by Avonlea Cole
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
About the Author
© 2015 Avonlea Cole Books
Cover Design By Erin Miller Graphicsbhg
Interior Design by Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs
ISBN#978–0-9965357–0-0
Terms and Conditions:
The purchaser of this book is subject to the condition that he/she shall in no way resell it, nor any part of it, nor make copies of it to distribute freely.
All Persons Fictitious Disclaimer:
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.
"HI! MY NAME IS . . .” No, that’s not right. "Hello! I’m Drew, and I’m looking for love!" Ugh, I let out an exasperated breath and deleted the lines once again. When had it come to this? Putting an ad on a local site to try to find just one girl I could spend some time with; one I wouldn’t despise after just a few weeks of dating. Well, before you pick up your pitchforks, let me explain. My story isn’t all cupid and fairytales.
My real name is Wyatt Andrew Sloane II, but you can call me Drew. I could be called wealthy, not rock star wealthy, but I have my own plane. My parents happen to own a whole fleet of planes and the family business is doing . . . umm . . . well. Now most of you might think that being rich is easy; like I just float around on clouds all day drinking martinis, but the real story is that I spend most of my days ignoring phone calls and deleting emails from the many women out there hoping to land a wealthy benefactor.
My parents met before the money flowed in. My dad was a pilot, and my mom was a flight attendant so you can imagine how their love story played out. I want that. I want to find a woman that sweeps me off my feet like in the love stories, but the trouble is—I don’t know what kind of girl I want.
It hit me a few weeks ago after a rough break up with my most recent girlfriend Camille. She cried, and well, I stood there like an idiot saying it wasn’t her, it was me. I really meant that though. I am sure one day this super-hot model was going to take some guy by the balls and make him hers. Not me though. I want something else. It wasn’t until I was recovering at a local bar with my friend, Matt, that I realized that I had it all wrong. The last five girls I had dated since high school were all socialites, that fashionista princess type that thought the best date was sitting by a runway picking out her "wedding dress" for our marriage that I hadn’t even asked for. Whoa, right?
Matt had a great idea. "Hey dude, you should get on one of those sites—you know the dating ones? I wouldn’t say who you are though. Just try some new girls, like test driving a new car?" His arm extended as he navigated the imaginary steering wheel through the crowd of patrons. Brilliant, right? Suddenly I had a plan. I planned to find different types of girls; maybe dating them briefly, but ultimately I wanted to find someone who meant something to me. Maybe I’d be into cowgirls, yeah, maybe the ones with the boots and the sexy hat. Or maybe I needed an ambitious woman who could fend for herself? I wanted to get started immediately, but I didn’t think in my buzzed state of mind that my profile would be very attractive so I put the plan on hold for a day or two.
And now here I sit trying to type my name for God’s sake. If I can’t make it past this part then how in the hell am I going to put enough non-loser things in there to attract the right kind of girl, whoever she may be? I had to get my game together. I didn’t want to feel so pressured, but with my parents pushing for me to settle down and my thirtieth birthday rolling in, my days as a rich playboy were numbered.
I put my hands on the keyboard and began to type. The lines flowed . . .
"Hey ladies! My name is Drew. I am a twenty-nine year old business man looking to settle down." Thankfully the list of questions provided gave me a guideline to go from. What types of personalities do I like in women? Hmmm, I had no response. I decided that was the best way not to limit the responses. "I am not sure what kind of woman I want, obviously, the basics like loyal and committed, but beyond that, I am open."
My Best Feature: "Ha! What’s not to like?" I smirked to myself. "I am very outgoing." That seemed good enough.
My Favorite food: Duh! "Pizza—not just any pizza—New York style pizza with all the toppings." I hit the next button before I changed my mind. Honesty was so important with these questions, and well, what guy doesn’t love pizza?
I answered what seemed like a bazillion others. I finished the forty-page questionnaire and went to upload a picture for my profile. I stopped short deciding against anything with an airplane or mansion in the background. I knew it would be necessary to rent another house since bringing them home to my wing of the million-dollar mansion was out of the question.
I uploaded a picture I had taken at a charity event not long ago. You couldn’t tell where I was, but I was wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and boots. As soon as I hit the complete profile button, my screen froze. "You have got to be kidding me." I said out loud to a thankfully empty room.
The computer took a few minutes to load, and my patience was ready to give up on this dating site altogether. There must be other ways like speed dating or maybe the mall? Both ideas sounded horrible even as the thoughts crossed my mind.
Finally the screen came back to life, and I realized why it took so long—there were forty-seven pages of potential matches. Maybe I should have been more specific. I popped the top on a beer and sat back in my chair. This was going to take a while.
The site allowed you to X off anyone you didn’t like and Like the ones you wanted to want to revisit. I won’t lie, some of the people that came across the screen were not my type, and I could see that immediately, but there were quite a few that caught my eye. I made it through about twenty pages before my eyes started to cross and the girls started to look like blurs of bleach blonde hair. I decided to get up and stretch. I made a trip down to the kitchen and made a sandwich.
It was about nine thirty p.m. and usually I’d just be leaving the house to go meet some friends, but today I was on a mission. Who would have thought that searching for girls would be so hard? Forty-seven pages, really?
I returned to my computer with a fresh beer and a full stomach. I sat down and began to click. It took another hour to finish narrowing down the list, and by the end, I had six pages—over 30 women—of likes. Again I knew that was too many. I decided to narrow it down to ten, and who knew if they would even respond. I began clicking on the profiles. I took a few more off based on their questionnaire.
Amy, the dentist, put that she was a total neat freak and wanted a man who shared that trait. Nope—next. Candy, retail associate, totally loved blah blah and Gucci. Next.
Chelsea, the pediatrician, put that she loved kids and helping people in need, even did some volunteer work. Maybe. I clicked on her picture. She was a tall woman with black hair. She wasn’t wearing a lot of makeup, and she was wearing her lab coat with a collared shirt. She looked smart. Nothing wrong with smart and caring. I quickly sent her a message to contact me and moved on.
I rolled through a few more that w
ere X’d, and I started to feel like maybe I was being too picky. Next up was Jenna, the yoga instructor, says she loved anything to do with competition and extreme sports. She even used to be on the US ski team before an injury. Her long blonde hair hung to her waist in one picture where she was posing with some other instructors. A few others showed her rock climbing and sky diving. It was kind of hot! I sent her a message and continued my search.
It was kind of fun looking at all the answers the women had put. Some put my answers to shame. Next up was Violet. I almost hit the X button when I saw the cross and the word "virgin" pop up, but I held off. She looked sweet. And even though she wasn’t my type in several ways, the whole point of this site was to meet someone new. I had begun copying and pasting the messages as it took too long to write individual ones.
Then there was Sarah, Tammy, Allison, and whatever the hell Kamya was. Another set of girls that were too far out there. I stopped on Victoria. In her picture she was holding one small, beautiful little girl. The thought of children scared the hell out of me, but she seemed nice in the picture, and eventually I wanted kids so I needed the "motherly" type. I sent her the copied message.
The next profile caught my eye for several reasons. The picture showed a girl looking down at the ground. Her face looked sad, like she was grieving someone or something. I couldn’t say why I wanted to meet her. Maybe it was to take the pain away or see if somehow I could help? I messaged her and leaned back in the chair studying her face for a few minutes, taking a break from my hunt. Her name was Sicily, which I found rather odd, but different.
With only two pages left, I began to feel anxious. I wanted so badly to pick a variety, that way maybe I could discover which kind of girl made me happy. On this page only two names stood out, Amelia and Olivia. Amelia was an editor for a book publishing company in the next city over, and Olivia was a downright gorgeous girl who worked as a model. I knew I shouldn’t pick her. I had dated a bunch just like her, but those piercing gray eyes were not easily forgotten, and I couldn’t stop myself from sending the message.
I decided to contact all three girls on the very last page no matter what their profiles said. Christa, Georgia, and Claire were all messaged. This last set was a true variety from a country girl to a chef. I felt pleased at my choices. Now I had to wait. Patience wasn’t exactly a virtue I had been blessed with. I skipped to my message box, which was of course empty.
My bed was calling my name, and as sleep crept in, I couldn’t help but smile thinking of all the possibilities ahead of me.
I RAN TO MY COMPUTER the next day when I rolled out of bed around noon. I immediately logged in and checked my inbox. Nothing . . . Zero . . . Nada . . . I tried to calm my thoughts as I immediately started to regret my choice. Maybe they just hadn’t checked their profiles. All the women had jobs! I decided to give it a day or two before I really freaked out. I hopped in the shower and got dressed for work, briefly stopping in front of the mirror as I admired my wardrobe. I could pull off the suit look for sure, but could I make a cowboy hat look natural? I was pretty sure cowboys didn’t have their hair slicked back with gel.
Right then I knew that I would have to expand my personal appearance to make whoever I went out with comfortable, especially since I needed to appear average.
The drive to work was distracted, to say the least. Upon my arrival I couldn’t have explained what the weather was like or the traffic flow. These women and the whole idea of opening up my future were consuming my everyday life. I tossed the keys to the valet and ascended the escalator two steps at a time. I bounded past the receptionist and immediately sat down at my computer to—dun dun dun—check my inbox. "Nothing." I pouted.
"Mr. Sloane, your father would like to see you." Beth, my father’s secretary, had popped into my office without me noticing.
"Does he know I just came in?" I said with dread.
"Yes, sir. He said he wanted to meet with you as soon as you arrived."
"Well, please tell him I will be right there." I slid back from my desk and gave one last click to refresh the page. Nothing. I was becoming some sort of masochist forcing myself to stare at the empty screen.
I jetted down the long, narrow hall, decorated with old parts of planes and alternate flying vessels. My father was a collector of sorts, especially of fighter jet parts from the different wars. Much to his displeasure, I had no interest in flying planes. In fact, I was not a big fan of flying period. I much preferred long drives and road trips with stops along the way. I entered his office and sat in one of the plush leather chairs seated in front of his gray, steel desk.
"Father, you wanted to see me." My dad was staring intently at his computer screen, most likely studying weather patterns for the upcoming flights.
"Yes, son, I am glad you could join us before the day ended. Why must you be late when you know the other employees have a hard enough time doing their job and yours?" His gruff voice made me want to roll my eyes, but instead I gulped down my response.
"Well, father, I was up late last night working on a project, but I will try my best to be on time."
My father’s eyes rose, lifting his sagging brows. "I take it that was not a work project, am I right?" I shrugged my shoulders and sucked in my cheeks. "Try, huh? Let’s put it this way. You are here on time from now going forward or I will dock your pay a hundred dollars for each hour that you miss."
"I don’t even make a hundred dollars per hour. That is preposterous!" I knew that whatever I said next made no difference. The old man was stubborn, and this company meant everything to him. Even more than his only child.
"Well then, I guess it is in your best interest to be on time." He went back to his computer. He sucked in his breath to speak, and I thought surely he would say something more sensible, but instead he boomed, "Beth! Get me Richard at the weather station on the phone. I need him to look over these reports for me."
I took that as my cue to leave. I was still fuming when I got back to my desk. I suppressed the urge to throw something at the all glass room. I knew he was right, but was it that big of a deal? It’s not like he had given me any real responsibility. I was the supposed to be the head of marketing, but he insisted that he handle all the major clients personally. Until the old man was ready to hand over the reins, my job here was limited.
I straightened in my chair and flicked on the computer. My work email was virtually empty, and my desk sat barren of any work. Great! So now I have to be here early to do nothing all day. I let my mind wander to the beautiful ladies and their wildly different profiles. Their paths led in all different directions, and I wasn't sure which direction I wanted to head in first. Against what I knew was my better judgment, I clicked onto my profile again. There were over fifty views for my profile, but no messages. I read over my answers again, editing along the way. My answers were a bit short in comparison to the ladies’ profiles.
"You've got mail!" my computer sounded off. A one popped up next to my message button. I hurriedly clicked on it in hopes of meeting my new lady.
"Welcome to findtheone.com, we have seven new listings for you!"
"Dammit!" I breathed out. I still had not gotten a message back from the women I emailed. I scrolled through the next seven ladies. I almost messaged them all, but there was only one I found remotely attractive. Her name was Caroline, and she was an attorney. She only had one picture which showed off her short brown bob style haircut and a set of very long legs. "I could use a good attorney in my life!" I snickered.
Beth returned just in time to see the cat-like grin on my face. "Well I can see that you have nothing but time on your hands. Your father asked me to drop these off to you. It's a list of potential clients, and he wants you to look them over and make the initial contact to set up business meetings with your father." She laid the thick files on my desk and exited in under twenty seconds.
It sounded like a job for the secretary. I knew my father didn't trust me enough to handle anything important on my own, an
d I wasn't begging for extra work by any means, but this just seemed like busy work. I finished typing a quick message to Caroline and tackled the list of names.
"Uh yes, this is Wyatt Sloane with Sloane Aeronautics, and I was hoping to reach Mr. Bingham." I tapped my pencil on my desk while the receptionist put me on hold. I had my father’s calendar pulled up along with the idiot proof tags where he wanted the meetings to be held.
"Mr. Bingham, this is Wyatt Sloane with Sloane Aeronautics. My father would like to know if you would be interested in meeting him one day this week to discuss flight options for your company." I waited and listened as the old man hummed his way through his calendar. I scheduled the meeting for lunchtime on Thursday at the Maribel Country Club. When we hung up, I repeated the call to different executives, and when I was finished—a whole fifteen minutes later—I turned my attention back to my inbox.
To my surprise there was a response. I was even more surprised when I saw that it was from Sicily. I remembered her as the fragile broken girl in the picture, and her response left me questioning what she might be like away from the computer.
"Hi Drew! I got your message, and I wanted to maybe chat sometime. I don’t usually like going out with people I haven’t spent some time getting to know. I read through your profile and saw that we have quite a bit in common. Can I ask you why you picked me to respond to? Anyway, I hope to hear back from you, if you are still interested.
-Sicily"
I immediately wanted to respond, but would it make me look desperate? Did I even have an answer to her questions? I wasn’t used to a woman who lacked so much confidence in themselves, and I had to admit I already felt pressured to be some savior that could fix probably years of decay. I took a chance though. Maybe being the support for someone was the change I needed?
"Sicily, I am very glad that you wrote me back. I would love to chat with you when you are available. I picked you because of your picture actually. You have that Mona Lisa stare, and I couldn’t look away. I am interested in meeting with you. You can reach me at 828–555–4213 if you want to talk.
