Meeting His Match

by Tia Souders

  And then it hit her.

  Oh.

  Oh, no.

  Her heart thrummed in her chest like hummingbird’s wings. “Are you saying you want me to get into a relationship with him?”

  “He’s the one that said you were a closed-off prude, right?”

  Marti scoffed. “Well, no, not in those words—”

  Blue waved her away. “He’s the complete opposite of you, which is perfect.”

  “Or a disaster,” Marti said.

  “Definitely go with him.”

  “Wait a minute.” Marti closed her eyes and brought a hand up to the headache forming at the base of her skull. “Is this just, like, a suggestion?”

  “If by suggestion, you mean, do it or else your job is at stake, then yes.”

  Marti gaped as panic seeped in her veins. “But . . .”

  Was this even legal? Could she make Marti do something in her personal life she didn’t want to?

  Marti didn’t think so. But was she willing to find out?

  If the murderous gleam in Blue’s eye was any indication, she was hesitant to test her theory.

  “I don’t even know his last name, but even if I could track him down, how am I even supposed to get him to go out with me? He made it pretty clear I wasn’t his type. I can’t just make him date me.”

  Blue’s lips curled. “That, my dear, is for you to figure out. Do what you must.”

  Marti sank down into the closest chair and rested her forehead against the table. When Blue had suggested she consider a relationship, she never thought she was this serious.

  “What if it doesn’t work?” Marti asked, lifting her head.

  “People need a reason to root for you. Falling in love, dating, that will get them reinvested and give them something to care about. Good or bad, people will want to read about this.”

  “Does it have to be him?”

  Blue paused and pursed her lips. “If it’s not him, just make it interesting.

  Relief washed over her, and she exhaled. “Oh, thank you.”

  Somehow, the prospect of having a boyfriend seemed a little less terrifying knowing it didn’t have to be Logan.

  “But I want you to report back to me by this time next week with your prospect and an article. Understood?”

  Marti bit her lip and nodded, feeling like she might puke. She could do this. She’d be totally fine.

  The Queen of Single just needed to find a boyfriend. Piece of cake.

  Right?

  Right.

  MARTI RUSHED PAST THE cubicles as fast as her feet could carry her. When her side of the office came into view, she blazed by Caroline and Mel’s desk. “Meeting now!”

  They hopped to, jumping from their seats and trailing behind her.

  Once they were safely inside the confines of the freebie closet, Marti slumped in relief. She drew in a deep breath and her lungs rejoiced.

  The freebie closet was where we stored all the sample clothes, beauty products, and other items the magazine garnered via endorsements and advertisements. At least until someone snatched them up or they were used for photo shoots. But it was also Marti’s go-to place to hang with Caroline and Mel. From life problems to juicy gossip, we shared everything in the freebie closet. Nothing was off-limits.

  Marti fanned her face as she moved across the room, dodging stray boxes and racks of clothing, in her haste to reach the water cooler. With a squeak of desperation, she filled a paper cone to the brim, then tipped her head back and chugged the icy contents before speaking.

  A drop of water dribbled down her chin. Her throat burned. She turned to them, out of breath and feeling slightly deranged. “Blue is making me get a boyfriend.”

  Caroline spluttered while Mel laughed.

  Marti stood—frozen—rooted to the spot on the gleaming hardwood floor in between a rack of evening gowns and a shelf of designer handbags.

  Mel sobered. “Oh, you’re not joking. You’re totally not joking.”

  Marti shook her head, willing herself to chill. It wasn’t the end of the world, she told herself. After all, if a strong, independent woman like Blue could tether herself to a man, surely Marti could forge a believable fake relationship.

  “Wow,” Mel said, taking a step closer and sinking down onto the plush bench in the center of the room. “Why?” she asked.

  “Oh, you know, apparently my ratings have plummeted, and if I don’t get them back up a.s.a.p., my job is in jeopardy. She happens to thinks the only way to do that is to shake things up and get a man.”

  “She said that?” Caroline asked.

  “Pretty much. She called me stagnant.”

  Mel gasped.

  Yup.

  “So what are you gonna do?” Caroline asked, moving closer.

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you the best part.”

  “That’s not the best part?”

  Marti licked her lips. “She wants me to use Logan.”

  “What do you mean use Logan?” Mel asked. “The guy from the bar?”

  “Uh-huh. She said we’re opposites, that people will love the chemistry.”

  “But wait.” Caroline shook her head and grabbed Marti’s arm, guiding her to the bench. “What are you supposed to do? You can’t just go up to him and say, hey, wanna date so I can write about you in my nationally syndicated column?”

  “Precisely, which is why I refuse to use him. He’s so cocky his head would explode at the mere prospect.” Marti could just imagine those green eyes shining with glee as she groveled at his feet, begging him to go out with her. He’d probably attest her conversion to himself.

  “That’s too bad. I think he sounded kind of hot.” Caroline bit her lip, and Marti could almost see her mind working overtime. “I’m just saying that if you wanted to find him, you probably could. All it would take is one article asking—”

  Marti speared her with a look. “I’d rather eat lead.”

  “That’s a little extreme,” Caroline chided.

  “So, if not Logan, then who?” Mel asked. “Are you just going to show up at the nearest coffee shop and go eenie meanie minnie moe and pick a guy?”

  “You’ve been spending way too much time with your kids,” Marti said.

  Mel groaned. “I know. Hazards of the job.”

  “Well, whoever you choose, you should definitely wear this.” Caroline shoved an emerald green Oscar de la Renta in Marti’s arms.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MARTI

  MARTI ENTERED THE STERILE examination room with Mel by her side. The faded blue walls were adorned with a weird combination of framed abstract prints and giant posters of the female anatomy, a mother’s womb, a fetus, and contrasting contraception methods.

  Taking a sip of her coffee, she grimaced at the giant picture of a baby in utero. “I feel like I shouldn’t consume anything in here.” She gripped her stomach as it flopped at a close-up image of genital warts.

  “What?” Mel asked, pink-cheeked from the cold, her dark hair stuffed under a knit cap.

  “Nothing.” Marti smoothed her own auburn locks, eyeing the poster as if it might follow her across the room. “Why are we here again?”

  Mel groaned. “Because I’m doing an article on the male perspective of the female anatomy, and Blue thought it would be fun to get my Gynie’s opinion.”

  Fun? Nothing about the gynecologist is fun.

  “So if I have to suffer through this awkward conversation,” Mel continued, “You do too.”

  The middle-aged nurse that ushered them into the room held out a paper gown, the kind that tied in the back. “You’ll need to put this on.”

  Mel raised her hands. “Oh, no. I’m not a patient—”

  “You’re not a patient?” the nurse interrupted, frowning as she glanced down at a chart. Her laser beam eyes studied Mel’s file. “It says right here you are.”

  “No. I mean, technically, I am his patient, but I’m not here to see him as a patient today.”

  The nurse narrow
ed her eyes to slits. “Then why are you here exactly?”

  “I’m a writer, and I just needed to ask—”

  “You one of those desperate ladies in here lookin’ to date the doctor?” Her steely gaze flickered over Mel, and Marti stifled a laugh. “Cuz if you are, you can forget it. He doesn’t date his patients.” The nurse cocked her head, waiting.

  “Ew. What? No.”

  The nurse practically vibrated with the statement. Any second and she’d explode. I mean, what was this lady’s deal? Regardless, Marti was kind of enjoying Mel’s discomfort at least a little. If she had to find a boyfriend for her column, Mel could endure a little speculation from an overly suspicious nurse.

  “I mean, not that I wouldn’t date him,” Mel corrected. “He is pretty hot, but I’m just not . . . I’m . . . Oh, just give me the freaking gown,” Mel said, snatching it up. “I didn’t even shave my legs. It wasn’t my week,” she grumbled.

  Satisfied, the nurse set the chart down on the counter and left with a smile, while Marti followed her exit, smiling.

  “It wasn’t your week?” Marti chuckled. “A bi-monthly shave, huh? I admire your dedication.” She took a sip of coffee. This little trip was turning out to be more entertaining than she had expected. At least she wasn’t the only one who had to put up with the rigors of this job.

  “Hey, I’m lucky I can even have a razor anywhere in the vicinity of my apartment with the triplets around. And thanks for your help by the way,” she said, motioning where the nurse disappeared.

  “Hey, you were doing a good enough job on your own.” She snorted. “Speaking of, I can’t believe you said your doctor was hot. I mean, he’s a Gynie,” Marti said like the idea of a hot OBGYN was insane.

  Mel scowled and swirled a finger in the air. “Turn around.”

  “What for? It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”

  Mel narrowed her eyes, her mouth pinching into a tight line.

  If looks could kill . . . Marti grinned and turned her back to her friend while she donned the disposable gown. Paper crinkled and Mel grunted before she gave Marti the go-ahead to turn back around.

  “And the doctor is hot, by the way. Maybe you could’ve worn something more attractive, you know, considering you’re on the prowl for a man now.”

  “Funny.” Marti shot her a dirty look, which only made her snicker. “Besides, what’s wrong with my outfit?” This No Doubt t-shirt is my favorite.

  “Isn’t that the shirt you got at that thrift shop in SoHo a couple years ago?”

  “And your point?” Marti asked, pointing at her with a paper cup. “It’s vintage.”

  “It looks like something I would wear and that’s saying something. Since motherhood, everything in my wardrobe is vintage.”

  Marti flicked the blood pressure cuff hanging on the wall. “So, is your doctor really that hot? Is that why the nurse was being all weird.”

  Mel shrugged, adjusting her boobs in the paper gown. “Yeah. I’m guessing he gets hit on a lot.”

  “Weird.”

  “Not really. Think about it. If you wound up with a gynecologist, you’d get free yearly exams for life. No more awkward appointments.”

  Marti snickered. “You’re deranged. “Then again, you’re having a second yearly exam, and I have to find a boyfriend, even though I’d rather hitchhike a ride with Freddy Kruger, all for the sake of journalism. Maybe there’s something wrong with both of us.”

  “We need new jobs.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And just for the record, I only put this gown on so Nurse Ratchet would leave me be. I am not enduring an exam today, job or not.”

  “Why would you go to a cute doctor, anyway?” Marti shuddered at the thought as she took a sip of her coffee. “I go to old Dr. Graystone. He’s like a hundred. His balls are probably so old, they’re all shriveled up like raisins by now. Or prunes. No one wants a total hottie lookin’ at your nether regions like that. It’s so ...” Marti searched for the right word. “... degrading or something. I don’t know. It shouldn’t be, but it is and—”

  “Okay, I get it. But when I found out I was having multiples, he came highly recommend. He specializes in high-risk pregnancies.”

  Marti nodded, letting the subject drop. Mel started her job at PopNewz after she had the triplets, so Marti hadn’t been around for that particular thrill ride, but from the sounds of it, it was pretty awful. Discovering you were having triplets would be enough cause for concern. Having your husband ditch you the day after you got home from the hospital? That was just all kinds of wrong.

  By the time Mel got the position working with them, it was three months post-babies and three months since he left her. She hadn’t exactly wanted to talk about him, which was fine for Marti because she wasn’t exactly the touchy feely talk-about-your-emotions type. That was Caroline’s job.

  “Well, I’ll be the judge of how cute Dr. Hottie is. I mean, what are the odds? I know I’ve never seen a truly cute Gynie before. He’s probably just okay. And if he is that good looking and a lady-doctor, then he’s gotta be a total perv, right?”

  Mel chuckled. “So unattractive men can’t be pervs?”

  Marti pursed her lips. “Whatever. My point stands.”

  Marti took another sip of coffee just as a small knock on the door filled the room. When the nurse and doctor entered, Marti’s gaze slid to the door, and she choked. Like, really choked. Coffee in her windpipe, bent over, hacking up a lung, choked.

  Spluttering, she pounded on her chest as she desperately tried to catch her breath. Mel just glared at her. The oxygen to Marti’s brain was depleting by the second, and she didn’t even care.

  “You okay?” the doctor asked, and though it would seem the question of a concerned healthcare professional, Marti knew better. She heard the sound of barely repressed laughter behind his words. She knew those eyes. That face. That voice.

  Logan.

  There was no doubt in her mind, he was thoroughly amused with her wheezing, and dang it, she wanted to stare him down. Shoot daggers at him with her eyes. Smack him in the back of the head with the uterus replica on the counter. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t even capable of looking at him. Not while she hacked away on her Breakfast Blend right in front of him, red-faced, forehead dotted with sweat, only inches from death.

  She leaned forward, hands on her knees, unable to stop. All she could do was raise an arm like some kind of road flare and nod like an idiot, before continuing to pound on herself like a gorilla.

  A second later, she got it together. She stood tall, her throat raw. The oxygen rattled in and out of her lungs as she smoothed her rumpled t-shirt like she could somehow make herself look cool and collected, and not completely mortified. If any luck, she’d aspirate and not have to face him.

  No such luck.

  Taking a deep breath, she willed the heat in her cheeks to fade as she turned and risked a glance at him. His disgustingly beautiful green eyes glittered with amusement.

  Mel flashed her a knowing smirk, one that said, I told you so. The smug brat.

  “You!” Marti hissed and pointed at him before she could keep her mouth shut.

  He chuckled softly, extending a hand, which Marti ignored. “I’m Dr. Love, Melanie’s doctor,” he said, his expression sobering.

  Melanie. He was trying to be professional. How nice.

  Marti snorted. “Of course that’s your last name.”

  Mel frowned while Dr. Logan-freaking-Love smiled and the nurse looked at Marti like she had Tourette’s. All three of them probably thought she was completely insane.

  “Wait. Do you two know each other?” Mel glanced between them.

  “Er, what?” Marti cocked her head and blinked like she had no clue what Mel just said. “Oh, him?” Her eyes widened, the picture of innocence.

  Her cheeks burned, and she could all but feel Logan’s gaze like a laser beam against her face. When she risked a glance, his expression was one of triumph. Clearly, he th
ought her evasion meant something. Well, newsflash, buddy, she had no reason to deny meeting him, so with a casual wave of her hand, she said, “This is Logan.”

  Mel sat there a moment, frowning. “Oh.” Then as she fully grasped what Marti meant, she gasped. “You mean, Pub-Logan?”

  Marti nodded.

  Mel tipped her head back and laughed. “Wow. That is epic.”

  Yeah, it was epic, alright. The smug turd was an OBGYN. He probably impregnated women just looking at them. In fact, she’d like to see a study on his patient’s fertility rates. Marti was willing to bet they were higher than the average female. His patients simply needed to schedule an appointment with him and their ovaries would explode. He was probably so egotistical, he donated his own sperm to his patients for artificial insemination.

  Marti shot him a dirty look, hoping he’d notice. He did, to which he responded with a smirk.

  He sat down on his stool and scooted toward the examination table as he rolled his blue shirtsleeves up to the elbow, revealing smooth, golden skin and forearms roped with muscle. Her stomach did a weird little turn.

  It wasn’t fair for a man to be that pretty. It was annoying, actually. His looks were completely wasted on a man with such a lackluster personality.

  “So what can I do for you ladies? According to your chart, Melody, you’re not due for your yearly.” His pearly whites flashed under the harsh fluorescent lights.

  What can I do for you ladies? Marti mocked in her head. Puh-lease.

  Marti grunted as Mel filled him in on the article she was writing, and he acted like he cared. She couldn’t even imagine having to ask him out. He wouldn’t be so humble then. It would rank right up there with that time her mother hired a contractor to do some repair work, and Marti stepped on a rusty nail. That sucker bled like crazy. Hurt for weeks, too. The doctor had to pull it out with a pair of plyers, then give her a tetanus shot. Yep, asking Logan Love to be her fake-boyfriend would trump pretty much anything. He wouldn’t be so humble then. She could only imagine his smug expression.

  So as they talked, Marti kept her lips pressed into a thin, tight line. No way would she ask him. She refused to break. Even as they wrapped up their little Q & A and Logan turned to her, she gripped her resolve with an iron fist.