Scoring the Boss: Mr. Match Book 4

by Stewart, Delancey

  This was not where I wanted to be.

  With or without Max. With or without Mr. Match, Palo Alto didn't feel right.

  I missed my mother and my dog. I missed the beach and the palm trees. I missed the light atmosphere that had flowed in and out of every moment I'd spent in San Diego. With or without Max.

  "I can't do this," I said, looking around at my past. That's what this was—the narrow streets lined with parked cars, the cookie cutter ranch homes of our neighborhood, the oppressive commute I faced every day to the office even though I lived only a few miles away. What had felt like some kind of birthright before now felt like a weight around my neck. I didn't want it.

  Back inside my house, which was even more crowded than normal, thanks to all of Mom's things being shoved in every bit of free space, I sat down at the little kitchen table and made the phone call that I thought would be nearly impossible. But when Foster answered, I felt only relief.

  "I understand," he said, his voice thoughtful and low but not angry or surprised.

  "You do?"

  "Tate," he said, and there was something fatherly in his tone that made my heart squeeze with missing my own dad. "You've worked your ass off for the firm. And I thought, when I sensed that you'd found something besides work down there in San Diego, that maybe you'd finally found what you were looking for. Do you know what I'm saying?"

  "Not really," I said, my heart twisting in my chest. Maybe I did know. Maybe it was time to acknowledge it.

  "With Max Winchell."

  A spike of fear lanced my chest. Did he know? "The company, you mean? Mr. Match?"

  "I mean with Mr. Match himself. I thought maybe you were happy. That you might have found your own match."

  "Foster, he's a client." I spit out the obvious fact, the thing that had kept me inside this cage of misery almost since meeting Max.

  "And sometimes we can't control the circumstances," Foster told me. "The heart wants what the heart wants. Tell me if I'm off base here, Tate."

  I sighed, utter defeat sliding through me like a dark fog. If I was the next Lana Holmes, it was too late to do anything about it. "You're not off base."

  "Then why did you come back?" he asked.

  "We all know what happened to Lana," I reminded him. "I've worked too hard for too long—"

  "Let me stop you right there," he said, interrupting me. "Lana was a special snowflake. She came a few years before you, so you didn't have the pleasure of knowing her well, but Tate, there's no comparison here. She clawed her way up the ladder with manipulation and threats of sexual harassment, and she'd been involved in several client scandals. No one was shocked about the straw that broke the camel's back, it was just the first time she'd made enough of a mess to warrant letting her go. She didn't work half as hard as you, and she never had a reputation as solid or smart as yours. You're practically bulletproof around here."

  I felt my eyes widening as I processed this information. I’d been killing myself trying to earn respect at work and he was telling me it was already mine? That maybe I could have relaxed just a bit? "Wow, I ..."

  "No one would stop you from being happy," he said. "Especially me."

  I leaned onto the tabletop, the enormity of the decision I'd made out of fear of something that evidently would never have happened pushing me down. "It's too later, Foster, I—"

  "Just hold on," he said. "Things didn't go quite the way we wanted—not for you either. But this isn't over. The reason I pushed you to take the CEO position, even for a little while, was because I wanted you to get comfortable down there. I wanted you to tell me you loved it and were ready to move."

  That was essentially what I'd just told him, if you threw in a mopey voice and a bit of romantic entanglement and heartbreak. "Why?"

  "The firm wants to open a San Diego office and your name has come up multiple times as the best candidate to run it. It's the reason I sent you to look at Winchell's company down there."

  "You're kidding." I sat back, letting this information ripple through me. It was the promotion I’d been hoping for, just in a different shape. And he was making it sound like it was still possible. A flare of joy lit in my chest, and my limbs felt lighter than they had in days.

  "You're the best fit for the job. And it's still yours if you want it."

  I didn't need to think about that. I needed a fresh start, with or without Max. And while it might be hard being in San Diego, knowing he was nearby and not seeing him, I wanted to be with my mother and Charlie, and I loved everything about the city. "Yes," I said. "I'm in."

  "Get your butt back down there. I'm sending some links to potential office space. You'll need to get us set up and then hire a few folks. I've got another guy from the office here going down too. Lance West."

  I knew Lance. Fresh out of business school. He was ambitious and eager. He'd make a good start to my staff. I couldn't believe I was thinking about my staff. My office. "Great. I'll get going. Today."

  Foster laughed. "I'm gonna miss you around here, Tate, but this feels like the right thing."

  "It does. Thanks, Foster."

  I was in the car two hours after I'd hung up the phone. I'd worry about the house later. For now, I felt like I was heading for the future, and for the first time since I'd walked away from Max, I felt hopeful.

  Chapter 33

  Catatonic Soccer Players

  Max

  Rose Archer had not hesitated a single second when I'd asked if she might be willing to give me Tatum's address in Palo Alto, and Coach had hesitated just a moment longer when I’d informed him I’d be driving myself home from our opening game in Sacramento.

  Sacramento was only three hours and change from Tatum's place, so I was going to play the game, and then rent a car and go grovel. I’d miss the bus ride home, but hopefully it would be more than worth it. I’d beg her to see the truth—that we were meant to be, even if it defied logic and reason. And though it wasn't necessarily in my nature to grovel twice, I was going to do it.

  We played that opening game against Sac, and I managed to hold my own this time. I made one scoring drive through the defensive line at their goal, Tatum's deep brown eyes in my mind the whole time.

  She might not be willing to try again, but at least I'd know I had tried everything. If I couldn't convince her, it wouldn't be because I hadn't given it everything I had. She was worth it. The feeling I had inside me when I thought of her—hope, happiness, joy, even—was worth it.

  But I pulled up outside the little house matching the address Rose had given me, knowing it was already too late. The house didn't look any different from every other house on the street, except maybe for the empty driveway. But I could feel it when I walked up to the door. She wasn't here. Something was wrong.

  "She's moving," a female voice said as I stood in the yard staring at the house. I'd rung the bell seven times, but the house was silent. Vacant.

  I turned to find a woman in athletic attire and a high ponytail wearing more eye makeup than you'd expect for someone clearly dressed for some kind of athletic pursuit. "She's ... moving?" I asked.

  "Yep. Asked me to keep an eye on the place until she gets it sold."

  My heart fell. "Do you know where she went?"

  The woman laughed, and I got the sense there wasn’t a lot going on behind those made-up eyes. “I think she said San Antonio. Or Santa Fe?” She quirked her lips to the side and wrinkled her nose.

  "Oh." I looked back at the house once more, wishing Tatum was inside, wishing I could go to the door and beg her to take me back. "Thanks," I told the woman, and got back into my car. Tate really was done with me. She wasn’t just going to go home and resume her old life. It sounded like she was going to completely start over someplace new.

  The drive back to San Diego was miserable and long, and mind-numbingly monotonous. And when I got there in the middle of the night, I went home and climbed into bed.

  For a fucking genius, I'd managed to make a complete mess of my life.


  * * *

  The next morning, my phone rang relentlessly.

  Cat.

  "What?" I moaned, pulling the phone beneath the covers with me. It was my intention not to get up at all today. I'd considered going back to Rose to ask where exactly Tate was moving to, but if Tate hadn't told me herself, it was pretty clear she didn't want me to know. She was moving on. Writing off the part of her life that had included me entirely. I had to let her. Chasing her down now wouldn't do anyone any good. After all, I’d chased Bendy Samantha, and look where that had gotten me. I was taking no for an answer this time.

  "Get dressed."

  "Fuck right off," I suggested.

  "Hey!"

  "Sorry.” It was probably wrong to tell my sister to fuck off, but I wasn’t quite myself. “But I need some time, Cat. It's really over with Tate. Completely over."

  "Right. Get dressed."

  What part of let me die in my misery was she not getting? "Again, I suggest you go fuck—"

  "Let me just stop you right there," she said. "I'm going to come dress you if you don't get your clothes on right now."

  "Why are you tormenting me?" I peered out from beneath the blankets, but the sun was shining and it felt a lot like it was mocking me. I pulled the covers back over me.

  "I've set you up one more time."

  "Oh no, you didn't." This was insane. How Cat could believe we were still doing this old-fashioned date thing she'd come up with was beyond me. Not after everything with Tate.

  "You forget. Unmatchable. I proved it myself. Back to unicorn land."

  "Stop being ridiculous. Be at Joe's in a half hour."

  "No."

  "You can't just say no. You're not five."

  "Forget it, Cat. I'm not going. I don't care what catatonic soccer player you've managed to scrape from your social network. I don't need a match. I'm happy alone." I could barely make these words leave my tongue, they were so false.

  She sighed. "I thought it might come to this."

  Cat was still on the line, but a moment later, I heard the distinct sounds of someone entering my house with a key.

  "I regret giving you that key."

  "Don't make me come up there!" She was in my house. Yelling from downstairs.

  I sat up, the sheer grumpiness inside me making it impossible to actually get out of bed. "Fuck."

  Cat appeared in my doorway. "Oh my God. It's so much worse than I thought."

  "Fuck you."

  “You’ve already said that.” She nodded and went into the bathroom. I heard the shower go on, and then she appeared again, moving toward me.

  "No." I ducked back into the covers, but Cat actually scooped them from the end of the bed and pulled, bringing the entire contents of my mattress, including my body, sliding to the floor. "Hey!" I yelled, untangling myself and finally standing up.

  She grinned at me and then pushed me toward the bathroom. I was glad I'd worn boxer briefs to bed, but it still felt odd to have my grown sister accompanying me into the bathroom. She began to push me toward the shower, but I turned to face her. "I've got it from here."

  "Don't take forever," she said, leaving the bathroom.

  "Shit," I said, looking in the mirror. But in a way, Cat was right. I needed to get up, get moving. I did not, however, need a date, and I continued telling her this as she walked at my side toward Joe's.

  "And," I said, continuing the rant I'd begun as she'd forced me out of my house. "I don't appreciate you making this happen at Joe's, my favorite coffee place. What if something goes terribly wrong and I can never come back here? You will have not only sent me on a completely pointless date with someone who could not possibly be my match, but you will have ruined my favorite coffee shop for me."

  "Right," she agreed, smiling up at me.

  We neared Joe's and I trailed off, my attention pulled from my anger by a huge brown dog standing on the beach with his front paw up on the low retaining wall separating the beach from the boardwalk. It looked a lot like Charlie. I looked around for Rose, figuring she must have brought him down to the beach for a run. But when I scanned the people around the huge dog, I didn't find her.

  I found Tate.

  "There's your date," Cat said, pointing right at the woman who had lived in my heart since the day I'd met her, whose face had lingered behind my closed eyes even when I'd tried to forget her.

  I wanted to turn to Cat, ask her a million questions, but I was afraid if I took my gaze off Tate, she might disappear. "It's her," I said, my own voice sounding stupider than I remembered it.

  "Go," Cat said, pushing me again, since I'd stopped walking.

  I'd get her back for all the pushing at some point, but right now, I could only think of one thing.

  Tate.

  Chapter 34

  Susan Rose Rides Again

  Tatum

  I watched Max approach, shock at seeing me standing on the beach with Charlie clear on his face.

  My heart was beating erratically, thumping around like Charlie's tail with excitement at seeing him again. He looked incredible, clean shaven, and so fit and athletic, striding toward me in khaki pants and an orange polo shirt that set off his tanned skin. He smiled as he drew near, and my skin tingled with the memory of his touch.

  "Tate," he said, stopping in front of me in the sand. He looked around, as if there might be a camera crew and someone to leap out and tell him it was all a joke. Then he looked back at me, his eyes concealed by the aviator glasses he wore. He pulled them off, his eyes shining. "You're here."

  "I am," I agreed, laughing nervously. God, he was handsome. I suddenly wasn't sure what to say, what to do. My heart thundered and I felt giddy and loose. Charlie stepped to Max's side, wrapping the leash around his legs and then head butting him in the hip.

  "I went to your house," he said, petting Charlie as he shook his head slowly. "In Palo Alto."

  It was my turn to be surprised. He went all the way to Palo Alto? To find me? "You did? Why?"

  "We had a game there."

  "In Palo Alto?"

  "Nearby. Sacramento."

  "That's not really nearby. It's more than three hours away." I wasn't sure why we were suddenly discussing geography, but I was happy just to be talking to Max. To be near him. My fingers twitched, wanting to touch him.

  "You weren't there," he said. His voice held a misty quality, shock, maybe. He wasn't making a lot of sense. "Tate, how are you here? Your neighbor said you moved away."

  A happy laugh climbed out of me. "I did." I couldn't stand being so close to him now and not touching him. I reached forward, dared to put a palm against the firm muscle of his chest. He moved closer as soon as my hand touched him, his fingers coming up to circle my wrist, pressing my hand harder into him as if to make sure I wouldn't run. "Max," I said, "I moved here."

  His mouth opened and then closed, and he stiffened for a second. "Here," he said, still sounding uncertain. "I don't really know what this means. I went to Palo Alto to see if I could talk you into giving us another chance, to see if maybe, even with your job—"

  I was nodding, my head beginning slowly up and down, and then moving like a bobble head in violent agreement. "Yes. It's all fine," I told him. "I'm opening the office here, and—"

  "Here? You're moving here and opening an office here?"

  "Yes, I—"

  I didn't get to finish explaining because Max's mouth was on mine then, his arms around me and our hearts pressed together as the warm sun beat down and my enormous shaggy dog tried to push his head between us. No one could have gotten between us right then, though, and Charlie finally settled for plopping himself down at our feet, pushing himself between our shins and laying on our toes.

  Max pulled his head back, both of us laughing. "I can't believe you're here. Staying here."

  I grinned back at him. I couldn't quite believe it either. "I am," I said, loving the way it sounded to confirm that this was real. I wasn't going anywhere.

  "
And how did you happen to be here? Right now? Are you really the person I’m supposed to be meeting?"

  "Yes," I told him, squeezing his waist tighter. "I'm your date. Cat set this up," I looked around for Max's sister, but she'd gone. "I went to see her at the gallery, to ask if she thought you'd be willing to give things a real chance."

  He grinned. "I was so mad at her today when she said she'd set me up again." He looked down at me. "I almost didn't come."

  "I'm glad you did."

  "So am I," he said, and then he was kissing me again.

  After a while, Charlie grew bored with laying in the sand while Max and I stood and confirmed that we were both really here, both staying, that we could actually take the time we needed, and give ourselves a chance. He dragged us to the water's edge and I let him play while I stood with Max, hand in hand, and watched. My chest felt full and warm, and the smile wouldn’t leave my lips.

  "It's crazy," Max said, stroking my fingers. "I've spent so much time believing if things weren't logical, if they weren't mathematical, then they couldn't possibly work. I mean, we're just at the beginning, I know, and I don't want to jinx it, but ..." he looked at me uncertainly. "I found the profile you created. Susan Rose?"

  "Oh, seriously?" That wasn’t good. I’d made half those answers up.

  "I ran it against mine."

  "Oh my God, you didn't."

  "That's the thing, Tate. We're not a match. Not even a little bit." He looked utterly confused. "But what I feel about us makes me think it doesn't matter at all. Everything I've believed about love for so long is completely wrong in the face of what I think might be the real thing."

  My head snapped around to stare at him. Max had just used the "L" word. I'd been feeling it, but things felt too new, too tentative to push into that kind of serious territory. Still, I knew he was right. "I think so too," I said, nervous as the words left my lips.