Читать книгу A Perfectly Imperfect Match - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 9

“So, how did it go, Jared? Were you able to reach Elizabeth to make the arrangements?” Theresa Manetti’s melodic voice asked early the next morning when, bleary-eyed and semiconscious, he’d managed to pick up the phone receiver on his second attempt.

The caterer had caught Jared Winterset completely off guard. He’d been up late, working on an ad campaign that needed some serious last-minute revamping and fueling his flagging energy with bracing black coffee, which could have walked off on its own power at any time. Consequently, he wasn’t firing on all four cylinders this morning when he answered his phone.

Jared liked the woman. His path had crossed Mrs. Manetti’s because, in his line of work, he occasionally had to throw a few parties for his clients. Someone had given him her card a couple of years ago, along with a glowing recommendation that turned out to be right on the money. Theresa took pride in her work and had a personal stake in every affair she catered. The food, he could honestly say, was incredible.

Over time, they struck up an easy friendship. She was like the doting aunt he’d never had and he valued her input. It was Theresa who had given him the name and phone number of the violinist he hadn’t been able to reach last night.

He wondered now if possibly the two were related. Why else would Theresa be calling at this hour to find out how it went?

“No,” he answered. “She wasn’t home. I tried to leave a message on her answering machine, but that didn’t work out too well.”

Rather than just letting it go at that, Theresa surprised him by wanting to know, “What happened?”

For the second time in two minutes, she’d caught him off guard.

“Bad connection,” he answered. Okay, so it was a lie, he thought, but he really didn’t feel like going into the fact that he’d hung up midmessage after becoming tongue-tied and unable to articulate even the simplest of thoughts.

Instead of making a second attempt at leaving a coherent voice mail, Jared had decided to just try again another time. His hopes were that the future call would get him in contact with a human being rather than an irritating recording announcing that no one could take his call at the moment, but to please leave a message after the tone.

The sad truth was that answering machines left him somewhat disoriented, and if not exactly flustered, certainly not at the top of his game. After all, he was an ad executive who had great people skills according to his annual evaluations at the firm, not to mention the input given to his superiors by very satisfied clients. But, despite all that, there was no getting away from the fact that he just didn’t feel right talking to a machine—in this case, the answering machine.

Jared would have been the first to admit that inanimate objects held no interest for him. That was the main reason why, other than when the necessity for extensive research arose, he spent next to no time online. He had no overwhelming desire to look up old acquaintances or strike up new friendships via the internet.

He was and had always been a one-on-one kind of a guy and he liked it that way just fine. It was what made him so good at ad campaigns. He made them seem as if they were speaking solely to each person in the audience.

“But you’ll try getting in touch with her again?” The way Theresa asked the question, it was as if his answer was a foregone conclusion.

“Well, I’m going to be kind of busy for the next few days,” he told her. There were still a great many details about the celebration to iron out, not to mention that he had several clients’ hands to hold through a rough time. “I’ve got an idea,” he told Theresa. “Why don’t you just make the arrangements for a band for me?” he suggested. “I mean, you’re already handling the catering and you’ve always done a bang-up job with that.”

No, no! You’re not getting the point, Theresa thought in frustration. Frustration she managed to completely hide from the intended target of all this effort.

Maizie, one of her two dearest friends in the whole world, had called her the moment she’d left the doctor’s office, telling her about Dr. Stephens’s daughter. Maizie had put both her and Cecilia, her other friend, on high alert. Between the three of them, she was certain that they could find someone for Dr. Stephens’s daughter.

Theresa had gotten lucky first. But nothing ever went smoothly, she thought now.

“I’ll do anything you want me to with food, Jared, but I think that you should be the one to select your parents’ music,” she suggested tactfully. “After all, you’re the one who knows what they like—”

Actually, he didn’t have a clue as to what his parents liked to listen to. He vaguely remembered that when he was a child, his mother used to like to play old show tunes—but he didn’t know if she still did—and as for his father…Off the top of his head, he couldn’t recall if the old man favored one style of music over another.

“Probably the same thing you like” was his best guess.

This wasn’t going to be as easy as their last effort to pair up a couple, Theresa thought. But she was nothing if not a study in quiet determination. People, it was her firm belief, were much happier in pairs than alone.

“Be that as it may, Jared. I know that I would be touched if my son was personally involved in all the preparations for my thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. Trust me, mothers are funny like that,” she added as her closing argument.

Before he could jump in with another rebuttal, an idea came to her. “I happen to know that Ms. Stephens will be playing at Paragon Studios today. She’s part of a small ensemble recording the background music for this romantic-comedy series, More than Roommates. Why don’t you drop by and give her a listen?” She paused. “That way you can hear her perform in person and that’ll help you make up your mind about the pluses of having live music at your parents’ party.”

It sounded reasonable, but there was one thing wrong with her suggestion. “I can’t just waltz onto a sound-stage,” Jared pointed out. He didn’t know all that much about the mechanics of taping a show, but he did know that.

If he thought this was over, he was mistaken, Theresa thought with a tinge of triumph.

“Not most studios,” she agreed. “But you can this one. The director’s an old friend of mine. I’ll give him a call and I know he won’t mind you coming in—as long as you just observe.”

The woman had an answer for everything. Jared felt as if he’d just gotten in the path of a hurricane and been swept up. He laughed, surrendering. “Fine, you get the okay, and I’ll go listen—but it’ll have to be in the late afternoon,” he stipulated. “I have to be in the office today.”

“No problem. These things run over,” Theresa assured him, recalling what little she did know about tapings. “I’ll call you back with details,” she promised.

He shook his head as he hung up. Maybe the woman was right. He’d hired Theresa on a number of occasions, and he fully respected both her work ethic and her opinion. Besides, she was around his parents’ age. She would know better than he what would please them. They’d probably like having a live band.

He smiled to himself. This was something his sister, Megan, hadn’t thought of when she left him with a list of things to follow up on—just before she went off on that extended cruise with her husband.

Megan was going to be surprised at his intuitiveness, he thought. She didn’t have to know that the suggestion had come from the caterer.

However, he had no way of knowing that Theresa and her friends, Maizie and Cecilia, had banded together to form a matchmaking group that had been dubbed “Matchmaking Mamas” by one of their children. All three women were successful businesswomen in their own right, but making matches for their children and their friends’ children was where their hearts really lay.

And so far, they had a perfect record.

Theresa had no intention of having that streak be broken.

The friend Theresa called the moment she hung up with Jared wasn’t the director she’d mentioned—it was Cecilia, her other dear friend and comrade-in-arms. Cecilia was the one who knew the director on the sitcom. The company Cecilia owned provided cleaning services, and she personally oversaw the cleaning of the director’s sprawling mansion twice a month.

Favors were called in and within twenty minutes, all arrangements were made. Jared would be allowed onto the set for the taping.

Theresa called back and cheerfully informed her young client that “All systems are a go, Jared.”

“Excuse me?” Preoccupied with the account that had kept him up, he wasn’t sure what the woman was referring to. Juggling his phone as well as his house keys, he was trying to shrug into his jacket as he made his way out the door.

Theresa patiently spelled it out. “Ted Riley, the director of More than Roommates, said you could come onto the set anytime after four today. That’s when they’re taping the final take of the background music for the episode.”

One arm punched through a sleeve, Jared stopped putting on his jacket, and glanced at his watch. He had a meeting with a client at noon. With any luck, it would be wrapped up by four. That meant he’d be free to drive over to Paragon Studios. If he recalled his geography, Paragon Studios was only approximately two miles away from his client’s offices.

“Okay, since you’ve gone through all this trouble, I’ll swing by and give that woman a listen.” And then he laughed as he put his arm through the second sleeve. “You do know that you should join the U.N. and use your powers of persuasion for good, don’t you, Theresa?”

Tickled, she laughed lightly and said, “That’s exactly what I am doing, Jared. I’m using my ‘powers’ for the greater good.” Your good—and Elizabeth’s, she added silently.

Jared didn’t question her any further. He just assumed the woman was referring to helping him with the arrangements for his parents’ celebration.

Elizabeth shifted ever so slightly. She could feel the handsome stranger’s eyes on her.

She’d noticed him immediately, although he’d obviously tried to be unobtrusive when he’d slipped onto the set ten minutes ago. He’d stood off to the side as gaffers, cameramen and other technical pros scurried about, just barely managing to keep clear of the very small area where the ensemble was playing.

He’d tried to go unnoticed, but a man who looked like that wasn’t the kind who exactly blended into the scenery. Tall, with straight black hair and near-perfect angular features, not to mention wide shoulders and a trim waist with slim hips, he looked as if he should have been in front of the camera, not off to one side behind it.

Why was this dashing gentleman watching her play so intently? Was her fingering off? Or was there something wrong with the way she was dressed?

But even as the questions occurred to her, she knew that the answer to each was no. She was wearing the same kind of attire that the other musicians had on, and her fingering hadn’t been off since she was five.

Was he another technical adviser? Someone associated with the studio who wanted to make sure that money wasn’t being wasted on musicians who couldn’t hold a note?

She knew that a lot of the music for programs these days was of the prerecorded variety, just artfully melded by one person in a sound booth to avoid the expense of having a six-piece ensemble supply live play.

“And—it’s a wrap,” the director finally declared. Vibrant just a few seconds ago, he looked weary now and incredibly relieved to be wrapping up a shoot that had taken longer than he’d anticipated.

“Thank you, people. You can go home now,” he announced, waving them off the set.

The moment she started packing up her instrument and the sheet music, the handsome observer began to make his way toward her.

“Excuse me.” The deep, resonant voice was polite as he tried to get her attention.

The moment he opened his mouth, she was struck by a feeling of déjà vu. That voice was familiar. Where had she heard it before? Elizabeth wondered.

But the next moment, she nixed the thought. How could his voice sound familiar? She’d never met the man. She definitely would have remembered meeting someone who looked like him.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d heard his voice somewhere before. On a commercial perhaps? Elizabeth stopped packing up her violin in its case and gave him her undivided attention.

“Yes?”

Theresa hadn’t mentioned that the woman was a knockout as well as talented. He found he had to struggle to maintain his train of thought. “Are you Elizabeth Stephens?”

Definitely a familiar voice, she thought. But where had she—?

“Yes,” she answered, her curiosity piqued.

Jared decided to treat this like an ad campaign and plunged right in. “Theresa Manetti suggested that I get in contact with you.”

Elizabeth shook her head. She had no idea who he was referring to. It certainly wasn’t the name of someone who had hired her to play before. She had each and every client’s name and number memorized.

Raising her head, Elizabeth looked the man straight in the eyes—noting that they were a knee-numbing light green.

“I’m afraid I don’t know who that is,” she told him.

He had to have her confused with someone else, she decided—then immediately backtracked. The man knew her name, so he couldn’t have her confused with someone else. But who was this Theresa Manetti, and why was she sending this man to her?

“Really?” Jared asked, somewhat confused himself. “She speaks very highly of you.”

And then it hit her—why his voice sounded so familiar. It was the same voice she’d heard stumbling on her answering machine last night. He was the incomplete call that had abruptly ended in midsentence.

Her eyes pinned him in place, daring him to deny what she was about to say. “You called me last night.”

Instead of denying it, he surprised her by owning up to the botched call. “I did.”

“But you hung up,” she pointed out.

He looked slightly chagrined, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar and unable to pull it out, or even come up with a plausible reason why his hand was there in the first place.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized.

Face-to-face, he could easily make up an excuse as to why he’d terminated the call. Power failure, a dropped signal—there were myriad reasons for him to choose from. But he didn’t see the advantage of beginning what would only be a very short association—his parents’ anniversary was in three and a half weeks—with lies and excuses.

So he told her the truth. “I’m not very good when it comes to talking to answering machines,” he confessed.

“I noticed,” she acknowledged, then laughed softly. “Just between you and me, I’ve got the same problem. If you call in person, I can guarantee that I pretty much could talk your ear off. But if I find myself on the other end of some robotic-sounding recorder, I go completely blank.”

Her summation of the problem amused him. “Nice to know I’m not alone.” He became aware that the director was looking expectantly in his direction. “I think we’re in the way here,” Jared said.

Now that he’d met her, he wasn’t so keen on pulling the plug on the music anymore. He looked around the soundstage, but there didn’t even seem to be the hint of a vending machine around.

He looked at her. “Is there somewhere we can go where we can talk?”

Though she told herself she was letting her imagination run away with her, Elizabeth felt her pulse kick into high gear.

She inwardly chided herself for getting carried away. The man obviously meant he just wanted to talk to her about her playing abilities, not because he was as drawn to her as she was to him. Someone who looked the way this man did was either married, spoken for or extremely busy socially.

“Well, you could walk me to my car,” she suggested. “Other than that, I think there’s a coffee shop about a block away outside the gates,” she told him, trying to picture the place.

He glanced at his watch. He just wanted to make sure that he didn’t lose track of time. He had an early meeting tomorrow and he needed to have some rough drafts of the new campaign for Getaway Resorts done before then.

“Ordinarily, coffee would sound great, but I’ve already had twice my quota today…and if I have any more, there’s no way I’m going to get any sleep tonight. Maybe I should just walk you to your car.”

She nodded, surprised at the sliver of disappointment that seemed to slice through her. She told herself she was behaving like an adolescent, but somehow, that didn’t seem to change her feelings.

“Walking it is,” she declared dramatically, then lowered her voice as if she were part of a stage performance. “Although I should warn you, I didn’t exactly park close.”

Elizabeth led the way out of the soundstage, taking a side door marked Exit.

The darkness enveloped them the moment they came out.

“As a matter of fact,” she went on to say, “if you didn’t have time to get in your morning run today, this will probably make up for it—and then some.”

Her comment bemused him. “What makes you think I run?”

She looked at him as if the question didn’t even really require an answer. “This is Southern California. Everyone always claims to be into all kinds of exercise out here. Running was the first thing that came to mind.”

Also, a body like yours doesn’t come from a mail-order catalog, she added silently. He made her think of Michelangelo’s David—except more so.

“Do you?” she asked out loud. When he looked at her somewhat quizzically, she added, “Run?”

“Only when I’m late getting somewhere and the car doesn’t work,” he quipped. He had no idea what made him share the next piece of information with her. “I’ve got an elliptical trainer in the garage that guilts me out every night when I park my car inside.”

“That’s simple enough to avoid,” she told him, then suggested, “You could try parking your car in the driveway instead.”

He saw the twinkle in her eyes, and laughed. He liked her sense of humor. “Sounds like a plan,” he murmured.

As the sound of his laugh wrapped itself around her, Elizabeth caught herself returning his smile.