by Elise Noble
“Do those sofas have proper lumbar support?”
Thankfully my next client, Debra, appeared beside me before I could wrap my fingers around Marelaine’s slender throat.
“The sofas are a bit lumpy,” Debra said. “Perhaps you’d rather leave?”
“I’ll need a cab,” Marelaine told me. “Can you do my nails again in a couple of weeks?”
“I’m afraid I’m fully booked.”
Screw her Instagram post. No amount of advertising was worth the stress of having to deal with Marelaine.
“Really?”
“Yes. I, uh, I’m taking some time off because my boyfriend and I are getting a puppy.”
“A puppy?”
“Yes. Like a baby dog.”
Oh, hell. What was I even saying? Obviously complete gibberish was spewing from my mouth because even Debra was looking at me strangely.
“What kind of puppy?” Marelaine asked. “My brother has a purebred Schnoodle.”
Debra snorted. “What the heck is that?”
“A Schnauzer crossed with a Poodle.”
“If it’s a cross, how is it a purebred?”
Marelaine looked at Debra as if she was too stupid to be let out alone, then turned to me with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.
“Are you going to call that cab?”
With pleasure. I’d even shove her into it with my foot if it would help.
Debra managed to keep a straight face until Marelaine teetered out of the door on her obscenely high pumps, tossing a curtain of ebony hair behind her.
“What a bitch. You’re really getting a puppy?”
“I wish. Not when I live in a fourth-floor apartment and work all day.”
“Aw, puppies are cute. You could train it to sit by the door and growl at women like her. Or your boyfriend could help to take care of it.” She gave me a nudge. “You sly little minx. Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing somebody?”
Debra was a sweetheart, more of a friend now than a client, and as a rich banker’s wife who got easily bored, she’d quite happily chat from dawn till dusk. If I didn’t have an appointment right after hers, we often went out for coffee or lunch. She always paid, and I always felt guilty, but she insisted a generous expense account was a perk of being married, as if getting hitched was a business transaction rather than a lifelong commitment to love. I’d had sex for a living, and now that I was older and—I liked to think—wiser, there wasn’t a credit card limit high enough to convince me to wed a man in exchange for material things.
“I’m not seeing anybody.”
“But I just heard you say—”
“It’s a long story.”
I gave Debra a brief summary while I painted her nails in gradated shades of blue with white tips to remind her of her recent vacation in the Caribbean. Beaches to die for, she said, and some great boutiques if you knew where to look. At that point in time, I’d have settled for a two-week break in Guantanamo Bay if it got me out of going to the next round of Le Parade des Chefs with Jean-Luc and Marelaine.
But Debra was upbeat as always. “You like dogs, right? The puppy?”
“The imaginary puppy.”
“There’s a single guy in my yoga class who adores animals, and he’s definitely got the right equipment, if you know what I mean.”
“You’re a married woman—should you be looking?”
“When he’s wearing spandex, staring’s practically unavoidable. Anyhow, I bet he’d be your plus one if I asked him nicely.”
“Spandex?”
“Niles is insanely flexible, and the man’s got stamina. You could do worse.”
“Why’s he single?”
“I overheard him telling Tiffany Meyers that his ex betrayed him, and he just couldn’t forgive her for what she did. I guess she cheated, but that was, like, three months ago, so I doubt he’s looking for a rebound fling. Do you want me to talk to him?”
What other options did I have? I might have exaggerated about my schedule for Marelaine’s benefit, but I still had plenty of bookings for the next two weeks, so I didn’t have time to start my own manhunt. And Debra seemed happy in her marriage, even if it wasn’t the type of relationship I’d choose for myself. Could her suggestion really be that bad?
“Is that purse made from leather?” Niles asked after we’d introduced ourselves outside Nailed It. Debra had worked fast—a little over twenty-four hours after our conversation, and she’d already arranged a date with her flexible friend.
“Uh, no? It’s Scotchgrain.”
“That sounds like leather.”
“It’s PVC-coated canvas.”
The Mulberry purse had been a surprise from Roxy last week, a late birthday gift she’d picked up on a trip to New York with Gideon. He had to travel for work, and he loved to take Roxy shopping when she tagged along. She said there were only so many trinkets she could use, so she’d started buying things for other people instead.
“Huh,” Niles said, stepping back to peer at my feet. This evening, I’d worn a pair of fancy jewelled flip-flops with skinny jeans and a shimmery top. “Did you know that there’s only a finite amount of plastic in the world?”
“Yes.”
“Do you recycle?”
“As much as I can.”
“Good. That’s good. Well, shall we head to dinner?”
He walked off before I could agree, and I had to concede that Debra had been right about his physique. He’d worn a pair of perfectly-fitted slacks, and that butt… It was just a shame he seemed a bit…odd.
“Where are we going to eat?”
“Marie’s Garden.”
“That new fish place?”
He turned, aghast, his beautiful blue eyes widening as his chiselled jaw dropped.
“That’s Marine Garden, and they murder tuna. And octopi, and plaice, and squid, and grouper, not to mention all the other innocent sea creatures that get caught up in the fishermen’s nets. The health of the oceans is declining, and if we keep eating fish, even tilapia will be on the endangered list.”
“I thought they farmed tilapia?”
“A travesty. Imagine spending your whole life in a watery prison, being fed on genetically-modified corn instead of plants and algae. It’s inhumane.”
Shut up about the fish, Imogen. Best not to mention the delicious grilled sea bass I’d eaten at Marine Garden with Stef last month.
“So you’re a vegetarian?”
“A vegan. Do you know how much suffering exists in the dairy and egg industries? All the male calves and chicks that get slaughtered because man has deemed that they’re not useful?”
Uh, I hadn’t ever really considered that. But one thing I did know for sure was that almost every dish Jean-Luc created contained either eggs, cream, or butter—usually all three—and I was ninety-nine percent certain that his masterpiece at Le Parade des Chefs part deux would horrify Niles. No way could I take him as my date, even if I managed to overlook the other flaws that were becoming rapidly apparent. But nor could I make an excuse and hightail it home, because Debra had set me up with him, and she was a client who I couldn’t risk upsetting.
I took a deep breath and kept walking, following Niles as he strode towards a shiny green Mercedes parked at the kerb. A very nice car. Sporty. Expensive. What did Niles do for a living? He didn’t strike me as a businessman, but he obviously had money if he could afford a vehicle like that.
“This is your car?”
The Mercedes pulled away, and Niles gave its receding taillights a dirty glare. “Are you kidding? Do you realise how much fossil fuel that thing consumes?”
“Uh, no?”
I feared a lecture on carbon emissions, but Niles broke into a beaming grin instead. Boy, he looked really pretty when he smiled. The world was full of injustices.
“This is my vehicle.”
I followed his gaze to the spot revealed behind the Mercedes, to…to… “What is it?”
“A rickshaw.” He sounded like a pro
ud papa. “Countries in the Far East have managed to develop an environmentally friendly mode of transport, and it’s about time we brought that technology to the United States.”
Technology? It was half a bicycle with a bench on wheels attached to the back of it, painted green and decorated with leaves and flowers. A sky-blue roof was folded down behind the seat.
“And you’re the man to bring it?”
“Absolutely. I started Richmond Rickshaws last year, and now I employ seventeen pedalists. I’ve just taken on a new business partner, and we’ll be branching out into Raleigh by the end of the year.”
“Today Richmond, tomorrow the world.”
He didn’t pick up on the sarcasm. “Just the continental United States to start with, then maybe Europe. There’s too much competition in Asia and South America.”
“You’ll be busy.”
“Franchising, that’s the best business model.” He flashed me another devastating smile. “It’s important to make time for my future wife and child too.”
Well, he wasn’t shy about his plans, was he? “Just the one child?”
“The planet’s already overpopulated.” He waved an arm at the bench seat. “Please, jump on board.”
Any hopes I had of keeping my head down and staying incognito as Niles pedalled furiously towards Marie’s Garden were quickly dashed when lights lit up around the edge of the hood and reggae music blared from speakers screwed to the bottom of the armrests.
“The electrics are powered by kinetic energy,” Niles shouted over the noise of the cars blasting their horns as he got in their way. “Totally renewable.”
Wonderful—at least my moment of mortification was eco-friendly. I arranged my hair so it covered most of my face as Niles bumped the rickshaw up onto the sidewalk to get around a traffic jam and nearly took out a pedestrian. Weren’t there rules that these things had to follow? I hadn’t even decided whether I wanted to be buried or cremated. Should I draft my last will and testament in a text message and send it to Stef?
Ten minutes later, Niles swerved in front of a pickup without signalling and pulled into the parking lot of Marie’s Garden, oblivious as the driver cursed him out of the window. I’d survived. And if I couldn’t get a cab back, I’d walk before I climbed on board that death trap again.
A neon sign above the door proclaimed Marie’s was 100% Vegan, 100% Raw. Dammit, I’d have to stop at McDonald’s on my way home too. What on earth would I say to Debra when she asked me how it went?
“Here we are,” Niles said, helping me down from his contraption. “Marie serves the best food in Richmond, and while we eat, you can tell me all about this problem Debra mentioned. Something about needing a man to attend a function with you because you’re worried about going alone?”
“Oh, er, that… It got cancelled. Like, I got a phone call half an hour ago.” My knees almost buckled when my feet touched the ground—a delayed reaction to several near-brushes with death. I hazarded a guess that rickshaw drivers didn’t have a long life expectancy. Niles grabbed my hand to pull me upright, then dropped it just as quickly.
“My apologies, I should’ve asked before I touched you. Every woman has the right to bodily autonomy.” True, they did, but no girl was gonna complain if a guy saved her from landing on her ass. “The event was cancelled? That’s a shame, but at least we can enjoy dinner tonight.”
Niles scooted on ahead to open the door for me, and I had to admit that in some ways, he wasn’t so bad. During our dinner of seven-colour salad followed by frozen mango cake, which was surprisingly tasty, he lectured me on the destruction of the rainforests but also remembered to check my food was okay and ask if I wanted anything more to drink—non-alcoholic, of course. And he wasn’t afraid to show his emotions—when he told me how he’d caught his so-called vegan ex eating the bacon sandwich that ended their relationship, he actually shed a tear.
Probably if I’d been an environmental warrior, hell-bent on saving the planet one pleather shoe at a time, he’d have been a good catch. But for me? Absolutely no way. Rickshaws or no rickshaws, there weren’t enough nopes in the world, even if by the end of the evening, he’d made some good points about diet and left me considering composting. Although I did feel almost guilty for telling him I lived just around the corner and loved walking, then hiding behind a tree and begging Roxy to pick me up. Stef had a car too, courtesy of Oliver, but driving made her nervous, so she hadn’t gotten the licence to go with it yet.
“How was the date?” Roxy asked when I climbed into her Audi, which thankfully had seat belts, airbags, and an excellent safety rating. Never again would I take such things for granted.
“Back to the drawing board.”
“I think Stef might have a plan.”
“Really?”
“She said she’d call you with the details tomorrow. The perfect man’s out there somewhere, whether it’s Jean-Luc or somebody else.”
“What if I never find him?”
“You will. Fate’s got a way of pushing people together. Look at Gideon and me.”
“I thought it was Emmy who pushed you together?”
Emmy Black was one of the head honchos at Blackwood. Rumour said her methods could sometimes be a little unorthodox. From what I heard, she was so convinced that Roxy and Gideon were soulmates, she’d literally abducted him in an effort to make them date. Matchmaking taken to the extreme, but it had a happy ending.
“That too. But we’re going to be more conventional this time. Regular dates with regular guys, absolutely no illegal activities involved at all. Don’t worry; we’ll find you a man.”
I only wished I shared her confidence.
CHAPTER 3 - IMOGEN
ME: WE HAD an interesting dinner, but Niles isn’t quite my type. Thanks for introducing us though!
Send.
I’d just finished replying to Debra’s So how did it go? text when my phone vibrated in my hand. Stef was calling.
“How did your date go?”
“On a scale of one to totally horrific, I’d rate it as terrible.”
“Aw, really?”
“The high point was dessert, and the low point was almost dying in a rickshaw.” I told her the whole story, including Niles’s disgust when the girl at the table next to us asked for a bendy straw in her drink. “I’m beginning to rethink this whole stupid plan.”
“Don’t give up. We’ve only just gotten started.”
“We? I’m wasting my time and yours, and shouldn’t you be busy packing for your vacation?” In a week and a half, Stef, Oliver, and Abigail were jetting off to a fancy resort in the Caribbean. I tried not to be jealous, really I did, but I’d never been on a proper vacation in my life, and the thought of being stuck in Richmond while she sunned herself on a beach left me more depressed than ever. “Why can’t I find a nice, normal guy?”
“The packing’s going fine. Bridget’s doing most of it.” Bridget was their housekeeper. “And you might be in luck. I met an attorney yesterday, and since he’s new in town, I volunteered your services to show him around. You know, the Capitol Building, Maymont, the Museum of Fine Arts, the botanical gardens… Inviting him to Le Parade des Chefs would seem perfectly natural.”
“Did you mention it to him?”
“I figured it’d be better if you dropped it into the conversation after you met. That way, he’ll already be besotted with you, and he’ll agree to anything.”
“Besotted. Right.”
“Imogen, stop talking yourself down. You’re a catch for any guy.”
“So why do I always end up dating weirdos?”
“Because you need to aim higher.” A pause. “And as I’ve said before, you should consider expanding your horizons beyond Jean-Luc. I know how much you like him, and eating his macarons is almost as good as sex, but he’s…he’s…”
“He’s what?”
“He just always looks out for himself. Sure, he’s polite and generous, but you’re never going to come first.”
/>
“Thanks for your input, but I’m quite happy coming second.”
“I didn’t mean in bed.”
“I know what you meant, okay? But Jean-Luc’s everything I want.”
Stef sighed. “So what shall I say to Matthew?”
“Is he an attorney from Oliver’s firm?”
“No, from Ryman and Winkler. They’re on the other side of town. I had to deliver some papers for Oliver yesterday, and I got talking to Matthew in the lobby. He just moved here from Seattle two days ago.”
“And he’s definitely single? I don’t want to upset his girlfriend if he’s got one.”
While Stef had gotten lucky with Oliver, I’d met enough attorneys in my former profession to make checking their marital status a priority. All those little hints that gave it away—a dent or a tan line on their third finger, phone calls that ended with a slick excuse, or a desire to avoid being seen in certain parts of town were massive red flags. One guy even had me bring a laptop on our “dates” as a cover story.
“He broke up with his last girlfriend when she got a new job overseas.”
“And you think he’s worth a try?”
“He didn’t come across as the type to freak out if Jean-Luc serves up fois gras.”
A definite check in the “plus” column.
“Okay, then let’s do it. He can’t be any worse than Niles.”
Matthew really did have a Mercedes, a sporty three-door in midnight blue. The first thing I checked was his shoes. Definitely leather, and polished too.
“Imogen?”
“That’s me.”
He’d offered to pick me up from work to save me from walking home, and after the experience with Niles, I figured it was a good idea to get a look at his vehicle straight-off rather than risking another near-death experience. If he’d turned up with anything less than four wheels, I’d have pretended to be somebody else then texted my apologies, a trick I’d learned while working at Rubies.
Don’t get distracted by his ass, Imogen.
Although it wasn’t bad—not quite as toned as Niles, but now that I knew where Niles got his butt muscles from, I was more than happy to trade down. Matthew had made the effort to wear a shirt and tie, slicked back his hair, and shaved recently as well. Not a hint of a five o’clock shadow on that sharp jaw.
