able to find anything that I’m really qualified for.”

  He clucked his tongue. “I’m sure that’s true. You have a very unique skill set, indeed, Drea. Did Max provide a reference for you?”

  Wow. He’d acknowledged her skills as legit. That was a first. Of course, the answer to his last question would probably end any interest he had in her. Not that she cared. “No references. And really, it’s Andy.”

  “Then I’ll make a note to call him.” He scribbled on the top of her résumé.

  “No, don’t!” She nearly jumped out of her chair. Which was embarrassing. She hoped he mistook her heated cheeks for enthusiasm.

  He stalled with his hand on the receiver.

  She took a second to calm herself, sliding back into the chair and making a conscious effort to smile naturally. “Please, Mr. Donovan. Max and I didn’t part on the best of terms.”

  “Oh?” He sat back in his own chair.

  Thank the Lord.

  “I’d rather not discuss that if you don’t mind.” Andy crossed, then uncrossed her legs. That hadn’t come out as smoothly as it had sounded in her head. She would have to figure out a better way to deal with this question in her future interviews.

  “I do mind.” His tone told her that he had no qualms about ignoring her request.

  She held her breath while he stared at her, willing him to speak first.

  “But since you aren’t my employee—yet—I suppose I’ll have to abide by your wishes. Let’s discuss my needs, shall we?” he finally rejoined.

  His needs? If he kept looking at her with those devastatingly blue eyes, they’d have to discuss her needs. Not that she was entertaining the idea. Blue eyes were just generally disarming. Especially when attached to a tall, muscular man in an expensive suit. Shame about the personality.

  And shame on her for thinking about him as anything other than disgusting. Or at the very least, unappealing. Or mostly unappealing. Inside-ugly! “Yes, let’s discuss your needs.”

  Please, please let that have come out less seductive than it sounded to my ears.

  If he registered the want in her tone, he ignored it. “I’m a very busy man. I built this IT business from scratch. It’s expanded worldwide. I often have to travel to New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago. Occasionally Japan or Germany. I work long hours, catering to clients in different time zones. When I finally leave the office, I head home and typically continue working there. Obviously, this leaves little time for anything else.”

  Ah, the married-to-his-work type. But he was so attractive. He had to get it on sometimes. She couldn’t stop herself from asking. “You don’t date or … anything?
”

  “You mean do I have sex?”

  She blushed at his bluntness, refusing to acknowledge that that was indeed what she had meant. Was this appropriate to discuss in an interview?

  Turned out he didn’t need her confirmation and felt it was relevant. “I have plenty of sex. When I’m in the mood, so to speak, I simply go find what I need.”

  “What you need…?” The conversation had her lower belly tightening in a way that made her both aroused and uncomfortable.

  “I believe the term is cruising, Drea. I go by myself to a club or a bar, and I don’t leave alone.”

  “It’s Andy. And how often do you do this?” She was starting to get a read now. Narcissist, control freak, misogynist …

  Donovan leaned forward, grabbing her eyes with his. “Very often, Drea.”

  She shivered at his low silky tone, at the way his gaze held her captive. When he looked at her like that, she wanted to be one of those women he picked up in the bar. Even though the idea should make her feel gross and slimy, it made her feel hot and bothered instead.

  Blake continued his piercing stare. “Did you think otherwise?”

  Andy shifted in her chair, not sure how to answer or even if she should because at that moment she was afraid her response would be to climb in his lap and lick him from head to toe.

  Donovan decided for her, breaking their eye contact to brush an invisible piece of lint off his sleeve. “These rendezvous never last more than one night, however. It seems the women waiting to be picked up by men in bars are not the type of women I’d like to spend any real time with.”

  Thankfully, Blake’s inside-ugly statement broke the spell he’d had over her. Well, mostly. She still found herself morbidly curious, about to ask the question she couldn’t believe she was going to ask—the one she had promised herself she wouldn’t. “What exactly would the ideal woman be, Mr. Donovan?”

  He was quick with his answer. “About five-seven, five-eight. Between one hundred five and one hundred twenty pounds. I prefer the exotic look—dark-brown eyes, near-black hair.”