Just Her Type

by Laudat, Reon

  Kendra wasn’t so much a runaway bride as a flighty fiancée. She’d returned rings and dispensed the heart-rending breakup speeches. As she regarded the yarn, that famous quote about insanity buzzed inside her head: Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. A fierce pull drew her to Dominic, but at the same time it felt like déjà vu.

  “I’m doing the best I can to ensure I don’t make the same mistakes again, that’s all.” Kendra sat down at her desk.

  “So this time you’re not letting anyone sweep you off your feet? You’re playing hard to get?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I need to broaden my dating horizons and increase my odds of having a better outcome by choosing a different kind of man.”

  “But this is Dominic Tobias.”

  “Brittany, during the flight home we wore matching outfits!”

  “Unless both of you wore bustiers, micro-minis, and stilettos, I don’t see the problem. Weren’t you both in jeans and sweaters? Hello.” She moved closer to wave a hand in front of Kendra’s face. “Half the people on the plane were probably wearing the same thing.”

  “Not the same striped sweater in bisque and pepper.”

  “Bisque and pepper?”

  “Off white and red.”

  “Don’t you just love catalog colors? Nothing beats nail polish. I’m wearing On the Prowl right now.” Brittany made a claw and growled to show off her chocolate-tinted nail tips.

  “And Dominic loves Love Nest Ninjas, too,” Kendra added after Brittany’s nail art spiel.

  “Oh? And how do you know that? I thought you hardly spoke to him.”

  “He did most of the talking,” Kendra replied, not revealing she’d gleaned that tidbit and numerous others from his blog and social media accounts. “And there was that spooky thing with the cabin service I told you about.”

  “So you take your coffee the same way. Big deal.”

  “And don’t forget about the snack.”

  “Oh, right. So we have two trail mix mates, who are also bibliophiles in his-and-her matching sweaters clicking like crazy and practically crashing into cloying ‘Cute Coupledom, like an eighteen-wheeler on an icy mountain pass,’ as Lizzy would say. Which is why you can’t possibly date him. I get it. I think. Twisted logic and all. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

  “Or not do what she always does. No more seeking out the familiar. I need something new.” To that end, she’d opened an account at a dating site, Cupid4You.com. “None of that whirlwind fairytale nonsense for me this time. Real love takes time, thought, pragmatism, and research.”

  “Ooooh. Venn diagrams. Sexy,” Brittany deadpanned.

  “Lust is instantaneous.”

  “But what a way to start.” When Brittany took a huge bite of the doughnut, powdered sugar rained on her jacket and jelly squirted on the corner of her mouth.

  “It’s fleeting. It’s opposites attract for the long term. And with opposites it’s easier to keep things exciting. Maybe I should go for the dark, brooding, mysterious type.”

  “So you want to swap a heartache for a big headache? You want a challenge, a project, so you can redeem him?”

  “You still don’t you get it.”

  “Because you’re making my head spin.”

  “And another thing, Dominic and I are agents!”

  “So? You share the same passion for the industry and books. That’s a good thing,” she said as if Kendra were a thick-headed child.

  “I foresee a situation fraught with, you know, weirdness, for lack of a better word. You know, the way he does business and all—”

  “He’s a formidable, gloves-off agent but there has never been anything illegal or unethical about the way he operates. At most we’re talking gray areas.”

  “In other words, morally murky areas.”

  “He’s successful. You’re successful.” Brittany finished the doughnut, licked her fingertips, brushed away the sugar on her outfit, and used a napkin to clean filling off her mouth.

  Successful. But for how long? Kendra had been putting a hefty chunk of her own agency profits into helping her aunt’s yarn shop. After Hurricane Sandy flooded large swaths of Hoboken, the shop still struggled to regain its solid financial footing. The Sassy Sheep and several nearby shops suffered water damage and financial relief or reimbursement for the needed repairs had been slow to come. Uncle Alex’s life insurance provided just enough to maintain her aunt’s personal lifestyle. She needed a loan, which she hadn’t been able to secure through the reputable financial institutions to which she’d applied. Kendra refused to let her grieving aunt become victim to predatory lenders with fat checks in hand for a temporary, but ultimately disastrous “bail out” with outrageous interest rates and service fees. Nor would she let her aunt lose the shop she’d run for twenty years, so soon after losing her husband.

  In the last two years, three agents at Porter Literary Agency had taken jobs in more “stable” industries. To make the financial juggling work, last year, Kendra had relocated from the pricier Lower Manhattan address to the space above the yarn shop, which required extensive remodeling. She had yet to replace the other assistant who had moved to the West Coast. She couldn’t afford to do so right now.

  Kendra still managed to operate in the black. Barely. Now that ebooks had rapidly gained on print book sales, in some genres surpassing them, several clients had experienced precipitous drops in their incomes, which translated into smaller commissions for the agency. So far, her attempts to negotiate higher ebook royalty rates beyond the lock-step standard for all clients had been fruitless. Publishers had granted such increases to only a few traditional superstars and indie sales outliers they’d scooped up, as far as she knew. Were her traditionally-published clients the only ones denied the golden ticket to the ebook royalty party?

  Kendra had always believed she was good at her job, but now she wasn’t so sure. And that disturbing thought kept her up most nights. What if she’d been deluding herself all this time? And fooling everyone else? Maybe it was just luck that had gotten her this far. What if she could no longer cut it as an agent in this tumultuous market?

  “Did you forget I lost Brody Goodwin to Dominic?” Kendra said.

  “You still got your panties in a knot over that? Seriously? That yarn is awfully nice,” Brittany said. “Look at it this way: Getting to know one of your toughest rivals could be good for you and the agency.” Brittany scooped up a stack of newly-arrived galleys and audio books from Kendra’s desk and moved toward her own work space.

  “Maybe he can teach me a few things. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  “And vice versa, boss. Maybe you two will become good,” she paused and looked over her shoulder with an indecent wink, “friends. I say go for it.”

  No way. Besides, there was work to do. Kendra had an agency to run. The coffee she’d chugged twenty minutes earlier kicked in, giving her a much-needed jolt of caffeine confidence. She had skills! She was born to do this! Despite the popularity of self-publishing, submissions streamed in steadily. She needed something big—another huge hit from a current client or a new rainmaking client or two so she could continue doing what she loved most without falling into deep debt.

  Chapter 4

  Kendra soon experienced a change of heart, but she waited until the next day to phone Dominic so as not to appear too eager to connect again, though a part of her most certainly was eager, despite the objections she’d voiced to Brittany. Besides, it would’ve been discourteous not to thank the man for such a nice gesture. She even let him persuade her to meet him at a little eatery, midway their offices, known for its amazing coffee and prize-winning sandwiches. A girl’s gotta eat, right?

  An early lunch crowd and the appetizing aroma of frying food filled the place. Her stomach growled as the waitress showed her to a corner table. Soon after, a smiling Dominic approached the table. His stride was smooth and purposeful. Her insides went all aflutter again. What was i
t about a handsome man in geeky specs and he-man stubble?

  Dominic removed his slouch beanie and raked his fingers through his wavy hair. He hooked his army jacket on a nearby rack and sat across from her. “Well, hello. Sorry I’m a little late. A meeting ran a little longer than expected.” His eyes widened. “You look amazing, as always.”

  Kendra’s hands skimmed along her thrift store sheath worn with black leather knee-high boots. The fifties-style black dress flattered her assets, but was still suitable for business casual because she’d layered it with a red floral puffer vest to tone down its sexiness. She tucked the left side of her shiny long hair with its single blueberry-shaded streak behind her ear, showing off her new platinum ear cuff.

  “Wasn’t that streak purplish red on the plane?” He gestured toward her colored lock.

  “Yes, it was, but I get bored easily. I can change it up daily or hourly if I want because I use a highly-pigmented eyeshadow paste to paint it. Bright, but temporary. Easily removed with a dab of water and shampoo.”

  “All the fun without the commitment.”

  “Exactly. Thank you for such a thoughtful gift. I love knitting.”

  “On the plane, I noticed the brown lumps of yarn in your bag. I know they could’ve been for someone else, but I’m glad I took a chance.”

  “They’re called skeins or hanks of yarn, not lumps. You saw chocolate alpaca hanks.”

  “Noted. But what’s with all the foodiness when it comes to fabric color? I say keep it simple. Cherry is red. Grape is purple. Lime is green. Cream is white. Le-”

  “Lemon is yellow. In other words that sweater you’re wearing is not honeydew?” Kendra’s gaze roamed to the V-neck sweater worn with a cherry, checkered button-down shirt. A graphic scarf with an image of Jimi Hendrix curled around his neck in a loose Parisian knot. A large-faced watch adorned one wrist and a chunky braided band with spikes circled the other. She’d noticed his wing-tip oxford Doc Martens when he’d arrived.

  “Definitely not honeydew,” he replied.

  “I like your style, Dominic. The, um, creative chaos of it all.” Kendra’s fingers briefly fluttered toward his scarf. “Nice touch.” Despite her intentions, she found herself flirting. Unabashedly. After twirling a lock of her hair and batting her lashes, she fiddled with the tiny hoop piercing her tragus.

  “Why, thank you. My older brothers give me hell about this.” He tapped his scarf. “What did you call it? The ‘creative chaos.’ Last time we all had dinner at my parents’ place they badgered me about carrying a green backpack.”

  “Like the one you had on the plane?”

  He nodded. “Gage quipped he was sure it came with an Incredible Hulk thermos, trading cards, and stickers, but Cooper conceded it was a step up from my,” he made finger quotes, “ ‘murse’ or —”

  “Man-purse also known as the courier or messenger bag?”

  “Yup. And Gage definitely hates the froufrou scarves.”

  “There’s nothing froufrou about Jimi, okay? What’s his problem?”

  “He can’t believe I’m taken seriously as a professional. ‘You’re way too old to dress like an outcast from a British boy band,’ he grumbled, shaking his finger at me.”

  “My aunt razzes me about the same thing. She doesn’t approve of my choices, either. But if she did, I’d know I was in big trouble. I love Aunt Jackie, but if my outfits get the thumbs-down from the woman who owns three dozen pairs of Wallabees and mail orders polyester poplin culottes with a ‘full-stretch comfort waist’ from a TV Guide ad, I’d say I’m on the right track. Let me guess, your brothers carry briefcases.”

  “Correct.”

  “So who is really the smart one? You’ve dispensed with the blah for cool hands-free functionality.”

  “And I even own a cardigan labeled bright quartz, though it looks suspiciously pink.”

  “Real men aren’t afraid to express themselves with color or distinctive patterns,” Kendra added.

  “And they never fear the quirky. I always say, embrace the quirky.”

  “And the backpack or the crisscross shoulder strap.”

  “I guarantee I’ll be the geezer at the senior citizens center in the shades, straight-up styling. A real hepcat.”

  “Hear, hear! And I’ll be the granny in the psychedelic go-go boots with bubblegum pink streaks in her hair.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way.” Dominic lifted one leg of his jeans to reveal the bold palm frond pattern of his socks. “From the Dwyane Wade collection. Why walk in his basketball shoes when I can wear his crazy cool socks?”

  “Wait! You have to check these.” When Kendra unzipped one of her boots to show the striped Wicked Witch of the East socks hidden underneath, both laughed heartily. “Okay, we’re getting carried away with the show and tell.” She savored his wonderful scent—a clean, but sensual masculine mix. “And I have to note, you smell good. On the plane and now.”

  “So, you like, huh?” He grinned. “I like your scent, too. Light and citrusy.”

  “So, we’ve been sniffing each other like a couple of dogs? Nice,” she deadpanned to diminish the current crackling between them.

  When Dominic leaned forward with a mesmerizing gleam in his eyes, she met him halfway until about an inch separated their lips.

  “You know,” he said in a low voice, his breath pleasing against her cheek, “some researchers believe that scent plays a significant role in determining our mates—”

  “As in why we’re drawn to one person over another—”

  “When, say, all other physical measurements of attractiveness—”

  “Are pretty much the same.”

  “Sounds as if we memorized the same pop psych article in that old Mind Matters science magazine on the plane.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Kendra also thought of a passage from Lizzy’s book: While cute couples sometimes emit a Ken-and-Barbie vibe, nobody would mistake them for brother and sister; their combustible chemistry is undeniable.

  Dominic’s gaze dropped to her lips.

  And hers to his.

  Kendra admired his mouth for far too long, and the rest of the restaurant drifted away. She closed her eyes.

  “Hello! I’m Carol, your server. Ready to order?”

  Startled, Kendra jerked back, leaving Dominic hanging.

  “Just a minute.” Dominic cleared his throat, settled back in his chair, and reached for his menu.

  “What a cutie pie!” Kendra mentally swerved, noting the little girl in the photo dangling from the lanyard around Carol’s neck.

  “My grandkid.” Carol smiled. “Her name is Charley.”

  “I love that name!” Kendra gushed, reaching out to steady the photo for a better look at the smiling, chubby-cheeked tyke.

  “I named her,” Carol said. “It’s from an old perfume commercial. Way before your time.”

  Kendra amazed Carol when she began singing the jingle. Carol joined in, her skinny ponytail swaying.

  “My aunt used to sing it and the one about bringing home the bacon and frying it up in a pan,” Kendra explained after they’d shared a good laugh.

  Someone at a nearby table waved to Carol.

  “I promised water to the table over there. Be right back,” Carol said before continuing her duties.

  “That’s one way to guarantee you receive top-notch service,” Dominic said with a sly smile. “I’m impressed.”

  “The kid is too stinking cute, okay?”

  “That she is.”

  Carol returned from the table just a few feet away. “Ready?”

  Dominic studied his menu. “After you,” he said to Kendra.

  “No. You go right ahead. I need a minute.” Thinking of their cabin service orders, Kendra wanted him to go first to curb what she suspected were copycat maneuvers.

  “I’ll wait for the lady,” Dominic told Carol. “This place is known for the sandwiches?”

  “Yes,” Carol replied. “They’re delicious.”

/>   Kendra salivated over the tasty-looking offerings and craved an ice cold beer, but ordered a chef salad and unsweetened iced tea instead.

  Dominic studied the sandwiches, paused and then said, “And I’ll have the same.” He closed his menu and passed it back to Carol.

  Kendra had hoped he’d go for one of the sandwiches glistening with gobs of meat and melted cheese so she could at least ogle or inhale the greasy goodness.

  Carol scribbled on her pad. Kendra modified her order. She and Dominic would most certainly not have the same thing if she had anything to say about it. “I’ll need the dressing, low-fat, on the side and on second thought nix the ham.”

  Carol took notes and then turned to leave.

  “Wait.” Dominic smirked. Mischief twinkled in his brown eyes as if he knew what Kendra was up to. “Ditto mine.”

  “Then make mine low-fat cheese,” Kendra added.

  “Mine, too,” he said.

  Carol took more notes and turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Kendra blurted, “Cut the cheese!”

  “Excuse me?” Carol asked with one raised brow.

  “I meant hold all the cheese on my salad,” Kendra said.

  Carol looked at Dominic. “You bailing on the croutons?”

  “No, the croutons are fine,” he replied.

  “Then hold my croutons,” Kendra said.

  “Wait. On second thought, hold mine, too.” He chuckled.

  “How about the simple house salad with no dressing?” Carol suggested.

  “Or a stalk of celery on a plate,” barked the buttinsky two tables away who’d obviously overheard them. He glared at Dominic and Kendra. “Another Heineken for me when you get a chance, Carol.”

  “A beer for you, Kendra?” Dominic asked.

  “No,” Kendra replied. “And the house salad has iceberg lettuce, so I’ll pass. The romaine packs a greater nutritional punch. And, oh, if you have it on hand, could you have the cook throw some kohlrabi on there, too?”