Dear Cupid

by Julie Ortolon

  “Male-bashing!” Linda sputtered. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve never known anyone who appreciates men more than you do.”

  “That may have been true, once.” Kate glanced off toward the lake, fighting a sense of hopelessness. “Lately, though, I’ve had a hard time believing that romance ever leads to anything but heartache?”

  “What about Jim and me? Is that how you see us?”

  “Heavens, no!” Kate turned back. “Seeing the two of you so happy together is the only thing that keeps me from losing faith completely. The problem is ... I can’t dash off pithy suggestions to women with serious problems anymore. I know the point of my column is to attract readers to Gwen’s magazine, and thereby help her sell more lingerie and perfume ads, but I keep wishing it could be something ... I don’t know, more. I mean, how can I, in good conscience, tell some woman whose husband verbally abuses her to indulge in chocolate bonbons and a long, hot bubble bath? Those things won’t make her problems go away.”

  “No,” Linda agreed, “But reading your column, which is never that trite by the way, might make her believe that love does exist, and that she deserves to go after it.”

  “I wish I could believe that as easily as I used to.”

  “Well, what about the women whose only marital problem is boredom in the bedroom? Linda raised a brow. “Let’s face it, Kate, you have some very clever ways for couples to avoid that trap.”

  A short, bitter laugh escaped her. “Too bad I didn’t take my own advice.”

  “Kate ...” Linda growled.

  “You’re right.” She held up a hand to forestall a lecture about blaming herself for her divorce. “I’m sorry.”

  Linda sipped thoughtfully at her tea. “Have you considered what you’ll do? I mean, if Gwen really does cancel Dear Cupid?”

  “I could always go back to school,” Kate said, only half joking. Growing up as a professor’s daughter, she’d always been more comfortable in the academic world than in the real one. Which was part of the reason she’d never had a “real” job; she’d practically made a career out of going to college. “Maybe I could major in something useful this time, like psychology.”

  “Psychology?” Linda laughed. “Since when is that a useful degree?”

  “Well, it’s more useful than the other things I’ve majored in, like art history or medieval poetry, especially if one wants to get a job as a counselor.”

  Linda waved the comment aside. “You’re already a counselor of sorts.”

  “I meant a legitimate counselor,” Kate clarified.

  Linda cocked her head to study her. “You don’t sound too thrilled about being a ‘legitimate’ counselor.”

  Kate realized her friend was right; she wasn’t thrilled at the idea of doing anything but writing her column. Not only did it allow her to be home for Dylan, but she enjoyed hearing little snippets of people’s lives, getting to know a few of them beyond that first letter, feeling that her advice had in some small way helped them find happiness. Lately, though, she’d started to feel like a fraud. What right did someone with a failed marriage have to give advice on romance to anyone?

  She shook her head to dispel the sense of gloom. “I’m more worried about how I’ll afford tuition if I do go back to school, not to mention little things like food and rent. I don’t exactly have a plethora of job skills.”

  “Well ...” Linda smiled. “There is one thing you could do.”

  Kate narrowed her eyes. “Linda Davis, what are you thinking?”

  “That you could come to work for me.”

  “Absolutely not.” Kate rose in a rush that startled the deer.

  “Why not?” Linda asked.

  “Because—” Kate paced before the rail. “It is not your responsibility to provide me with a job. Good heavens, you’ve given me a place to live for next to nothing and you baby-sit Dylan all the time for free. I’ve been a total leech since I moved out here, but I draw the line at taking your income?”

  “Would you quit!” Linda laughed and set her tea aside. “You won’t be taking my income. Wife for Hire has generated more work than I can handle right now. And what with the baby coming, I couldn’t possibly take on another account. You’d be helping me, Kate. I mean that. Truth is, I need you.”

  Kate studied her friend’s face. She couldn’t quite picture the Queen of Efficiency needing help. Still, Linda did have a baby coming ...

  “It wouldn’t have to be long-term,” Linda continued, as if sensing her weakness. “You could simply try one account, see how you like it. Once I’m back up to full speed, you can quit, no hard feelings.”

  “What exactly would I have to do?” Kate asked warily.

  “You mean, you’ll take the job?”

  “Maybe. But only if it doesn’t involve anything remotely like bookkeeping.”

  The fear was legitimate, since Wife for Hire offered services that ranged from picking up dry cleaning to balancing the family checkbook. In the year since Linda had started the business, Kate had seen her walk dogs, shuttle kids to soccer practice, organize dinner parties, and decorate Christmas trees. The variety of work had a certain appeal, and Kate could easily understand why her friend preferred it to being a bank teller.

  “Actually,” Linda said as she pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of her maternity shorts, “I’m not sure what this job will entail. The call just came in this morning. He said he’s a bachelor and, next to working moms, they make the best clients.”

  “Why, you little snake,” Kate accused good-naturedly at the sight of the note. “You had this in mind before you even came down here, didn’t you?”

  “It never hurts to be prepared,” Linda said primly. “Besides, the client specifically requested you.”

  “Me?” Kate’s eyes went round.

  “Apparently you recommended me to him.” Linda flashed her a grin. “Nothing new there. Half the clients I’ve landed in the last year were referrals from you, for which I will be forever in your debt.”

  “Passing out a few business cards isn’t exactly a strain,” Kate pointed out.

  “Maybe not, but when this guy called this morning and mentioned you, I said I wished I could talk you into working for me. He said he’d like to hire my service, but would prefer dealing with you since he already knew you.”

  “So, what’s his name?”

  Linda glanced at her notes. “Michael Cameron. Lives over in Lakeway,” she added, referring to the resort community that seemed like a separate world from the hodgepodge neighborhood where they lived.

  “Michael Cameron.” Kate tested the name. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Well, he’s expecting you today at one o’clock.”

  “Linda, I can’t go today. Not with Dylan home sick.”

  “Hogwash. I’ll watch Dylan, and it won’t be any trouble at all since I plan to spend the day catching up on paperwork. I can bring my laptop down here and work. So, no excuses. Just go.” She held out the note.

  Taking it, Kate glanced at the address and raised a brow. Lakeway alone was exclusive enough, but this was one of the streets on which the real money lived. “Challenger Drive, eh? Pretty fancy digs for a bachelor.”

  “Honey, in this business, wealthy bachelors are a dream come true. So go get ‘em.”

  Chapter 4

  THE moment Kate drove through the main entrance to Lakeway, nostalgia washed over her. The neighborhood reminded her so much of Barton Creek, where she and Edward had lived. Professionally landscaped lawns surrounded custom-built homes, herds of deer roamed along the golf-cart paths, and turtles sunned themselves on the banks of a picturesque pond.

  But what tugged most at her heart were the basketball hoops and bicycles left in driveways. Those were the things she missed about her life with Edward, even more than the beautiful house, the designer clothes, and her spiffy red Miata. She missed the sense of safeness that came from living in an upper-class community, the feeling of raising her child in the American dream.
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  She’d lost all that in the divorce.

  Regret settled in her stomach, not for loosing Edward, but for her inability to give Dylan the kind of life he deserved. As much as she loved being Dear Cupid, the job didn’t pay enough for her to raise Dylan the way she wanted.

  That, however, was about to change. The more she thought about working for Linda, the more she liked the idea. After all, Wife for Hire had introduced Linda to all kinds of interesting people. Who knew what doors it might open for her? Maybe some opportunity would present itself that would enable her to become the independent, self-sufficient woman she’d always dreamed of being.

  Her spirits lifted further as she topped a hill and there before her lay the wide expanse of Lake Travis. Its royal-blue water sparkled in the sunlight as its inlets stretched out among the rolling green hills. A lone sailboat drifted over the surface with the spring breeze filling its sails. Perched on the cliffs between her and the water, the million-dollar homes of Challenger Drive offered their owners a breathtaking view. With a jumble of pastel stucco and white stone with terracotta tile roofs, the houses looked as if a slice of the Riviera had been dropped down in the middle of the Texas Hill Country.

  Finding the address Linda had given her, Kate parked her battered Ford Escort on the street, which was level with the roof of the house. Getting out, she ran a hasty hand over her apricot silk pants suit and wondered if she’d overdressed. Life at the lake tended to be far more casual than her life as a society wife in Austin. Unfortunately, her clothes—like everything else—fell into two categories: BD and AD. Her BD, or Before Divorce, clothes bore names like Christian Dior and Liz Claiborne. Her After Divorce clothes ran more toward Wal-Mart and Target.

  Telling herself to stop worrying about how she looked, she started down the steep driveway, her high heels making the descent precarious. The white rock house had only one story that showed from the street. She imagined a second level and small yard climbed down the cliff at the back. And, far below that would likely be a boat dock for some outrageously expensive toy. A sailboat, she thought with envy. How lovely it must be to have the money and time to while away a whole day sailing—not to mention someone to while it away with. Someone who made her feel good about herself rather than chipping her into pieces with a million little digs.

  Reaching the front door, she took a deep breath and rang the bell. Through the beveled glass, she saw someone come toward her and she pasted on a friendly smile. The door opened—and her stomach dropped to her feet at the sight of the blond man wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt. “Oh, my God!”

  “We meet again.” The man from L.A. grinned. He didn’t seem the least surprised to see her, while her head spun with memories of her embarrassing behavior and her body heated with renewed attraction.

  “What are you doing here?” she squeaked.

  “I live here.”

  “I— What— How—” she stammered. He looked every inch as attractive as before, except the shirt sported neon shades of turquoise and yellow rather than blue and red.

  “I’m glad to see you too.” His grin grew as he lounged against the doorjamb. “Kate.”

  At the sound of her name, her breath rushed out of her lungs. “How did you find me?”

  “Quite easily, actually.” He pulled a card from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “You dropped this in the airport.”

  As she took the card, her scattered thoughts came together with a snap. He was Michael Cameron. Her first client. “No. There’s been some sort of mistake.”

  He gave her a teasing frown. “You mean you’re not the woman who dropped her purse on my feet?”

  “No! I mean, yes I am, but—” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “Look, I apologize if I gave you the wrong impression. I’m usually not so ...” The word “loose” came to mind, but she swallowed it down. “Forward. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

  Panic kicked Mike into action the instant she turned to leave. “Wait a second.” He leapt forward to block her way up the drive. “Where are you going?”

  “I told you, there’s been a mistake,” She glared at him with the same green eyes that had teased him in L.A. “I’m not, you know ... for hire.”

  “What?” He frowned in confusion, then laughed. “I don’t want to hire you for that.” She looked relieved but still nervous, and he sighed. “Why don’t you come inside so we can talk?”

  “I don’t think so.” She glanced toward her car.

  “I promise, it’s perfectly safe,” he insisted. “And my job offer is legitimate.” Well, perhaps offering her a job hadn’t been his initial reason for calling the number on the card. While talking with the owner of Wife for Hire, he’d simply decided that hiring Kate was the easiest way to get to know her. After the way she’d run from him in Dallas, he feared she’d turn him down flat if he asked her for a date. As for the rest of his plan, the name of her friend’s business had inspired that. “If you’ll come inside, I’ll tell you what I have in mind.”

  “No funny stuff?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “Not even mildly amusing stuff. Besides,” he said, “your friend Linda knows you’re over here, right? I’d have to be pretty stupid to try anything.”

  She mulled that over a moment, then nodded. “All right. I’ll give you five minutes.”

  “After you.” He waved an arm for her to precede him into the house. The moment she crossed the threshold, he breathed a sigh of relief. Five minutes wasn’t long, but it was better than nothing. He just prayed his plan worked.

  Following her down the single step from the foyer into the living area he gave thanks that the maid service he used had come while he was in L.A. A comfortable sofa and overstuffed chair sat before a big-screen TV with a theater sound system. At the far end of the room was the dining area, with a kitchen tucked off to one side. Or, at least, it would be the dining area if he ever got around to buying a table and some chairs. He discounted that small negative, though, since the wall of windows along the back of the house revealed an expansive deck that overlooked a swimming pool, barbecue grill, and plenty of furniture for eating one story below.

  As she walked toward the windows, he fought the urge to ask her what she thought of his place. The impulse surprised him since he normally didn’t care about such things. He had high hopes, though, that this woman would share his house with him, so her opinion mattered.

  She barely took a second to glance around before she turned to face him. “All right. Let’s hear it.”

  He hesitated, realizing the plan that had seemed so brilliant that morning now seemed a bit absurd. “It’s kind of complicated. See, I’m, uh, looking for a wife.”

  Her eyes widened. Not a good sign. “Well, if you’re looking at me, you’re looking in the wrong direction, I’ll tell you that right now.”

  “No, I don’t want you to be the wife, necessarily. I, um ... I want you to help me find a wife.”

  Her face went blank as if he’d wounded her, and for a moment he wondered if the straightforward approach would have been better. Except he wanted to spend time with her too badly to risk an outright rejection.

  “Excuse me?” she said at last.

  He took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I’ve decided it’s time I got married. Only, with my schedule I don’t have a lot of time to look around. So, I want you to help me.”

  She laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Why me? I’m no dating service.”

  He shrugged. “Your friend said Wife for Hire handles things like interviewing housekeepers and nannies, so I figure why not a wife?”

  “Because that’s not how it’s done.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—” She spread her arms in a gesture that drew her top tightly across her breasts, distracting him. He’d thought she looked stunning in red, but the orange outfit she wore now nearly brought him to his knees. “This is not the Middle Ages, here. Nowadays, relatio
nships are based on mutual respect, attraction, compatibility, not just personal gain and convenience. Couples generally meet, go out, fall in love, pick out china, set a date, that sort of thing.”

  He forced his attention back to her face. “I plan to love my wife. As for china, I’ll let you—I mean her—pick that out.”

  She glanced around and muttered under her breath, “Well, I’ll say this much. If anyone ever needed a wife, it’s you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He frowned.

  She stared at him as if trying to decide if he was serious. “Your furniture,” she said at last.

  He looked around. “Yeah?”

  “Well, it’s not exactly—How do I put this delicately? It looks like rejects from Goodwill.”

  “Hey, my parents gave me that sofa when I graduated college.” He tried to see the room from a woman’s point of view. “All right, I’ll admit, it’s a little worn around the edges, but is that any reason to throw out a perfectly good sofa? It’s just broken in.”

  “Have you ever heard of reupholstering?”

  “Well, sure, but I figured if I ever got married my wife would probably want to redecorate, so why do it twice?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Because—archaic as it sounds and may the feminists forgive me—few women want to marry a man who looks like he can’t afford to support himself, much less a family.”

  “I can afford a family.” He wondered where she’d gotten the idea he was broke. Did she think he’d won the house in a lottery or something? He’d made his first million writing animation software before he’d turned twenty. Not that he’d tell her that, or she’d think he was a computer geek. “Besides, maybe I don’t want a woman who’ll marry me for my money.”

  “You’re right.” She held up a hand. “You’re absolutely right. Unfortunately, initial attraction between the sexes is fairly superficial. A man asks a woman out because he likes the way she’s built. The woman says yes because he has kind eyes and seems reasonably intelligent. Of course, a nice body and some decent clothes don’t hurt.”