by Donna Ball
Shane, as he stalked back to the dressing room, doubted that very much.
~
FOUR
“You’re going out with him?” Emma exclaimed.
Cassie couldn't tell whether her expression indicated incredulity, disapproval or simple shock. The first rule Cassie had made when she took over the business was that no employee was ever allowed to date the clients. Since the only eligible men Cassie ever met were clients, she hadn't had a real date in almost five years.
"Before you let your imagination run away with you, it's not what you think." Cassie returned a file to the drawer and closed it. "This is purely in the line of duty."
Emma still looked doubtful, and Cassie gave her a reproving look. "You know perfectly well this is too important to me to take any chances. How many matches have we made that fell apart on the first date because one or both of the parties was nervous, or trying too hard, or frankly, did a Jekyll and Hyde number on us the minute he got out of our sight? You can't be prepared for things like that unless you have up-close experience, and I am not going to let anything go wrong with Mr. Shane Bartlett. Besides," she gave a small shrug of her shoulders, "he doesn't seem too experienced at this kind of thing and could probably use a little polishing. First impressions are everything in this business, you know."
Emma nodded sagely, her expression perfectly bland. "Of course. You always have a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything you do. I should have known. And it doesn't have a thing to do with the fact that he's a well-set, very good-looking young man."
"Of course not." Cassie opened another drawer and thumbed through the files, her voice nonchalant. "Even if I weren't professional, he's not my type at all. You know that. This is strictly business. Besides—" she selected three folders and brought them over to Emma's desk "—he's not all that good-looking. Do a criteria scan on these three, will you?" she added as she saw the beginning of an impish smile playing in Emma's eyes. "We don't have much to go on yet, but we can start eliminating some possibilities."
"Are you leaving now?"
Cassie glanced at her watch. "I guess I have to. Shane is picking me up at seven. That's one thing he has going for him—some good old-fashioned manners. I offered to meet him at the restaurant, but he insisted on doing it right. Refreshing."
Emma murmured, "Hmm," in such a way that Cassie looked at her suspiciously. But Emma had already opened one folder and appeared absorbed in her work, her expression unrevealing.
Despite her blasé display of professionalism with Emma, Cassie couldn't put aside a nagging suspicion that there might be some truth in Emma's suggestion, and that bothered her. It had been bothering her, in fact, since yesterday when she had asked Shane out. It had seemed the perfectly logical thing to do at the time, but she wondered if she would have been so quick to see the logic in it with any other man. He still wasn't her type, but he was good-looking, and he had a kind of earthy charm that even she, in odd moments, found appealing. And he was interesting. Trying to decipher him was like peeling away the layers of a Chinese puzzle, and Cassie enjoyed a challenge. If she were completely honest with herself, she would have to admit she was looking forward to this evening. It might have been all in the line of duty, but sometimes there were fringe benefits.
And it was true: Shane Bartlett was the most important case to come across her desk since she had been in business. Everything depended on making him a successful match; she simply had to cover all the bases. By the time she was ready to introduce him to his perfect mate, all chances of error had to be completely eliminated. And if that meant sacrificing one evening of her time—or a dozen—so be it. She would do whatever she had to do.
Fluffy greeted her at the door with a great deal of purring and arching of her back. Against her better judgment, Cassie picked her up, stroked her and immediately started sneezing. With the cat in one hand and a tissue in the other, she went into the kitchen and filled the cat dish with dry food.
"There," she said, sniffing as Fluffy leaped for the dish. "That should keep you busy while I get dressed. All I need is cat fur in my eyes while I'm trying to put on makeup."
Shane had given her no indication as to where they were going—a mistake she would have to draw his attention to later—so she had no idea how to dress. His idea of an evening's entertainment could be anything from watching a wrestling match on television to a night of chili dogs and beer at the bowling alley. Not that her wardrobe included many choices. Warm-up suits, business suits and tennis shorts all started to look the same after a moment or two of staring at them, and it occurred to Cassie that with her newfound financial freedom she might at least have purchased a new dress. The only trouble was that she wasn't sure how long that freedom was going to last and she wasn't ready to splurge yet—not until she found Shane Bartlett a mate.
In the back of her closet, still covered by the dry cleaner's bag from its last trip out almost two years ago, was a simple black dress she had almost forgotten. It wasn't very businesslike with its plunging neckline, fitted torso and short skirt, but it would have to do. She could always cover her shoulders with a shawl.
She found herself experiencing a little tingle of excitement as she showered and changed. Cassie had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed getting dressed up. She brushed her hair vigorously over her head, shook it and let it fall into a fluffy aureole around her shoulders, smiling in surprised approval at her reflection in the mirror. "Not bad," she murmured. Of course, when she put her glasses on the effect was completely ruined, and in a moment of defiance she discarded the glasses for contact lenses. She would pay the price tomorrow, but tonight, at least, she would feel pretty.
Fluffy came in as she sat down at the dressing table to apply her makeup, and she spent the next twenty minutes alternately brushing cat hair off her black dress and trying to apply mascara with watery eyes. She was therefore somewhat behind schedule when the doorbell rang.
"Scoot!" She gave the cat a nudge, and Fluffy leaped off the dressing table and scampered toward the living room. Cassie gave her eyes a final dab with a tissue, applied a dusting of powder to her red nose and hurried after the cat to answer the front door.
Shane looked even better than she had imagined. The oyster-colored suit fitted as though it had been designed with only him in mind, the pale yellow shirt brought out the depth of his brown eyes and, she noticed, he was even wearing a tie. His dark curls were casually brushed, his boots were polished, and he carried his hat in his hand. The overall effect was of rugged masculinity barely tamed, nothing pretentious or overly done, everything completely natural. Shane was a man, she realized slowly, who didn't have to go to extraordinary lengths to impress a woman. All he had to do was stand there to take her breath away.
Cassie stepped back and let her eyes travel over him one more time. "You look..." Several superlatives sprang to mind, but she didn't want to overdo it. She settled for a simple, "Very nice."
"Thank you." He stepped inside, and she noticed for the first time that he was looking at her strangely, almost as though he wasn't sure he had the right apartment. "So do you." His eyes went from her loosened hair to the deep neckline of her dress to her bare knees, and when he raised his eyes to hers again, there was an unmistakable gleam of approval mixed with the surprise. "Different."
Cassie would have been less than a woman if the spark in his eyes hadn't generated a surge of satisfaction—even excitement—on her part. But she gave a casual toss of her head and explained with a shrug, "It's the contact lenses."
He brought his gaze from the way the black dress outlined her lower figure back to her face. "Oh, that's right. You were wearing glasses."
Cassie grinned and waved him toward the sofa. "Can you make yourself at home for a minute? I'm not quite ready. Do you want a drink?"
"No thanks. I made reservations at one of those swanky restaurants and I think you're supposed to be on time."
Cassie was impressed. "Okay, I'll just be a second. Have a se
at."
Shane hadn't been looking forward to this evening. He hadn't dreaded it, exactly—not on par with the way one might dread internment in a prison camp or torture by a mad scientist, for example—but he hadn't expected it to be a picnic in the sun, either. Now, however, things were beginning to look up.
He hadn't given much thought to the possibility that there might be a real woman lurking behind Cassie Averil's thick glasses, tight bun and sensible shoes. If she could change her personality as easily as she changed her appearance, the evening might not be quite the exercise in endurance he had anticipated. He felt his sense of humor returning.
When Cassie came back, he was sitting on the sofa, trailing a piece of yarn along the floor and grinning at Fluffy's antic efforts to catch it. He got to his feet when Cassie walked into the room. "Nice cat," he said, "What's her name?"
"Fluffy. Do you like cats?"
"I like most things."
Cassie went over to the closet and took out a colorful fringed shawl. "Did you finish filling out the form?"
Shane met her eyes and kept a straight face as he replied, "My dog ate it."
Cassie smiled sweetly. "No problem. I'll send you another."
Shane took the shawl from her and draped it over her shoulders, which surprised Cassie. He paused for just a second longer with his hands on her shoulders, then said, "That's nice. What is it?"
He was standing behind her, and Cassie had to twist her head around to glance at him. That brought their faces closer than she had expected, for he was bending over her, and the brief quickening of her pulse startled her. "What?"
"Your perfume. It smells like lemon and vanilla."
"Oh." Cassie stepped away—casually, she hoped. "I'm afraid I forgot to put on any. That's just body lotion."
Shane smiled in a way that made her wish she had used a less descriptive term than "body lotion," but he said simply, "It's still nice."
Shane, she had noticed, was wearing no scent at all. He smelled like fresh air and clean cotton with just the faintest undertone of a spicy soap. It suited him.
She checked her evening purse for keys and wallet, then asked brightly, "Are you ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be." He moved toward the door. Suddenly there was a loud screech, and Fluffy, her fur bristling, darted around Shane's ankles and hid under the table, her eyes gleaming red in the shadows. "God, I'm sorry!" Shane exclaimed. He knelt down on the floor and tried to coax Fluffy out from under the table. "She must've gotten under my feet. I guess I stepped on her."
Cassie chuckled. "Don't worry. You didn't hurt her. That's one of her little tricks to keep people from leaving."
Shane looked up dubiously. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. The minute we leave she'll be licking her fur and congratulating herself on how well she put you in your place." But Cassie thought his concern was admirable, even touching. Most men didn't like cats, and people who were good with animals were usually very good with women. "Smart cat." Shane stood, a twinkle in his eye. "Must take after her mistress."
"I taught her everything she knows."
Shane chuckled and placed his hand lightly on her shoulder to escort her out. When they reached the front of the building, he took out his car keys. Cassie spotted the gleaming red Corvette parked next to her nondescript gray Honda and remarked, "Is that your car?"
"Uh-huh."
"Nice," she observed. "But next time rent a limo. You can afford it, and you should let your date know it. First impressions do make a difference."
He gave her an odd look as they started down the walk, and Cassie knew he wanted to argue. But he said instead, "You look sexy with your hair down."
Cassie repressed a self-satisfied smile. "I'm not your type."
"Right. Wrong color hair."
"And no bosom."
She caught his grin out of the corner of her eye as he opened the door for her. "Right."
But when Shane got behind the wheel and started the car, his expression grew thoughtful. "I like to drive. I don't want a limo. And I'm not looking for a gold digger, you know."
"That's exactly the problem," Cassie agreed. "The woman I find for you will have to be comfortable with wealth, or yours will intimidate her. And she should have some financial independence of her own, or she'll only be attracted to your money. But women who are accustomed to wealth will also be used to the luxuries it brings, which is why you may have to adapt your lifestyle a bit."
"I don't want to adapt my lifestyle. I told you before, I'm not going to change for anybody. I like myself the way I am."
"Everybody changes," Cassie pointed out patiently. "Everybody makes little compromises for other people. It's part of getting along. And no one is suggesting you pretend to be someone you're not. Just play the game a little, add a few flourishes. That's what you call romance."
He scowled. "I thought you didn't believe in romance."
"I don't. It's all part of the illusion. Dressing up for a date, sending flowers, hiring a limo and picking out an intimate little spot and a perfect champagne—window dressing and stage sets. Romance."
His tone was a little dry. "And that's all there is to it, huh?"
"Basically. Little gestures of consideration, proof that you're willing to go out of your way for the other person—that's how it starts."
"I'm not much for gestures. Seems to me things would be a lot simpler all the way around if people just did what came naturally. More honest."
"Honest isn't important at this stage of the game," Cassie assured him. "Illusion is."
He was silent for a while, apparently mulling that over. Then he said, "Flowers and limos, huh? That simple?"
"That simple."
" I' m not sure I like this."
"You promised to cooperate," she reminded him.
He looked as though he were regretting ever having made that promise.
Shane had done his homework, and the restaurant he had chosen did not serve nouvelle cuisine. But it was one of the classier gathering spots in Dallas; Cassie was impressed and she told him so.
"After this," he told her, "we're going to play miniature golf." Cassie's eyes widened in protest, and he laughed. His hand touched her shoulder lightly as he escorted her to the maitre d's desk. "Come on, lady, just because I don't enjoy this sort of thing doesn't mean I don't know how to do it. Besides, this place has good food. Jack took me here when I first got into town. You know Jack Sanders, don't you?"
The maitre d' showed them to their table, and she answered, "Yes. He and my assistant—you met Emma in the office—are old friends." The table was a good one, partially secluded but not too isolated, though whether that was by chance or prearrangement she didn't know. Cassie slipped her shawl off her shoulders, then said, "I've always liked Jack. It's a shame, though. An eligible bachelor like him, and he won't let me fix him up."
'' Maybe he likes his freedom."
"Not that I can tell." Cassie accepted a menu from the maitre d'; the wine list went to Shane, and he put it aside without a glance. "He's not much of a player."
Shane seemed surprised. "Oh, yeah? You could've fooled me. He's always trying to get me to go to some new club or check out some wild party. I thought that was the kind of thing he likes."
Cassie laughed. "He may talk big, but he spends most of his nights at home with his sister or playing cards with Emma and her gray-haired friends. Sometimes he takes Emma to the movies." She shook her head regretfully. "I wish I could find a woman for him."
"Fix him up with Emma," suggested Shane.
"Are you kidding?" Cassie reached across the table and retrieved the wine list. "I couldn't think of a worse match if I tried. They have nothing in common. They even argue about the movies they see. Jack likes to travel, Emma likes to stay at home. Emma reads, Jack watches television. Emma's afraid of horses and Jack raises them as a hobby. I could go on and on. It's a wonder they're even friends. I may not be one hundred percent perfect, but I do know better than to try to
put those two together."
"It's nice to know you're not perfect," Shane murmured, but Cassie ignored him.
"Now," she said, "let me show you how to choose a wine."
"I don't drink wine."
"Suppose your date does?"
"Then she can pick the wine."
"A gentleman should know how to pick a wine. There's a very simple formula—"
"Everything's a formula with you, isn't it?"
"It keeps things simple. Now the thing to look for in wines is—"
"You've never been married, have you?"
Cassie looked up, a little surprised. "No."
"Small wonder," he muttered, and before she could question him he said, "If this is the way you're used to treating men, it's a wonder you can even get a date."
"This isn't a date," Cassie reiterated, though as hard as she tried not to, she bristled a little at his insult. "This is a business meeting and I'm trying to tell you—"
"No." He lifted one slim-fingered hand in protest. "Let me tell you something. A man doesn't like to be told everything, okay? He doesn't like to be corrected and criticized and watched like a bug on a glass every blessed minute of the day, and since you seem to know so much about how a woman likes to be treated, I thought you should know a little bit about how men like to be treated. It might help you out someday."
Cassie closed the wine list. "You don't want to learn how to pick out a wine."
His eyes were stubborn, his jaw set. "No."
She lifted one shoulder and put the wine list aside. A strained silence followed.
"Aren't you going to order wine?" Shane asked after a moment.
"Actually," Cassie admitted, "I can't drink wine. It gives me a headache." That made Shane chuckle, and Cassie relaxed. "I'm sorry," she said. "You were right. I shouldn't be giving you instructions. That defeats the whole purpose. I'll just sit here and watch."
Shane stifled a groan. "Then this is still an audition?"
"I wish you wouldn't think of it as that."
"Is there any chance we could just enjoy our meal like normal people?"
