Ms. Match Meets a Millionaire

by Pamela DuMond

  “Your wish is my command.” He prepared a plate for her then went back to the kitchen.

  “Do you have friends coming over?” I asked.

  “Just the girls.”

  Be still my heart.

  “Which girls? Your bridge club group?”

  “No, silly, my Friday night girls.”

  “Aha.” I’d deliberately stayed away from Harper this week. I didn’t want her taking up permanent residence in my heart the way she’d taken up real estate in my dreams.

  “Last chance to spend holidays in beautiful Aspen.” Daniel popped his head out of the kitchen. “We’re leaving Sunday. Biltenhouse swapped with me. He’s honeymooning with his new bride in the Caymans at my townhouse.”

  “Tell him he’s an asshat for never getting back to me.”

  “Will do,” Daniel said.

  “What are you boys doing tonight?” Grandma asked.

  Daniel looked at me and lifted an eyebrow. “Something decadent, Grandma. You?”

  “Me too.” The intercom buzzed. “Can you get that for me?”

  A chill zipped down my spine as I walked to the front door. I was going to see Harper in the flesh. I hit the call button and said in my best sexy voice, “Happy Holidays. How can I help you?”

  “We’re here for Mrs. Rosseaux’s spa party,” a man said.

  “Terrific. And you are?”

  “James. From Rent-A-Boyfriend.”

  I stared daggers at Marte. “Rent a Boyfriend?”

  “Ooh, it’s James,” she said. “He has magic hands. I didn’t know if he’d be available tonight. Buzz him up!”

  “Come on up, James. Penthouse.”

  “Yeah. Got it. Been here before.”

  I glared at my grandmother. “James from Rent-A Boyfriend has been here before?”

  “We go way back,” she said. “He’s my favorite. It’s a holiday party, Ethan. I needed a little help. You already decorated the tree. I can’t ask you to do everything. Lighten up for God’s sake.”

  “Yeah, Ethan,” Daniel said. “Lighten up for God’s sake. Let’s go. Merry Christmas, Grandma. If you change your mind, come visit us in Aspen.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Kiss goes right here.” She pointed to her cheek, which he dutifully bussed.

  Chapter 26

  Harper

  *

  Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought a holiday party with ‘the ladies’ would be this much fun. We had fresh pizza, cheese and crackers, and Champagne. Marte gave us presents. Everyone got Rosseaux cushy spa robes and slippers, and a gift certificate to a consortium of trendy restaurants.

  “How goes it with your new client?” Beverly asked. “We all heard you’re Ethan’s new matchmaker.”

  “Oh, you know?” I downed my glass of Champagne. “Wheels of justice move slow and all.”

  “I thought you were setting him up,” Luisa said. “Not investigating him for money laundering.”

  “Well, sometimes matchmaking can be a little of both. It’s not an easy job you know. Brings out the best and the worst in people.”

  “Speaking of the best,” Marte said, rubbing her hands together. “I’ve got a little surprise for you. Hit it boys!” The music started playing, “Everybody Have Fun, Tonight” rang through invisible speakers.

  “What have you done, Marte?” Beverly asked.

  “Holiday cheer. Since we couldn’t go to the spa this week, I thought I’d bring the spa to you.”

  A buff young man strode into the room, puffed out his chest, flexed his arms, then unbuttoned his shirt, and tossed it.

  “Ooh la la!” Luisa said.

  “I think you brought the strip club to us as well,” Beverly said.

  The pants were next.

  “I don’t think that’s coal in his stocking,” Luisa said. “You always go the extra mile, Mrs. R.”

  “The first night I met you ladies I had this weird feeling that strippers were involved,” I said.

  “Oh, he’s not just a stripper.” Marte pulled out a stack of dollar bills from her crochet bag and gave them to Beverly. “Hand these out to the ladies, please.”

  Beverly passed us wads of dollar bills. “Marte, you just got out of the hospital. Are you sure you’re up for this kind of excitement?” she asked.

  Luisa tucked a few dollars into the man’s jockeys just as another hot guy in a suit strutted into the living room. She clapped her hands. “Get out! There’s more than one stripper?”

  “Yes. None of us are getting any younger,” Marte said. “Everyone needs to live a little. That’s my gift to my loved ones this Christmas. Life. To life.” She raised her glass.

  We raised our glasses and leaned in toward her, and toasted. “To life!”

  Chapter 27

  Ethan

  *

  I glanced around the cocktail party crowd at Fred and Ted’s two-bedroom skyscraper condo with its eastern view of the twinkling lights dropping into the blacker waters of Lake Michigan. Holiday classics played in the background from a vintage-looking turntable. The theme was ‘retro’. A waitress and a bartender wore holiday-themed catering uniforms. The latter ladled spiked crème colored eggnog from a large punch bowl that Ted had probably scored on eBay. I half expected someone to pass around a crystal dish to drop my car keys in for a festive night of ‘wife swapping.’

  Too bad I didn’t have a wife to swap. That said, if I ever did get married, I wouldn’t be sharing. In my heart, or what I remembered of it, I was basically an old-fashioned guy. What was Marte thinking when she hired a matchmaking agency to find the perfect girl for me? This was her way of making me ‘get on’ with life. Just like when she forced the library job on me. I took to that just fine, even enjoyed the work. She most likely figured I’d acquiesce to this plan as well.

  But this was different.

  Grandma didn’t get to choose whom I would fall in love with. No one got to tell my heart when to move on. I had been perfectly okay to live in sorrow, fooling around on the side with a library girl to break up the monotony.

  And then along came Harper.

  Harper with her pretty face and her earnest need to help and make everything better for everybody. She was hanging out with my eighty-three-year old grandmother and her motley crew of spa ladies when she could have been out partying or dating anyone she might desire.

  Who did she desire—besides me? Or was that simply a moment of weakness? I knew I was charming but was I really that charming? And why did we only have that one make out session? I fidgeted on the couch and reminded myself to smile at the two chicks I was half-heartedly conversing with.

  “Yes,” I nodded. “Yes, I suspect we’ll get a real winter this year. None of this twenty-degree crap. I predict come January Chicago’s going deep, dark, minus thirty wind chill. Lake Michigan’s freezing over. I can practically feel it in my bones.”

  ““Hey, you look familiar,” one girl said. “Are you that Channel 7 meteorologist? You know—The Weather Guy?”

  “Yes. I’m appearing on the 10 p.m. news tonight and must run. Lovely meeting you ladies.” I pushed myself off the couch.

  Daniel caught my eye as I walked toward the door. “The ‘Weather Guy?’”

  “After all these years you’ve figured out my secret identity.” I waved goodbye and mouthed ‘Thank you’ to Fred and Ted.

  “There’s always Aspen,” he said.

  “Keep my identity secret, bro.”

  *

  I used my key to let myself into Grandma Marte’s place and quietly closed the door. I was stealth, like James Bond on an undercover mission. I eased into the living room. Unwrapped presents littered the coffee table. There were also two empty bottles of Champagne and plates with remnants of crackers and cheese, and pizza crusts. Hushed feminine giggles emanated from rooms further in the penthouse’s interior and I heard a few male voices. What in the hell was Marte up to now?

  I didn’t manage to eat any appetizers at the party and my stomac
h was now grumbling. I circled back, ducked into the kitchen, and grabbed a piece of pizza. Walking back out, I bumped into a buff, shirtless, oiled up guy in tight black jeans. That was a surprise, given that I’d let the four Rent-A-Boyfriends in when they’d first arrived and they all were wearing shirts then.

  “Merda!” The guy jumped a foot in the air.

  “Tell me my grandmother didn’t hire male hookers.”

  “No,” he said in an Italian accent. He walked into the kitchen, grabbed a slice of pizza and down it in a few gulps. “Blood sugar dropped. Haven’t eaten all day. Not that easy keeping the abs ripped after thirty.”

  “So you’re strippers?”

  He grabbed another piece of pizza. “We are ‘rental boyfriends’” he said, making air quotes with his fingers. Like ‘Nude Maids’ but instead of cleaning we help out the ladies, give massages and foot rubs. On occasion we strip.”

  “Happy endings?” I asked and tried not to grimace. Images of Grandma getting diddled popped into my brain.

  “Not that kind of party tonight.” He reached for a paper towel and wiped a piece of pepperoni off his chin.

  “Aha,” I said. “What’s your name?”

  “Marco.”

  “How far along are you in the array of services being offered at tonight’s shindig?”

  “We helped with the holiday gift giving, stripped down to our G-strings, gave the ladies a bit of a show, a peek of the pene, and hand fed them cookies and Champagne. Next, naughty foot reflexology. The ladies are molto bella, but I got lucky. They drew straws and I got the girl with the bellissima tette…”

  I knew a little Italian from my semester abroad. “Right.” My heart knotted in a spasm of short-lived jealousy. He got Harper. I wanted Harper. “What’s ‘naughty foot reflexology?’”

  “We play with their toes, press into their sweet feet, and, well, other things.” He smiled.

  “Got it.” A wicked idea wormed into my brain. I snapped open my wallet, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, and handed it to him. “Go home. Low blood sugar’s a bitch. I’ll fill in for you.”

  He slid the bill deftly from my fingers. “That barely covers my ride.”

  I plucked out two more green backs. “Arrivederci.”

  He pocketed the bills, and handed me a bottle of oil. “Lose your shirt. You won’t fit in with the rest of us if your shirt’s on.

  “Right.” He grabbed another slice of pizza and made his way to the door. “Hang on.”

  He stopped and glanced back at me.

  I plucked the red and white Santa hat from his head. “Three hundred should cover this too. Grazie.”

  *

  Grandma’s penthouse was twice the size of my condo, and occupied the entire top floor of the historical landmark building. Grandpapa had died when I was a teenager, leaving the property to Marte. She initially planned on selling the place, saying it was simply too big, but after a few years had passed, she decided it would always be home.

  Now she had a room for just about everything. Small spaces originally built as maids’ quarters housed massage tables, exercise equipment, and stretching mats. This is where the foot rubs were taking place. Per Marco’s advice, I’d lost my shirt and oiled up. I pulled the Santa hat low over my forehead, and covered my hair before I entered the room.

  The space smelled of cinnamon, pine, and vanilla. A curtain divided the chamber into two sections. Harper and I were in one. Luisa Bananas and another Rent-A-Boyfriend were in the other. I sat on a low bench at the end of the table and rubbed Harper’s foot.

  She lay on her back on a massage table, covered by a white sheet. A white satin eyemask rested on her face, and her hair was spread out on the table around her like she was an angel. Technically I knew that I was doing something bad, but it felt so good. I refocused on her foot, digging my thumb into her instep.

  “Ooh,” she said. “That feels great.”

  Her approval was like a jolt of espresso. A dormant section of my brain fired as I resurrected my Italian. “Va bene,” I said and played with her toes, determined to find and press every juicy spot.

  “Ah.” She squirmed.

  I captured her big toe between my thumb and forefinger and rotated the end of it briskly. “Questo se sento bene?”

  “Oh, yes, Marco. Thank you.”

  “Grazie,” I said, running my fingers up and down her instep like I was playing scales on the piano.

  “Ouch. Ooh. Yikes!” She twisted her leg. “Lighter, please.”

  “Sounds like more than a foot massage is going on in there,” Luisa said from the opposite side of the curtain divider. “You better not be having toe sex.”

  “I am not having toe sex,” Harper said. She turned her head so quickly that her eye mask fell off and flopped onto her shoulder.

  I swallowed a grin, stared down, and switched to her other foot. “Hai dei peidi belli.”

  “I know Italian,” Luisa said. “Your Rent-A-Boyfriend just said you have beautiful feet. He’s a pervert with a foot fetish.”

  “No fetticcio. I just want to do a good job.”

  Luisa’s Rent-A Boyfriend popped his head around the curtain and peered at me. “Where’d Marco go?”

  “Low blood sugar,” I said.

  “He struggles with that.” He disappeared back behind the divider.

  “Marco?” Harper asked.

  “Polo,” I said.

  She pushed herself onto her elbows and clutched the sheet to her voluptuous chest. “Marco Polo? You’re bad, Ethan Rosseaux.” She shook her finger at me.

  “Si, signorina.” I lifted her foot to my mouth and sucked her little toe.

  “Stop!” She yanked her foot away and giggled.

  “You’re totally having toe sex,” Luisa said.

  “No, we’re not!” Harper said.

  I stood up and beckoned to her with one hand. In my best Arnold Schwarzenegger voice, I said, “Come with me, Sarah Connor, if you want to live.”

  “Oh my God, you’re a fifth grader,” she said, but she pushed herself off the table, the sheet still wrapped around her, and snagged her clothes from the peg on the wall.

  “You’re leaving?” Luisa asked.

  “Work calls,” she said. “Tell Mrs. R. thank you.”

  Luisa sniffed. “You just want to have toe sex.”

  Chapter 28

  Harper

  *

  I got dressed in a bathroom then followed Ethan, who’d pulled his shirt back on, out of Marte’s condo. We took the stairs from the fifth floor to the first.

  “You live in this building, right?” I asked.

  “Yes. I want to show you something magical.” He pulled a set of keys from his pants pocket and unlocked a sturdy door.

  “I do believe your foot massage was magical enough.”

  He smiled and led me into a darkened, chilly room. “You haven’t seen this yet.” He flipped on the lights. “I work here. The Rosseaux Historical Library.”

  “Whoa!” I said. There were stacks of bookcases filled from floor to ceiling with books. Antique maps hung on the walls. Rolling ladders were positioned in the aisles. An atrium in the center of the room covered two stories, and a fresco of people reading books was painted on its ceiling.

  I walked down an aisle, grazing a finger across the books. “This is amazing. You do this all day? I’m officially jealous.”

  “I also manage Marie’s investments. But you already know that. It’s on my intake form. I want to show you something fun.” He took my hand and wove his fingers between mine. He paused at aisle ten, and pointed to a bookshelf. “Voilà.”

  I peered up at the books. ““Delta de Venus” by Anais Ninn, “Fanny Hill” by John Cleland, “Fear of Flying” by Erica Jong. The Rosseaux Library has a vintage erotica section?”

  He nodded. “I suspect you’re the kind of woman who appreciates a good book.”

  I shook my head. He was so hot and I was tempted to stay here with him. Have fun. Give into temptation
. Make out with him again. “Oh, Marco. You’re feeding me a line. As much as I loved seeing the library and almost having toe sex, I think it’s best if I call it a night. Thank you for the tour. For everything.” I grew a spine and dropped his muscular hand. “Walk me out.”

  “I’ll do that,” he said, picking up my hand again. “Right after I kiss you goodnight.”

  “Not a good idea.” A chill swept down my spine at the same time my face flushed warm. “I’m your matchmaker. You’re my—”

  “Client,” he said, leaning me back against the stacks. He lifted a lock of hair that was dangling in front of my face and tucked it behind my ear. He brushed his fingers against my cheek and my pulse quickened. “I’m single. You’re single. And you haven’t set me up with anyone that will take my mind off you.”

  “Technically I haven’t set you up with anyone yet. That’s about to change. I’ve found a great girl for you.”

  His fingers grazed the soft flesh under my chin. He tilted it upwards and gazed into my eyes. “What if I’ve already met a great girl?” Chills zipped down my spine and goosebumps erupted on my forearms.

  “Not me. No fraternizing with clients. Mr. Cupid will can my ass. Besides, the girl I want to set you up with gets back in town next week.”

  “How did it go the other day when you had client emergencies?”

  “I handled it. I put out the fires.”

  “I’m having a client emergency,” he said.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Client 911. I can’t wait until next week.”

  I looked up into his dreamy hazel eyes and saw mischief and fire. I looked at his lips and remembered how they felt when we kissed in the hospital.

  Aw screw it.

  I reached for his rugged shoulders, drew him to me, and kissed him. Weaving my fingers through his dark brown hair I savored his mouth. His lips so full, his mouth passionate.

  He pulled away from me.

  “What?” I was backed against the bookcase filled with erotica, my mind consumed by all the delicious things he and I could do together. Not the best time for him to be retreating.