by Meg Maguire
She left the office, excited butterflies swirling in her stomach. Down in the gym she found Mercer at work with Delante, showing him some kind of grappling move on one of the mats. She waited patiently until they spotted her and got to their feet.
Mercer grinned. “Hey, boss.”
“Hey, Jenna,” Delante added. He’d been helping her with random heavy-lifting tasks for Spark, and they’d become friends, of a sort. The sort who had nothing in common, age- or background-wise, professionally... Still, he was helpful and reliable, and the money was keeping his mood level, Mercer said.
“Hi, guys. You can keep going, I wasn’t trying to interrupt.”
“You nervous?” Mercer asked, knowing full well she was.
Her initial candidate was due at nine-fifteen—the first of six she’d be meeting that day. With the franchise’s kickoff mixer less than three weeks away, she needed help, and fast.
Rich swept past, tugging on his sparring gloves. “Hire someone cute.”
“That would be a bonus,” she said. “Unless she distracts my male clients from the women in the database. Plus I might hire a guy—I have two coming in to interview. Might be nice to have the male perspective on hand.”
“You got a whole sweaty basement full of male perspective,” Rich offered, and began throwing shadow-boxing jabs in Delante’s direction. The two got drawn into a friendly tussle, leaving Jenna and Mercer with a bit of privacy. Well, not that this place was especially discreet. Who could’ve guessed what shameless gossips professional fighters were? Still, she and Mercer kept it low-key—no “real” kissing in public, just the odd smooch when he swung by the first floor. As for up in the apartment—no holds barred.
“I am nervous,” she admitted.
“You’ll pick the right person. You’ve got good intuition. I mean you must—look who you keep choosing to hook up with.”
She smiled and rolled her eyes. “I’m scared that there just won’t be a right person. They all look great on paper, but I need that chemistry. And if I don’t find it today or tomorrow from the short-list... I’m running out of time.”
He rubbed her arm, then pulled his hand away. “Oops, sorry. Just marked you with my territorial musk.”
She laughed. “I forgive you.”
“You’ll be great. Come down at lunchtime and let me know how it’s going.”
“I will.”
He glanced around before planting a peck beside her lips. “Knock ’em dead, Jenna.”
* * *
BY QUARTER TO TWELVE, she’d had three appointments—two, actually, since the third hadn’t bothered to turn up. And the ones that had... She rubbed her temples and poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. Their résumés had looked so promising. The first had been an etiquette coach, of all intriguing things, but in person she came off incredibly fussy, not the sort of woman a client could relax and be him- or herself around. And being one’s self was the key to finding Mr. or Miss Right, in Jenna’s opinion.
The second candidate was a younger guy, with a master’s in psychology. But something about him was...off. Too intense, didn’t blink often enough, nodded too vigorously in agreement with everything she’d said. They sounded like niggling complaints, but when someone didn’t feel right, they likely weren’t right.
Her twelve o’clock appointment turned up five minutes early, knocking on the threshold of the open door and not giving Jenna time to hide the packet of peanut butter crackers she’d been mauling.
“Oh, hello.” She brushed the cracker flecks from her lap and glanced at her calendar. “Lindsey?”
“Yes. Lindsey Tuttle.” The young woman smiled, glancing around the war zone known as Jenna’s office.
“Excuse the crumbs. And the mess—we’re transitioning. Come in.” She leaned over the desk to shake Lindsey’s hand. Nice. Firm and confident. “I’m Jenna Wilinski.”
“Nice to meet you.” Lindsey took a seat in the visitors’ chair while Jenna shut the door. She looked to be a couple years younger than Jenna, with wide lips and pale blue eyes, natural dark blond hair pulled into a ponytail. Gray sweater over a dress shirt, pressed slacks. She was cute, with a wry smile, and not such a bombshell that Jenna would need to worry about her male clients losing focus. This could work.
Jenna scanned her notes. “So you’re currently employed with a wedding planner?”
She nodded. “I just moved here a few months ago, and I’ve been working for a woman based on Newbury Street.”
Jenna had perused the business’s website, and the design had been so slick, she knew only the choosiest, sky’s-the-limit brides would be able to afford their services. “Do you like it?”
A guilty smile. “I can’t stand it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just not what I envisioned. I worked for another wedding planner in Springfield for nearly five years, and they treated me great, let me oversee my own clients. But this job’s not what I’d hoped for. I’m really more of a gofer. And more than a bit of a scapegoat when things go wrong.”
“Ah, bummer.”
“But I promise I’m not here looking for any old job, just to get out of my current one. I’m genuinely interested in the position. Especially the matchmaking.”
“What makes me think you might be a good fit?” Jenna asked.
“Well, I know everyone thinks this about themselves, but I’m a really good judge of character. I can meet somebody and within twenty minutes of talking to them, I can get a handle on what they’re about.”
Jenna believed it. Lindsey had a certain aura about her, something that said, Your BS won’t work on me. Cold be quite an asset in dealing with pushy or wishy-washy clients.
“And how do you think your background as a wedding planner has prepared you?”
“I’ve certainly calmed down my fair share of hysterical brides and grooms. I’ve helped people through what’s basically the most important date of their lives, and stripped out all the craziness and the to-do lists, and uncovered what’s really at the core of their romance, you know?”
“Go on.”
“Well, you’ll start working with a bride, and she shows up with binders and folders and printouts, totally caught up in the tiniest little details—the shade of blue she wants for the addresses on the RSVP envelopes. Seating arrangements straight out of a UN meeting.”
Jenna laughed, liking Lindsey already.
“It’s so easy for women to lose focus in bride-mode. You have to take the time to ask about the relationship they’re actually celebrating. Get to the core of what it is that made them love their partner so much they said yes to spending their life with him. And suddenly this bridezilla with her dog-eared catalogs tells you...I don’t know. She’ll tell you that on her first date with her fiancé, she spilled soup on her dress, and he splashed himself with his wine so she wouldn’t feel like such a mess. Something that cuts through the detail-psychosis and reminds them what they’re celebrating. Suddenly the color of the seat cards doesn’t matter as much as it did before.”
“Sounds like you find it very rewarding, at the best of times.”
“It is, and I’m good at the planning aspect, but I don’t know if it’s what I want to be doing five years from now. It was always about the romance for me. And the challenge. I can’t tell you how fascinated I am by the idea of matchmaking.”
Jenna nodded, thinking she may have just found the perfect match herself.
“Could you tell me exactly what the job responsibilities would be?” Lindsey asked.
Jenna leaned back in her dad’s ancient chair, springs wailing. She really needed that office furniture to arrive. “Well, I’m looking for an assistant, like a right-hand woman or man, to help coordinate events and share the load, as the business is getting on its feet. Then once we’re officially established, th
at assistant would still be helping with special events, but also take on their own clients.”
“Very cool.”
Jenna nodded. “It’s appealing that you’ve already worked with, um, high-maintenance personalities.”
Lindsey laughed. “For some of them, that’s a kind way to put it. I also grew up as the dead-center of nine siblings, so I’m very well trained at peacekeeping and negotiation.”
“Gosh, you could put that on your résumé. Well, it’s my hope that my employees won’t get stuck working more than a forty-hour week, but in the first year, it’s a definite possibility. Do you have other responsibilities that need to be accommodated?”
“None whatsoever.”
Jenna saw Lindsey touch her ring finger—wrapping her other hand around it like a reflex. Was she worried her own single status might count against her with Jenna or prospective clients?
“Well,” Jenna said, “I worked as an events director on a cruise ship for ages, pretty much on-call around the clock, ten months a year. I’m a firm believer in a work-life balance. So once the craziness of establishing the branch has subsided, it’s a priority of mine to make sure my employees feel like their own personal lives are respected, too.”
“That’s good to know. Though I’m a bit of a workaholic, so I’m not concerned about a little overtime.”
Jenna nodded, matchmaker’s mind already churning with assessments. Workaholic women often used their careers to avoid romance for whatever reason. She was surely destined to count more than a few of those types among her clients, women who saw “boyfriend” or “husband” as yet another box to check, alongside titled position and stainless-steel kitchen makeover.
But Lindsey wasn’t her client, and therefore not her responsibility to analyze. She wasn’t even Jenna’s employee yet, though she was certainly the frontrunner.
They chatted about day-to-day stuff, and the upcoming mixer. Lindsey had quite a few fun ideas for the event, and tossed out the names of her go-to caterers and DJs. A wedding planner could prove very handy indeed.
When they shook hands—a good fifteen minutes after the time Jenna had scheduled for the appointment—she was smitten herself. Her fears flip-flopped. She no longer worried she might not find someone good enough for the job. She worried the one she wanted might not accept the position.
She had just enough time to run downstairs before her next appointment. Mercer was on his own break, chatting with Rich on a bench while Delante sparred with another young guy in one of the rings.
Mercer smiled as he spotted her and made room beside him. “Hey, good-looking. How’d it go? Any keepers?”
“Oh my God, the most perfect girl ever.”
“She cute?” Rich asked.
“Yes, she is, but don’t get any ideas. Plus you shouldn’t be thinking about women or sex with a big match coming up.”
“That’s Mercer’s sick rule, not mine.”
“Anyway, I just hope she’ll accept if I offer.” She sighed, high with relief, and looked around the gym. It had seemed so intimidating and alien before. Now all she saw was energy, dedication and a brutality she didn’t understand but had come to respect since falling so hard for Mercer. She couldn’t believe she’d ever been looking forward to the trial period being done, the gym gone. She liked it now as much as she’d resented it for the first twenty-odd years of her life, and it wasn’t going down without a fight—hers, Mercer’s, everyone’s. She wondered if that was why her father had put the stipulation in his will. Maybe he’d known that was all it would take for her to change her mind about the gym—four and a half months. Well, he’d been wrong—it had taken exactly two weeks.
“So,” she said. “Everyone on track for the tournament? How long now?”
“Four weeks. And yeah, I’d say so.”
She leaned over to address Rich. “What about you, Prince Richard? Feeling confident?”
“Always.”
“You could toss Rich in with a guy twenty pounds out of his weight class and he wouldn’t blink,” Mercer said.
“I love a challenge.”
“You love getting hit,” Mercer corrected.
“Damn right.”
Jenna slapped her thighs and stood. “Better get ready for the next candidate. Just wanted to share the good news. Now I just have to pray she’ll say yes when I pop the question.”
* * *
THE REMAINING CANDIDATES all failed to shine anywhere near as brightly as Lindsey, and two days later, once references had been called and come up sparkling clean, Jenna phoned the woman with her heart in her throat.
“Lindsey Tuttle.”
“Hi, Lindsey, this is Jenna Wilinski, from Spark: Boston.” She fidgeted with a notepad on her desk. “How are you?”
“Um...frightened,” she said with a laugh. “Could you hang on one moment?”
“Sure.”
Jenna heard muffled conversation, then when Lindsey’s voice came back it was clear she’d relocated, probably out of earshot of her current boss or coworkers.
“Sorry. Thanks. What can I do for you, Jenna?”
“Well, I’m hoping you might come work for me.”
She held her breath, but it seemed Lindsey must be doing the same—she didn’t reply for several long seconds.
“Oh. Really? Seriously?”
“Very seriously. I was incredibly impressed with you.” It felt funny talking this way to a woman only a couple years younger than herself.
“And here I’d been praying for a second interview.”
“It doesn’t feel necessary to me. Though if you need to ask more questions about Spark before you decide, that’s fine. But your old boss from Springfield had very encouraging things to say about you. She’s not your mother, is she?” Jenna teased, then went over the salary and benefits briefly, promising to send official information once they hung up.
“All right, then. I accept.”
“That’s wonderful. Now I have sort of an awkward request. I know you need to give your current work two weeks’ notice, maybe longer, depending how your contracts with individual clients work...”
“I don’t have any specific obligations to any of the weddings I’ve been assigned to.”
“Two weeks, then?”
“I’m pretty tempted to quit right this minute, but yeah, probably two weeks.”
“Would you be interested in making your life a living hell and helping me with some party planning over the next two weekends? All the big stuff for the mixer is in place, but I’d love some help with the nitty-gritty details—email invitations to prospective clients, liaising with the caterer, decorations, security, that kind of stuff?”
“I can do that in my sleep. Just pay me a decent wage and I’ll happily run myself ragged for you.”
“Excellent. Well, let me get right on all the paperwork, and you email me when your first official day with Spark can be. We’ll have another talk about the mixer once all the official stuff is squared away.”
A breathy noise came through the receiver. “I’m so excited. Thank you.”
“Great. I’ll be in touch soon.”
“Thanks, Jenna.”
They said goodbye, and Jenna felt absurdly happy, as though she’d just had the best first date ever—a feeling she hoped to give her steadily growing list of clients in the not-so-distant future. A feeling she woke with nearly every morning, the second she registered the warm weight of Mercer’s arm slung over her waist.
She let loose a happy sigh, interrupted by the clicking of heels down the front hall. Through the office windows she saw it was Tina, the Spark company’s franchise standards overseer. Oh jeez, now? The place was a wreck.
Tina leaned around the threshold and grinned, lips as red as her scarlet suit. “Knock knock.”
&
nbsp; “Wow, hello.” Jenna got up to shake her hand. “Excuse the mess. The gym’s manager is still working on getting all his stuff cleared out. You didn’t come all the way from Providence just to say hello, I hope?” Or check up on me, she thought, though that was the woman’s job, after all.
Tina rolled the guest chair over for herself. “No, no. Personal visit—my niece just started at Tufts.”
Jenna sat, relieved. “Oh, lovely.”
“But,” Tina said, expression turning stern. “While I was in town, I wanted to pop in. We’ve hit a small snag with your space.”
Jenna frowned. “Oh?”
“Don’t panic—nothing fatal. We’re just getting all the ts crossed for your branch, and everything’s on track, with one tiny niggle.”
“Okay.”
Tina nodded in the direction of the rear of the building. “That gym.”
Jenna’s heart thudded. “What about the gym?”
She patted her shiny black updo. “The last time I was here, I couldn’t help but notice how...in-your-face it is. Right there, at the end of the foyer. With that big sign over the stairs?”
“Okay.” Mercer would just love that—some order from on high that now the banner had to come down.
“And what that says about Spark. What impression that will give your clients.”
“You want the sign gone?”
Tina leaned forward, linking her hands atop Jenna’s desk and speaking more quietly. “I was doing some research about the gym and its, shall we say, colorful history.”
Jenna’s middle gurgled.
“I have to say, as the standards overseer, I’ve got some major concerns about you sharing a space with a business with such a sordid reputation. Now, I know that’s not your fault. And I know you said you have every intention of closing the business come, what? January first?”
