Just Her Type

by Laudat, Reon

  With drink and package of trail mix in hand, Kendra sipped her coffee, nibbled her snack, and held her book open at the proper place, all the while not giving up a millimeter of that armrest.

  Dominic tasted his coffee, not spilling a drop until she nudged him.

  Kendra apologized when a bit sloshed over the rim.

  “Not a problem.” Dominic winked, dabbing at the damp stain on his jeans with a napkin.

  Kendra tucked the book in the seat pocket in front of her, positioned the tray table over her lap, and placed a napkin on top to sort trail mix, separating the dried fruit from the pretzels and cashews.

  “What were you saying about the conference?” Dominic also released his tray table and sorted his trail mix.

  “I met with clients, potential clients, editors, and other agents, the usual.”

  “All work and no play?” He popped cashews inside his mouth.

  “Just business.” He did not need to know about her yarn shop recon missions for her aunt. She ate a handful of dried cranberries and apricots.

  Dominic watched her spurn the nuts. “You’re not eating those?”

  “I hate cashews.”

  “And I hate dried fruit. Swap? More cashews for me, more dried fruit for you. Perfect.”

  Kendra agreed to the exchange.

  Dominic asked her opinions about various hot industry topics, but she replied without elaborating and reached for Lizzy’s book again.

  “I hate to head back to the cold,” he said, an obvious attempt to keep the conversation going.

  “Fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit is not exactly frigid for New York in late September.” She read the same sentence for the umpteenth time.

  “But it was eighty degrees in Dallas. What did you think of the city?”

  Kendra held up her book so he’d get the hint. Rude, but it was the only way she could keep conversation to a minimum.

  Instead of indulging Kendra and letting her read, he flipped through that Fingerhut catalog and offered running commentary on everything from the moon shoes that let you “bounce around your home with abandon” to the twenty-three-piece bath set with the ubiquitous “wolves howling at the moon” motif. Even so, she was charmed by the effort to coax a chuckle out of her. But then she remembered this was the sort of thing the exes had also done to break down her defenses after she’d made up her mind about something. A symptom of control freak tendencies? Just like the exes, who had eventually shown their distaste for her fierce independence?

  “And we can share this armrest, you know.” He grinned.

  “Or you could be a gentleman and give it up.”

  “Oh, but I like rubbing elbows with you, literally.” He winked again, making her wonder if he had some sort of neurological tic. But then again, maybe the man was just going for it. Full throttle.

  Kendra made quite the show of yawning and stretching, causing her sweater to strain across her breasts.

  “That sweater looks a whole lot better on you,” he said, not hiding his appreciation for the view.

  It disturbed her that his ogling only made her want to show him more. “Armrest is all yours. I’m tired,” she said.

  The twinkle in his eyes dimmed. “Oh, sorry.”

  “Nothing personal.” She gave him an indulgent smile. “Conferences always sap my energy.” She shifted away and propped her head against the cool window. But she couldn’t unclench enough to fall asleep.

  Dominic Tobias gave her butterflies. Huge butterflies. All the more reason to fake a nap.

  Chapter 2

  The next day, Dominic stepped off an elevator in the Manhattan building that housed Impact. Making his way toward his office, he hid his grumpiness as he greeted the staff along the way. A fitful night’s sleep had resulted in a lousier morning mood than usual. He’d fake humanity until he’d had lots of coffee or the clock struck noon, whichever came first.

  Stationed at the desk outside his office was Quentin, his trusty assistant, looking reedier than usual with his blond hair buzzed ultra-close and his body clad in head-to-toe black. He looked up from his cell phone. After ten years, his incessant morning cheer still mystified Dominic.

  “Welcome back! Hope you had a good trip down South. Hey, where’s the ten-gallon cowboy hat, snakeskin boots, and license plate-sized belt buckle?”

  “In the hotel gift shop.”

  “Venti Starbucks is on your desk.”

  “Thanks,” Dominic said before dropping his backpack and settling at his desk with an exhausted sigh. Thoughts of Kendra Porter had lingered since their parting at LaGuardia. He knew Kendra by professional reputation, but he had also admired her photos in publishing industry articles and conference literature. Those images had not done the woman justice. He couldn’t get her off his mind. Large sable brown eyes. Full, pouty lips. Long, lush jet black hair with a sassy, unexpected streak of fuchsia on the left.

  And ka-pow! A bangin’ guitar-shaped bod.

  The first night during the conference he’d spotted her in the hotel bar, flaunting those amazing boom-boom curves in a body-skimming black dress and enjoying beer. A beer girl. Gotta love that. He’d planned to formally introduce himself and buy her another drink, but then she took off, leaving skid marks. After the fourth time she’d vanished quicker than vapor, he’d concluded she was avoiding him. Unfortunately, when the opportunity to meet presented itself on the plane, he’d come off too strong with the cheesy come-ons.

  Quentin tapped on the open door and then entered Dominic’s office. “I forgot to mention Brody called several times while you were away. And he’s in a mood. Said he’d texted, then called your cell number, but kept getting voicemail. He knew where you were staying.”

  “I forgot to bring the charger for my phone. The conference schedule was packed. Didn’t have time to run out to get another charger.” Dominic could’ve tried harder, but a part of him enjoyed disconnection from that cell for a few days. He rarely checked the hotel messages while at conferences because they were usually from writers eager to pitch.

  “He said he emailed and got your auto-reply.”

  “He must’ve used my agency email and not the personal one. Besides, we had a long discussion just before I took off for Dallas. It’s only been about what? Six or seven days. Did he happen to tell you what he needed?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll call him as soon as I get settled.”

  If Impact had a yearbook with superlative categories for clients, Brody would have a lock on Biggest Pain in the Ass. Dominic indulged Brody’s blitz of texts, phone calls, and emails spurred by fits of artiste compulsions and insecurities because he genuinely liked the guy. Brody’s brilliance as a writer and earnings for Impact had made his constant demand for hand-holding and pep talks bearable.

  “I need a few minutes and a drum of coffee before I take him on.” Dominic reached for the Starbucks cup on his desk. “This is a start.”

  “Bad flight?”

  “Yes and no.” Dominic’s excitement in discovering Kendra Porter on his flight home had soon turned to disappointment when she’d blocked his attempts to get better acquainted. Not only had she refused to talk much during the flight, but she’d also declined sharing a taxi with him.

  After Quentin left, Dominic gulped his coffee, pushed up his sleeves, and prepared to lose himself in work. Then perfect blue sky beckoned.

  After all these years in this building, the view from his office glass wall still took his breath away.

  Returning his attention to work, Dominic noticed that Quentin had left a stack of magazines on his desk. The celebrity weeklies and tabloids had Post-it notes attached to flag certain pages. Hubba-hubba! and Double Hubba-hubba had been scribbled on a few of the notes. Dominic flipped through those first, observing the same poolside photo of him with box office sensation Lucas Cameron. When Luke wasn’t filming, he usually had a harem of underwear and bikini models around. Hobnobbing with jetsetters such as Luke was just one of many job perks Dominic enjoy
ed. Impact represented authors of nonfiction and fiction, mostly genre/commercial fiction with just a few prestige or literary projects that the literati, a.k.a the snob squad, had deemed “high art.” He handled intellectual property in motion picture, television, theater, and new media. He counted at least a dozen Hollywood A-listers as clients.

  Shelves of spine-out books lined two walls of his expansive office. Framed covers of Dominic’s favorite personal reads decorated another wall. Neat stacks of hardcovers and trade paperbacks filled every corner. Though the agency had gone largely digital, some paper submissions sat on shelves.

  Dominic had achieved his success without relying on the Tobias family name, cash, or connections. He had not turned a solo-man agency into a super agency by shying away from challenges. He thrived on them. On to the next. Kendra Porter!

  Several women Dominic had gone after banished him to that guy purgatory of no return known as the “Friend Zone.” Over the years, Dominic’s patience and no-pressure strategy had been a failure. He hadn’t pushed. Instead, he’d put their need to work through their issues first and his own desires last.

  Mistake No. 1: He’d listened to women drone on and on about other men for hours on end when he should’ve respectfully shut that down after the initial ice-breaking romantic résumé swap. Exes should never be the subject of more than ten minutes of conversation during the first few dates. Brief references only, as a sort of grounding maneuver, much like establishing one has transferrable skills in a certain field when applying for a job. Cara had been a little too addicted to the drama in a past toxic relationship. Leah, who’d also been burned one too many times by men who had treated her poorly, nursed deep-seated fears of intimacy. And Dominic couldn’t get past the creepy feeling that Simone, recently divorced, was just one paycheck away from having her ex-husband, a.k.a that Cheating Rat Bastard, bumped off by a professional.

  Mistake No. 2: Dominic had displayed too much gentlemanly restraint even when he was hot for someone. There had been no peeking down their cleavage and poaching lines from the pinkie-ring-and-chest-hair-flashing crew: Hey, baby, ah, (insert Binaca spritz, heavy breathing, and lip lick) your legs must be tired because you’ve been running through my mind all night long.

  To let women know he was just as interested in getting in their heads as in their panties, he hadn’t done nearly enough groping or dispatched sufficient smoldering looks to telegraph his sexual intentions. By the time he had moved in for something more than a chaste hug or peck on the lips, their reactions had been downright frustrating:

  Stacey’s heart wounding, I thought you were different! You’re like the rest! Just one thing on your mind!

  Jasmine’s soul crushing, Eww! You’re like a brother to me!

  Lauren’s boner wilting, Um, er, I thought you were gay!

  Mistake No. 3: Trying to eradicate the spirits of boyfriends past. Dominic was the first to admit he liked the challenge of exorcising the memory of a former love, but when a woman made it clear she wasn’t ready to move forward with him, he needed to check his damn ego and get the hell up out of there. Resist amateur attempts at psychoanalysis.

  Mistake No. 4: Playing Mr. Too Nice Guy. Like men, some women apparently also relished the chase. There was little appreciation for love that came too easily. Where’s the fun in that? They couldn’t resist the appeal of damaged guys who required rescuing. The Bad Boy, the Brooding Rogue, or Mr. Playa-Playa who needed redemption and a female willing to do all the emotional work first. And while Dominic believed a bent toward colossal assholery was not directly proportionate to virility, hey, who was he to argue with Darwinian theories that had launched millions of best-selling Hearts & Flowers romance novels? He’d always been more of a relationship-type guy, but he needed to dole out just the right balance of nasty and nice to keep things interesting.

  He would not bungle things with Kendra Porter. Or was it already too late? When she’d tried to read on the plane, he’d jostled for that armrest to get her attention and pestered her with a freakin’ Fingerhut catalog and its twenty-three-piece bath set with a “wolves howling at the moon” motif. He’d shifted to motormouth mode even though he’d figured women appreciated men who exuded quiet strength and mystery. And what the hell was up with all that excessive winking like a malfunctioning tail light. He dragged a hand down his face. Desperate loser moves.

  Do-over time. He reached for the phone and paused. In his approach to professional and private matters, it wasn’t always easy to distinguish self-assurance from cockiness, persistence from compulsiveness. Had he misread her signals? Men were notoriously obtuse when it came to gauging women’s romantic interest in them. Had he mistaken static electricity for true romantic sparks?

  Nah. Those beautiful brown eyes of hers did not lie. Of course she wanted him, too!

  And above all, Dominic Tobias did not like to lose. Choo-choo! Full steam ahead!

  Ms. Porter deserved an apology for his buffoonish behavior. He’d put his romantic intentions out there. Again. But with a bit more cool the next time around. Or at least he’d give suave a shot. No promises because he couldn’t remember feeling so completely captivated by someone.

  Only one way to describe it: Knocked off his feet.

  Dominic pushed the celebrity magazines aside, tipped his chair back, and contemplated which flowers Kendra might prefer. Maybe he’d send a bouquet to her agency. He reached for the telephone to call Quentin to arrange it, but thought better of it. Too cliché. A gift basket of soaps and body lotions? Too soon. A giant fruit basket? Too Aunt Aubrelia. She’d always sent him and his brothers elaborate baskets of pears, apples, and oranges at Christmas.

  If only Kendra had opened up more. He drummed his fingertips against the desktop and turned to his computer. Mid-Internet search, it came to him. With a triumphant smile he reached for the phone again.

  Chapter 3

  That same day, eight skeins of the loveliest hand-painted Italian cashmere yarn Kendra had ever seen arrived at her agency, situated above The Sassy Sheep, her Aunt Jackie’s Hoboken, New Jersey yarn shop. After the courier left, she examined the skeins nestled inside a large satin pouch, along with precious-stone embellished knitting needles and matching stitch markers. The handwritten gift note read:

  Now you can get down to the knitty-gritty. Sorry if I made your flight home less than enjoyable.

  —Dominic

  Kendra looked to Brittany, her good friend, assistant, and agent-in-training, who sometimes overcompensated for her Disney princess looks with a potty mouth and predilection for grim “business Goth” makeup and clothing. That day she wore a knitted obi belt, a gift from Aunt Jackie, her staple dark lipstick, a pencil skirt, spike-heeled boots, and a short fitted jacket.

  “This guy isn’t messing around, is he? But how did he know?” Brittany ran polished dark nails of one hand along the soft yarn while the other hand held a powdered strawberry-filled doughnut she’d snagged from the refreshments stash for Sassy Sheep customers.

  Kendra was too preoccupied to eat the glazed cruller she’d filched from the same tray downstairs. “I didn’t tell him anything. I barely spoke to him during the flight.”

  “I’ve got to admit, I like his style. He did his homework.”

  Like most passionate knitters, Kendra continued to amass more yarn in her personal stash than could be used in a lifetime. Dominic’s gift was fitting, but selecting it was hardly a feat requiring Sherlockian deduction. He had probably spied the yarn stash inside the I Knit So I Don’t Kill People canvas bag she’d carried on the plane.

  Kendra harrumphed, and then put more space between her and Brittany. Fat jelly doughnuts, like the popping of champagne bottles, made her nervous. Too much potential for wayward squirts or projectiles.

  “So you’re totally resistant to this yarn and his charisma, eh?” Behind cat-eye glasses, Brittany regarded Kendra.

  “The yarn is beautiful. And I’m actually drawn to him.” One index finger skimmed along the card attach
ed to the yarn. “He’s handsome, hot, and charming, but in a somewhat dorky sort of way.”

  “Dorky?”

  “Not sure that’s the right word. He’s like this big kid, doing playful, cheesy things to get your attention. And he comes off a tad overeager.” Kendra recalled his antics with that catalog.

  “So ‘the shark’ is a puppy?”

  “You mean guppy.”

  “Right.”

  “He has this deep, smoky voice, but zero game. Zilch. Nada. At least in the way he approached me. Not smooth. At. All. He just puts it all out there. But his directness is endearing, if that makes any sense.”

  “Makes perfect sense. He’s exactly your type.”

  “And that’s the problem, a big problem, based on my track record.”

  Dominic had also been blessed with a sleek, fit physique…like the exes. Devil-may-care stubble darkened a square jaw…like the exes. Strong, chiseled facial features… like the exes. And he smelled so delicious. She suspected it was his natural scent, not something from a bottle. She’d wanted to grab him and bury her nose against his chest, as she’d often done with the exes.

  “So you’re still on that break-out-of-the-box dating kick?”

  “You know how difficult those breakups were.” Kendra caressed the yarn. “If this sounds crazy, well, it’s a coping mechanism. I seriously worry about my judgment.” Dominic felt all too familiar.

  All along, Kendra had believed she and Dominic would click if they ever met. After all, most of the men Kendra had dated over the years had fit his MO. All had looked perfect on paper, especially the last three: Graham, Colin, Randall. The more perfect they’d appeared for her, the more whirlwind their relationships had been. When she lost her heart, she had a tendency to lose her head. With each she’d been on lockdown before she could say Bed, Bath, & Beyond bridal registry. Three men had proposed, and she’d accepted three times in the past four years. For someone who had never appeared on a reality dating show, surely that record had garnered her some sort of outlier status on the mating-and-dating scene. However, she’d only made it to the altar as a bridesmaid.