Blake glanced at his watch for the third time in two minutes. Drea had warned him that anxiously watching the clock while on a date did not leave the best impression, but frankly, he didn’t care what effect he had on the woman in front of him. The impression she left on him was appalling.
All right, maybe that was an exaggeration. Drea would want to know why he didn’t want to go out with her again, so he attempted to form a reason. He studied her features as she sipped her dessert coffee. Like all the women he’d been set up with in the last month, she was pretty enough—her skin was pale, her frame slight, her straight hair so dark it was nearly black—exactly the type of woman he was attracted to for the most part. Drea had gotten his preferred look down, that was certain.
At least, it had been his preferred look. Now he wasn’t so sure. Her knobby bones couldn’t be comfortable to embrace. He imagined hugging her would be like hugging a skeleton. He couldn’t even think about what it would be like to have sex with her.
In fact, he hadn’t been able to imagine having sex with any of the dates. He’d tried to kiss one of them once. Even that had gone badly. When he leaned in, she’d lifted her eyes to meet his and he was startled when her big browns weren’t the green-flecked that he’d been imagining, so he’d aborted the attempt. Which was absolutely ridiculous. He didn’t even know anyone with green-flecked eyes. Except Andrea.
He looked at his watch again. Two minutes later than the last check and he still didn’t have a reason he could quite articulate for why the woman in front of him wasn’t right. He’d been unable to explain why the others weren’t for him as well. Well, except for Jamie the femi-Nazi. Simply put, they were just … wrong.
Perhaps it was him that was wrong, though he’d never admit that aloud. And if it was him, he couldn’t say what it was he was wrong about. He looked good for his dates. He followed Drea’s social advice, mostly. The dates were all ones he’d approved of by photo and résumé. What was the problem, then?
He caught his date smiling at him over her coffee cup. Her teeth were so perfectly straight and white, it almost seemed unnatural. He wondered if he should attempt conversation again. Drea had suggested, though, that talking about himself was not the best way to attract a woman. Listen to them instead, she’d said, or ordered, rather.
The problem with that advice was that this woman didn’t speak. At all. She hmm’d and ah ha’d, but that was the extent of her conversation. Even when he asked a question, he’d receive only a giggle in response.
She should be the perfect woman—attractive and quiet. And bland.
Maybe he didn’t want a quiet woman after all. Though Andrea argued with him at any chance she got, at least she was entertaining. Often over the last weeks, he’d actually looked forward to seeing her in his office. Her opinions might be overbearing, but her insight was also usually spot-on.
Andrea also wouldn’t expect him to order for her, as all the other ones did. What was that anyway? A test of some sort? How was he possibly supposed to know what she’d want when he’d never met her before that very evening?
He’d tell Andy about that the next day. She’d get a kick out of it.
Now why did he just refer to her as Andy? Andrea was more suited to her looks. Admittedly, the more he’d gotten to know her, the more Andy seemed to fit her personality. But it was a hell of a lot of fun to see her feathers ruffle when he called her Drea.
The waiter came then to ask if there’d be anything else.
“No, just the bill.” Blake said that a little quicker than he should have. Andrea would have disapproved. “If you would, please,” he added, hoping to soften his obvious anxiousness. Actually, being in charge of the meal meant he could just demand the check like that. This was exactly why he continued to do the ordering for dates.
There. That was better. Andrea would be proud. He was nice-ish, and making sound business decisions.
Blake paid the bill and looked to his date—what was her name again? Sally? Cindy? Cinnamon? No matter, he’d simply leave it out when addressing her. “Are you ready then?”
“Hmm,” she replied.
It had to mean yes since she put her napkin on the table and rose from her seat.
Blake followed, a small smile gracing his lips at finally ending the miserable charade of a meal.
It wasn’t until later—much later—when he was tucked into his bed and he’d completed a chapter in his latest noir detective novel that he realized he’d spent the night thinking more about his matchmaker than his proposed match.
He needed to get it together.
* * *
Andy paced the office waiting for Blake to arrive. She rarely got to work before he did, but today she was anxious to hear about his date the night before. It wasn’t even her day to be in the office, though lately she’d spent most of her days there whether she was required to be or not. Today she wanted to be there to catch up with Blake first thing. Cynthia, the woman she’d set him up with, was the one. Andy was sure of it. Cynthia fit his profile to a T—slender, quiet, submissive. If this wasn’t the perfect bride for Blake, then she didn’t know who was.
Of course, she’d thought that about the last several women. Sure, there were a couple of misfires in the beginning—the loud one with the obnoxious hyena laugh came to mind. And Jaylene. Now, setting Blake up with her had been a genuinely bad idea. If Andy had only taken more than two minutes to screen her instead of latching on to make up for her lateness, she would have realized it. Jaylene was a bra burner, for heaven’s sake. And talk about man-calves—Blake wasn’t as impressed with her muscles as Andy had been.
Since that first week, though, she had fallen into a groove. She’d found a pool of candidates at the Boston Secretary Association. Each chapter had a weekly meeting, and Andy attended as many as she could in her free time and on her days off. There, in the midst of women who took their careers seriously, she’d found a plethora simply looking for a rich boss to marry. They were the perfect contenders for Donovan—happy to serve coffee and sit on the sidelines as long as the Mister brought home a nice paycheck. That, she could work with.
And yet, Blake had refused to see any of them a second time. It perplexed Andy to no end. Of course she’d questioned him, prodded for reasons so she could narrow her selection criteria, but she never received any helpful feedback. Over and over, she was forced to return to the same conclusion—Blake Donovan was unmatchable.
Quick-paced steps echoed across the waiting room outside the office door. Andy peered out, recognizing his stride by sound before she saw him. Their eyes met, hers wide under raised eyebrows, his serious, but with a spark to them. Did that spark linger from his date the night before?
Or was it for her?
That was a silly thought. Of course it wasn’t for her. He must have had a good time with Cynthia. Sillier was how that knowledge disappointed her. Over and over again. She had to stop with this stabby-feeling thing.
“Well?” she nudged, chewing her bottom lip in anticipation.
The spark in Blake’s eyes vanished. “No.”
“No?” She couldn’t hide her shock. Or her annoyance. Or her delight. “But why?”
Blake turned his attention to his secretary, signing a document she’d handed him, then proceeded into his office, past Andy. “What was that?”
She trailed after him, reminding herself of the puppy that she’d left with Blake—whatever had he done with the adorable creature? Hopefully returned it so it could find a happy home, and not just—fired it. She’d have to ask. But now, the pressing question had to do with a human creature and not the four-legged variety. “Why don’t you want to see Cynthia again?”
He set his briefcase on his desk and opened it up. “Does it matter?”
Did he really ask that? God! This was her whole job, figuring this stuff out. “Yes! She was perfect, Blake. She perfectly fit your profile. She had the perfect body, the perfect temperament, the perfect teeth, for crying out loud—what on earth could have been the matter with her?”
He answered with a simple shrug.
Andy huffed, throwing her arms out in exasperation. “If I can’t figure out why you don’t like them, how am I supposed to find a better one? Articulate, please.” This emotional defensive he had her on was exhausting.
Now it seemed it was Blake who was annoyed. “I don’t know, Andy, but that’s your problem, not mine.”
“It’s your problem too if you expect—” She halted mid-gripe when she registered exactly what he’d said. “What did you just call me?”
“Drea. I called you Drea.” Blake kept his eyes averted, snapping his briefcase closed and placing it under his desk. Then, with a clearing of his throat, he met her gaze. “Of course.”
She shook her head. Obviously, she was hearing things. “Well, this job is impossible, then.” She stomped to her desk and slumped into her chair. How could he not even tell her what was wrong with her choices? And if she picked so poorly, why did he continue to have her try again? Jealousy or not, she did have a job to do.
Running a hand over her face, she pressed him further. “Cynthia wanted to see you again, you know.” Andy had received the email the night before. The message had gone on and on about how gentlemanly Blake had been and how they’d totally clicked. Clicked, she’d said. That was part of the reason why Andy had been so sure she’d found the one.
Maybe if they’d kissed? Maybe Cynthia would have seen the passion Andy noticed in him while he was making big business decisions. Of course, they had to have kissed. There was no other way he could have monotone-monopolized the date and left her wanting more. Thanks to the Jaylene debacle, she knew full well how dates went if Blake wasn’t interested. So. Cynthia and Blake had shared a moment at the end of the evening. That shouldn’t make her stomach sink. She had matched him with a woman that clicked. She should feel good about that. So why was her stomach in knots?
Blake flipped through some papers seeming to only half care about their conversation. “Does she? I can’t imagine how you know that seeing as how the woman has a vocabulary of two words. And I’m not even sure you can call those words.”
“Two words?” That was odd. Though Andy had never spoken to the woman, Cynthia had seemed eloquent and well spoken in her emails.
Blake swirled his pen along one of the documents. “She barely spoke the entire evening.”
“You did ask for quiet.” There was significant amount of snark in her tone, even for Andy.
“I didn’t think quiet was synonymous with brain-dead.”
Andy fought her instinct to say something even snarkier and instead tried to evaluate the bit of information that Blake had given. “Maybe she was nervous. I’m sure she’ll loosen up with time.”
“It doesn’t matter because I don’t want to see her again.” His declaration was final. “Try again.”
Andy growled. It really wasn’t fair. Almost all of the candidates had requested a second date and time and time again Blake said they were wrong. What was she missing? If Andy hadn’t so expertly picked his dates, she’d understand. But she had, and they’d been exactly what he’d asked for. Why would a woman think that an evening had gone well when the man did not?
He must be an excellent kisser. Well, she knew he was an excellent kisser. But she hadn’t wanted to go out with him afterward. What she was missing had to be subtle. Unless it wasn’t.
They’d all been attractive—Blake had approved of their pictures beforehand. And all the women had been more than pleased with Blake’s appearance. So if the women were interested, and Blake was attracted, they were all kissing—the only reason she could think that he wouldn’t want to see them again was that he’d already … wait.
Oh, no.
Please, God, no. The kissing must have led to more. More that she knew he was capable of. He’d told her himself, hadn’t he, when he said in her interview that he had sex anytime he wanted.
Pure fury swept through Andy, driving her from her chair and over to Blake’s desk. She pointed an angry, shaking finger at him. “You did, didn’t you?”
He looked up at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I did what?”
“You slept with them.” Her words were a harsh accusation, but she knew in her bones they were accurate. “All of them. You had to have. Why else would they be so smitten with you? I know you, Blake. You don’t easily smit women. Not once you open your mouth, that is. And yet, one after another has said they’ve clicked with you. Clicked? That’s a euphemism for ‘screwed,’ isn’t it?”
He frowned with apparent indignation. “That’s insane. Why would you assume—?”
She swept past his denial, the puzzle pieces slipping completely into place. “And you! Like a typical man, once you’ve slept with them, you’ve gotten what you wanted. No wonder you don’t want to see them again. God, how could I be so foolish? I’m a glorified pimp!”
Blake stood and reached a tentative hand toward her across his desk. “Drea. Calm down, would you?”
She stepped out of his grasp. Balling her fists at her side, she stomped a foot—a little childish, perhaps, but she was pissed. “I will not! How could you do this to me? You’re purposefully undermining my work. Were you finding cruising too time-consuming?”
“What? No. I’m sincerely looking for a bride.”
“You expect me to believe that you didn’t sleep with them?” Did he think she was a moron?
Blake straightened and with what sounded an awful lot like sincerity said, “Yes, I do expect you to believe that. Because I didn’t.”
God, he was good. If she weren’t so entirely convinced otherwise, she may even have believed him.
Her nostrils flared as she drew in an angry breath, deliberating her next move. If he’d just admit what he’d done and promise not to do it again, she felt certain she could redeem the situation. She’d have to start with a new pool of women—the secretaries surely talked with one another and no one wanted to marry a player—but she had some ideas of where to look. Except if he was going to repeat his actions, a new pool was pointless. Her entire job was pointless.
Swallowing past the strange lump in her throat, she made her declaration. “If you aren’t going to be honest with me, then this isn’t going to work, Blake. I quit.” Did she really say that? She did. “I’ll collect my things. I’m sure your secretary can mail me a final check.”
She spun back to her desk, keeping her face down as she grabbed her purse from the bottom drawer where she kept it so that he couldn’t see the tears forming in her eyes. If she were crying because of the loss of employment, that would be one thing. But the sadness she felt was tied to something else entirely—something she couldn’t quite name. She knew that he’d slept with the women, was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt, and the images that brought to her mind stung with a bitterness that raged through her entire body.
The name of the emotion hit her with sudden force—it was jealousy.
Well, shit.
* * *
Blake stood with gaping horror as he watched his personal concierge gathering her belongings. What had just happened? He’d come in that morning with a spring in his step, not because of his date the night before, but because he hoped he’d be spending the day with Drea. Then when his hope had been realized, well, he was pleased to say the least. Though he hadn’t figured out all the intricacies of his emotions regarding the woman, he’d realized that he had some sort of attraction to her. While this strange pull was a roadblock on the path to securing a bride, he felt sure it wasn’t insurmountable. He’d planned to devise some way to deal with the situation that day, but before he’d even had time to settle in at his desk, here she was accusing him of things he hadn’t done and stomping out of his office. Out of his life.
That certainly wasn’t the answer to his problems.
“Andrea, wait.”
She stood from her crouched position, her eyes glistening. “What? Are you going to admit you slept with them? Are you going to tell me the truth?”
“I am.” He took a deep breath, planning to tell her the real reason he didn’t want to see any of the women again—the reason he hadn’t slept with any of them—was because he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
But before he could figure out how to phrase it, Drea seemed to make her own assumptions as to what his statement was affirming. “I knew you slept with them! Thank you for at least admitting it. Why would you do that, Blake? Screwing them on the first date sabotages a potential future. I know you know this. I mean, I get that they’d be interested in you—you’re quite an attractive man, what with your solid chest and that sharp-angled jaw. And those eyes—God, those eyes—” She ran her tongue along her bottom lip as she stared at him hazily.
Was that lust he saw clouded there? And the way she’d described him physically, did that show interest on her part? Was it possible that Drea was as attracted to him as he was to her?
The thought stunned and gladdened him.
Then, with a shake of her head, Drea’s eyes cleared. “But couldn’t you control yourself? Leave a little something for next time?”
Again, he opened his mouth to protest, to explain the true nature of the situation, when all of a sudden he saw a door open. Perhaps he could get what he wanted—what he needed—from Andrea without having to admit an actual interest. If he could just get this thing out of his system, he could regain some semblance of control over his life.
Before he could second-guess himself, he went with it. “Maybe that’s exactly it—I can’t control myself.”
“What?” Andrea seemed taken aback. “You’re the most disciplined person I know.”
“Well, but, as you said, they threw themselves at me.” It was easier than he thought to pursue this angle, the words coming to him quite easily. Surprisingly, and happily, considering what a bad liar he was. “How could I resist? Especially when I’m used to getting it so often.”
“So often.” She repeated the phrase as if it were distasteful in her mouth.
He circled his desk, crossing to her with sure steps, his eyes glued to hers. “I told you in your interview that I…” He paused to consider how to put it. “Well, that I engaged in physical activity on a regular basis. How am I supposed to suddenly go cold turkey?”
She folded her arms. “I don’t know—take care of yourself like every other man, maybe?” She released one arm to sort of flap toward his crotch before trapping it again with a blush.
“That’s hardly the same.” His eyes flickered to her cleavage. The woman had incredible breasts. He’d noticed before, but now the desire to touch them tugged at him with increasing urgency.
“Are you saying you can’t go for even a short period of time without … without…” She circled her hand in the air as if she couldn’t bring herself to speak out loud what they were both so clearly talking about.
It was adorable. She couldn’t say the words.
Well, he could say it. “Without sex?” He couldn’t stop the smile from forming on his lips when a shiver ran through her at the word. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
She opened and closed her mouth several times.
Good. He had her flustered.
Finally, she recovered enough to ask, “How the hell is this bride-seeking supposed to work then?”
“I see your concern.” He pursed his lips, pretending to consider. This was his chance to bring the conversation around to where he’d intended it to go in the first place. “Perhaps, if my needs were met another way…” Would she understand where he was going?
“Like with your hand?”
No, she didn’t understand. “That’s not what I was suggesting.” The conversation alone had his pants feeling tighter. Imagine how turned on he’d be if she agreed? He hadn’t realized how completely into her he was until he gave himself permission to pursue it. Now all he needed was her acquiescence. His pulse quickened in anticipation.
“What were you suggest—” Her face suddenly flushed crimson as her eyes widened with comprehension. “Wait. Are you suggesting that I sleep with you?”
“Sleeping really isn’t necessary.”
“Oh, my God.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “You can’t be serious. Oh, my God, you are.”
“You don’t need to say it as if it’s such a repulsive idea.” Despite her words, he could sense she was considering it. Desire once again clouded her eyes and her breathing had grown shallow, as if she were excited by the thought.
And that only excited him more.
Still she protested. “Are you kidding me? It’s absolutely repulsive. You want to sleep with me—”
“Not sleep,” he corrected.
“Fine, not sleep with me so that you won’t have the urge to come on to the women that you’re dating in the hope of finding a wife?” She let her question hang in the air a moment. “Do you hear how disgusting that sounds?”
He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “No, actually, I don’t.”
“Blake!”
All right, maybe it sounded a bit untoward, but his true intentions weren’t awful. Maybe he should have approached it another way. Or not at all. Now what should he do? He rarely was in the position of second-guessing himself. It was unusual and uncomfortable. He wished he could erase the last two minutes. “Forget I said anything.”
“It’s forgotten.” Andy sank into her chair. Only a matter of seconds passed before her expression blazed again. “How the hell am I supposed to forget that?”
Blake closed his eyes for a moment. He himself had a feeling it would be difficult to forget her blatant rejection. He threw a dismissive hand in the air. “It was merely a suggestion. You had a complaint. You asked how to fix it. That’s what I came up with.”
Andy shook her head repeatedly. “You’re impossible, Blake Donovan.”
“Well, you aren’t so possible yourself.” He turned on his heels and headed back to his desk.
“Like that’s supposed to be an insult?” Her voice trailed after him.
She could never let him have the last word, could she? “It’s … I don’t know what it was supposed to be.” He sat in his chair and deeply inhaled to gather his thoughts. He had a feeling an apology was due, and he wasn’t very good with those. “I’m … I’m sorry, okay?”
Her eyes narrowed. “For sleeping with your dates or propositioning me?”
“Both.” Neither, really. Because he hadn’t slept with any of his dates and he wasn’t sorry for propositioning her. He was sorry he hadn’t done a better job of it. He was sorry she hadn’t agreed.
She sighed. “It’s fine. I guess. Don’t do it again. Can you manage that?”
Considering that he hadn’t done the one thing in the first place, he was sure it wouldn’t be a problem. The other thing, though—he had a feeling that his attraction to Andrea Dawson was nowhere near over. He couldn’t promise he wouldn’t make another move. So he answered simply, “I’ll try.”
“It has to be more than try if you want me to agree to stay.”
She was seriously maddening. “I’ll manage then.” Across the room, he locked his gaze with hers. Even with the yards between them, her eyes pulled at him, pierced through him, as if they saw him in a way that no one ever had. He was nearly moved to go to her, to pull her into his arms, and kiss the hell out of her.
But considering she’d just blatantly shot him down, a kiss was probably a bad move. Instead he reached for her with words. “Please, don’t quit.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d pleaded with someone so sincerely. It made him feel both vulnerable and free at the same time. Their eye contact never broke. It reminded him of the moment they had shared during her interview, the point even then when he knew he was in over his head. This girl rattled him to his core, and he thought she knew it as she watched his eyes beg her.
Drea’s expression softened, almost as though she realized how significant his statement had been. “Good. Then I’ll stay.”
They held their stare for several seconds, until the air felt warm and Blake had the urge to take off his jacket, but didn’t dare move for fear of ruining the moment. As if he could convince her to stay through the sheer force of will and eye contact. If she didn’t understand how much he wanted her here, it wouldn’t be for lack of him showing her. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, his was on display.
It was Andrea who broke the connection. She leaned down to return her purse to its place. “And you owe me a bonus, you know. Several bonuses, in fact. Don’t forget that our original deal stated I’d get compensated for how a relationship progressed emotionally or physically. Physically, Blake. You owe me.”
He’d pay her anything she asked, even if the stipend was based on a lie. Whatever he had to do to keep her near.
* * *
Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.
Andy couldn’t believe that he’d actually suggested that … that … that she should have sex with him.
She was mortified—the major component of that mortification being that she’d actually considered it. Disgusting. How on earth could any decent person spend a single second entertaining the idea that Blake “Inside-Ugly” Donovan was attractive? He was so inside-ugly that it seeped out through his hatefully perfect pores.
Okay, maybe it didn’t, but it should. He was too hot for his own good. So insanely gorgeous that her insides fluttered every time she looked his way. Even after his ridiculous proposition, the flutters remained. They were heightened, in fact, but now they were accompanied with revulsion. Revulsion mainly with herself, but she clung to it. It worked to keep her hormones in check—thank God—because she’d been dangerously close to agreeing to his devil’s bargain. Especially after that stare-down. He’d looked honestly desperate for her. It made her warring bits actually want to reconcile.
At least the rational bit of Andy had won that little conscience-cage match. No! If you sleep with him, you’ll be out of a job in about a day and a half flat. You know how he is with girls he sleeps with.
Although the horny, teenage girl part of her had put up a decent fight. Remember how he kisses? Imagine what else he can do with that mouth! Just the one time. Or seven. Then he’ll be satisfied, you can insist on his quick marriage to Cynthia, and you’ll leave with a hefty bonus and a glowing reference.
Tempting. Overwhelmingly tempting. More tempting than it should be.
It was like the battle of the angel and the devil on her shoulders, and the angel’s rationalization was barely heard over Andy’s rapidly beating heart and the whoosh sounding through her ears.
But then Big Girl Andy grabbed a megaphone and trumpeted above all the other noise. He does not respect women. The second you jump into his bed, you confirm everything he thinks he knows about them. You won’t get the bonus, or the reference, and quite likely not the orgasm, either. He’s too selfish to satisfy you first.
With that her mind was made up.
Unfortunately.
Though she hadn’t actually said no. It was Blake who withdrew his offer. If he hadn’t, would the desire surging through her veins have won?
It didn’t matter now. The conversation was over. But it was far from forgotten.
Sitting at her desk now, the idea played over and over through her imagination in vivid detail. Blake, running that sharp tongue of his, down her neck. Blake, drenched in sweat as he hovered over her. Blake, pushing in and …
No, no, no. She had to stop this. For God’s sake, he was sitting across the room. What if he could tell what she was thinking? Surely her flushed cheeks were a good indication of the dirty movie playing in her mind.
Andy scrubbed her hands over her face and attempted to concentrate on the horrid situation that had led to his proposition in the first place: Blake had been sleeping with his dates. Oh, whoops, not sleeping. Sexing them up. Giving them a good time. Introducing them to the other Mr. Donovan.
Since she’d turned him down, did that mean he’d continue to be unable to control himself? At this rate, he was going to burn through every potential candidate in Boston before the year was up. I’ll be forced to mail-order dates from Ukraine. Did the man even want to get married? Sure didn’t seem like it.
So what does he want?
That one sat her back on her figurative heels. What did he want? She knew the reasons he’d spouted off to her, but none of them seemed particularly genuine. They sounded rote, things he thought he should say and so did. But the look on his face, that seemed as real as anything she’d ever seen from him.
“Blake?” she ventured, even though she could see from the set of his jaw that he wasn’t super interested in talking to her right now. Well, she’d forced an actual apology from him—he was probably licking his wounds.
“Yes?” His expression, when he looked up at her, was actually open. Maybe he was just tense from all the drama of the morning. Maybe she was a hack who had no idea how to read anyone. Who knew anymore?
She sat back in her chair. “We’ve never talked about what happens beyond the wedding, and subsequent rewriting of your will.”
“What’s to discuss? It’s done and then it’s done.” His eyes were full of genuine confusion.
There it was, then. He wants a wife because it’s what he thinks he should do. She was certain that just as he had no idea how to treat a date, he had no idea what made a successful marriage.
Well, that had to be addressed. She searched for terms he could understand. “When you form a merger with another company, does it end at the contract signing?”
“Hm. I see where you’re going with this. Obviously not. The signature is only the beginning. What sort of … maintenance … does a marriage require?” The puzzlement was fading into intense concentration. For all his faults, Blake certainly always liked to be the best at everything. Maybe she could train him into a decent husband after all. If only he’d kept the damn pup, they’d be going through obedience school together.
She stifled a grin and started to educate her clueless boss. “There will be an obvious restructuring, just as you would do with a company you take over. In that case, it’s purely clinical. In this case, there will be emotions involved. Deciding whose home to live in—”
“Mine.”
She went on as if he hadn’t interrupted. “There’s the question of whose things—how do you merge two households’ worth of furniture and household goods and kitchen appliances and books and—”
“We keep mine.”
“Blake. This is exactly what I am talking about.” She rolled her neck, trying to release the new layer of tension that was building. “If you treat your wife—her things, her life without you—this callously, she’ll have that sucker annulled before you even consummate it. It doesn’t matter how submissive a girl you end up with, you cannot treat her like an acquisition. At least, not to her face.”
“But I’m being logical. My future wife needs to be logical.” He pointed at her open notebook. “Write that down. It’s a new requirement.”
Andy was going to lose her temper. Again. “Logic has nothing to do with it. You have to compromise. Marriage is a series of compromises. You live in your house? Fine. But she gets to put her pictures on the walls. Keep your furniture? She gets to buy new bedding. It’s give-and-take. How do you not know this? Don’t you have any married friends?”
The puzzlement crept on his face again. “I know a lot of married people, yes. From work. I don’t really have a social circle.”
Of course. Of course he didn’t have any friends. Where would he fit them into his busy schedule of working, working, cruising, not sleeping, and working some more? Business dinners were probably his only real social outlet.
Andy felt inexplicably sad at this revelation. Everyone needed friends.
Granted, she didn’t have a ton herself, but at the very least she had Lacy. Always Lacy. Someone to celebrate her successes with, to help her pick up the pieces when things went to shit, someone to talk to at three in the morning about absolutely nothing—Oh, God. Lacy is my wife!
Note to self: Make more friends.
Perhaps friend number one should be Blake.
No, that was going a bit too far. But she could at least continue with the friendly advice. “Well. It’s likely that your business associates wouldn’t discuss the finer points of the most complex relationship in their lives with you.”
“Oh, I’ve heard plenty about them.” He pushed his keyboard away and directed his full attention to Andy. “We have a few too many drinks, and then someone pulls out a cigar and they all complain. That’s why I specified someone submissive. All my associates’ troubles seem to come down to overly assertive women trying power plays on the home front. If my wife understands that I am the head of the household, we’ll avoid all of that.”
“I don’t even think you’re kidding right now. Good grief, Blake.” Andy had no idea how to argue with that. Because the thing was, that was logical. Only it made no sense in the real world. And someone who didn’t seem to be capable of empathy wasn’t going to understand her objection to this. I am earning this freaking paycheck, for sure.
“Look, Andrea. I know you mean well, but I don’t see you in a successful marriage, either. So you do things your way, and I’ll do things mine.” The condescension in his tone killed whatever ridiculous sadness she’d felt over his earlier disclosure.
Never in her life had she gone through so many emotions in one day. And every day since she took the job was like this. Beyond exhausting. She was taking her final bonus on a tropical vacation when this was over. If it ever ended.
“Just remember me when you’ve been divorced and need to find a new wife.” Andy pouted for a minute. She had to find a way to make him let her in. Otherwise he was going to sabotage every date he went on until he eventually decided she was to blame.
And not just because of that, or even that it was her job to find a good match, but because it seemed like the right thing to do. It was the closest friend thing she could do without assuming the title.
Glancing up from under her eyelashes, she studied the exasperating man at the neighboring desk. He was so gorgeous. On the outside. It was no wonder he was sex-obsessed—who wouldn’t be with those looks?
Ignoring the upkick of her pulse at the thought, she wondered—could that be the key to him opening up to her? In a post-orgasmic haze, could she convince him to listen to her? Had she been too quick to shoot down his ridiculous proposition? Was his proposition actually not all ridiculous?
The little war inside her began again: Worst. Idea. Ever. You don’t have any better ideas. It’s stupid. It’s brilliant. It’s happening. It’s inevitable.
Shortest war of all time. Turned out all Andy needed was a little justification for the horny teenager inside to get her way.
Now, how to go about it? She’d just flatly rejected him. It wouldn’t work to simply turn around and accept. This called for something more extravagant. This called for a full-on seduction.
No matter that she’d never done one before. How hard could it be?