Читать книгу Simply Sex - Dawn Atkins - Страница 9

“YOU WON’T BELIEVE THIS, but the guy on line one just asked me to kiss his willy.”

Kylie Falls and her sister Janie looked up at Janie’s receptionist, standing wide-eyed in the doorway.

“He asked you to kiss his what?” Her sister’s face went pale.

“His hoo-hoo…johnson…whatever, Janie. I’m not saying what he called it.”

“What did you tell him?” Janie asked.

“I told him no, of course—heavens, what do you think? And now he wants a refund.”

“A refund? Is he a client?” Janie’s matchmaking service was one year old and struggling and she’d called Kylie with her PR expertise to help turn things around.

“God, no, he’s not a client. He thinks we give phone sex.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Janie picked up the handset and punched the flashing button. “Sir? I’m afraid you’ve confused Personal Touch with another kind of, um, touch. We arrange committed relationships and—excuse me?”

Color flooded Janie’s face. Was the guy saying something mean or gross? Kylie stood, ready to tell the jerk where he could stick his wagging weenie, but Janie’s words were calm.

“You’ve obviously read the wrong ad, sir. Hang on.” She palmed the mouthpiece. “Grab the Arizona Weekly, Gail.”

Gail fetched the free entertainment paper for the Phoenix metro area, folded to an inside page and handed it to her boss, her gypsy bracelets tinkling.

Janie examined the paper, then looked up at Kylie in dismay. “They put our number in the phone-sex ad!” She handed her the tabloid.

Sure enough, PT’s number was also in a boxed ad with the headline “Let’s Get Personal.” An easy mistake for an overworked ad rep to make, but a disaster for her sister’s business.

“What do I say to this guy?” Janie asked Kylie.

“I’ll handle it.” Gail grabbed the phone, pasted on a smile and spoke sweetly. “Sir, I’m afraid you’ve reached the wrong number, but this is your lucky day. Instead of anonymous encounters with unseen strangers, why not get the personal attention of the best matchmaker in the valley?”

Kylie stifled a laugh. Gail had been Janie’s first client and was her biggest fan. There wasn’t an unattached adult Gail didn’t believe wouldn’t benefit from “a happily ever after with The Personal Touch.”

The guy must have said something harsh, because Gail slammed down the phone. “Be that way, Mr. Hoo-hoo. Your loss.”

“I’m afraid you’ll be fending off willy whackers all week,” Janie said on a sigh. “Though that’s the least of our problems.” She turned her worried face to Kylie, her breathing labored. Janie’s childhood asthma flared when she was under stress and circling the bankruptcy drain definitely caused stress.

“Take a slow breath, Janie,” Kylie said softly, waiting for the soft inhalation before she shifted into business mode. “We’ll get a correction and a free extension, don’t worry.”

“Tell me what to demand,” Gail said.

Kylie rattled off concessions and Gail jotted notes, then headed off to do battle with the classified department, earrings and bracelets jingling merrily.

“I’m just so glad you’re here,” Janie said. She came around her spindly antique desk to smother Kylie in a flappy-sleeved hug. “Thanks for not saying I told you so.”

“There’s no point in that.” Kylie believed in moving on, not dwelling on mistakes. It was no secret she thought a matchmaking service was a waste of Janie’s psychology degree and a risky place to invest her half of the trust their parents had provided, but she’d done some research and discovered Janie’s customized approach filled a unique niche in the volatile dating-service market.

“I’m sorry to interfere with your plans.” Janie had insisted on handling everything herself until this financial crisis hit. “What about your new job?”

“I’ll ask for a later start date.” When her sister had sent out her S.O.S., Kylie had been busy closing down K. Falls PR, since she was due to start work in two weeks at a top agency in L.A. She hated to disappoint Garrett McGrath, a titan in the business, who’d asked her to join his firm, but it couldn’t be helped.

“What would I do without you?” Love and relief shone in Janie’s eyes and she hugged Kylie again. “At least it’s for a good cause. You’re helping me save people years of flailing around in the singles sea. Doesn’t that make you feel good?”

“It makes me feel seasick.”

“You don’t mean that. Why do you act so tough?”

“That’s just me.” And always had been. She’d been the strong one through all the moves of their childhood. Their father’s food-service company sent him all over the country and Kylie’s job at each new place was to ensure her shy, frail sister felt safe, secure and content wherever they landed—from Philadelphia to Fresno and all major cities in between. Kylie scouted the best routes to schools, scrounged up the playmates and playgrounds and planted the familiar garden.

“People make too much of romance,” she said. “If they’d just focus on living full lives, they wouldn’t need someone else to feel complete.”

“It’s not being incomplete. It’s sharing your life with someone, being part of something bigger than yourself—a couple, then a family.” Janie’s pretty eyes glowed with mission.

Kylie admired her sister’s commitment—she was dedicated to preventing others from making the romantic mistakes she’d made over the years—and her resilience. Her heart must feel like the last bruised apple in the gunnysack after her string of bad boyfriends, but she remained convinced love was worth it.

Kylie wished like hell that Janie would find a man good enough for her. Or stop wanting one so much.

“Trust me, Kylie. You are making a difference.”

“Whatever.” No sense getting all mushy. Clearheaded strategies were what they needed now. “So I’ll get the Web site fixed, pitch some feature stories, work up a promotion, place a few ads, and barter a business plan from the guy who did mine.”

“And cut costs, right?” Janie said.

“Yeah. You’d better drop the party hall lease—we can do inexpensive networking parties. What else can we lose?” She surveyed the office, lush with romance—lace curtains on the window, doilies on the fussy antiques, pink-striped wallpaper, red velvet chairs. “Stop buying those.” She pointed at the vase of fresh roses under the window. Janie changed them every week.

“Roses warm the room and offer hope.”

“Get some silk ones.” She studied the Victorian-era secretary on which they rested. “And how about eBay for that?”

“I won’t dismantle the welcome center. That’s false economy.”

“Maybe you’re right.” She was being too harsh perhaps. Maybe it was the saccharine Muzak overhead. “I Will Always Love You,” blended into “You Look Wonderful Tonight,” to be followed by “You’re the One…” “My Only You…” “It Had to Be You.”

Blech. A person could drown in that sea of syrup.

But why was she so cranky about it? She didn’t begrudge anyone the search for love or schmaltz. She knew why. Lack of sex. Months and months and months of drought. If only she had a bed-buddy for the occasional booty call. Or the chutzpah to waltz into a watering hole and snag a hottie for one sweaty night. Lately, she’d been too busy to sleep with anyone.

She sighed. “So, I’m on it.” It didn’t seem as bad as Janie had made it sound on the phone. Three weeks, maybe, and all cookbook stuff. No need for creativity, her secret Achilles’ heel. She’d zip in and zip out—a one-woman marketing SWAT team—and juggle her own plans, too. If all it took was hard work, she could handle it. She knew how to work.

There was that piercing fear that Garrett McGrath might rescind the incredible job offer or, worse, rethink his high opinion of her, but she’d deal with that. She had to. Janie was counting on her. Work over worry was the philosophy she shared with her father.

“So, that’s it, right?” she asked, just to be sure.

A pink sunrise flared in Janie’s cheeks.

Uh-oh. There was more. “What else?” she said, dread rising.

“There is one thing….” Janie reached into a drawer and handed over a sheaf of legal papers.

Kylie read over the first page of the packet and her heart sank. “You’re being sued by a client?”

Janie nodded miserably. “I found him some wonderful Potentials, but he wants women completely inappropriate for his maturity and intellect.”

“You mean he’s a comb-over who wants a bimbo? Preferably stacked? Isn’t the customer always right?”

“I find life mates, Kylie, not ego boosts. If a man wants a midlife crisis, he can buy a Mazda RX-8 or become a ski instructor. I cannot allow him to drag some poor young woman into his morale morass.”

“Yes, I know.” Janie had better standards than some of her clients, no question, and all the integrity in the world.

“I know you can fix this problem like that,” Janie said, snapping her fingers so that her gauzy sleeves flapped like butterfly wings. She looked at Kylie the way she had as a child, standing at the door to a new school, squeezing her hand, smiling up at her. I know you’ll make things right for me.

The knot in Kylie’s stomach turned into a fist. What if she couldn’t do it this time? “I’ll do my best,” she said.

A lawsuit was big. A few whiz-bang promotions wouldn’t make a dent in that expense. Unless she found the right legal help in a hurry or somehow appeased the disgruntled client, her marketing SWAT swoop couldn’t save Janie’s business. She’d need more than creativity. She’d need a miracle.

THE PLACE WAS way too pink, Cole Sullivan thought uneasily as he sat in a plush chair waiting for Jane Falls. He’d chosen Personal Touch for its pragmatic approach—fingerprint and credit checks and a computerized personality inventory—but her rose-filled, doily-decorated office made him feel foolish, instead of practical. Hiring a matchmaker was like hiring a headhunter. He was saving time, pre-screening for compatibility, just as he would in the search for a new law firm. Marriages were partnerships, after all.

Who was he kidding? This was no business decision. He was lonely. There was something of the treadmill to his life, a hollow ring to his days that he figured marriage would fix. That was practical, right? So he was practical and foolish. He guessed he belonged in this Pepto-Bismol fairyland, after all.

He sensed movement behind him and turned to find a woman walking—no, floating—his way. Glenda the Good Witch, minus the bobbing bubble, tiara and wand.

He had a fleeting fear that, in a syrupy voice, she’d command him to click his ruby wingtips together three times, except she held a no-nonsense clipboard and wore a serious expression. “Janie Falls,” she said, reaching to shake his hand, her voice direct and syrup-free. “I’m happy to meet you in person, Cole.”

“Likewise.” Her handshake was as solid as her voice. She was pretty, with wavy blond hair that hung down her back, but not his type, really, even if it were ethical to date one’s matchmaker.

She glanced at her clipboard. “I see we have your Check Mate profile already in our database.”

“Yes.” He’d appreciated the after-hours convenience of taking the inventory online. It asked him to evaluate his temperament, conformity level, career ambition, affection needs and attitudes toward religion and finances—all issues Jane claimed were predictors of compatibility. Made sense.

“So, today we do your interview and your Close-Up. Have a seat.” She gestured at the red velvet chair where he’d been sitting, then went to sit behind her desk.

The video he dreaded. He patted his pocket to be sure his prepared remarks were there. He was short on time, so maybe he could skip the interview. “The profile was pretty comprehensive. Could we just do the video?”

“The face-to-face provides subtle details, Cole, so that my intuition kicks in. I find that’s how I make the best matches.”

“I never argue with success.” She claimed over a thousand clients and something like an eighty-percent match-up rate, convincing him to choose her service over several others. If more personal information brought the right woman into his life, he’d read his childhood diary to her. If he had one.

“So, tell me about your most recent relationship.”

“It’s been a while,” he said, feeling himself go red.

“Was it serious?”

“No. Casual.” Sheila had been irritated that they spent most of their brief hours together in bed. She liked the bed part, but wanted more time. Which he didn’t have. “Because of my schedule.” He’d hated disappointing her. And Cathy before her, who’d pick a fight if he didn’t call her every day. In the end, he’d given up dating altogether. He couldn’t stand the pressure.

“Have you ever been serious with a woman?”

“Not until now. In college everyone was casual. And I worked a lot. To help my parents and pay my way through law school.”

“Tell me about your parents’ relationship.”

“They’ve always been very close.”

“And is that what you want? What your parents have?”

“Absolutely. They’re devoted to each other. To their careers, too. They’re both high school teachers.”

“But you went into law?”

“Yes. I enjoy the law. The puzzles, the complexity.” He’d chosen challenging work. His parents had pounded into him the need to use his intellect in whatever career he chose. “I enjoy helping clients. Meeting their needs.”

“You work very hard.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, I do.” Be the best, never quit. His life blood.

“Tell me more about why that is.”

He fiddled with the crease of his slacks, feeling sweat trickle inside his shirt. He wasn’t much into self-analysis. But he babbled on about the prestige of his job, the satisfaction of hard work well done.

“And the money?” she prodded.

“Money matters, sure.” He’d worked all his life—through high school, college and night law school. Those low-skill jobs had showed him how easy it was to lose economic ground and end up living hand-to-mouth like many of his co-workers were forced to. He had a way out and he vowed to make the most of it. He appreciated his good fortune more than his trust-funded colleagues, who’d gone straight from college to law school and never felt the pinch of poverty.

Even his parents, with master’s degrees and thirty years of teaching experience, struggled to make ends meet. He never wanted that. In fact, he intended to make their lives easier as soon as he was in a stronger position at the firm.

Janie listened closely, writing an occasional note, honing in on him with her gaze, working him over with her intuition. God, he wanted this finished. He ran his finger under his collar.

“What about outside interests? What are your passions?”

Hell. He couldn’t say work again. “I used to play baseball for a parks and rec league. I rode with a bicycle club. Also, photography. I won some prizes.”

“But that’s not recent?”

“I’m on a partner track.”

“Sure,” she said, but she pursed her lips in mild disapproval.

“I went skiing two weeks ago,” he blurted, though it was for the firm and he’d mostly schmoozed with clients or worked in his room. He’d only managed one ski run.

“What leisure activities will you share with the woman in your life?”

“I thought we’d eat out, go to movies, plays, all that.” That sounded lame. “Maybe hike?”

“Relationships take time, Cole,” she said gently. “If you’re not in a good place with your career…”

“I’m prepared to budget the time.” Benjamin, Langford and Tuttleman could spare a few of the sixty hours a week he gave them so that he could advance the greater good—their mutual future.

“Dates are not billable hours.”

“I realize that.” Not billable, but an investment in his career, all the same. A settled life with an appropriate wife would edge him into the partner slot over his competitors—two notorious womanizers. Which was why he was subjecting himself to a critique from this steel-eyed fairy.

That and the empty echo in his life.

“And I’m shifting my priorities. In fact, I’ll be taking care of my neighbor’s dog for a few weeks. I see it as practice in accommodating another being into my life.”

“That’s something,” she said. He felt her rooting for him, like a dear friend or a sister, and that touched him.

“I’ll make it work, Jane. I promise.”

“Tell me what you hope for in a relationship.”

“A partner. Someone to share my life.” He pictured Sunday mornings in bed reading interesting tidbits to each other from the New York Times before he headed to the office to put in a few hours.

She’d be okay with him leaving, of course, since she’d have her own plans. He’d bring home takeout or she’d cook. He would cook, too, when time allowed. The best marriages were egalitarian.

Janie asked more questions. Did he want children—he did. What were his goals beyond making partner—to grow with the firm, to make his mark, perhaps open his own firm, make a good life for his family. Finally she closed the folder and regarded him critically.

Now what? He felt like he’d been through therapy.

“Did you bring something to change into for your Close-Up?”

He looked down at his gray suit, red tie and starched white shirt. “Why?”

“You’re a tad formal. We want to emphasize the whole you.”

He just looked at her.

“Yes, I know. That is the whole you.” She sighed. “At least take off your jacket and tie and roll up your sleeves.” She gentled the command with a weary smile.

He stood and shrugged out of his jacket, then dug at the knot of his tie. “How long will this take?”

“Not long, but, as I said earlier—”

“I know, I know. I’ll make the time.”

“Let’s go, then.” She led the way and he followed, rolling his sleeves as he went, to a small room with a video camera on a tripod pointed at a stool.

She motioned for him to sit, then drew down a photographic backdrop of a forest, the trees grainy and blurred from too much enlargement. He sat, managing a smile, despite how goofy he knew he looked in his dress clothes—like an SUV ad of Mr. Corporate escaping civilization into the woods.

She looked at him through the viewfinder. “Lean a little forward, Cole…that’s it. Give me a relaxed smile…more…too much…okay, that’ll do.”

He adjusted himself on her command, tension mounting.

“Now, imagine the camera is the love of your life.”

Great. He tried to feel warmly toward the device, but he was too literal-minded and it was cold glass surrounded by black metal.

“You have five minutes before fate separates you,” she continued cheerily. “Tell her what she must know about you.”

“No pressure there.” He tried to laugh, but it turned into a rasp over his dry throat. He patted his pants pocket for his notes, then remembered he’d left them in his jacket. “My speech is in the other room.”

“Spontaneous is better, Cole.”

“Spontaneous?” Sweat dribbled down his temples. This was way more nerve-racking than he’d expected.

“Just relax, be yourself, and speak from the heart. Go!”

Oookay. “Yes. Well. I’m Cole. I’m an attorney—business law, specializing in mergers and acquisitions. Benjamin, Langford and Tuttleman, or ‘BLT, hold the mayo,’ we like to say.” He laughed—which came out in a snort—and felt like an idiot. His cell phone chimed from his breast pocket. He lifted a hand. “One sec.”

Janie shot him a look, but when he heard Rob Tuttleman’s voice, he was glad he’d taken the call. Tuttleman wanted to meet with Cole and Trevor McKay, one of his competitors for partner, about an important case that had fallen through the cracks. A crucial break for Cole. “Terrific…looking forward to it,” he said into the phone. “We can meet as soon as I get back in about…” He glanced at his watch, then at Jane, who looked stern. Dates aren’t billable hours. “I’ll buzz you when I get back.”

He hung up, determined to hurry this along. “Sorry. Where was I?”

“Holding the mayo. Let’s talk about you as a person, not a lawyer. Go.”

“Let’s see. I’m dependable…loyal…faithful. Hell, I sound like a St. Bernard. What else? I’m looking for a woman who wants to join her life with mine.” That sounded hopelessly drippy.

The clink of jewelry signaled the arrival of the receptionist—Gail was her name, he thought—and he was relieved by the interruption.

“Sorry, but I have Harold Rheingold from Inside Phoenix on the line, Janie. It’s about the article.”

“Oh. I should take this.” She looked apologetically at him.

“I can do the Close-Up,” Gail said, bustling to the camera, her large bosom jostling for air behind a tight purple blazer.

Jane looked uncertainly at him.

“We’ll be fine,” he said, figuring the woman couldn’t possibly have Jane Fall’s intensity, sense of mission or intuition. He’d get Gail to cut it short.

Once Jane was gone, Gail pushed a pencil into her piled-up red hair and looked at him over half-glasses trimmed in rhinestones. “You’re one lucky man to have Janie Falls on the case. She found my husband for me, you know.”

“You were a client?”

“Nope. I was interviewing for the receptionist job and Wayne, the light of my life, was installing phones. Before he could say ‘Can you hear me now?’ Janie had matched us. And Wayne is the song in my heart, let me tell you. She’ll find you yours.”

“I hope so.” He did. He craved a bond with one special person. Yeah, getting married would help his career, but what he really wanted was someone to grow old with. Someone to stand side by side with, facing life’s challenges, enjoying its triumphs. A soul mate, corny as that sounded, though he’d never say that out loud to anyone.

Gail bent to study him through the viewfinder, making him feel like a bug under a microscope.

“I think I should explain what I’m looking for in a mate,” he said to hurry her along. If they knew what he wanted, the women could self-select. He didn’t want to disappoint anyone.

Gail tapped a finger to her lip. “Not sure that’s compelling, but we can always edit it out. Okay…action!”

Action? They were in Hollywood now? “I’m hoping for someone comfortable enough in her career that she can be flexible about mine. There are social events and charity projects related to the firm, so she should enjoy that. She should also be an independent thinker, a self-starter and a team player.”

“Hon, do you want her to marry you or work for you?”

“Oh. Sounded like a job description?” On the other hand, too many couples got caught up in chemistry and learned later their lives didn’t mesh.

“You’re not putting in an order at the Wife Factory. Try selling her on you.”

“So I should explain that I’m—”

“Not the ‘self-starter, team player’ bit. Give me something tender and sensitive.”

“Yes, but—”

“Even independent, self-starting team players want roses and poetry. I’ll walk you through it, don’t worry.”

Gail swung into action, directing every aspect of his performance, from his body angle, facial expression and vocal quality to the words he used. She yelled “cut” and “action” until he had a headache, before finally declaring it a “wrap,” and offering to show him the “rough cut.”

He didn’t have time. He was hopelessly late for the meeting with Tuttleman and McKay. Besides, he couldn’t bear seeing what she’d gotten him to say. He’d blurted the Sunday-morning-and-the-Times fantasy and confessed his deepest hopes. What sensible woman wanted a sweaty, desperate lawyer blathering on about melding two lives into one?

He’d need a redo. With Jane, this time, not Gail Ford Coppola, who kept saying, “Go deeper, no, deeper, give me the inner Cole.” He hoped to hell his computerized personality inventory netted him Potentials, because all the inner Cole would earn him was therapy.