Andy awoke with a start when Lacy burst through her bedroom door at—she glanced at the clock—seven forty-three in the morning. Seven forty-three on her day off.
“What the hell, Lacy? I’m sleeping.” Andy pulled the covers up and started to snuggle back into her pillow.
“Your phone, which you left out on the coffee table last night, has been ringing nonstop for fifteen minutes.” Lacy was obviously none too happy about it, too. “When it wouldn’t stop, I answered it. Here—take it.”
Andy sat up and took her cell, wondering who on earth would call her at such a god-awful time of the day, and why her sister didn’t just silence the phone instead of answering it. She glanced at the number on the screen—it was one she didn’t recognize—before putting the cell up to her ear. “Hello?”
“She was gay,” the male voice barked into her ear.
“What?” Andy wasn’t awake enough to register who the caller was let alone the meaning of his words.
“Gay. As in lesbian. As in not fond of men. As in likes to get it on with other women.”
“Blake?” The high-pitched frenzy in his tone didn’t sound quite like her boss’s voice, but the words he was spewing could only belong to Mr. Donovan himself.
“I don’t understand why you would set me up with a gay woman,” he continued without verifying that it was indeed him.
But Andy was sure now. She should have expected this actually. Jaylene had stopped by last night after her date with Blake and already given Andy an earful. Turned out the couple weren’t a match made in heaven as Andy had hoped. They weren’t even a match made for the moment, the pairing had been so ridiculously awful.
Andy took a deep breath. “Jaylene wasn’t gay, Blake.”
“Ah, she had you fooled as well,” he muttered. “Then it was a purposeful snow job. Obviously she was after my money. Or at the very least, a free meal. No more first dates at expensive restaurants. Write that down.”
If she’d been more awake, she may have thought it was comical that Blake thought she carried a notebook around at all times, ready to jot down his latest candidate preferences. But she wasn’t awake. And it was her day off. A day that she’d meant to spend sleeping until noon.
“Blake, Jaylene isn’t gay. She’s a feminist.” It was a fact Andy hadn’t realized until the night before. Definitely not the right woman for Blake, but how the hell was she supposed to have figured that one out? None of the dedicated feminists she’d ever encountered had ever had such traditional women’s jobs—nor did they spend so much time on their makeup.
The fact that Andy had only known one die-hard feminist in her lifetime was beside the point.
“A feminist?” Blake said the word with equal exclamation, equal questioning. “God, that’s even worse.”
“How in the world is feminist worse than lesbian in terms of bride-finding? You know what—don’t answer that.” Andy rubbed at her sleep-crusted eyes. “This is my day off, Blake. Perhaps we can discuss this further on Monday.”
“She drank Sam Adams. She follows baseball. Drea, she had a bob.” Apparently the conversation couldn’t wait until Monday. “I thought in the pictures you showed me that her hair was just up. Nope. It was a full-on bob.”
Andy sifted through the comments lining up in her brain and picked the one least likely to get her fired. “You’ve never mentioned long hair as a prerequisite for your dates, Blake.”
“I would have expected that to be obvious. You did say you had a handle on my preferences.”
That was it. She was not having this conversation. Not on her day off, not without coffee. “Okay, Blake, I’m done now. I’ll talk to you more about this on Monday.”
“She owns a cat, Drea. A diabetic cat.” Blake spat the word cat as if pet-owning were the worst thing he could imagine about a person. “No cats. That’s a rule.”
“I’m jotting it down,” she lied. “And I’ll jot down more on Monday. Talk to you later.” She’d moved the phone away from her ear when she heard him call back to her.
“We’ll talk tomorrow. The new files you bring had better be more appropriately aligned to my tastes.”
“Got it. Have a great day, Blake.” She clicked END before he could say anything else. After saving the number to her contacts so she’d be warned the next time he called, Andy turned the phone off and fell back into her bed.
Dammit, she hated her job. No, scratch that, she hated her boss. Well, she hated her job and her boss. And she hated mornings. But, dammit again, she was awake now. Besides, she was suddenly worried that the files she had were not appropriately aligned to Blake’s tastes. Which meant she had work to do, namely finding more candidates before she stopped by his house the next day. Well, she’d show him she could find candidates, all right.
Within an hour, she’d showered, dressed, and laid out a plan of where to search for potential brides. Both the coffee shop in the Asian American Civic Association and the Italian Cultural Library seemed like good places to meet exotic women. But even if her scouting for suitable dates was successful, she still had one very huge problem: However would she make Blake Donovan suitable for dating?
Fortunately, she thought she just might have an idea to solve that as well.
* * *
“Your sister’s worried about you, you know.” Lacy’s boss glanced over at Andy from the driver’s seat of his van.
“Oh, my God, Darrin, I have told her over and over that I am not going to screw this one up. Will you please attest to what a great employee I am being?”
His glance traveled over her skeptically. “Well. You are definitely a dedicated employee. Unusual, even. Great…? Jury’s still out.” He chuckled. “I’m pulling for you, Andy.”
“Oh, shut up.” She glared out the window. Despite her words to the contrary, her confidence in the job was somewhat lacking at the moment. She had found some brilliant women on her scouting mission the day before, but she still feared that none of them would succeed in wowing Blake if she didn’t manage to soften him first.
That fear was what led her to her plan. Today’s plan. A glorious plan, she hoped. Though she had the feeling Blake might not see it that way.
No time to doubt herself. According to her Google Maps app, they were almost there.
She nodded to Darrin. “Left here.”
His muscular, tattooed arm flipped the turn signal on. For a guy who perpetually looked like he was on his way to meet Sid Vicious for a bender, Darrin was a surprisingly careful driver.
“I’ve been worried about her, too, of course.” His tone grew serious. “Having to cut her hours on top of everything else made me feel like a complete asshole.”
“Oh, no. We all know music is a precarious business. There are ebbs and flows in the work. You have to keep the studio open. She’d rather have a part-time job than no job at all. Seriously, D, she understands.” He smiled, but hardly looked convinced. “Really. I’m hoping a little less time playing songs for other people will give her a chance to work on some songs of her own. I don’t think she’s done much writing since Lance.”
“I don’t think Lacy has done any writing since Lance. Much as I agree with her that you are out of your mind half the time”—he shot a look toward her lap—“I have to say, the fact that she’s worrying about you is an improvement. For a while it was all I could do to get her to show up to work with her hair brushed. She’s starting to get involved with the world again and not just go through the motions.”
Andy sighed. Darrin was more than a boss to Lacy; he was a good friend. When Lance died, Andy froze. She didn’t know what to do or say, and Lacy pretended none of it was necessary. If Darrin hadn’t stepped in, Andy knew there was a chance she could have lost her sister as well. She’d owe the guy for the rest of her life for that. Which was why she let the crack about being out of her mind slide.
“This is it.” She pointed him into a winding drive.
“This place? It’s a mansion. Shit, girl.” He craned to see through the windshield.
“Did I mention my boss owns the company?”
“Does he have any use for sound recording?” Darrin was still staring openmouthed. Personally, after seeing the coldness of the place, she’d reserve the dropped jaw for its owner.
“Not likely.” She put her hand on the door handle. “Okay, I need to go in there first and talk to him. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Wait here, please.”
“Jesus H, are you kidding me? This was not part of the plan.”
“I know, I know, but I can’t just walk in there with this. I need to prep the situation. Please, give me just twenty.” Puppy eyes, engage. “I’ll make it up to you. Lacy will work half a shift for free.”
“Don’t make deals you can’t keep, you little brat. Your sister is going to kill you.” He looked sort of delighted at the thought, and Andy knew she had him.
“So you’ll stay?”
“I’m leaving if you aren’t back in fifteen. Your time starts now.”
“Fine. And thank you, Darrin.” Puppy eyes for the win.
“Hey, don’t be trying that feminine wiles stuff on me. It won’t work. I’m doing this because I’m a friend, is all.”
Andy rang the doorbell and was again greeted by Ellen, the housekeeper. “Good morning, Drea. Nice to see you. Mr. Donovan didn’t say you were coming by today.”
Uh-oh. He’d forgotten. Maybe the situation needed more prepping than Andy had hoped.
Then she thought about the time limit Darrin had given her and the present she had waiting in his van. Perhaps this would be one of those occasions that baptism by fire was the appropriate route.
But first, the housekeeper. “Yes. I have some files for Blake. And something else. Could you hold the door open for me a moment?”
Without waiting for Ellen’s response, Andy handed her the stack of folders she’d been carrying and ran back to the van to retrieve her gift. With a wave, she signaled Darrin could leave and returned to the house.
Andy set the surprise on the floor and motioned for Ellen to shut the door behind them.
Ellen then raised an eyebrow skeptically at the gift. “Good luck,” she said.
“Do you think it’s a bad idea?” It was too late now to change her mind even if it was.
“Not at all. I think it’s an excellent idea.” Ellen smiled encouragingly as she handed the files back to Andy. “But I’m still saying good luck.”
“Thanks.” Andy tucked the files under her arm and headed for the stairs. Luck wasn’t what she needed. She needed a goddamn miracle.
* * *
Blake sat at his desk, trying to remember what it was he’d forgotten. He knew it wasn’t a conference call. His secretary would have alerted him if he’d missed something like that. His phone was charged—wasn’t that. Rolling his neck around, he decided the niggle would come to him eventually. In the meantime, it was Saturday. Maybe a long jog outdoors instead of the usual prework treadmill session?
As he rose from his desk to change into gym shorts, a noise came from downstairs. He jumped a mile. Who the hell?
Then, with a rush, he recalled Andrea. Considering he’d completely forgotten about her, the sudden thrill that rolled through his body at the realization she was here took him by surprise. Especially when he realized she’d been the cause of the niggle.
And yet nothing could possibly prepare him for the surprise that came tumbling through his door instead of the woman he expected. A waddling, clumsy, chubby little thing. It was horrifying. It was hideous.
It was a fucking puppy.
“It’s a puppy!” Drea exclaimed the obvious, bursting through behind the creature with a Cheshire-cat grin on her face, her arms stacked with files. “Isn’t he the cutest thing?”
“He’s disgusting.” Though, really, it was kind of cute, in an odd way. “Why is it sniffing me? These shoes were rather pricy and I don’t want them drooled on.”
“It’s just a little puppy slobber. It won’t hurt anything.” Drea’s face was softer than he’d ever seen it, her eyes warm. Because of a four-legged creature?
Perhaps there was benefit to having an animal around.
But then … “Is it—is it peeing? On my desk?” Blake’s moment of consideration returned to alarm. What was happening to his fortress of solitude?
Drea dropped the files on his desk and bent to pet the thing. “Oh, little sweetie! I should have let you go while we were outside. Silly me.” She peered up at Blake. “It’s only a little puppy piddle. Wipes right up.”
Puppy slobber and puppy piddle were not phrases that made the fact that animal bodily fluids were being emitted around his office any cuter. The distracting view of Drea’s cleavage that her crouched-down position gave him didn’t make the situation any better, either.
Well, maybe it helped a little.
But then she stood and reached to the hook behind him. “Can I use this?”
“Wait, that’s my suit jacket, don’t—” It was too late, as a thousand dollars’ worth of Ralph Lauren’s finest gently absorbed the puppy piddle.
“Isn’t he sweet?” Andrea was flushed, holding the furball to her chest and appearing to be utterly charmed by the filthy little thing.
“Sweet is hardly the word I would use to describe it.” Nuisance was more appropriate. A maker of messes. Perhaps, a little charming, but not, well … “What is it?”
She lifted her mouth from where she’d had it nuzzled in the pet’s body. “It’s a corgi, can’t you tell? Look at those big fox-ears! He doesn’t have a tail. Good grief, do you know nothing? Come on, pet him. He’s so soft.”
Before he had a chance to protest, she’d taken his hand and placed it on top of the ball of fluff. The soft texture of the animal was pleasant under his fingers, but nothing compared with the delightful shock that traveled down his body at the feel of Andrea’s skin on his.
Her gaze drifted up to his and the spark he found there shot an arrow of warmth to his chest.
What the hell was that about?
It was the damn puppy. It had to be. Fuzzy, cute things always seemed to have that effect on people.
But Blake Donovan was not people. He had to regain control.
Breaking their eye contact, he drew his hand back with a snap. “I am hardly concerned with its breeding or the feel of its fur. I am curious as to why you would bring your needy little dependent into my office, where it has thus far attempted to ruin everything it comes into contact with.”
Blake could feel his eye twitching a little. Judging from where Drea’s now less-delighted eyes were riveted, he guessed she noticed as well.
“It isn’t my pet; it was my plan.” Despite the waver in her voice, she maintained eye contact.
Damn, this girl was good. He was definitely going to hire her on at the company when she was done with her current contract.
“What plan? The one where I have to have my desk refinished?”
Her eyes narrowed. “The plan where you become a man, albeit a real jerkweed, but still a man, and not a machine.”
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Jerkweed? “I fail to see how unleashing this small beast upon my home will make me more of a man. If anything, it will make me more of a tyrant.”
“So you admit it!” The sparkle was stealing back into her grin.
So much for regaining control. “I can be stern, and a bit aloof,” he corrected. “Tyrant isn’t the word I would have chosen, but it is bandied about the office a fair bit.”
“The queen of England keeps corgis. The breed is very distinguished. It fits into your lifestyle and yet warms you up. And believe me, Blake, you need warming up. You need the puppy.” She thrust it in his direction.
He kept his hands at his sides, hating the thoughts that flickered through his mind at the idea of Drea warming him up. “I need no such thing.” Though he wasn’t sure whether he was referring to the dog’s warmth now or Drea’s.
“You need the puppy! Look at the puppy. You want the puppy.” Again, she attempted to jam it into his arms. He took a step back. She took a step forward. Another step back—he’d been put on the defensive, and he hated that position. How had everything gone so wrong, so fast?
He firmed his stance, refusing to move again. “I do not want the puppy. Keep the puppy away from me. Doesn’t it have a kennel or something?”
“Why would you kennel this little bundle of joy? This is exactly my point, Blake. Even if you have only a shriveled blackened lump where your heart should be, this little critter will melt any woman unfortunate to end up here with you.” She was getting cheekier and cheekier. How was someone who treated him so flippantly going to sell him to the prospective dating pool?
Oh.
“Look, Andrea. I know you meant well, but I am not interested in adding another member to my household that cannot operate a can opener.”
Her face fell. She frowned down at the scrap of fluff in her hands.
“It was a good plan, you know. Now I’m not sure what I’ll do. You are just incredibly difficult to get to know. If I could find a redeeming quality in you”—she held up the puppy—“I wouldn’t have to buy you one. Why won’t you work with me a little on this? For the woman you plan to marry—you’re going to have to let her in, too, at some point.”
Watching her standing there, absently petting the big ears attached to the furball while she blinked at him, he almost could imagine letting her in.
For his future wife, of course. He supposed she might be right about that bit. But it was too soon. For either of them. He desperately needed that run, now. Time to cut this off.
“Drea, I think we had a nice moment here. You got the chance to run your idea past me, and you’ve certainly given me plenty to think about as per my privacy preferences.” The corgi looked up at him with sad eyes that matched those of the woman who held it. “You can leave the animal and its information here. I’ll deal with the drop-off. You may take the rest of the weekend for yourself. Thank you for your insight.”
“Am I fired?” Drea demanded, suddenly back to the furious temperament he’d seen too many times from her already.
All this emotion was exhausting.
“No, Drea, you are not fired. I just think we’re done for the day. After all, I now have the files I asked you to bring. I’ll look them over on my own. Put”—he waved at the ball of fur—“that down, and I’ll see you on Monday.” After he had time to regroup. Time to figure out how he could give Drea what she needed from him without exposing any of his weaknesses.
He watched her with as much detachment as he could muster while she lovingly set the creature in the chair she’d occupied the other day—the upholstery would be covered with hair!—gathered her stuff, and walked out without a good-bye.
Was he truly so inaccessible that she required drastic measures to make him attractive as a spouse? If he was being honest with himself, then the answer would be … maybe. Maybe Andrea did know what he needed.
But good God, really? A puppy?