by Dawn Atkins
“But that sounds harsh and judgmental. Please don’t use that.”
“It’ll be fine.” He winked.
Her uneasiness intensified.
“So how do you keep out the married guys looking to cheat?”
“We certify marital status, of course, but most people mean well. That’s a myth, by the way, that—”
“What about sexual predators? How do you protect your clients from the ones who don’t have criminal records?”
Ice water began to trickle down her back. The reporter who’d moseyed in so casually, pretending he had just a few quick questions was now digging at her, his clear eyes sharp as shards of blue glass.
“I interview each person, as I said. We, of course, advise caution during the first few dates—meet in a public place, make sure a friend knows where you are, don’t share full names. Good sense precautions. We’ve had no problems, Seth.”
“Not so far.” He made a note. “I read that three-fourths of dating services fold in a year. How are your finances?”
“Excuse me?” The ice trickle became a stream rushing along her veins. She didn’t want to talk about the money troubles or the lawsuit or any of the glitches Kylie was helping her with.
“Is this story vital, like your secretary said, because you’re in debt?”
She fought for calm. “We need an unusually high number of clients because of our very customized service. A positive story in your magazine will spread the word.”
“So, you’re short on clients?”
“We’re growing.”
“But not fast enough?” His eyes honed in, tracking her, a predator ready to pounce on any weakness.
“What are you getting at, Seth? Am I on trial here?”
He smiled, attempting to disarm her. “Sorry. I wouldn’t be a good reporter if I didn’t mix it up a little. Throw a few hardballs in with the soft tosses. Consider me the voice of a skeptical client. Convince me.”
“I’m doing my best.” What was he after here anyway?
“Look, you seem sincere, Jane, but desperate people are easy prey for the unscrupulous. I see it all the time.”
“My clients aren’t desperate, Seth. They are attractive, intelligent, successful men and women who want to save time and heartache in their search for a mate.”
But hunting for a wife would be a desperate act for Seth, she could tell. She’d bet he had a conformity score in the basement and a low need for affection. He was the kind of guy who felt trapped if you asked him what time he’d be over for dinner.
In other words, her kind of guy.
Highly sexed, though, and she didn’t need a Mate Check score to tell her that. She felt it in her being.
When the sex was new, he would want her every minute. That’s how Liam had been. And Jason, who said he burned for her. Burned. Pretty romantic for a firefighter. Derrick wrote her poetry. It was all incredibly seductive. Except the minute she gave in and fell in love, they couldn’t get away fast enough. Liam to Peru for his thesis. Jason to fight fires in Alaska and Derrick…any other city where they could use a bass player.
“What about you, Jane? Are you single?” He tilted his head at a friendly angle, abruptly changing tacks.
“Currently, yes.” She’d prepared an answer to the obvious question of why, if she knew so much about relationships, she wasn’t in one. “Right now my focus is on growing Personal Touch. When I’m ready, I’ll use my Mate Check system to connect with someone who’s right for me.”
“Makes sense. Sure.” His gaze settled on her face for a moment with electric interest. Who would be right for you? She could feel him wonder that. And how would it be? Sparks snapped and popped. Oh, dear.
“Can I show you anything more?” she breathed.
“Show me…?” Seth broke the gaze, cleared his throat, as if he hadn’t intended to reveal his reaction. “I think I’ve got what I need.” He pushed to his feet and held out his hand. “Thanks.”
She stood and they shook. Such a warm hand. Warmer than he allowed his eyes to get. “Can I at least take you on a tour? Show you the video room, run a Close-Up or two?”
“I’ll call if I have more questions.”
Which he wouldn’t, she could tell. “You will contact the clients in my press kit? Interview them?”
“Possibly.” He smiled at her, done and wanting out.
“Can I see the story before you finalize it? To at least make sure my quotes are right?” If he used the “fat, ugly or poor” comment, she’d die.
“I’m a journalist, Jane. I don’t take dictation.” His eyes became blue ice for just a second. She’d insulted him, she realized in despair. He forced a smile. “Story will be out in three weeks. I’ll make sure you get advance copies of the magazine. Can I use your john?”
“Sure, sure.” She led him to the lobby and stopped at Gail’s desk to point down the hall. “On your left.”
“I most certainly will not tell you what I’m wearing,” Gail said into the phone. Seth immediately honed in. So did she.
“Yes, that’s very bad,” Gail continued. “You should be punished. Oh, ick. Not if you like it.”
“Gail!” Janie tilted her head at Seth.
Gail mouthed, Sorry.
Seth laughed. “Kink calls? Now that’s what I call customized service.”
“Our ad got mixed up with a sex line. It’s straightened out now, but you wouldn’t believe how long people hang on to those weeklies.”
“Interesting.” He eyed her closely, curious and questioning. He didn’t believe her?
“It’s true, really.”
“Sure. By the way, I’d lose the dancing hearts on your Web site. Kind of goofy.”
“Oh, that’s being changed.” She went hot with embarrassment. Kylie was fixing the childish Web site. The Web designer had been inexperienced—and just fifteen. She hoped Seth hadn’t looked until after the “just married” list had been removed from the “New to the Book of the Possibles” section.
He sauntered off toward the restroom.
“And the phone sex is really a mistake!” she called to him.
“How did it go?” Gail whispered when he was out of sight.
“Terrible. He zoned in on the bad stuff. Stalkers and gold diggers and our finances. And that phone call, for all I know. He doesn’t have a feel for us at all.”
“So invite him to the skating party.” Gail thrust the Skate World flyer at her. “He can interview clients. Maybe he’ll even meet someone.”
“Are you kidding? He’s a Stubborn Single, no question.”
“Maybe he’s just a Scared Single, did you think of that? Recovering from a broken heart? At least invite him.”
“Maybe.” She couldn’t imagine Seth Taylor on skates.
“Oh, listen, Cole Sullivan called.”
“Why? Was he mad about the mistake?”
“He sounded strange. I couldn’t tell what he wanted.”
“Strange? He sounded strange? That’s bad. Lawyers who sound strange are considering a lawsuit.”
“More dreamy, I guess. Dazed. Maybe we should have Deborah Ramsdale call him. You know, give him something to cling to?”
“Good idea. Get her number in London from her office—Leland and Associates.” She became aware that Seth was at her elbow. She shot him a gracious smile. “Thanks for coming, Seth. I just…I hope you will call with any questions.”
“Come to our mixer,” Gail said, thrusting a flyer into his chest. “Thursday…seven…Skate World…Scottsdale.”
He looked at the flyer, then at Janie. “Skate World?”
“It’s a networking party. On wheels. You could interview clients in an easy, informal setting. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” She sounded like a camp counselor coaxing a homesick kid to enjoy himself.
“I’ll think about it.” He folded the flyer in fourths and tucked it into his jacket pocket, where the dry cleaner would discover it some months later. No way would he show.
He
turned for the door.
“Call me?” she urged him as he passed out the door, taking her hopes with him. “With any questions at all! Any! At all!”
She turned back to find Gail staring at her, eyes wide. “My God, you want him,” she said.
“I do not.” She sighed. “Do you think he could tell?”
“Probably not.” Gail was lying for her benefit.
“I can just feel he’s going to write a terrible story. He thinks we’re a racket or a joke.” She looked down at her arm, where charred shreds of gauze dangled to her wrist. The whole interview had gone up in flames like her sleeve.
“Maybe express your concerns to Mr. Rheingold.”
“I don’t know….” The mere suggestion she get to see her quotes had riled Seth. If she complained about him, he’d be furious. Plus, the publisher might not be sympathetic.
“Maybe he’ll come to the party,” Gail said, then looked at her closely. “Maybe he’s interested in you, too.”
She fought the stupid little thrill that idea gave her. “Maybe I’ll invite him again.” She had to do something. Her fate was in the hands of a smart-ass reporter who made her melt. She was hopeless.
5
SETH STOWED his camera and notepad in separate jacket pockets and climbed onto his bike, hating this lame assignment. Better than the new water park on the west side, he guessed, his other choice. Water parks in the desert…the ultimate irony.
He’d come to Arizona because he wanted out of Florida and liked the desert, and chose Phoenix on the recommendation of friends from journalism school. Investigative beats were drying up all over the country, but a shake-up at the daily—Arizona Republic—meant a possible news opening.
In the meantime, his uncle had invited him to join his magazine staff. Think pieces and news analysis. That was the plan until a key writer on the barebones staff had quit, so now Seth was writing puff pieces driven by advertising. The budget was so stripped they couldn’t afford a freelance photographer for his stories.
Taking a snap of Jane Falls had been a pleasure, of course—she was easy on the eyes—but he was no photo-journalist. His tools were words, not pictures.
He kicked into gear and roared off, weaving between cars, grateful for the breeze. October in Arizona could bake you to dust if you didn’t keep moving. He loved the desert—so stark that spring wildflowers and cactus blossoms seemed exotic gifts from God. The mountains here were geologically raw, speaking to him of endless possibilities. He liked that, needed that, feeling at a crossroads himself.
Which was why he enjoyed hanging with his uncle’s stepkids. He’d taken them fishing the past couple of weekends. His uncle considered them smart-assed and lazy, but they were eighteen and nineteen and wide-open to life. They were interested in journalism, so that had perked Seth up.
As he turned east toward his apartment, he cooked up a lead for his story: Jane Falls, owner of Personal Touch Matchmaking Service, meets clients with a handshake as warm as her mission—to find Phoenix’s singles their perfect match. Speaking of warm and matches…watch out or she might just set you on fire.
But this wasn’t a humor piece. And Jane seemed sincere, though that could be faked, he knew from his investigative work for the Miami Trib.
He’d interviewed sociopaths who, with tears in their eyes, claimed to be saving helpless seniors from hordes of roaches with scented water spray and caulking. The human capacity for self-deception amazed him. Truth was the ultimate reward.
He pictured Jane Falls. Her eyes were an unusual blue—almost purple—and round as a doll’s with thick, curved lashes. Arresting. That was the word for her eyes. In all its meanings. They could stop you cold, make you hold up your hands in surrender. Ya got me. He smiled at the image. And she was so damned earnest. You’d think she could change the world.
Where was the edge to the story? The conflict? The angle? Maybe he could expand the piece to cover other dating services, including the scams he’d read about in his research.
There’d been that odd exchange he’d picked up on coming out of the john. Something about a mistake with a lawyer client named Sullivan. Cole Sullivan. And a woman in London—Deborah something…Ramsay? Ramsdale. Yeah. From Leland & Associates. Law firm? CPA? Maybe he’d look up Sullivan with the bar association and find out what had gone wrong.
And what about the sex call? Jane had jumped in with both feet to explain that away. Was there more to the story? He’d check. Anything to spice up the piece, which could send a diabetic into sugar shock if he wrote it the way she’d presented it.
What the hell color were her eyes? Lilac maybe? Or some flower color—periwinkle. Sweet, but with a definite bite. And a mouth so puffy you wanted to kiss it just to see if it could be that soft.
He’d let his interest show. Not smart, but, hell, he was human, and he’d been alone for a while. She smelled damn good and there was something about her and those big lilac eyes. Stupid.
Even if she weren’t a story source, he wasn’t interested. He hadn’t even had the energy for a tumble since Cindi. And Cindi had been a mistake, anyway, because of Ana. He wasn’t sure what it would take to get over Ana. She was all tangled up with losing the book deal and it just plain hurt too much to think about.
Meanwhile, Jane Falls had invited him to watch lonely schmucks parade around on roller skates. He wanted the truth, not to expose human beings’ tender underbelly. And the underbelly was never more tender than in matters of love. He knew that cold.
He swung into his apartment lot, parked, ripped off his helmet and pushed the hair off his sweaty forehead. He needed a haircut. One of these days. Inside, he checked messages for a word about the Republic. Nothing.
Maybe he’d call the TV station that had been blasting teasers about a new investigative team—Eye Out For You. There was something brewing at a local security company he could pitch and look into. Irregularities with hiring, a sexual harassment complaint.
Maybe later. He tossed his helmet on the sofa and plopped into the lounger, clicking on the TV. He’d watched a lot of daytime tube since he got to town a month ago. Just getting story ideas, he told himself, his gut tight with guilt.
Who was he kidding? He’d been sluggish, maybe depressed, after losing the book sale. And Ana. Always Ana.
He had a right to feel bruised. He’d done most of the work on the Pulitzer-winning series on the pest-control industry, but the paper had pushed Ana into the limelight, wanting to celebrate the only woman on the five-reporter team. The other guys were assholes about it, but Seth hadn’t minded. Ana had worked hard.
Then she started believing the hype. Plus, their relationship went south. He quit the paper with much fanfare to work on a book about investigative reporting and had interest from two agents and a publisher…until they learned that Ana’s similar title was already in progress at another house, rendering his redundant. She’d known his plans, dammit, and gone ahead anyway, beat him to his dream.
That, on top of the months-earlier breakup, made him want out and away. Out of the state and miles from the scene of his stupidity. He’d actually laid money down on a house for her, wanted to settle in, grow roots. He should have known better. Should have known Ana better. And himself.
Where was the damn remote? He found it between the cushions of the sofa—generic beige like the rest of his rented furniture. This was just a brief stint in Limbo Land. He’d rent a better place once he got a job he wanted.
For now, he had a story to write. And Jane Falls wanted him to go to a skating party. God. When he’d folded that flyer into his pocket, her face had just sunk and he’d felt straight-armed in the chest. He’d bet her boyfriends were putty in her hands. No man would want to put hurt in those lilac eyes, send that sweet mouth into a frown.
Nice hair, too. Blond, wavy. Long enough to tickle your face when she made love on top.
Cut it out.
For all her airy-fairy style, she was stubborn, too. A butterfly with a spring-loaded spine.
And she’d inserted some practical considerations into her goofy business. Interesting contradiction: romantic dreamer and pragmatic entrepreneur. Maybe he had given her short shrift.
The woman had set herself on fire within five minutes of his arrival. Imagine what she’d do at a roller rink.
KYLIE’S BREASTS settled into Cole’s hands, a soft, warm weight in his palms. He pressed his tongue to the warm bumpy velvet of their tips. She moaned. He thrust into her, gripping her hips while she pivoted wildly on his shaft. They rocked in a timeless rhythm. Like dancing, but better—perfectly timed. Rushing and riding, closer and closer to the edge of the cliff and over the—
“Is that right, Cole?”
Right? What? Cole started out of his daydream of Kylie to the awkward awareness that he’d missed Rob Tuttleman’s question. They were meeting on the Littlefield project—Tuttleman, he and Trevor McKay—and he’d faded into a memory.
Complete with hard-on.
Shit. He couldn’t show weakness to either man, so he shifted the bulge to a less painful position and faked an answer. “I believe so. Yes.”
Trevor, to his left, made a sound.
“I’m glad to hear that, Cole,” Tuttleman said. “Trevor said three weeks was too short, but I said if you worked as a team, you could manage. I’m glad you agree with me.”
Shit again. He’d privately agreed with Trevor to push for six weeks. Trevor would think he was kissing ass.
“We’ll do whatever it takes,” Trevor said smoothly—the younger man was far better at brown-nosing than Cole.
“That’s why I chose you two,” Tuttleman said. The man played people against each other by praising them privately, Cole knew, and it worked brilliantly. Associates, secretaries, bookkeepers and paralegals alike slaved away on extra projects or worked endless overtime to prove themselves worthy of Tuttleman’s trust.
Cole and Trevor had been singled out for this expedited project over the other single male associate, and Trisha Larner, who was married, which definitely put them ahead on the partner track. Trisha trailed because she was a woman—the glass ceiling sucked. For Mace Cornwell it was because he missed regular weekends over women and wind—he was an avid hang glider.
