Page 1 of Groom Gamble

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SOPHIA

I’m making a list of requirements for a husband. I know this isn’t usually how marriage works, but I’m a bit desperate.

So far, I have:

Tall. Over 6 foot 3.

Black hair. Touch of silver at the temples would be a bonus.

40+ years old.

Nice smile.

Short beard.

Grey eyes.

The level of delusion here is quite impressive. Twenty-three years old, and I am resorting to an arranged marriage, but I’ll marry anyone who meets these criteria, because I’m describingmy boss.

Sigh.

It’s ridiculous, really, using a matchmaker. I’m a solid six out of ten, and my sense of humour is at least a six-point-five. I saw Mr Streatham hide a quirk at the corner of his mouth when Icalled my new filing system “witness protection for documents”. I have a degree in Business Studies, and an intact V-card. I have a job that’s amazingly paid, even if I only get the absolute minimum holiday. I swear, if my boss made me work any more we’d both have to sleep at the office.

The problem is, I’m shy. I prefer books and dogs to parties and people.

Although, I made an exception for Mr Streatham, six months ago. He is the one person I like.

His previous assistant warned me I probably wouldn’t. She said he was abrasive, and difficult, would occasionally arrive back in the office after a murder, but be fair and try not to drip blood on the carpet. He expects total commitment.

And it’s reasonable. He’s perfect, and demands perfection. He likes tradition. Paper, ink, handwritten or printed in a newspaper-style font. Mr Streatham prefers things to be in his hands, not in pixels.

My boss might be a growly, grumpy mafia boss who murders anyone who gets in his way, but with me he’s got classic chivalry. He’s never so much as touched a hair on my head. No inappropriate looks. No brushing up against me in the corridor. He holds doors for me and while he barks orders, he’s so careful. Never crass. Mr Streatham is like a sexy professor, but with an edge of danger.