But I don’t want to get into my fucked-up family history with Mrs. Hayes. I’ve barely talked to Willow about it. I prefer to leave it in the past where it belongs.
“I’m not sure I want a wife and kids,” I say hesitantly, deciding to tack on another lie to avoid follow-up questions. “At least, not right now. Maybe in the distant future, if I met the right person.”
Then she turns to Willow. “And you?”
“You know I want kids. Sooner rather than later.”
“Then why don’t you help each other? Or at least stop sabotaging each other?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Let Willow try to find you a match, Reid.”
“What?” My voice cracks in horror.
“We are a matchmaking service.”
“Yes, but …”
Willow clears her throat. “Mom, you can’t think this is a good—”
She continues on like neither of us protested. “Willow needs the chance to prove herself here, and you, Reid Fortino, need someone who loves you enough to find you the perfect girl. What do you say?”
“Um …” I unbutton my collar, which suddenly feels too tight around my throat. “I’m not really—”
“I mean, neither of you is getting any younger,” Mrs. Hayes points out, prompting Willow and I to exchange an eye roll. “I know women don’t like to hear this, but there is a fertility window.”
“Mom. Can we not discuss this right now?”
“Why not? It’s a biological fact.”
“I get it, and I already have a plan in place. You know that. In fact,” she says, taking a breath, “I have an appointment at the clinic to discuss options.”
My skin crawls. My hands curl into fists. If she wants kids, then great, I want that for her, but if she talks about artificial whatever-the-hell-it’s-called one more time, I might puke. The thought of some weird asshole’s stuff inside her makes me sick. What kind of pervy losers are jerking off in those clinics anyway?
“I support that plan, darling, but that doesn’t help Reid with his co-dependency issues,” her mother says. “He needs a match to cure his loneliness. And you need a romantic success story under your belt to give you the confidence you need to take this business to the next level, so I can sit on a beach in St. Croix and wait for news of the impending birth of my grandbaby.” Mrs. Hayes beams beatifically, as if it all makes perfect sense.
I need to speak up, like right the fuck now. “Listen, Mrs. Hayes, I appreciate your concern for my loneliness, but there’s no way in hell Willow is going to be able to find me a match. No sense getting her hopes up.”
Willow sits up straighter in her chair and arches a brow at me. “And just what do you mean by that?”
“I mean that you’re not going to be able to turn me into a romantic success story, Wills. And I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
Mrs. Hayes sucks in a breath and puts a hand over her heart. “I’m surprised at you, Reid Fortino. Willow needs us to believe in her. Are you saying she isn’t good at her job?”
Damn. The woman is good. “No! I do believe in her. I just—”
“I’ll do it.” Willow stands up and gives me a defiant look. “I’ll take you on.” Then she aims the look at her mother. “And I’ll prove to you that I can take over the business.”
I raise my eyebrows. I can’t tell if this is a joke, if I pissed her off too much and she’s trying to get back at me, or if she honestly thinks she’s going to be able to find my soul mate, as if such a thing exists.
“Wonderful.” Mrs. Hayes clasps her hands at her chest. “Now let’s have a group hug.”
Willow comes over to us with a glint in her eye and the two of them hug me from opposite sides, while I stand there feeling like a piece of wood in a vise.
What the hell just happened?
“Are you crazy?” I ask Willow as I pull open the door of a cab. “Why would you tell your mother you can find me a match?”
“Mostly because you said it couldn’t be done.” She gives me a grin as she slides across the back seat. “I can’t resist a chance to prove you wrong. It’s too much fun. Plus you deserved it for feeding her that crap about how I chase away the girls you bring home. As if you give a shit about any of them.”
Groaning, I get in next to her and shut the door. “This is not going to end well for you.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
I give the driver the address of our building and sit back, giving Willow a pained look. “You’ve told me a million times that you’re terrible at this. That your mom only hired you because her previous assistant quit unexpectedly and you’d just gotten fired.”
“I didn’t get fired, asshole,” she says huffily, poking me in the leg. “I was let go because I refused to massage the data like the V.P wanted me to. I lost my job because I was honest.”
“I know, I’m just giving you a hard time.” Honestly, I’m glad she doesn’t work for that finance company anymore. I met that dickhead V.P. a few times, and I’m positive the data wasn’t the only thing he wanted her to massage. “You know I think you could be great at anything, including this romantic shit. I just don’t need or want it.”
“Methinks you doth protest too much, my friend. Maybe my mother is right about you, and behind all those walls you put up beats a heart that’s longing to find its mate.” She links her fingers beneath her chin and leans toward me, batting her lashes.
I put my hand over her face and push her away. “Quit it, you lunatic. You don’t believe in that stuff any more than I do.”
She laughs and straightens up. “It’s not that I don’t believe in it. I just don’t have good romantic luck myself because all the guys I’ve dated have turned out to be dipshits.”
“You can say that again,” I mutter. Willow’s taste in guys is beyond horrible.
“But this isn’t about me. It’s about you. And I know you well enough to find you the perfect girl.” She nods slowly. “You know, the more I think about it, this is totally win-win for me. I prove myself to my mother and I get to have complete control over who you date for the next six months.”
“Six months?” I gape at her.
“Duh, it takes time to find perfection,” she says, like I’m a first grader. Then she toughens up her tone, pointing a finger at me. “And you better play nice. No fair sabotaging these dates or refusing to go.”
I groan as my life starts to pass me by in a haze of terrible dates with desperate girls who have what my brother Leo calls an FFR—Face For Radio. “And what do I get in return for going through with this ridiculousness?”
“Everlasting love, of course.” She flicks my shoulder.
“Not good enough. I want something from you.”
“Like what?”
I think for a moment. “If I take this seriously, you have to promise me you’re not going to let some jerk-off from the spank bank knock you up.”
She sighs heavily and rolls her eyes. “One has nothing to do with the other, Reid.”
“Doesn’t matter. I think you’re rushing into it and I want you to reconsider. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you made an appointment.” The cab pulls up in front of our building, and I swipe my card in the reader.
“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d throw a tantrum about it,” she says as we get out of the car. “You’ve been weird ever since I told you about my plan.”
I shut the door behind her. “It’s the plan that’s weird, not me. How can you think this is a good idea? You’re completely rational about every other thing in life.” We walk together toward the entrance, and I pull open the heavy glass door to the lobby.
“This is absolutely a rational, not an emotional, decision,” she says, giving me a pointed look over her shoulder. “You’re the one getting emotional about it.”
I try to think up an argument as we head for the elevators, but I can’t. “You know that stuff about a window is bullshit,” I finally say as she punches the up butto
n. “Women are having babies later and later in life.”
“It’s not bullshit, actually. Age thirty-five is considered advanced maternal age, and a lot of women are having to resort to expensive fertility treatments to get pregnant. IVF with egg donors and all that. An IUI is a much more budget-friendly way to go.” The elevator doors open, and after a few people exit, we step in.
The doors close and I turn to her. “What the fuck’s an IUI?”
“An intrauterine insemination. It’s the thing I told you about before.”
“Where they let some creep who wanked into a cup knock you up with a turkey baster?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“I’m serious, Wills. You think Olympic athletes and rocket scientists are in there flogging the dolphin? Use your head. It’s deadbeats and weirdos. Why am I the only one who cares about your baby’s genetic makeup?”
The elevator dings at our floor and the door opens. “Fine, Reid. You agree to go at this match thing with an open mind, and I will put off my appointment at the fertility clinic.”
“And rethink that plan,” I add as we walk down the hall toward our apartments. “I can’t even believe your mother is okay with it.”
“My mother wants grandkids, and it’s as clear to her as it is to me that it’s not going to happen the usual way.” She pulls her keys from her bag. “Why can’t you just support me?”
“I can. I do. I just …” How can I explain it to her without sounding like a possessive asshole? I’m not even sure why I hate the idea so much. I love Willow and I want her to be happy. If having a baby on her own will make her happy, why can’t I just shut up and support her? We reach our doors, and I grab her arm before she puts her key in the lock. “Look, I’m sorry. But you know I can’t keep my mouth shut when I have something to say, especially when it pertains to you.”
She snorts. “True story.”
“So do we have a deal? I go on some dates with whoever you choose and you hold off on the intergalactic insemination?”
A smile tugs her lips. “Intrauterine insemination.”
“Whatever.”
“Yes, we have a deal. But while you and the future Mrs. Fortino are planning your wedding, I will be moving forward at the fertility clinic, and I’ll expect your full support.”
My stomach heaves, but I hold out my hand and we shake on it.
Although there is no way in hell I am letting any of that shit go down.
Three
Willow
He shook on it!
I sort of can’t believe it. Reid can be mouthy and obnoxious and way too cocky for his own good, but I’ve never known him to break a promise or renege on a deal. Success—and a brand new purpose in life—would be mine.
All I have to do is find Reid a match.
“Hey, what are you doing later? You want to come over and watch Netflix or something? Get some food?” I ask him as I’m unlocking my door. The more time I can spend secretly probing his brain, the closer I’ll be able to get to his ideal woman.
“Sure. I don’t have any plans tonight.”
I grin at him over my shoulder. “There’s a shock.”
He pokes me in the ribs. “Like your dance card is so full these days? When’s the last time you even went on a date?”
“Why should I bother with dates when I have vodka and This Is Us right here at home? My night would end exactly the same, but this way I can cry on my couch without having to put on my skinny jeans first.”
He shakes his head. “I am not watching any more of that show.”
“Then I’m not feeding you. And you’ll be sad because I’m making one of your favorites.”
His eyes light up. “The ziti?”
“The ziti,” I confirm.
“Damn.” He frowns, and I can see him weighing a giant plateful of baked ziti against suffering through my favorite Friday night show. “Okay, fine. I’ll come.”
I give him a satisfied smile and opened my door. “I knew you would. Come over in an hour.”
Scowling like a little boy, he grumbles something I don’t catch, and I shut the door in his face.
I’m still smiling after I’ve changed out of my work clothes into plaid flannel pants and a big, sloppy gray sweatshirt. Nothing better than getting out of heels and a bra at the end of the day. I toss my hair into a messy bun and head for the kitchen, where I put the ziti together.
While I work, I put MSNBC on my iPad, which is propped on my cookbook easel, but I don’t really pay attention to the news. I’m carefully cataloging everything I know about Reid Fortino, and trying to see him in a different light. A romantic light.
He’s gorgeous—no denying that—and with my help, he’s learned to dress better. I’ll have to style him for his dates, but that’s not a problem. He’s got a great sense of humor (although he likes to make fun of me too much), so I definitely need to find him a girl who likes to laugh. He works quite a bit, but he’s moving up the ladder at a trendy new marketing and PR firm, so she has to be understanding of his crazy work schedule. She’ll also have to put up with the occasional client dinner—I’ve done a few of these when Reid needed a date on short notice with no expectations—but they aren’t terrible. And it’s kind of fun to watch Reid turn on the charm and go all “ad man” on prospective clients. He really is creative, persuasive, and smart.
As I layer the cooked pasta and meaty sauce into the baking dish, I consider his faults—the things any woman who’s really looking for love is going to notice sooner or later.
First, he doesn’t trust women. It’s because he was burned so badly in the past. His parents are a train wreck, the absolute worst example of a marriage. And then, he thought maybe he could make it with his ex and ended up getting burned, which I get, but he’s really got to put that behind him.
Second, he often doesn’t think before he speaks, and it can get him into a shitload of trouble. Pair that with his healthy Italian temper, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster. Not that he has anger issues, but damn—his emotions run hot and close to the surface, and if you really say something to piss him off, watch out.
His favorite thing in the world to do is eat, so she’s got to be a good cook, or at least willing to learn, because while he will happily make the drinks and do the dishes, he is beyond clueless in the kitchen.
There’s only one thing about him that really baffles me. His love of comics. Not just comic books, though, but the entire world. I don’t understand it. He goes to all those conventions, dresses in full costumes, and ... I can’t even. But he’s never happier than when he puts on some weird getup to go play with lightsabers in a tournament. He also knows it makes me roll my eyes so hard they hurt, which means he drags me to them at every opportunity.
Hence, three days a week I find the sappiest drama-ridden shows I can find and force him to sit and suffer through them.
But I suppose the biggest problem with finding him a match is that he’s really fucking picky when it comes to women. I’ve suggested he take out a couple different friends of mine, but he always finds something wrong with them—either they’re too shy or they won’t shut up or they’re just not his type. I’ll have to dig deep tonight and figure out what that type really is.
I stick the ziti in the oven and set the timer for fifty-five minutes. After that, I straighten up my living room, water my plants, and throw in a load of laundry. I’m in the kitchen putting together a salad when Reid knocks three times and opens the door without my answering it.
“I brought you a present,” he says, joining me in the kitchen. He sets a brown paper bag on the counter and pulls out a bottle of Tito’s and a jar of fancy olives.
“Thanks!” I give him a big grin and pat his bicep. “But you still have to watch my show.”
He groans. “If it didn’t smell so good in here, I’d leave.” Going over to the oven, he opens it and peeks in. “Mother of God, that looks amazing.”
“When we find your future
wife, I’ll give her the recipe.”
“Looks like you’re going to be cooking for me the rest of our lives.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.” I’m going to find him a wife, if it’s the last damn thing I do. He thought he was so funny today, but I’ll get the last laugh. I get in his face and point a finger at him. “I bet you’ll be married within a year.”
“You’re really cute when you’re determined.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, my friend.”
He laughs, grabs the jar of Tito’s and my cocktail shaker. “You know, you were my favorite person in the world before today, when you sided with your mother on getting my wagon hitched.”
“I’ll be your favorite again when you’re eating the ziti,” I toss back.
“This is true.”
He’s so predictable. This is another thing I’ll have to watch for. Reid is smart and he likes women who can keep up with his wit and sarcasm. Not only will she need to be pretty, but she has to challenge him.
I don’t want to show it, but the task is starting to feel a bit daunting. Reid can be a pain in the ass, and finding someone to love him and put up with his shit is part one, but then finding someone he will put up with might prove impossible.
My mother is really evil for suggesting the idea.
“Do you want it dirty or straight up?” Reid asks.
“Dirty, please.”
A few minutes later, he hands me a drink that’s the perfect mix of vodka, dry vermouth, and olive juice, with four olives instead of the customary two, and I smile. “You’re the best.”
“I know.”
“And so humble.”
“I call it honest.” Reid’s smirk makes me want to slap him.
Imperfect Match Page 2
