Miss Match

by Laurelin McGee

  “But I’m being logical. My future wife needs to be logical.” He pointed at her open notebook. “Write that down. It’s a new requirement.”

  Andy was going to lose her temper. Again. “Logic has nothing to do with it. You have to compromise. Marriage is a series of compromises. You live in your house? Fine. But she gets to put her pictures on the walls. Keep your furniture? She gets to buy new bedding. It’s give-and-take. How do you not know this? Don’t you have any married friends?”

  The puzzlement crept on his face again. “I know a lot of married people, yes. From work. I don’t really have a social circle.”

  Of course. Of course he didn’t have any friends. Where would he fit them into his busy schedule of working, working, cruising, not sleeping, and working some more? Business dinners were probably his only real social outlet.

  Andy felt inexplicably sad at this revelation. Everyone needed friends.

  Granted, she didn’t have a ton herself, but at the very least she had Lacy. Always Lacy. Someone to celebrate her successes with, to help her pick up the pieces when things went to shit, someone to talk to at three in the morning about absolutely nothing—Oh, God. Lacy is my wife!

  Note to self: Make more friends.

  Perhaps friend number one should be Blake.

  No, that was going a bit too far. But she could at least continue with the friendly advice. “Well. It’s likely that your business associates wouldn’t discuss the finer points of the most complex relationship in their lives with you.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard plenty about them.” He pushed his keyboard away and directed his full attention to Andy. “We have a few too many drinks, and then someone pulls out a cigar and they all complain. That’s why I specified someone submissive. All my associates’ troubles seem to come down to overly assertive women trying power plays on the home front. If my wife understands that I am the head of the household, we’ll avoid all of that.”

  “I don’t even think you’re kidding right now. Good grief, Blake.” Andy had no idea how to argue with that. Because the thing was, that was logical. Only it made no sense in the real world. And someone who didn’t seem to be capable of empathy wasn’t going to understand her objection to this. I am earning this freaking paycheck, for sure.

  “Look, Andrea. I know you mean well, but I don’t see you in a successful marriage, either. So you do things your way, and I’ll do things mine.” The condescension in his tone killed whatever ridiculous sadness she’d felt over his earlier disclosure.

  Never in her life had she gone through so many emotions in one day. And every day since she took the job was like this. Beyond exhausting. She was taking her final bonus on a tropical vacation when this was over. If it ever ended.

  “Just remember me when you’ve been divorced and need to find a new wife.” Andy pouted for a minute. She had to find a way to make him let her in. Otherwise he was going to sabotage every date he went on until he eventually decided she was to blame.

  And not just because of that, or even that it was her job to find a good match, but because it seemed like the right thing to do. It was the closest friend thing she could do without assuming the title.

  Glancing up from under her eyelashes, she studied the exasperating man at the neighboring desk. He was so gorgeous. On the outside. It was no wonder he was sex-obsessed—who wouldn’t be with those looks?

  Ignoring the upkick of her pulse at the thought, she wondered—could that be the key to him opening up to her? In a post-orgasmic haze, could she convince him to listen to her? Had she been too quick to shoot down his ridiculous proposition? Was his proposition actually not all ridiculous?

  The little war inside her began again: Worst. Idea. Ever. You don’t have any better ideas. It’s stupid. It’s brilliant. It’s happening. It’s inevitable.

  Shortest war of all time. Turned out all Andy needed was a little justification for the horny teenager inside to get her way.

  Now, how to go about it? She’d just flatly rejected him. It wouldn’t work to simply turn around and accept. This called for something more extravagant. This called for a full-on seduction.

  No matter that she’d never done one before. How hard could it be?

  Chapter Ten

  “Let me get this straight. You are asking me to give you a makeover. In order to get your boss to sleep with you. In order to keep him from sleeping with other women. So that you can convince him to settle down with another woman?” Lacy was clearly horrified.

  “That’s about it in a nutshell. Sounded better in my head.” Andy peered into the mirror. “Definitely need to straighten my hair. I bought some dye, too. He likes them dark brunette.”

  Lacy smacked the little cardboard box right out of Andy’s hand. “Absolutely not. If you are determined to go through with this preposterous idea, and I do think it’s a bad one, you will thank me later for not letting you permanently alter your beautiful hair.”

  “I know what you think. But trust me. I know this guy. He needs this, and it’s going to change everything.” She pulled a curl down experimentally to see how long her hair would be when straightened. Inches longer, it turned out.

  “Oh, I have no doubt about that. It’s whether it’s the kind of change you hoped for that I do doubt.”

  “What are you muttering about, Lace? Hey, how do you use liquid eyeliner? It looks like it should be a lot easier than it is.” Andy turned to her sister¸ a smeary black panda.

  Lacy burst into laughter. “You are such a mess. I can’t believe I’m helping you with this. Come here. We have to take that off. Hand me the cotton balls, I’ll do it for you.”

  Andy obediently closed her eyes and allowed her little sister to glide the cool oil over her lids. She hummed a little under her breath, until Lacy smacked her again.

  “I can’t perform a seduction with a bruise, you know.” She started to open her eyes, but saw a shadow applicator beginning the descent.

  “You won’t perform one without an eyeball, either. Keep them closed until I tell you to.”

  While Lacy worked her hand in a soothing rhythm across Andy’s lids, Andy allowed her thoughts to wander. After she showed up and knocked Blake off his feet and into his bed, what would happen? She got warm just imagining those strong hands gripping her close. His mouth, hungry for hers, taking what he wanted. Her breasts pressing into his solid chest as he thickened against her—“Ow! Stop hitting me!”

  “Stop moaning! What the hell, Andy?” Lacy swatted at her upper arm again. “I am uncomfortable enough right now without having to hear your sex noises. Okay, open your eyes and look at my shoulder. I’m doing mascara now. Don’t blink. Don’t look away. And don’t blink,” as Andy’s lashes fluttered.

  “Sorry. It’s just that I think I’ll enjoy it.” If his kiss was any indication, Andy was going to enjoy sex with Blake a lot.

  “That’s quite obvious. Sex is enjoyable. And God knows you aren’t doing it very often.” Lacy recapped the mascara and flipped on the flatiron. “Speaking of which—are you still on birth control?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I got a three-year IUD about two years ago.” Back when she could afford such things. Lucky now since birth control wasn’t in her budget. She’d be using a condom with Blake anyway. She didn’t want to concern Lacy with the information, but his track record made STDs a real concern.

  Andy leaned back into her sister’s hands as they massaged some sort of serum into her curls. “And anyway, you’re one to talk. When’s the last time you did it?”

  “Not the point. You don’t see me jumping into Darrin’s bed, do you?” Lacy clacked the paddles of the flatiron together threateningly. “Though I’d probably get more hours…”

  “Does Darrin even like girls?”

  “Not sure about that, actually, I can’t make up my—you know what?” She paused for a moment to point the iron at Andy in the mirror. “Also, not the point. The point here is that you are making a bad business decision based on
lust and not on reason. I don’t want to see you lose another job because you aren’t thinking beyond your own satisfaction.” Back to work she went. One strand at a time flattened, lengthened, and shined.

  “See, that’s where you’re wrong. I am starting to get a real read on this guy. Sex is the only Achilles’ heel I can find on him. It’s my in. I get to know the real Blake Donovan, I can figure out exactly what the angle is that I’m missing in matching him.”

  Lacy’s tight expression said she didn’t believe Andy any more than she believed herself.

  “So maybe I’m looking forward to it. So what? If I enjoy myself, well. It has been a long time. I barely remember how to do it.” How did Lacy always manage to pull confessions from her without batting an eyelash?

  “The fact that you call sex doing it says a lot, I’ll give you that. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Lacy was making that concerned face that made Andy want to jump on her and pet her hair and assure her everything was okay.

  But she knew from experience Lacy did not like the pouncy-petting. So she settled for verbal assurances. “I do. Remember, figuring out what people want is sort of my thing. Don’t worry about me, or my job. This is me doing my job. It’s always been unorthodox. I’m just taking the necessary steps now to do the best job I can.” Funny how her assurances sounded a tad bit more like defensive strikes.

  Lacy ran a brush through Andy’s newly stick-straight strands. “You look different, that’s for sure.” Her voice was a bit gentler, though, as if the assurance/defense strikes had hit their mark.

  Andy assessed herself in the mirror. Her hair was long, straight, and glossy. Her eyes were smoky and mysterious. A nude gloss shone on her lips, and the glow in her cheeks was all natural. She was as close as she could be to Blake’s ideal woman without suddenly developing an exotic heritage and dropping fifteen pounds.

  So what if she didn’t look like herself anymore? This wasn’t about her. If only someone would tell her body that. It was thrumming with electricity even at the thought of Blake’s eyes touching her, much less the rest of him. All of her nerves were oversensitive, raw in anticipation.

  Time for the coup de grâce. If Blake wanted a sweet, submissive woman, she’d deliver. Alone in her room, Andy stripped off her everyday lace-trimmed undies and donned an, okay, lace-trimmed pair of boy shorts. She skipped the bra, but only because the nightie she’d chosen was so chaste. There were sleeves, and it fell to her midcalves. It was a pure and virginal white.

  She gazed at her reflection in the closet-door mirror for a few moments. She was the undeniable mix of Madonna and Magdalene—in about an 80/20 ratio—that she felt certain Blake was looking for.

  Deep breath. You are about to have your world rocked. Was that too presumptuous? No, most of the women wanted to see him again. He had to be good in the sack.

  She returned to her self-pep talk. Be prepared. Put your walls up now, just in case some unexpected orgasm threatens to knock them down. Just sex. Just professional sex between two consenting and—oh, God, didn’t professional mean hooking? Just unprofessional sex between colleagues.

  She was already wet at the thought.

  Gird your loins, Andy Dawson. This’ll be a doozy.

  Feeling just as reassured as her sister—which was to say, not much—she topped her seductive outfit with a light coat she’d borrowed from Lacy. It was long-sleeved, pale pink, and gorgeous. The top was fitted like a corset, but the calf-length bottom swung freely in voluminous pleats. Best of all, it wasn’t stifling in the early-summer Boston evening.

  Andy splurged on a cab. The thought of the cost made her a little queasy—especially since she planned to pay to have him wait for her while she did the deed—but she couldn’t call Darrin for a ride like she had when she’d delivered the puppy. Explaining her attire to her sister’s boss would be quite the story. Besides, she reminded herself, she was getting some bonuses in her next check.

  Anyway, a girl in a nightie and a coat could hardly hop into a subway without being mistaken for a sex worker. An available sex worker, at that. The thought of the trouble that could cause made her queasier than the taxi bill. And she was already struggling with the difference between the job she’d taken upon herself and hooker. Was it better or worse than her previous self-declared status of pimp?

  She didn’t dwell on the question. She also didn’t pause as she swung into the backseat of the cab and gave the driver her destination.

  As they drove, she gazed past her reflection in the glass and out onto the dark Boston streets. Allowing her mind to wander once again, it went back to the same thing it always did lately when allowed free rein—the wine bar. It wasn’t just the kiss that stayed with her, though that was a highlight of the evening. There was more—a glimpse of Blake that had seemed almost warm and compassionate despite his self-centered behavior and egotistical nature. It intrigued her, drew her back to the memory again and again.

  She had convinced herself that the man who had rescued her that night was an anomaly. That he didn’t really exist anywhere but in that brief moment in time. She could have entertained dating that man. Not that she’d seen him since, but surely he must be somewhere inside the boss that she faced every day—inside the hot alpha who constantly drove her insane with his maddening personality and his irresistible form. How was it possible to be so magnetically attached to someone whose neck she wanted to wring so badly?

  Swearing not to have any physical contact with Blake in the weeks that had followed had done nothing to erase the attraction she felt every time her eyes accidentally grazed his crotch. But the thought of dating someone that self-involved made her ill. Good thing sex wasn’t the same as dating. In fact, for Blake Donovan, sex seemed to be the end to dating. Perhaps this planned tryst of hers would solve quite a few of their problems, including ending the crackle of energy that arced between them whenever they were in the same room.

  At least, it would end it from his side. Whether she’d also get him out of her system remained to be seen. Why did she suddenly feel sad about her impending seduction?

  She shook the emotion off and refocused her gaze on the ghostly image of herself reflected back in the taxi window. Lacy’s right—that doesn’t look like me at all. She slipped out of the coat and looked again. Still not her.

  A moment passed as she debated whether that was a good thing or not. If she didn’t feel like herself, it would make the whole event more disconnected. That was a good thing. It made it more likely that she’d be able to walk away with her senses in order. Plus, I’ll have his missing puzzle pieces to work with. That was the main reason she was doing this. She had to remember that. Though, truthfully, his puzzle pieces took a backseat to his other pieces—such as his hands, his lips. His … lower region.

  The more Andy thought about it the more excited she got. Might as well admit it full on—the man made her gaga. She’d been turned on by his body since the moment she’d first seen him. She just hadn’t been able to reconcile her desire with his ugly personality. But now that she’d gotten to know him better, she wondered if perhaps her definition of ugly was a little too harsh for the man.

  Either way, she felt good about her seduction plan. By not sleeping with him, she was acknowledging there was a connection there. Finally. But by making that connection after hours, in well, costume, really, and by using it to lull him into answering the kind of personal questions she needed, Andy was using her horniness in a practical manner. She’d even go as far as to say responsible.

  So maybe it was the biggest justification she’d ever made in her life. Second biggest—what she’d done to Max’s office after he’d fired her probably still took the cake. But there was no way seducing Blake could turn out as horrible as that.

  Could it?

  * * *

  When the doorbell rang, the sleeping puppy in Blake’s lap stirred but didn’t bark. He called for his housekeeper to answer it while he considered the dog. He really was a good animal—quiet an
d cuddly, qualities Blake would rather like to see in a wife. Of course the creature could also be feisty and playful and that was all right, too. More than all right, actually. It was sweet. Entertaining. Endearing, even.

  Somewhat like Drea.

  Dammit, was he growing attached to the thing?

  The puppy, not the woman. Though, if he was honest, he might be growing attached to that second one as well.

  He pushed that thought from his mind. Much safer to focus on his attachment to the four-legged thing than on the two-legged one that had that very day rejected his advances. At least Puppy hadn’t rejected him. Maybe that was why he still hadn’t gotten around to getting rid of it. Even though he’d told Drea he was going to, somehow, he just couldn’t bring himself to fire it.

  The bell rang again. This time he glanced up at the grandfather clock in his living room and realized his housekeeper had gone home more than two hours before. Good God, it was after nine p.m. Who would be visiting at that time of night?

  With more than mild curiosity, he set down his glass of scotch and propped his detective novel open on the coffee table. He picked up Puppy with him as he stood, then set the dog in the warmth of the spot he’d just evacuated.

  “Stay,” Blake ordered before tightening his robe and heading for the door. “Coming,” he called out to his mysterious guest.

  Before he unlocked the dead bolt, he peeked out the peephole but was only met with a woman’s straight auburn hair. She was facing back toward his driveway and all he could see was her backside. Hmm. A woman was harmless enough. And the backside was enticing. He undid the lock and opened the door.

  “May I help—”

  His words cut off when the woman turned toward him.

  He could hardly contain his surprise at her face. It was Andrea. Completely made up. In what he could only assume was supposed to be a nightgown beneath a ridiculous pink coat-thing.

  “Blake—” Her mouth gaped as if she had more to say but had gotten stuck on her next words.