Miss Match

by Laurelin McGee

  Her gaze drifted up to his and the spark he found there shot an arrow of warmth to his chest.

  What the hell was that about?

  It was the damn puppy. It had to be. Fuzzy, cute things always seemed to have that effect on people.

  But Blake Donovan was not people. He had to regain control.

  Breaking their eye contact, he drew his hand back with a snap. “I am hardly concerned with its breeding or the feel of its fur. I am curious as to why you would bring your needy little dependent into my office, where it has thus far attempted to ruin everything it comes into contact with.”

  Blake could feel his eye twitching a little. Judging from where Drea’s now less-delighted eyes were riveted, he guessed she noticed as well.

  “It isn’t my pet; it was my plan.” Despite the waver in her voice, she maintained eye contact.

  Damn, this girl was good. He was definitely going to hire her on at the company when she was done with her current contract.

  “What plan? The one where I have to have my desk refinished?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “The plan where you become a man, albeit a real jerkweed, but still a man, and not a machine.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Jerkweed? “I fail to see how unleashing this small beast upon my home will make me more of a man. If anything, it will make me more of a tyrant.”

  “So you admit it!” The sparkle was stealing back into her grin.

  So much for regaining control. “I can be stern, and a bit aloof,” he corrected. “Tyrant isn’t the word I would have chosen, but it is bandied about the office a fair bit.”

  “The queen of England keeps corgis. The breed is very distinguished. It fits into your lifestyle and yet warms you up. And believe me, Blake, you need warming up. You need the puppy.” She thrust it in his direction.

  He kept his hands at his sides, hating the thoughts that flickered through his mind at the idea of Drea warming him up. “I need no such thing.” Though he wasn’t sure whether he was referring to the dog’s warmth now or Drea’s.

  “You need the puppy! Look at the puppy. You want the puppy.” Again, she attempted to jam it into his arms. He took a step back. She took a step forward. Another step back—he’d been put on the defensive, and he hated that position. How had everything gone so wrong, so fast?

  He firmed his stance, refusing to move again. “I do not want the puppy. Keep the puppy away from me. Doesn’t it have a kennel or something?”

  “Why would you kennel this little bundle of joy? This is exactly my point, Blake. Even if you have only a shriveled blackened lump where your heart should be, this little critter will melt any woman unfortunate to end up here with you.” She was getting cheekier and cheekier. How was someone who treated him so flippantly going to sell him to the prospective dating pool?

  Oh.

  “Look, Andrea. I know you meant well, but I am not interested in adding another member to my household that cannot operate a can opener.”

  Her face fell. She frowned down at the scrap of fluff in her hands.

  “It was a good plan, you know. Now I’m not sure what I’ll do. You are just incredibly difficult to get to know. If I could find a redeeming quality in you”—she held up the puppy—“I wouldn’t have to buy you one. Why won’t you work with me a little on this? For the woman you plan to marry—you’re going to have to let her in, too, at some point.”

  Watching her standing there, absently petting the big ears attached to the furball while she blinked at him, he almost could imagine letting her in.

  For his future wife, of course. He supposed she might be right about that bit. But it was too soon. For either of them. He desperately needed that run, now. Time to cut this off.

  “Drea, I think we had a nice moment here. You got the chance to run your idea past me, and you’ve certainly given me plenty to think about as per my privacy preferences.” The corgi looked up at him with sad eyes that matched those of the woman who held it. “You can leave the animal and its information here. I’ll deal with the drop-off. You may take the rest of the weekend for yourself. Thank you for your insight.”

  “Am I fired?” Drea demanded, suddenly back to the furious temperament he’d seen too many times from her already.

  All this emotion was exhausting.

  “No, Drea, you are not fired. I just think we’re done for the day. After all, I now have the files I asked you to bring. I’ll look them over on my own. Put”—he waved at the ball of fur—“that down, and I’ll see you on Monday.” After he had time to regroup. Time to figure out how he could give Drea what she needed from him without exposing any of his weaknesses.

  He watched her with as much detachment as he could muster while she lovingly set the creature in the chair she’d occupied the other day—the upholstery would be covered with hair!—gathered her stuff, and walked out without a good-bye.

  Was he truly so inaccessible that she required drastic measures to make him attractive as a spouse? If he was being honest with himself, then the answer would be … maybe. Maybe Andrea did know what he needed.

  But good God, really? A puppy?

  Chapter Nine

  Blake glanced at his watch for the third time in two minutes. Drea had warned him that anxiously watching the clock while on a date did not leave the best impression, but frankly, he didn’t care what effect he had on the woman in front of him. The impression she left on him was appalling.

  All right, maybe that was an exaggeration. Drea would want to know why he didn’t want to go out with her again, so he attempted to form a reason. He studied her features as she sipped her dessert coffee. Like all the women he’d been set up with in the last month, she was pretty enough—her skin was pale, her frame slight, her straight hair so dark it was nearly black—exactly the type of woman he was attracted to for the most part. Drea had gotten his preferred look down, that was certain.

  At least, it had been his preferred look. Now he wasn’t so sure. Her knobby bones couldn’t be comfortable to embrace. He imagined hugging her would be like hugging a skeleton. He couldn’t even think about what it would be like to have sex with her.

  In fact, he hadn’t been able to imagine having sex with any of the dates. He’d tried to kiss one of them once. Even that had gone badly. When he leaned in, she’d lifted her eyes to meet his and he was startled when her big browns weren’t the green-flecked that he’d been imagining, so he’d aborted the attempt. Which was absolutely ridiculous. He didn’t even know anyone with green-flecked eyes. Except Andrea.

  He looked at his watch again. Two minutes later than the last check and he still didn’t have a reason he could quite articulate for why the woman in front of him wasn’t right. He’d been unable to explain why the others weren’t for him as well. Well, except for Jamie the femi-Nazi. Simply put, they were just … wrong.

  Perhaps it was him that was wrong, though he’d never admit that aloud. And if it was him, he couldn’t say what it was he was wrong about. He looked good for his dates. He followed Drea’s social advice, mostly. The dates were all ones he’d approved of by photo and résumé. What was the problem, then?

  He caught his date smiling at him over her coffee cup. Her teeth were so perfectly straight and white, it almost seemed unnatural. He wondered if he should attempt conversation again. Drea had suggested, though, that talking about himself was not the best way to attract a woman. Listen to them instead, she’d said, or ordered, rather.

  The problem with that advice was that this woman didn’t speak. At all. She hmm’d and ah ha’d, but that was the extent of her conversation. Even when he asked a question, he’d receive only a giggle in response.

  She should be the perfect woman—attractive and quiet. And bland.

  Maybe he didn’t want a quiet woman after all. Though Andrea argued with him at any chance she got, at least she was entertaining. Often over the last weeks, he’d actually looked forward to seeing her in his office. Her opinions might be overbearin
g, but her insight was also usually spot-on.

  Andrea also wouldn’t expect him to order for her, as all the other ones did. What was that anyway? A test of some sort? How was he possibly supposed to know what she’d want when he’d never met her before that very evening?

  He’d tell Andy about that the next day. She’d get a kick out of it.

  Now why did he just refer to her as Andy? Andrea was more suited to her looks. Admittedly, the more he’d gotten to know her, the more Andy seemed to fit her personality. But it was a hell of a lot of fun to see her feathers ruffle when he called her Drea.

  The waiter came then to ask if there’d be anything else.

  “No, just the bill.” Blake said that a little quicker than he should have. Andrea would have disapproved. “If you would, please,” he added, hoping to soften his obvious anxiousness. Actually, being in charge of the meal meant he could just demand the check like that. This was exactly why he continued to do the ordering for dates.

  There. That was better. Andrea would be proud. He was nice-ish, and making sound business decisions.

  Blake paid the bill and looked to his date—what was her name again? Sally? Cindy? Cinnamon? No matter, he’d simply leave it out when addressing her. “Are you ready then?”

  “Hmm,” she replied.

  It had to mean yes since she put her napkin on the table and rose from her seat.

  Blake followed, a small smile gracing his lips at finally ending the miserable charade of a meal.

  It wasn’t until later—much later—when he was tucked into his bed and he’d completed a chapter in his latest noir detective novel that he realized he’d spent the night thinking more about his matchmaker than his proposed match.

  He needed to get it together.

  * * *

  Andy paced the office waiting for Blake to arrive. She rarely got to work before he did, but today she was anxious to hear about his date the night before. It wasn’t even her day to be in the office, though lately she’d spent most of her days there whether she was required to be or not. Today she wanted to be there to catch up with Blake first thing. Cynthia, the woman she’d set him up with, was the one. Andy was sure of it. Cynthia fit his profile to a T—slender, quiet, submissive. If this wasn’t the perfect bride for Blake, then she didn’t know who was.

  Of course, she’d thought that about the last several women. Sure, there were a couple of misfires in the beginning—the loud one with the obnoxious hyena laugh came to mind. And Jaylene. Now, setting Blake up with her had been a genuinely bad idea. If Andy had only taken more than two minutes to screen her instead of latching on to make up for her lateness, she would have realized it. Jaylene was a bra burner, for heaven’s sake. And talk about man-calves—Blake wasn’t as impressed with her muscles as Andy had been.

  Since that first week, though, she had fallen into a groove. She’d found a pool of candidates at the Boston Secretary Association. Each chapter had a weekly meeting, and Andy attended as many as she could in her free time and on her days off. There, in the midst of women who took their careers seriously, she’d found a plethora simply looking for a rich boss to marry. They were the perfect contenders for Donovan—happy to serve coffee and sit on the sidelines as long as the Mister brought home a nice paycheck. That, she could work with.

  And yet, Blake had refused to see any of them a second time. It perplexed Andy to no end. Of course she’d questioned him, prodded for reasons so she could narrow her selection criteria, but she never received any helpful feedback. Over and over, she was forced to return to the same conclusion—Blake Donovan was unmatchable.

  Quick-paced steps echoed across the waiting room outside the office door. Andy peered out, recognizing his stride by sound before she saw him. Their eyes met, hers wide under raised eyebrows, his serious, but with a spark to them. Did that spark linger from his date the night before?

  Or was it for her?

  That was a silly thought. Of course it wasn’t for her. He must have had a good time with Cynthia. Sillier was how that knowledge disappointed her. Over and over again. She had to stop with this stabby-feeling thing.

  “Well?” she nudged, chewing her bottom lip in anticipation.

  The spark in Blake’s eyes vanished. “No.”

  “No?” She couldn’t hide her shock. Or her annoyance. Or her delight. “But why?”

  Blake turned his attention to his secretary, signing a document she’d handed him, then proceeded into his office, past Andy. “What was that?”

  She trailed after him, reminding herself of the puppy that she’d left with Blake—whatever had he done with the adorable creature? Hopefully returned it so it could find a happy home, and not just—fired it. She’d have to ask. But now, the pressing question had to do with a human creature and not the four-legged variety. “Why don’t you want to see Cynthia again?”

  He set his briefcase on his desk and opened it up. “Does it matter?”

  Did he really ask that? God! This was her whole job, figuring this stuff out. “Yes! She was perfect, Blake. She perfectly fit your profile. She had the perfect body, the perfect temperament, the perfect teeth, for crying out loud—what on earth could have been the matter with her?”

  He answered with a simple shrug.

  Andy huffed, throwing her arms out in exasperation. “If I can’t figure out why you don’t like them, how am I supposed to find a better one? Articulate, please.” This emotional defensive he had her on was exhausting.

  Now it seemed it was Blake who was annoyed. “I don’t know, Andy, but that’s your problem, not mine.”

  “It’s your problem too if you expect—” She halted mid-gripe when she registered exactly what he’d said. “What did you just call me?”

  “Drea. I called you Drea.” Blake kept his eyes averted, snapping his briefcase closed and placing it under his desk. Then, with a clearing of his throat, he met her gaze. “Of course.”

  She shook her head. Obviously, she was hearing things. “Well, this job is impossible, then.” She stomped to her desk and slumped into her chair. How could he not even tell her what was wrong with her choices? And if she picked so poorly, why did he continue to have her try again? Jealousy or not, she did have a job to do.

  Running a hand over her face, she pressed him further. “Cynthia wanted to see you again, you know.” Andy had received the email the night before. The message had gone on and on about how gentlemanly Blake had been and how they’d totally clicked. Clicked, she’d said. That was part of the reason why Andy had been so sure she’d found the one.

  Maybe if they’d kissed? Maybe Cynthia would have seen the passion Andy noticed in him while he was making big business decisions. Of course, they had to have kissed. There was no other way he could have monotone-monopolized the date and left her wanting more. Thanks to the Jaylene debacle, she knew full well how dates went if Blake wasn’t interested. So. Cynthia and Blake had shared a moment at the end of the evening. That shouldn’t make her stomach sink. She had matched him with a woman that clicked. She should feel good about that. So why was her stomach in knots?

  Blake flipped through some papers seeming to only half care about their conversation. “Does she? I can’t imagine how you know that seeing as how the woman has a vocabulary of two words. And I’m not even sure you can call those words.”

  “Two words?” That was odd. Though Andy had never spoken to the woman, Cynthia had seemed eloquent and well spoken in her emails.

  Blake swirled his pen along one of the documents. “She barely spoke the entire evening.”

  “You did ask for quiet.” There was significant amount of snark in her tone, even for Andy.

  “I didn’t think quiet was synonymous with brain-dead.”

  Andy fought her instinct to say something even snarkier and instead tried to evaluate the bit of information that Blake had given. “Maybe she was nervous. I’m sure she’ll loosen up with time.”

  “It doesn’t matter because I don’t want to see her again.
” His declaration was final. “Try again.”

  Andy growled. It really wasn’t fair. Almost all of the candidates had requested a second date and time and time again Blake said they were wrong. What was she missing? If Andy hadn’t so expertly picked his dates, she’d understand. But she had, and they’d been exactly what he’d asked for. Why would a woman think that an evening had gone well when the man did not?

  He must be an excellent kisser. Well, she knew he was an excellent kisser. But she hadn’t wanted to go out with him afterward. What she was missing had to be subtle. Unless it wasn’t.

  They’d all been attractive—Blake had approved of their pictures beforehand. And all the women had been more than pleased with Blake’s appearance. So if the women were interested, and Blake was attracted, they were all kissing—the only reason she could think that he wouldn’t want to see them again was that he’d already … wait.

  Oh, no.

  Please, God, no. The kissing must have led to more. More that she knew he was capable of. He’d told her himself, hadn’t he, when he said in her interview that he had sex anytime he wanted.

  Pure fury swept through Andy, driving her from her chair and over to Blake’s desk. She pointed an angry, shaking finger at him. “You did, didn’t you?”

  He looked up at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I did what?”

  “You slept with them.” Her words were a harsh accusation, but she knew in her bones they were accurate. “All of them. You had to have. Why else would they be so smitten with you? I know you, Blake. You don’t easily smit women. Not once you open your mouth, that is. And yet, one after another has said they’ve clicked with you. Clicked? That’s a euphemism for ‘screwed,’ isn’t it?”

  He frowned with apparent indignation. “That’s insane. Why would you assume—?”

  She swept past his denial, the puzzle pieces slipping completely into place. “And you! Like a typical man, once you’ve slept with them, you’ve gotten what you wanted. No wonder you don’t want to see them again. God, how could I be so foolish? I’m a glorified pimp!”