by Dawn Atkins
Janie was right. They should stop.
Cole went to sit behind his desk and they managed a queasy laugh at what had happened, then walked through the plan for the upcoming meeting. All the while, she felt Cole’s uneasiness, his worry. He would probably be relieved when she suggested calling it quits, which she would do when she got back from L.A. Give him a chance to clear his palate before Deborah returned. And she would focus on her future.
On the way to Personal Touch, Kylie studied Cole’s profile. She knew every line and bone in his face. Just a glimpse of his face made her heart lift until she wanted to sing.
She would miss him so much.
Was she falling in love?
A life-transition fling. That’s what Janie had called it. For Kylie, Cole was a safe raft in an uncertain sea and she was hanging on tight. She hadn’t moved in a long time, so her adventure muscles were atrophied. She was clinging to Janie, too, miserable about saying goodbye. Just transition stuff, like Janie had said.
Cole pulled into a parking spot at Personal Touch and turned to Kylie with a reassuring smile, squeezing her knee with a blend of tenderness, ownership and lust that just made her melt. She didn’t want to say goodbye. Ever.
“What?” Her expression seemed to worry him.
Sex is never simple. But she couldn’t say that. “I guess I just realized that my little sister is a lot wiser than I gave her credit for.”
“Better tell her that,” Cole said.
Yeah. Janie owed her a big fat, painful I told you so.
LORENZO INOCENTE, Brandon’s attorney, gave Cole the ass-hole eye. “I’m flat opposed to this meeting.” The guy was pug-jawed, balding and portly and looked exactly like his client. They were twin Danny DeVitos, only taller.
The meeting had started off badly. First thing, Jane had asked the pair to extinguish their cigars and the air was still thick with cheap cigar smoke and tension.
“You two must be related,” Kylie said, trying to smooth the moment. She was in charge of the meeting.
Cole fought the urge to stare at her like a moonstruck teen. He had it bad. That had been clear in his office. He’d dropped his guard at work just to get inside her. And that meant something. Something he had to figure out before he shared it with her.
“Cousins,” Brandon shot out. “He’s my father’s baby sister’s kid.”
“Could we move on?” Inocente said, evidently not liking being called a kid. He flashed a watch that must have made one arm drag when he walked.
“We all want a solution that benefits your client,” Cole said. His role was mediator.
“Yeah?” Inocente lowered a brow and locked his under-bite. If Kylie could make headway with this guy, she was even better than Cole thought. And Cole thought she walked on water.
Kylie tilted her head at a warm angle, attempting to hold Brandon’s beetle-browed gaze. “Why don’t you tell us what your expectations were when you signed with us?”
“Like the brochure said, a customized relationship search. Customized to what I wanted.” He glared at Janie.
“I selected wonderful Potentials for you,” Janie said, waving the Book of the Possibles under his nose. Yellow stickies flagged key pages. Janie’s job was to sound wounded about the failure and to help Marlon see what he’d missed. This was no stretch, since that was how Janie felt and what she wanted.
“Janie.” Kylie patted her hand as if to correct her. “We’re talking about Mr. Brandon’s expectations.”
Brandon gave a snort of approval, then chewed on his cigar. He took it out of his mouth to study it, as if annoyed that he wasn’t getting any smoke.
“Why don’t you go ahead and light up? We can make an exception this once, right, Janie?” The brilliant move launched the good-cop, bad-cop strategy by criticizing Janie, while obtaining a concession for Brandon. At the same time Kylie had soothed Brandon’s ego, she’d offered him a needed pacifier.
Inocente watched longingly while Brandon stoked his cigar. When the lighter hit the table, Kylie lifted it, offering to light Inocente’s stogie. She made him lean forward, though—the first compromise—and lit it. Subtle and smart.
Once both men were happily sucking nicotine into their lungs, Kylie continued. “How would you describe your perfect match, Marlon?”
“That’s easy—a woman with some life to her. Someone who can handle herself on a ski slope and the dance floor. Someone perky. Not a gray-haired, saggy, old…”
“Please!” Janie said sharply. “I won’t allow you to insult my clients.”
“Sorry.” He sounded like a kid whose knuckles had been rapped.
“The women you asked for—the ones willing to date someone of your stature were, to put it kindly, looking for a financial resource or a father figure. That’s no basis for a relationship.”
“Marlon wants what he wants, Janie,” Kylie said. “How did you come to choose Personal Touch, if I may ask?”
“I read the ad. I had a friend.” He shrugged.
“Many clients come to Janie because of the way she evaluates credit and criminal reports and employment history, as well as compatibility. Was that something you valued?”
Brandon looked to Inocente, who snapped, “My client has explained the services he expected. Move on.”
“Had you tried other dating services?”
“Do I have to answer that?” he asked his attorney.
“This is not a deposition,” Cole inserted. “We need to understand the whole story if we’re to resolve this to everyone’s satisfaction.”
“Then, yeah, I tried a couple services. So what?”
“And how has that worked out for you?” Kylie pressed. “Have you been able to date the younger women you seek?”
“Yeah, but…” He shrugged.
“But they got bored?” Janie asked. “Or they wanted you to spend, spend, spend?”
“They had other interests, okay?” He glared at her. “You promised me women I wanted.”
“And that’s what I offered you. You wouldn’t even try.” Janie opened the magazine and tapped at a photo of an attractive woman, early fifties, dressed stylishly. “This woman owns three hair salons and loves to travel. Talk about perky. She rock climbs, for heaven’s sake.”
“You never showed me her,” Brandon said.
“I told you about her, but when you heard her age, you refused to even meet her.”
“You should have showed me the picture.”
Janie gave a long-suffering sigh. “It doesn’t matter now. Another client of mine was thrilled to meet her. And now they’re getting serious.”
“This woman, as accomplished and attractive as she may be, is not what Marlon had in mind,” Kylie chided.
Though Brandon was clearly interested now, Cole saw, watching him push his cigar to the other side of his mouth and shift his bulk in the chair.
Now it was Cole’s turn to speak. “So what can we do to make up for our error, Mr. Brandon?”
“Our error?” Janie yelped. “What are you saying? We should be suing him for wasting these wonderful women.” She flipped open the book to a few marked pages, tapping each photo, then she slapped the magazine closed. “I can’t take any more of this. You’ll have to excuse me.” She pushed to her feet and dashed out of the room.
“Jeez. So sensitive,” Brandon said. He seemed to have bought Janie’s act, though Cole thought she’d overdone it a tad.
“She hates when she can’t help a client,” Kylie sighed, slowly tugging the magazine toward her. Brandon’s eyes darted there.
“We’re prepared to offer one free year of Personal Touch services,” Cole said, swinging into his prepared remarks. “With the proviso that at least two of the first five dates be with women you select, whether or not Ms. Falls believes your profiles match. Of course, Personal Touch has no control over the willingness of these women to date you.”
“Only two that I choose?”
“You’ve been damaged, Marlon,” Inocente said thro
ugh gritted teeth. “You deserve compensation.”
“But a free year…” He muttered to his cousin.
“It’s probably moot,” Kylie said. “Janie wants your perfect match. She won’t risk someone tempted by your money alone.”
“Okay, I’ll take it, but five choices, not two.” Brandon jutted his jaw.
“Janie will never accept that,” Kylie said. “Even two is iffy, but I can at least ask her. Would you excuse us?” As she pushed up from the table, she just happened to shove the magazine closer to Brandon.
Cole accompanied her and they joined Janie outside the door, giving Brandon a few minutes to drool over the flagged clients. Finally, Kylie nodded at him and the two of them returned to the room, leaving Janie outside.
Brandon flapped the magazine shut like he’d been caught with pornography. “Is she all right?”
“She’s hurt, but coping,” Kylie said as she and Cole sat.
“And the offer?” Inocente asked wearily.
“She’ll give you eighteen months, providing she makes all matches,” Cole said briskly. “Though she will skew the age range slightly younger.”
“All the matches?” Brandon frowned.
“We’re out of here,” Inocente said, starting to rise.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” Kylie took the magazine and began to remove the yellow stickies, slowly, one by one.
Brandon’s eyes were glued to each photo in turn. “Eighteen months you say?”
“Insanely generous,” Cole said.
“Good Lord.” Inocente plopped heavily back in his chair.
Before long, they were putting it in writing. As they exchanged signatures and went over the details, Cole found himself watching Kylie.
He realized he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Deborah was headed home to him in no time, but he wanted Kylie.
He’d talked with Deborah several times and gotten numerous messages from her over the past week. She was bright and ambitious and she’d support him in his career. In fact, she’d already hooked up a client of her firm with BL&T, which made Cole look even more like partner material. Sure she was a little neurotic and kind of bossy, and, God, she called him twice a day, but no one was perfect. He should give her a chance. Meet her in person, at least.
But he was in love with Kylie. He loved everything about her. The way she hurried and pushed and worked too hard and did too much. He loved the quick tilt of her head when she was really listening to him. He loved the impatient tap of her fingers on the table, the cute way she pursed her lips. Every little gesture shot yearning through him.
He never stopped thinking about her. The instant they parted, he started planning their next moment together. Every store held something he wanted to buy for her. Love songs played in his head constantly. This morning he’d been so caught up listening to the Muzak version of “You Are So Beautiful,” he’d taken the elevator to the top of his building and down again just to hear it all the way through.
Because of Kylie he was completely at sea at work. McKay had handled far more of the Littlefield case than he should have and the secretaries had smirked at him when they left for this meeting. But he didn’t care.
Kylie made him want more than work. He wanted her and plenty of time to spend with her. Not squeezed-in Sunday morning newspaper readings before work, but long, luxurious weekends in bed, feeding each other homemade strawberry waffles stark naked. With whipped cream.
He was in love with Kylie.
Was she in love with him? Possibly. But she was leaving for L.A. Could hardly wait, as a matter of fact. She considered them lucky to be able to have just sex. Now what?
He didn’t want Deborah, but he couldn’t have Kylie.
The meeting over, Janie walked the DeVito twins out, leaving him and Kylie alone in the video room. He didn’t know what to say or how to start.
“I can’t believe that worked,” Kylie said, her cheeks pink with triumph, her eyes gleaming with pride. Definitely the shiniest eyes he’d ever seen.
“You were brilliant, Kylie.”
“It was both of us.”
“I was a mere supporting player. You should teach this stuff to lawyers. We tend to be an uncreative lot.”
“That was an obvious strategy.” She seemed startled by his compliment. “Believe me, I’m not that creative.”
“I hope you’re just being modest.”
“Not really. Creativity’s my weakness,” she said, flushing with color.
“How can you say that? I’ve seen your projects. That gun-guard, that shoe store ad series and all that stuff for the hotels. Just inspired.”
“Come on. It’s good, not brilliant. I’m organized and dogged and thorough and I know my craft, but I’m not innovative or fresh. S-Mickey-B will be good for me that way—build my skills.”
For all he thought he knew her, he realized for the first time that Kylie was insecure about her abilities. “I’m no marketing whiz, but I’m not blind. You have a definite flair.”
“You think so? Really?”
She seemed so touched by his praise he wanted to blurt out more, babble all he felt about her talent. But he held back and stayed professional. “Let me put it this way. If you’re going to L.A. to confirm your brilliance, Kylie, you’re wasting your time.”
He watched his words hit home. She blinked, tried to smile, but it faded into a grave expression.
“Is that the reason you’re going?”
“For the challenge, of course. And the prestige. It’s an honor to be asked….” Her words faded and he could feel that he’d hit on it. She didn’t think she was good enough.
Don’t go. You’re great. We’re great together.
That was selfish of him. Even if she loved him, she had an amazing opportunity before her. How could he ask her to give it up? He sure wouldn’t leave BL&T to chase her to L.A., would he?
How could he? He’d put everything he had into making partner here. He didn’t want to lose that. And she’d expressed nothing but passion for her work. She considered settling down an if, not a when. They were in different places entirely. Unless she’d changed?
He opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what, when his PDA chimed, reminding him of a meeting in twenty minutes. “Kylie, listen…”
“I know. You have to go and I have a shuttle to catch,” she said, her eyes jumpy, as if she feared his next words. Or her own. “We’ll talk when I get back.”
“Sure,” he said, and left.
What exactly would they say?
He had no right to ask her to stay. He didn’t want to be the cause of her passing up the career chance of a lifetime.
And he wasn’t exactly himself lately. Entertaining the thought of leaving BL&T for a woman—even one as remarkable as Kylie—was pretty bizarre. So, what did he want to tell her?
He had thirty-some hours to figure it out before she returned. Maybe while she was gone, his feelings would fade.
Or grow. Then what.
KYLIE WAS SO GLAD Cole had to take off. Her mind was exploding with ideas to ponder. If you’re going to L.A. to confirm your brilliance, Kylie, you’re wasting your time.
He’d nailed it, just like that. As usual, she realized. And told her at the same time he didn’t want her to go. They spoke to each other in longtime lovers’ shorthand—telegraphing secret messages with gestures and looks and tone, as if they had years of shared experiences and mutual understanding.
She was heading to L.A. to confirm her abilities—to wipe out that gut-level fear that she was a hack about to be found out.
What if Cole was right? What if she was creative, after all? Maybe she could grow K. Falls PR right now, without a boost from S-Mickey-B. Stay right here and keep doing what she was doing. She’d had to turn down several new projects already. What if she stayed?
Her heart raced. She’d be letting down Garrett and that could hurt her reputation. But she could work out a short-term contract with them. But would she be st
aying for K. Falls PR or for Cole? Was she looking for any excuse to stay?
And what was that about? Even if she wanted to settle down, she’d never be the corporate wife Cole wanted. She didn’t have time to make a garden, let alone a marriage. Later—much later—after she left S-Mickey-B, started her own firm at a higher level, got settled at a comfortable plateau, then she’d get married, have a child, maybe two. Family was important.
Though, the truth was, for someone who lived to make plans and set goals, this home and hearth stuff was a nebulous swirl of maybes and kinda-sortas and one-day-sures. Maybe she didn’t want that at all.
But Cole did. And right now. Maybe with her?
But what kind of marriage could they have? They’d be high-powered roommates, leaving notes for each other about who needed to buy milk and who should pick up the dry cleaning. That was not the way to blend your lives. Besides, Deborah was waiting for him. His perfect match.
But was Deborah really perfect? Kylie looked at the wall of Personal Touch videos. Deborah had one here, somewhere. Cole, too. Maybe she’d just take a peek. Just to be sure she was leaving Cole in good hands. She grabbed the binder directory and in a few seconds she had both Close-Ups in her grip.
First Cole’s. It flickered black, then there he was on the stool, in front of that goofy forest scenery, his white shirt open at the collar, his hair adorably mussed, sleeves rolled unevenly.
“Cole Sullivan here,” he said, beginning with a darling Hugh Grant hesitancy. “I’m a lawyer and I love my work. I’d better, since I spend so much time at it, right? Heh, heh.”
There was a pause, while he listened to something Janie said. Then he forced a smile and continued about his readiness to get serious, wanting a woman as a partner.
Then the video crackled and she heard a muffled voice—Gail’s?—before Cole started talking again, saying he wanted a woman who was “self-sufficient, a self-starter and a team player.” So cute. As though he were rattling off a job ad. Her throat squeezed tight. She couldn’t listen to one more lovable word.
She clicked Cole off and clicked Deborah on. She was decent-looking and smart. Too nervous, though, like some twitchy bird. That wasn’t fair. Videos made people tense, she knew, and maybe it was the fact that her eyebrows were plucked too thin and high.
