Mr. Match: The Boxed Set

by Delancey Stewart

  "I'll give you a call tonight," I told her. "And let you know what I think I'd like to do."

  "Okay," she said. "Sounds good." She slid off the wall and shook out her long legs, first one and then the other. "It was nice bumping into you, Max."

  I stood and turned to drop my coffee cup into a nearby trashcan. "It was nice seeing you too," I said. "See you tomorrow."

  We turned and headed off down the boardwalk in opposite directions, and I forced myself not to look over my shoulder and watch her go.

  Chapter 120

  Walking a Lion

  Tatum

  Bumping into Max Winchell was unexpected. And not unwelcome. I wasn't the kind of woman who generally got nervous around good-looking men—and Max was definitely good looking—but I'd been just a little surprised at my own reaction to seeing him out for a run. In his natural habitat. He'd looked more relaxed today, though I guess that was bound to be the case when you were out and about in your daily routine, not expecting to run into the venture capital analyst who was helping you divest yourself of a business venture.

  I hadn't wanted to intrude, but we'd fallen into conversation so easily, so comfortably. And I found myself revisiting those pleasant moments again as I went through the rest of the day, preparing for Mom and Charlie to arrive. I'd been to the grocery store, the home goods store to pick up some nicer sheets and towels, and to a cute little gift shop on Garnet Avenue that sold candles.

  Most of the morning had spun by as I familiarized myself with my new surroundings, and it was nearly five before I was able to call Foster, my manager.

  "Hey Tate," he answered. "How's your beach vacation going?"

  "Funny," I said. Foster and I had a good relationship. He was almost two decades my senior, but unlike so many of the established analysts at my firm, he didn't seem at all threatened by my ambition, and had taken me under his wing a little bit. "I've met with the client once, and he's going to tell me which direction we're going to head tomorrow for sure. Sale or investment."

  "Sounds good," he said. "And you settling in okay? Vicky told me about you calling in to check about a hotel switch or something?"

  "Yeah, the cost is the same, but I needed a bigger place. My mom is coming down, so I found a little cottage where we could have the dog."

  "Tell Rose hello for me," he said. I had always gotten the feeling that Foster had a little crush on my mom, but since Dad had died, he'd been nothing but respectful and kind. They'd met a few times, since I'd been working for the firm almost a decade now.

  "I definitely will."

  "Give me a call later in the week to let me know how things progress," he said.

  "You got it."

  "And try to have some fun for a change, Tate."

  "I'm working," I told him, as if I needed to remind my boss of this fact.

  "I never have to worry about whether you're working," he assured me. "But sometimes, if I'm honest, I worry whether you're living."

  I felt myself grimace. How was I supposed to take that? In a workplace where women were often dinged for being too emotional, too involved with our families and personal lives, I'd made a point of separating my professional and non-professional selves. And Foster wanted me to be less professional? "I live," I said. "I just keep that separate from work."

  "I know," he said, sounding almost sad about it. "Just take a breath now and then, okay?"

  "How about I bring the firm a really lucrative deal instead?" I wondered if he’d be giving this same advice to a man, but Foster was the guy who’d helped me navigate my life at the firm. He’d never pandered or spoken down to me before, and in fact, he had mentioned before he was grooming me to take his spot as partner.

  He laughed and we said goodbye, and then I finished getting Mom's room ready for her, trying not to think too much about the unified song Foster and Mom both seemed to sing at me. Did I work too much? Was I too focused on my professional life?

  I'd just begun putting together the pasta dish I was going bake for tonight, so it would be ready whenever Mom arrived, when the phone rang. It was Max. An odd little excitement kicked up in my stomach before I managed to squash it.

  "Hi Max," I said, answering the phone.

  "Hello Tatum," he said, his deep voice rolling through me. "I think I've made a decision."

  Was part of me disappointed to learn this was a work call? What else would it be, though? "Oh really? That's good."

  "Yes, I think I'd like to remain involved. At least in the background. Hire in a CEO like you said, to run the business. I'm just not ready to walk away yet."

  I was a little bit surprised, but given what he'd said about the site tying him to his dad, maybe I shouldn't have been. "Okay, great. I'll start working on a list of potential executives we might look to involve, and we can dig into financial structure tomorrow, see if you want to raise a round too, maybe expand."

  "That sounds good," he said. "Has your mother arrived? Charlie?"

  "Not yet," I told him, oddly touched at his interest in my personal life. "Any minute though." I was actually standing near the window, watching the street outside for Mom's car.

  "Well, if you need anything while they're here—restaurant recommendations or anything—"

  "You've got pull," I laughed. "I remember."

  "Sorry, I wondered if that sounded arrogant when I said it."

  "No, not really. Just telling it like it is, right?"

  "Right," he said, but he still sounded sheepish, like he was speaking through a smile.

  "What time would you like to meet tomorrow?" I asked him.

  "I'll give you time to get settled with your mom, so maybe, what? Five A.M.?"

  I made a noise somewhere between a bark and a laugh. "What?"

  "Just kidding," he said, chuckling, his voice warm and amused. "How's eleven?"

  "Eleven is good," I said, relieved. "Your office?"

  "Yep," he said. "See you there."

  "Bye Max," I said, and I put down the phone just as my mother's car pulled up outside, and as I stepped out of the house, my mother stood and waved, then went around and let Charlie out of the car. He leapt from the back and as soon as his paws hit the grassy area at the curb, his huge rear end was wagging and his nose was on the ground. It was like a man afraid of flying finally touching down again, kissing the solid earth.

  "Hey guys," I called, walking to the end of the little path from my front door.

  Mom moved toward me to hug me, but before she could, Charlie bounded at me, nearly knocking me down as he greeted me by jumping up, putting his big paws on my shoulders and then dropping his head to rest on my right shoulder while he nuzzled his very slobbery snout into my neck.

  "Down, Charlie," I told him, but my voice wasn't firm enough and he just grinned at me, his jowls slobbering and his big chocolate eyes dancing. I leaned down, pushing him off, and then gave him a good rub and pushed my nose into his fur while I tried to dry my neck with my shirt. "Here's some grass for you, buddy," I told him, walking him inside the little white fence out front. "There's a little yard in back, too," I said, looking up to meet Mom's eyes.

  "This is nice," she said, sounding tired and maybe a bit uncertain. "Do you think it's enough space for him?"

  I gave Mom a hug. "I don't think there's enough space anywhere for a dog this big, but it'll work. We can let Charlie investigate his new grass up here while I help you get your things," I told her.

  We went back to the car, and after a few trips, all of Mom's things were inside the house and the car was locked at the curb. Mom went back inside the house, and I let Charlie in behind her.

  "It's small," I told them both. "But it'll work for a week. And the owner loves dogs. He wanted to come back and meet Charlie once you arrived."

  Mom was peeking into the bedrooms and bathrooms at the back of the house, and she returned to the living room after a moment, gazing around and letting her eyes rest on the large glass door that led to the small grassy yard out back. "I think this
is perfect," she said. "Is it close to your work?"

  Charlie had finished his own investigation of the house, and I opened the big sliding glass door to let him out back, and then Mom and I stepped into the kitchen, where I got some food ready for the big guy. "It's close enough," I told her. "I guess Max, the CEO, actually lives near here, though the office is downtown."

  "You and this Max character have chatted about personal things? Where he lives?" Mom's eyebrows went up. If Max was Mr. Match, she could be called Mamma Match. I didn't tell her much about my non-existent love life because I felt like it got her hopes up too much.

  "Not on purpose. I bumped into him this morning when I went down to the beach for a run. We had coffee together."

  She raised a suggestive eyebrow as she leaned against the frame of the opening that separated the kitchen from the living room. It probably had been a standard door once, but had been enlarged to give the little house a more modern open floor plan. "Is Max single?" She asked.

  I should never have told her who I was coming down to see. When Dad used to watch the Sharks play, Mom and I had both been along for the ride, and she knew about my crush on Max. He was her favorite player, too, besides the Hammer—who was just plain lovable, as far as anyone could tell. Mom was also partial to Buck, a Ghanian player who she said had the most beautiful teeth she'd ever seen. Neither of us had watched much soccer last year, though, except in the hospital with Dad.

  "That's pretty irrelevant," I told her. "But I think so, yes."

  She wiggled her eyebrows at me and I knew I needed to direct the conversation elsewhere before Mom got too invested in some fantasy about me ending up with Max Winchell.

  "He's a client, Mom. It'd be good for us both to remember that." I had opened a bottle of red wine as we talked, and handed Mom a glass now, which she accepted. I poured my own and turned to face her. "I thought we might sit on the patio for a bit and then I've got a pasta bake for dinner."

  Mom sighed contentedly and followed me out to the little table on the patio. The night was cooling, but it was still warm enough to be out, and as we settled into wicker chairs, I said, "I'm glad you decided to come."

  Charlie was nose down at the fence line, examining every inch of his new territory. We both watched him pad along, his tail wagging.

  "I am too," she said, and we sipped our wine and enjoyed the change of scenery.

  I stayed up late after Mom turned in, poring over the reports I'd put together for Mr. Match based on the financials Max had shared and my own firm's analysis. The business had some pretty impressive margins. There was little overhead beyond the server space required to store and process the data that made the venture work. Three employees and a relatively inexpensive office, considering the location. The employees were well compensated, and Max had bought into an HR coop for them, so their benefits were handled externally for a monthly fee that was pretty reasonable. The business seemed to run itself for the most part, though Max's operations manager, Megan, handled the occasional advertising and media request.

  All in all, the business was in a good position. An executive might be mostly a figurehead unless Max was interested in expansion and publicity, and without a desire for those things, it was a better target for acquisition than investment. I weeded through the list of potential executives, but didn't find a lot of people who would be a good fit for a mostly hands-off venture, and I wondered how "in the background" Max was really willing to be. I had a feeling the business would be hard for him to step away from, but he'd need to be sure about whichever path we took.

  The following morning, I walked down to the beach with Mom and Charlie, though Mom seemed very comfortable with the neighborhood and almost seemed to know where she was going without me.

  "Have you been here before, Mom?" We stepped out onto the wide path, Charlie trotting along obediently on his leash until the first rollerblader went swooping by. Charlie tried to catch the guy, and there was nearly a horrific collision.

  "Control your lion, sheesh!" the rollerblader yelled as we moved off the path.

  "Sorry!" I called, navigating to the beach. We walked through the sand, my calves burning after a few minutes.

  "I spent some time here after college," Mom said. "Before I met your father."

  "Did you meet Dad down here?" I thought I'd heard these stories, but I couldn't recall them.

  "No, I met him on a business trip to the Bay Area," she said.

  "Was that when you were an accountant?" I asked. Mom had done people's taxes when I was growing up, but she hadn't worked full time since I'd been around. I seemed to remember her talking about a corporate job though.

  "Yes," she said. "I was sent to work at your father's company for a couple weeks. The rest is history." She laughed lightly.

  "So you lived in San Diego for a while. I guess I forgot that." It was strange to think about her having a life before Dad and me. Of course I knew she did, but it wasn't something she'd talked about much, and as kids, we tend to be self-centered. I was a little bit ashamed at how little I'd asked about her life before me.

  She didn't respond, but gazed around us with a smile on her face.

  "You like it here," I observed.

  She glanced at me and then back out at the water. "I do."

  This was interesting. At least I wouldn't have to worry about Mom getting lost or feeling homesick while I was working. I looked her way now, and was surprised to see a little content smile on her face as we walked through the fine sand on Pacific Beach. Her dark hair was blowing in the breeze, and the sun was reflecting off her skin, making her glow slightly. Mom looked younger suddenly, and a little bit like a stranger. But then she turned to me, catching me staring with a little questioning smile, and she was just Mom again.

  "So you'll be okay when I go into work later?" I asked her.

  "We'll be fine," she said, and her voice was more confident than I'd heard it since Dad had died.

  Chapter 121

  Microblading Mishap

  TATUM

  Max was waiting when I arrived at the offices downtown, and he greeted me with a smile.

  I ignored the way my stomach leapt at the curl of his perfect lips, and the random thoughts that crowded my mind.

  Look at his perfect hair.

  Look at his perfect ass.

  I wonder what it would feel like to run my hand along that stubble?

  Stupid mind.

  "Megan," Max said, sticking his head into the office occupied by his operations manager.

  A petite blond girl who couldn't have been more than twenty-two came out of the office, greeting us in the hallway. She was wearing black slacks and a floral button down shirt, and she had a ski cap pulled over her head, her wavy locks cascading from beneath it, around her shoulders. The hat was pulled low, covering most of her forehead and eyebrows.

  "Um," Max said, clearly wondering about the cap as much as I was.

  "I know," she said quickly.

  Max shook his head lightly. "You know? You know what?"

  "The hat is ridiculous." She glanced at me. "Hi again."

  "Hi," I said, wondering what exactly was going on here.

  "I thought maybe it was some kind of millennial fashion thing I'd missed out on," Max said.

  Megan dropped her eyes to the floor and her shoulders rose as she took a deep breath. Then she lifted her hands and pulled the hat off, slowly lifting her face to us. "It's covering this," she said.

  When her head was up, I scanned her forehead, trying to see what she'd been hiding. I'd been expecting a huge pimple or maybe a bad bang trim. But instead, she wore a surprised, almost accusing expression, one eyebrow lifted in an arch that didn't look quite normal.

  "What's, uh ..." Max was clearly not sure what the right response was here any more than I was. "What's going on there?" he asked.

  I sealed my lips, not wanting to contribute to the girl's clear embarrassment.

  "It was a microblading accident, okay?" she flung the word
s out as if defending herself, and her cheeks turned a bright pink.

  "Micro ...?" Max trailed off, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets and rocking back on his heels, still flummoxed.

  "It's a kind of tattoo," I explained. "To fill in your brows." I turned to Megan, still a little confused. "But, I mean ...?"

  "My friend is getting her license," she said, her voice soft. And we were at her house, and her brother bumped into her, so she kind of messed up."

  Oh God, that was funny, but I bit my lips, holding in the laughter I felt threatening.

  "She tried to fix it," she went on. "She said the arch would make me look mysterious. Or intelligent."

  "Or suspicious," Max offered, earning him a dark look before Megan seemed to remember he was the boss and dropped her eyes again.

  "So," she said. And then she pulled the cap back on, looking up and meeting my eyes. "That's why the hat."

  "Of course," I said, wishing I could help somehow. I wanted to offer her some hope at least, maybe alleviate some of the clear shame she was feeling. "It's, uh, temporary though, right?"

  Megan sniffed, and her eyes filled. "Yes," she said softly. "Just a couple years, probably."

  Max cleared his throat suddenly, either in shock or horror, and Megan turned and went back into her office, both of them forgetting whatever his reason had been for calling her out to the hallway in the first place.

  I followed Max into the conference room, and he shut the door behind us, stepping against it and leaning back, lifting a hand to cover his face. "I shouldn't ... I mean... that's horrible," he said, but I could hear the laughter trying to force its way up his throat.

  "It's awful," I confirmed. I felt terrible for Megan, though in reality it wasn't as bad as it could have been. She could grow her bangs to cover it, and it wasn't something most people would notice on first glance. Still ... it wasn't good.