Page 22

His Stupid Perfect Match

ANICA

“ I f I have to watch her flip that perfect hair one more time, I’m going to climb over there and check for battery compartments,” Mari hissed, peering through her binoculars.

“No human woman’s hair bounces like that.

She’s either an android or she’s replaced her blood with salon-quality conditioner. ”

“Put those away,” I whispered, yanking the binoculars down. “We’re supposed to be inconspicuous. Professional women don’t generally bring military-grade surveillance equipment to business lunches.”

“I’m gathering intel,” Mari protested, though she did slip the binoculars into her oversized purse.

“And my intel says she’s suspiciously perfect.

Her posture hasn’t slipped once in forty-five minutes.

Does she have a titanium spine? Is she wearing some kind of Victorian corset under that Chanel suit?

Or is she just physically incapable of slouching like us mere mortals? ”

I glanced over at the table where Callan sat with Angelina Mercy, candidate number three after the Destiny disaster and a second who got similar treatment. Unlike the first two, Angelina was actually going well. Very well.

Too well.

“She’s accomplished,” I muttered, stabbing my salad with enough force to impale a small woodland creature.

“Oxford MBA. Founded a successful tech incubator for women-led startups. Speaks six languages fluently and four less fluently. Donates thirty percent of her income to charity. Once saved a litter of puppies from a burning building while negotiating a multi-million dollar merger on her Bluetooth.” I snorted, wrinkling my nose.

“I made up that last part,” I added when Mari’s eyebrows shot up.

“And her ass doesn’t move when she walks,” Mari added. “I watched her come in. It’s like watching a cyborg in Louboutins. Not a single jiggle. Meanwhile, my ass applauds itself when I go up stairs.”

“Her physical attributes aren’t relevant to her suitability as a match,” I replied, violently spearing a cherry tomato.

Mari snorted. “Tell that to your eyes, which haven’t left her table in twenty minutes. Or to that poor salad you’re conducting a medieval torture session on.”

I deliberately looked down at my decimated lunch. “I’m monitoring the interaction. This is my job.”

“Uh-huh. And I suppose the fact that she keeps laughing and touching his arm is also being monitored ‘professionally’? Because if looks could kill, her hand would be a smoldering stump by now.”

I refused to look up again, though my peripheral vision had indeed registered Angelina’s perfectly manicured hand resting on Callan’s forearm. For the third time. Not that I was counting.

“It indicates mutual interest and engagement,” I mumbled. “Which is exactly what we want.”

“Is it?” Mari raised an eyebrow, looking uncannily like Vivian Burkhardt. Meeting Callan’s grandmother had only made my business partner more insufferable. Now she had a role model for her meddling. It’d been one of my biggest mistakes telling Mari about the dinner.

“Yes,” I insisted. “The goal is to find Callan a compatible match for his arrangement. Angelina meets every criterion on his list. Intelligent, accomplished, socially connected, not intimidated by his success, and genuinely interested in him rather than just his money.” I paused, stabbing another innocent piece of lettuce.

“Plus, as you pointed out, she looks like she was genetically engineered by combining a supermodel’s DNA with a CEO’s LinkedIn profile and a sprinkle of Disney princess thrown in for good measure. ”

“And that’s good,” Mari said, making it sound like a question.

“Of course it’s good. It’s perfect.” I forced a smile that felt like it might crack my face. “They’re perfect together. This is a professional triumph.”

“Then why do you look like you’re plotting her mysterious disappearance? I half expect you to start cackling and muttering ‘soon, my pretty’ while stirring a cauldron.”

“I don’t—” I began, then caught sight of my reflection in a nearby window. My expression could have curdled milk. I quickly rearranged my features into something more neutral. “I’m just concentrating.”

“On imagining her drowning in that fountain?” Mari nodded toward the decorative water feature behind Callan and Angelina’s table.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I took a sip of water. “The fountain isn’t deep enough. Besides, with her perfect bone structure, she probably floats.”

Mari nearly choked on her mimosa. “Oh my god, you’re jealous!”

“I am not,” I hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. “I’m invested in a successful outcome. She’s exactly what he claimed to want, and they’re clearly hitting it off. This is a win.”

“This is the opposite of a win,” Mari disagreed. “A win would be you admitting you have feelings for the hot billionaire who’s been making heart eyes at you for weeks. A win would be you finally getting laid by someone whose net worth has more zeros than my phone number.”

“He has not been making heart eyes.” I rolled my actual eyes. “And even if he were, which he’s not, it would be completely inappropriate. He’s my client.”

“A client who took you to meet his grandmother.” Mari waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“A client who memorized your coffee order and has gotten it perfect every time. A man who would look tastier naked and painted with buttercream icing than that six tiered wedding cake from the Rosenburg-Titanus wedding.”

“Stop,” I groaned, though the mere mention of Callan naked had me clenching my thighs beneath the table. “You’re objectifying our client again.”

“So? You’re telling me you wouldn’t want to see that?” Mari bit her fork as she stared unabashedly at Callan. “Imagine licking the icing all the way down that beautiful chest towards his likely enormous?—”

“Mari!” I cut her off as a waiter approached with our check.

I handed over my credit card without looking at the total. The waiter retreated, and I turned back to Mari.

“Callan is a client,” I said firmly. “A client who is currently on a very successful date with a woman I selected for him. A woman who meets every requirement on his list. A woman who might very well become his wife. And I am thrilled about that, because it means I’ve done my job well.”

“Sure,” Mari muttered, taking another sip of her mimosa. “That’s why you’ve been shredding your napkin into confetti for the past ten minutes. Because you’re so thrilled.”

I looked down to find a small pile of paper scraps where my napkin had been. Quickly sweeping them into my palm, I deposited them in my water glass.

“The napkin was weak.”

“Uh-huh, so was that excuse.” Mari glanced over my shoulder. “Heads up. Lovebirds are leaving the nest. And, oh my god, she’s actually tucking her hair behind her ear in slow motion. Is she auditioning for a shampoo commercial?”

I turned, trying to appear casual, as Callan and Angelina stood from their table.

He helped her with her cream cashmere coat, his hand lingering on her shoulder.

She smiled up at him, saying something that made him laugh.

They looked like a matched set. Both tall, both successful, both unfairly attractive.

This was what I wanted. A perfect match for my client. Yet my stomach revolted. Clearly it thought I’d swallowed a stone and not a cherry tomato. A very large, possibly radioactive stone.

“Oof,” Mari said, watching my face. “That bad, huh?”

“What?” I snapped my gaze back to her.

“Your face just did the thing it does if you were to find out a bride wanted to do an interpretive dance down the aisle. Or when someone suggests releasing doves indoors. Or that time the groomsman wanted to surprise the happy couple by playing the bagpipes at the reception despite never having taken a lesson.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, gathering my things. “I need to get back to the office. The wedding expo is tomorrow, and we still have a million things to prepare.”

As if on cue, my phone pinged with a text from Devonna.

Need final approval on expo display layout. 3 options attached. Also, Florist for Geoffries wedding called with peony crisis. Need response ASAP.

“Duty calls,” I said, standing. “You coming?”

Mari sighed dramatically. “Fine. But this conversation isn’t over.”

“Yes, it is,” I insisted, leading the way out of the restaurant. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

“The lady doth protest too much,” Mari sang, following me.

“The lady will fire her business partner if she doesn’t drop it.”

“You can’t fire me. I know where all the bodies are buried. Metaphorically speaking.” She paused. “Mostly metaphorically.”

I ignored her, focusing on replying to Devonna’s text as we walked. The wedding expo was our biggest marketing opportunity of the year; a chance to showcase our services to hundreds of potential clients in one weekend. We couldn’t afford any mistakes.

Thinking about the expo was good. Professional. Safe. Much better than thinking about Callan and Angelina and their perfect compatibility and what his hand looked like resting on the small of her back as they left the restaurant.

This was just protectiveness toward a client. Nothing more. I wanted him to make a good choice, to find someone who would respect the arrangement and not take advantage. That was all.

It certainly wasn’t jealousy. Because jealousy would be unprofessional. And if there’s one thing I always was, it was professional.

Always.

“No no no no no,” I muttered, staring at my phone screen in horror. “This is not happening.”

Dying.

Mari’s text read.

Literally dying. Fever of 102. Can’t move. Send soup and priest for last rites. If I don’t make it, tell that hot barista at Starbucks I’ve been stalking that my ghost will still watch him shower.

I typed furiously.

You can’t be sick TODAY. The expo starts in THREE HOURS. You were fine yesterday.