Page 1 of Save Me the Trouble (Country Love Collection #12)

Chapter One

Grace

“ I ’ll absolutely do him.”

Famous last words.

The four other heads in the room whipped around to stare at me, and I cringed, realizing how my confident tone made it sound. Story of my life.

Just what I needed on the day I was promoted. Ok, not technically promoted. More like they fired this crazy cougar, Aleta, for sleeping with clients, and then I was bumped up to take her spot because Embers had too many clients and too little time.

“No. You don’t have enough experience for that,” Molly scoffed, flipping her dark curls over her shoulder.

Her voice was strikingly low. It fit her, though. Big hair. Big boobs. Big mouth. Huge fan of ABBA . Hot Tub Time Machine had made quick work of bringing her right out of the seventies. She was also the head profiler and a little territorial about her clients.

Lena and Darcy both looked at me, a glance of sympathy before we all turned to Diane. The boss .

“Are you sure about that, Grace?” Ms. Close asked with a look that made it seem like she’d just smelled bad fish. After only a year of working here, I knew that meant the great matchmaker, Ms. Diane Close, was deciding whether or not she was sure of what I’d offered.

“She doesn’t even know who he is,” Molly drawled, trying to sound bored rather than worried.

“Of course, I know who he is.” I fought not to roll my eyes. “Killian Crown is more of a household name in Seattle than Christian Gray.” Not for the same reasons, although I was sure the cocky billionaire would like to think it was.

Killian Crown. CEO of the Crown Corporation.

Drop-dead handsome. Richer than Croesus. Emotionally unavailable. The trifecta of red flags.

There was a reason guys like him were single and approaching forty . And it was the reason Embers existed—an exclusive dating site for the ultra-wealthy . To market them as marriageable material and find a woman who was scientifically and statistically likely to be an ideal match.

“You don’t even want to work with clients, so why would you make her his curator? Our biggest client.” Molly was getting worked up now.

Profile curators were assigned to clients to design their dating profiles.

We met with them, interviewed them, accompanied them in their day-to-day business schedules, and observed their home life as well as their after-work social events and activities, all to gather the best data to create the ideal profile.

This profile was then run through Lena’s magical software that assessed everything from personalities, lifestyles, and hobbies to sexual preferences, business opportunities, and financial compatibility to generate a list of potential matches.

These men didn’t want fortune hunters. Anyone could find themselves a fortune hunter.

We were hired to find them a marital asset whose similarities fostered the chance for love.

Sometimes, the personality traits of the clients weren’t ideal.

Sometimes, they were less than ideal. And that was where the curator’s skill really came into play.

We had to find the good qualities. We had to put an attractive…

spin…on things that might turn someone away.

Cocky became confident. Workaholic became dedicated.

The executive summary? We made rich assholes look like Prince Charming in order to find them the most strategic trophy wife.

“Because there’s no one else,” Lena chimed in and leveled Molly with a stare that dared her to protest—dared her to mention that Mr. Crown “preferred” not to work with her.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Molly insisted, looking to Diane. “And if you’d just give me another chance, I’ll explain to Mr. Crown that I wasn’t trying to hit on him.”

Lena snorted, not bothering to hide her reaction. “I think he’d sooner give me a chance than you another one.”

Lena was equal doses of emo and crass mixed in a nymph’s body with her bright pink hair wound up in double buns. She didn’t interact with the clients. We wouldn’t have clients if she did.

“ Goddamn, rich pricks. Think their dicks are the best things since sliced bread.”

Yeah, definitely not allowed to interact with the public at all.

Lena was the brains behind the interface of Embers and the analysis it ran on the hundreds of data points of our clients to pair them with their best possible match. It was more than commonalities; it was science and probabilities, patterns and statistics.

It was why people paid lots of money—lots and lots of money—for a membership to Embers. Where your happily ever after was guaranteed.

“Shut up, Lena. You weren’t there.”

“I wasn’t pleased with how his profile was handled last time,” Diane interrupted. “Thankfully, Mr. Crown’s grandmother was very understanding and willing to give us another shot. I have guaranteed that this time there will be no mistakes. Molly, you’re not an option. I can’t risk it.”

I bit my cheek. Dogs whined with less ear-splitting annoyance than Molly.

That left Darcy. Darcy was cool. Darcy was my roommate. Darcy was responsible for getting me this job that I needed so desperately, even though I was desperately out of my comfort zone.

My comfort zone was business administration. That was what my bachelor’s degree was in…and half of my MBA. The other half was a casualty of one stupid mistake and systemic chauvinism .

I’d had to leave the program a year ago because I’d slept with the head of the department. One night. One time. I was drunk, and he never said he was married.

The one time I acted on impulse. The. One. Time.

Of course, he only got a slap on the wrist…and then proceeded to tell me that if he didn’t fail me, his wife was going to divorce him. Of course, the self-righteous pig was only bold enough to cheat on her, but he’d never risk losing her trust-fund lifestyle.

Fun fact: Leaving the program didn’t mean I left the student loans along with it.

I had a six-month grace period. Six months to transfer to another program—another school before repayment on my loans was due. So, I applied everywhere. And apparently, the lack of recommendation from Professor Pig spoke volumes.

Six months flew by, and my time was up. I needed a new plan—a way to afford rent and loans and living until I could figure out my life.

Thank God for Darcy.

She took me in and got me an interview at Embers—a job I was well overqualified for.

Unfortunately, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

I was drowning, so I latched onto this job to keep me afloat.

It may have been a lifesaver. It also may have been a shark.

Either way, it was keeping my head above water for right now.

“Earth to Grace.” Lena’s sarcasm stirred me more than her words.

Her eyes narrowed on me before turning back to Diane.

“No. Totally a bad idea, Ms. D.” Literally the only person I’d met who referred to Diane as anything less than Ms. Close.

“I already started my research, and Grace will totally fuck this up—sorry, Grace,” she shot absentmindedly in my direction.

“I mean, look at her. Who the hell is going to trust that she knows what she’s doing?

Just tell King Dick to take his demands down a notch or he can take a hike and enjoy walking the dog himself every morning, if you know what I mean. ”

Lena insisted on using random sexual innuendos—like “walking the dog” instead of just saying “jacking off”—and then highlighting them with an “if you know what I mean.”

Yes. Yes, we did.

My cheeks burned, but I kept my chin high. Just because I didn’t have experience didn’t mean that I couldn’t do this job.

“Grace…” Darcy’s quiet voice reached me first before her brunette bob and mismatched eyes swiveled in my direction. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t know Killian Crown. And trust me, you don’t want to know him.”

“I’m fine, Darcy,” I said softly but firmly, and she shrank back to her seat. I needed this. I needed the bonus that came with securing a client’s match.

“Miss Johnson.” Diane finally spoke, her cold stare going right through me. “What makes you think you’re up for this task?”

Because I had nothing to lose. But I didn’t say that. Instead, a different truth blurted from my lips.

“Because I’m the only person in this company who would never be attracted to Mr. Crown.”

Molly scoffed, but I kept my expression flat. Not only was I on a firm hiatus from men, but I’d learned this lesson the hard way.

“Never?” she interrogated me sharply.

“I’m not interested in men who have the ability to ruin my future or who would be so careless or selfish as to try.”

The look in her eyes changed. Ever so subtly did the tiniest glimmer of admiration sneak through. “Well then, Ms. Johnson, meet me in my office in thirty minutes. We have a lot to discuss.”

Like a power blip, her smile was there and gone before she disappeared from the room, Molly not far behind, complaining that she wasn’t going to get a shot at the infamous Killian Crown.

“Grace…”

“I’ve got this, Darcy. Don’t worry.” I left the room before she could worry some more.

Did I have this? Really?

I’d just insisted on taking Embers’s most difficult, most demanding client.

Or, as Lena liked to refer to Mr. Crown, the “douchiest douche that puts all the other self-centered, bimbo-loving, heartless, soulless, brainless, mindless, dickless dickbags” to shame.

The man who thought that ruining people could win him an Olympic medal and who slept his way through Seattle like the Tramp-Fairy left money under his pillow every time he fucked someone new.

And I, Grace Johnson, passably pretty, slightly sassy, and a definite pauper, had just volunteered to immerse myself in his life—even if just for a few weeks.

“What’s the plan, Grace?” Darcy levied me with the question as soon as I walked into our apartment.

I stopped right in the entry, my eyebrow arching at the sudden interrogation. Not what I needed right now.