“No,” she said again, swallowing thickly as she straightened her jacket, her professional persona once again moving to the forefront. “I need to go. I think it best that Heather handle any further questions you may have.”
He opened his mouth as if to respond, and she realized his arm was still stretched out toward her. She lifted her chin stubbornly and his hand fell to his side, his jaw tense.
“All right. If you think that’s best.”
Emily said nothing more, just gave him a businesslike nod and made her way to the door, keeping a safe distance between them.
Instead of going home, she went to the office. That is to say, she started to go home, then changed direction two or three times before heading back to Perfect Match with a frustrated growl and a frown of grim determination.
Or desperation. Take your pick.
The offices were dark except for the security lights casting the hallways in shadow. Emily didn’t bother turning on the main lights. She didn’t need to, having navigated the path countless times before. Once she made it to her desk, she waited impatiently for her computer to power up, tapping her fingers on the desk and glancing several times toward the open door.
Why was she so nervous? It was her own office, for heaven’s sake, her own company. She had every reason to be there. It wasn’t like the night custodian was going to show up and demand to know why she was running a compatibility algorithm on herself.
And Sam Cavanaugh.
She logged on and accessed the database, easily finding Sam’s profile. Her own, although in the system, was not currently active, so it took a few keystrokes to bring it up.
She hesitated, the two profiles side by side on the screen, her finger hovering over the mouse.
What was she doing? There was no way this could end well. If the computer confirmed their compatibility, what was she supposed to do? It wasn’t as if she could act on it in any way. He was a client. Jessica was a client. And according to the system—her own system—they were perfect for each other.
But still . . .
Still, her gift’s reaction to Sam taunted her, and she just wanted to know for sure. Had to know, even if she couldn’t act on it. Wouldn’t act on it.
Right. It was a scientific test, really. An assessment of the algorithms to prove, once and for all, that they were superior to any other method. It was a perfectly logical reason, actually. One the custodian would surely believe.
“Crap,” she muttered. “Just do it.”
She clicked the mouse and sat back, arms crossed over her chest as she waited for the results. Staring at the progress meter apparently did not make it move any faster, so she got up and walked across her office, purposely not looking at the computer screen. She checked her phone, her watch . . .made a circuit around the outer office, then with a deep breath sat back down at her desk and looked at the results.
Thirty-eight percent.
Emily blinked in shock, unable to comprehend what she was reading. But there it was in black and white—Overall Compatibility: 38%. She scanned the subcategories—interests, psychological profile, beliefs and morality—but nothing scored over forty percent. After reading through the results at least a half-dozen times, she slumped in her seat.
Her gift was wrong. Almost as wrong as she and Sam were for each other.
This was good, right? It proved the accuracy of her system, and that Jessica and Sam were the right match. Any attraction she felt for Sam was misplaced, and a relationship with him would definitely be doomed from the start. They obviously had nothing in common.
Right. Good news. Now she could move forward, do her job, and put any ridiculous fantasies about Sam Cavanaugh behind her.
Days dragged into a week, then another. Emily carefully avoided anything having to do with Jessica’s match, pawning her calls off on Heather and not even requesting detailed updates. She knew Jessica had gone out on her second dates and that there were no major disasters, but other than that, she stayed out of it. Jessica was apparently happy, and Heather seemed to be handling it well. Emily noted absently that it might be time for a promotion for her assistant. Obviously, she was well-suited to the business.
She sat at her desk with her chin propped on her hand, half-daydreaming and half-checking her e-mail, rolling her eyes when she spotted yet another reminder from her mother about her grandmother’s eightieth birthday party the coming weekend. For some reason, she seemed certain Emily would forget, although she’d yet to miss an important family event, despite her busy schedule. Emily was in the midst of typing back a quick, “Yes, Mom. I’ll be there” response when Heather knocked briskly on the door jamb. She hesitated, shifting on her feet, before crossing to Emily’s desk and dropping two foil-wrapped truffles before her.
Emily’s eyes widened. “Two? This must be bad.” She quickly unwrapped one and popped it into her mouth.
“Well, I have good news and bad news,” Heather said, dropping into the chair across from her and running her fingers through her hair. “The chocolate’s for the bad.”
Emily nodded, bracing herself. “Hit me.”
“It’s about Jessica.”
Emily stiffened, automatically reaching for the second truffle. “I told you. I’m too busy with other clients to deal—”
“She’s eloped.”
Emily choked as she tried to swallow the candy, and grabbed at her cup of lukewarm coffee to wash it down. Her stomach dropped, heart thudding slowly in her chest as she absorbed Heather’s words. She tried not to think it, but did anyway.
Was it him?
“Are you okay?” Her assistant asked, starting to get to her feet.
Emily waved her back. “I’m fine. It’s fine. It’s all . . .fine.” She stacked up the papers on her desk before her, tapping the edges to level them, first one way then the other. She set them down and picked them up again. “Did you talk to her?”
“Yes, she called from Vegas. She and Adam—”
“Adam?” Hope swelled, and was quickly squelched back down. What did it matter?
“Yes . . .Adam,” Heather said slowly. “She and Adam decided that they didn’t want to wait. They felt it was right, and wanted to make it official.” She watched Emily closely, her head tilted. “She said to thank you for all your hard work.”
Emily nodded, clearing her throat as she set the stack of papers aside again. “Of course. Well, uh, make sure you send a gift. Maybe one of those crystal vases.”
“Already taken care of.”
“All right then.” Emily turned back to her computer, trying to get a handle on her racing thoughts. “If that’s all . . . ?”
Heather leaned forward. “You didn’t ask me about the bad news.”
“What?”
“The bad news. You didn’t ask me about it.”
“Oh!” Emily waved a hand. “Well, what is it?”
“Somebody’s got to tell Sam.” Heather stood and brushed off her skirt, giving Emily a significant look. “And that’s outside of my job description.”
Oh no. No way.
“I could give you a promotion.”
“Thanks,” Heather said with a grin. “But you’re still calling him.”
“I’m too busy.” She gathered up some papers to prove her point.
“Em.” Heather rounded the desk and perched on it next to her. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two—”
“Nothing’s going on,” she said quickly.
Heather raised a disbelieving brow. “Like I said, I don’t know what’s going on. But I do know that you’ve been miserable these last few weeks.” She reached out to lay a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “You can’t use me to avoid him, Em. If you’re going to push him away, that’s your business. But it’s not fair to use me to do it.”
Emily grimaced, realizing she had neen doing exactly that. “Fine,” she grumbled. “I’ll call him.”
“Good,” Heather said brightly, patting her shoulder. “While you’re at it, why don’t you
ask him to dinner?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
“I don’t know what you have against him,” she said as she got up to head to the door. “He’s smart, nice, now available, not to mention extremely hot.”
“He’s a client.”
“So what?” Heather asked, turning around in the doorway to face her. “He came to us for a match. Who’s to say you aren’t it?”
“I’m to say,” Emily said, a little too strongly. “Sorry. I just . . . ” She shook her head. “I don’t feel comfortable dating clients.”
Heather shrugged. “Your loss, Em. I hate to see you missing out on a great guy out of some misguided sense of ethics.”
“Ethics can’t be misguided,” she argued. “That’s kind of the point of ethics.”
“They can when they keep two people apart who belong together,” Heather said with a shrug before she headed out the door.
With a heavy sigh, Emily picked up the phone and dialed Sam’s phone number. Yes, she had it memorized. No, it didn’t mean anything other than she was good at her job. She held her breath as it rang once . . . twice . . . only releasing it with a relieved sigh when the call went to voice mail.
Now for the tough part. How do you explain to a man that the possible love of his life had just run away with another man? Emily figured quick and direct was best, like ripping off a band-aid.
“Hi Sam, this is Emily Valentine from Perfect Match. I have some good news and some bad news . . . ”
She didn’t talk to Jessica for the rest of the week. Emily figured the newlyweds were enjoying their honeymoon. They’d gone from Vegas to some island in the Bahamas for a month, and she really didn’t expect to hear from them other than the rather large check that showed up on her desk that Friday.
As for Sam . . .
Well, she chose not to think about him. Or at least pretend she wasn’t thinking about him. Instead, she busied herself with work and finding the perfect gift for her grandmother’s birthday, finally opting for a silver locket engraved with her initials.
Saturday night, Emily arrived at the Italian restaurant her mother had reserved for the party, surprised at the crowd of people inside. She knew her grandma had friends, but had no idea she had so many. Emily recognized some, but many were unfamiliar. It took a moment, then she realized many were former clients—matches made over the years. Some had obviously been together a long time, while others appeared to be in the early states of a relationship, all starry-eyed and dazed. They all looked happy, though, and lined up to offer congratulations to Ellen.
Emily spotted her mother ducking into the kitchen and followed her, weaving between the groups of talking and laughing people. Aunt Ada grabbed her arm as she passed, pulling her in for a hug and a pink-lipsticked kiss on the cheek.
“How are you, sweetie?” she asked, eyes narrowing behind her cats-eye glasses. “You seem a bit muddled.”
“She’s not muddled, she’s conflicted.” Ada’s twin sister, Ida, popped up on Emily’s other side. Ada and Ida were actually Emily’s great aunts—her grandmother’s older sisters—and ran their own matchmaking business in Phoenix. They were identical in every way, from their close-cropped curly white hair and matching pink pantsuits to their ability to read someone’s emotions by looking into their eyes.
“Fine, thanks,” Emily said, avoiding the “muddled” comment. “It’s nice of you both to make the trip.”
Ada waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, you know we wouldn’t miss it.”
“Now, tell us what’s wrong,” Ida said, pressing the point. “You’re not here alone, are you? Pretty girl like you should have the boys lining up.”
“Don’t pressure her, Ida. It’s obvious she’s going through boy troubles.”
“I’m really not—”
“They’re not going to go away by ignoring them,” Ida replied.
“No, but if she doesn’t want to talk about it—”
“She needs to talk about it.”
“There’s really nothing to talk about—”
“Of course there is dear,” Ida said, patting her arm consolingly. “You’ll feel better if you face these things head-on.”
Emily felt a bit dizzy. “There’s nothing to face.”
Ida looked into her eyes for a long moment, pale green eyes searching. Emily wanted to turn away, but she knew it would hurt her aunt’s feelings. Despite the invasiveness of Ida’s gaze, she held it, almost unable to look away.
“Ah,” Ida finally said softly.
“What is it?” Ada tipped her head to seek out Emily’s eyes, but this time she avoided her aunt’s insight by focusing on her clenched hands.
“She’s found him,” Ida said.
“No,” Em said weakly. “No.”
Ida and Ada exchanged a significant glance then reached out, each stroking a palm down her upper arm.
“You can fight it,” Ada said.
“But it won’t bring you happiness,” Ida concluded.
“I, uh . . . ” Suddenly, Emily found herself fighting tears. “I need to find my mom.” Her aunts nodded sympathetically as she hurried to the kitchen and shoved through the swinging door. She took a few deep breaths, only relaxing a bit when she spotted her mother talking to one of the kitchen staff. But then the man she was talking to turned to the side and laughed, revealing his face.
Sam.
Emily’s heart flipped in her chest, her gift swelling through her before she had a chance to fight it back down. A rush of irrational anger and frustration swept through her, and before she could think better of it, she stalked over to him.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped, face hot and heart pounding.
“Emily!” her mother said reproachfully. “What on earth is the matter with you?”
“And you!” She pointed at her mother. “Why are you talking to him?” She turned her glare back on Sam. “Going behind my back to my mother? Really?”
Sam just raised a sardonic eyebrow, then tipped his head meaningfully to the side.
Where a beautiful chocolate birthday cake decorated with fresh raspberries and white chocolate letters spelling out “Happy Birthday Ellen” sat on a rolling cart.
Emily’s mouth dropped open and she wondered at what point she became a raving lunatic.
“Uh . . . ” she said intelligently.
Sam smirked and turned back to her mother. “Ready to light the candles?”
Eve kept a wary eye on Emily, but nodded. “Yes. Let’s do that, shall we?”
Emily watched awkwardly as they lit the sparklers atop the cake and brought it out to the dining room, Eve leading the way as Sam rolled the cart behind her. Em took up the rear, embarrassed and frustrated and just plain irritated that her simple life had become so complicated.
She had a plan. A good plan. The Plan. And here was Sam Cavanaugh messing it all up and making her doubt it.
The room broke out into a chorus of “Happy Birthday”, her grandmother blushing prettily, hands clasped at her chest. She blew out the candles to loud applause and cut the first piece before leaving Sam to hand out the rest. Eve started toward her daughter, and Emily eyed the door.
“I don’t think so,” she said, grabbing her by the arm. “I think you and I need to have a little chat.”
Emily fought the urge to whine “Mom!” like a teenager, instead allowing herself to be led to a quiet corner.
They sat at a table, Emily slouched rebelliously in her seat and decidedly not looking at Sam. And not noticing how he looked really good in that blue shirt. Or how his face lit up when he laughed, creating those little crinkles around his eyes. Or how she could see a little more of his tattoo, thick black lines edging out from under his sleeve and emphasizing his corded forearm.
Not. Noticing. At. All.
Her gift flared, reaching for him, and she fought it down again. Eve studied her for a moment, and Emily braced herself for a lecture on manners, or slouching . . . or ogling handsome men in blue shirts.
Instead, Eve smiled softly. “Did I ever tell you how many times your father proposed to me?”
Emily sat up, unable to respond for a few seconds. “No. I never knew he proposed. How did I not know that?”
Eve winced. “That’s my fault, I suppose. Talking about your father only made me miss him more. I should have told you, though. You deserved to know him, if only through my memories.”
Emily didn’t know how to respond to that, so she said nothing.
“Seven times,” Eve said. “The first time when we were sixteen. The last, about three months before he left.” She blinked through a sheen of tears. “I said yes that time.”
Emily gasped. “What?”
Eve nodded. “I’d turned him down so many times. Don’t get me wrong, I loved him. I loved him deeply . . . desperately. But I always knew. Deep down I knew it wouldn’t be forever.
“You were two years old—just starting to show signs of your gift—and he came home with a ring. He got down on one knee and he asked and he was just so . . .earnest and true.” Her eyes glazed, a soft, wistful smile on her face. “I loved him so much. We loved each other so much, that in that moment I thought it would be enough.”
Emily’s jaw tightened. “But it wasn’t. It never was.”
“No. No, it wasn’t.”
“So why did you fight me then?” Emily asked, a touch of bitterness in her tone. “When I wanted to leave, why did you try to talk me out of it?”
Eve reached out to touch her arm. “Because you were turning your back on who you are. You were turning your back on love.”
“But love is a lie!” Emily snapped, fighting to keep her voice down. “It doesn’t conquer all. It’s not a many-splendored thing. It isn’t patient or kind—”
“Stop.” Her mother’s voice was soft, but firm. “Stop for a second and just listen to me.”
She reached out to take Emily’s hand and she flinched, pulling back out of habit.
“Let me touch you,” Eve said, almost pleading. “I need you to see the truth in what I’m going to tell you.”
A Piece of Cake Page 4
