Miss Match

by Fiona Riley

  Samantha felt Lucinda tense under her. She knew that Lucinda had an important meeting that she definitely hadn’t prepared for last night.

  “You have to go.” It was more of a statement than a question.

  Lucinda nodded. “When do you have to be in today?” Her voice was groggy with sleep.

  “I have a photo shoot for the website today,” Samantha answered, her voice vibrating against Lucinda’s chest. “I don’t have to be in until ten.”

  “You should go back to sleep then. I’ll call you later.” She pressed a kiss to Samantha’s hair as she shuffled out from under her.

  Samantha yawned, stretching and scooting into the warm space left by Lucinda. She focused on the soft curve of Lucinda’s spine as she bent forward at the edge of her bed, retrieving articles of clothing tossed aside haphazardly. Samantha walked her fingers across the sheets and up over the bones of Lucinda’s spine, appreciating the way she stopped moving and pressed back into her touch. Lucinda glanced over her shoulder and winked before leaving the bed in search of the rest of her clothes. When she returned to the room, she was fully dressed with her hair pulled into a sloppy bun. She knelt on the edge of the bed and cupped Samantha’s face before pressing a lingering kiss to her pouty lips.

  “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Samantha smiled and settled into the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. Lucinda turned to go but Samantha reached out and grabbed her shirt, pulling her in for one last, deep kiss. “Have a great day. Good luck with your meeting,” she mumbled, already falling back to sleep.

  *

  Lucinda keyed into her home with a tired sigh. A pile of work waited for her. The meeting with Richard was in a few hours and she was just crawling home now like some teenager sneaking in after curfew. She had to shower, change, prep the meeting material, go to work, take a conference call, and look like she was focused. She was most definitely going to struggle with that last part the most. How could she possibly focus when all she could think about was Samantha Monteiro?

  As she dropped her keys into the dish by the front door she was reminded of a conversation she had had with Dominic after she made a similar early morning entrance. He had come over one night after work and fallen asleep on her couch, waiting for her to come home. She had been scared near to death when his head popped over the back of her couch with an annoyed sigh as she walked in. It was a sigh of judgment and she had cringed, waiting for the onslaught. He asked why he never ran into any of her love interests when he came by uninvited and pressed her about it.

  At first she had avoided direct eye contact and shrugged but eventually he pulled the truth out of her. Dominic never did put up with her bullshit. She begrudgingly admitted that she didn’t like having women in her personal space; the break-up with Grace had been particularly difficult, and her home was her safe haven. His stern look had faded in that moment and he consoled her, telling her that she would get everything she wanted, eventually.

  Lucinda shrugged off her jacket and stretched her arms over her head as the early morning sunrise started to filter through her kitchen windows. She poured herself a glass of water and sipped it slowly as she thought of the gentle concern in Dominic’s eyes. He would be disappointed to know that she hadn’t woken up with another woman in quite some time. She usually slipped out, leaving a quick note or text. In fact, Samantha seemed to be the only exception to that particular rule. The idea of leaving her bed without saying good-bye almost offended her.

  As she walked toward the stairs to get ready for her day, she mulled that over a bit. Would Dominic have liked Samantha? Undoubtedly. She let out a sad sigh. She missed her little pep talks with him; she could use one now as she felt herself wading into murky waters again.

  *

  “Good morning, Andrew, coffee?” Samantha smiled and extended a large cup toward him.

  He paused and looked around before accepting it, sliding his glasses up onto his head. “You’re chipper today,” he commented, eyebrow raised.

  Samantha shrugged and sipped her coffee, handing the bag of doughnuts to one of the assistants bustling by. Every few months, she and Andrew had a photo shoot and publicity day to freshen up their market presence for Perfect Match, Inc. It was a tightly scheduled affair. Andrew picked out their outfits beforehand, purchasing new dresses and suits if need be, incorporating some signature pieces for continuity. This business was about presentation—clean lines, clear script, and branding. Samantha and Andrew were experts at brand representation; it was their entire business.

  This year had been particularly profitable to them and they were being featured on the front page of the Improper Bostonian as most eligible man and woman of the dating scene. This was the first time Samantha was back in the public eye since her breakup with Eric. It was inevitable with the amount of good press she had been getting lately—the Lundstein wedding had been a front-page spread a few weeks back. Business was booming and they needed to show their pretty faces to support its success.

  “So here is the list of questions that are approved,” Andrew said, handing her some papers. “We’re meeting with the magazine, a columnist from the paper, and a blogger today.” He pointed to the last page before adding, “I did my best to refuse comment on Eric”—he lowered his voice so only she could hear—“but they’re going to want to talk about your eligibility as a bachelorette for the feature. I will be there every step of the way, I promise—we’ll answer everything together.”

  “Okay, thanks, Andrew, this looks great.” She sipped her coffee and settled onto the bench behind them.

  “That’s it?” he asked incredulously.

  “Hmm, what’s it?”

  “That’s all you have to say? No complaints, comments, recommendations, rebuttals. Nothing? Just okay, thanks, Andrew?”

  “Yes, everything looks good. Thank you.” Samantha smiled and adjusted her sunglasses, leaning back on the bench and soaking up the warm sun overhead.

  Andrew stood in front of her, blocking some of her light, and tapped his foot. He was staring at her; she could feel it even with her eyes closed.

  “There’s something different about you. You’re way too calm. Are you hungover?”

  “No, Andrew, it’s the middle of the week. I’m just enjoying this beautiful day.”

  “Samantha!” Andrew barked suddenly, jarring her out of her reverie. He had his hand over his mouth, his eyes nearly bugging out, as he sat next to her and whispered harshly, “You fucked her. I can’t believe it. You fucking fucked her.”

  Samantha averted her eyes, sipping her coffee to keep from spilling secrets she wasn’t yet ready to share.

  “Oh my God! Tell me everything, you filthy hussy!”

  She swatted at him and crossed her legs. She was definitely not telling him anything.

  “Oh, please. You couldn’t shut your trap about your piece of scum ex, but you clam up about the clam? I’m offended.”

  Samantha choked out a laugh and covered her mouth, trying to gain her composure. “Could you please not make a spectacle of yourself?” she whispered through a forced smile. “People are staring.”

  “Well then, admit it. You slept with her and that’s why you’re so calm—because you got some.” He flashed a wicked grin and sipped his coffee, turning to face her more fully on the bench.

  “Andrew, we are not discussing this here,” she warned again.

  “I told you! I knew it! I knew you liked her. Oh, tell me, those legs that go on for days, what’s it like? She’s a dancer, her stamina must be amazing.”

  Samantha smiled slyly and wet her lips before replying quietly, “It was pretty awesome.”

  “Good for you, Sam!” He pulled her into a sideways hug and smiled broadly and pointed to the papers. “Okay, now learn your lines.”

  *

  Lucinda got ready for work in record time, feeling surprisingly awake on less than five hours’ sleep. She made it in before Amanda, settling at her desk and turning on her tablet while
she flipped through the file of Richard’s performance evaluations and peer reviews. She reached into the top drawer of her desk and pulled out her headset, plugging the wireless adapter into the phone base. She clicked the tablet into the keyboard and turned on the monitor next to her. She wanted to utilize both screens during her teleconference so she could pull up the client’s specs while she worked.

  Amanda poked her head in shortly before the call. “Good morning, Lucinda. I brought your coffee and a yogurt.”

  “Thank you, Amanda.” Lucinda smiled and waved her in, motioning that the call had yet to start. “How was your weekend?”

  “Busy. Crazy,” Amanda said. “We bought some new furniture, and you would not believe how bad the assembly directions were.”

  “Next time, let me know, and maybe I can come over and help,” Lucinda offered. A soft ping signaled the client had joined the open line and was ready for the call. “Thanks again for breakfast, Amanda. Please be sure to close the door behind you.”

  The conference call went flawlessly. The clients liked the portfolio Lucinda’s team had put together and were moving on to the next stage of project completion. There would be a follow-up call in about ten days to finalize the proposal and put into practice their crisis communications plan.

  Next up was Lucinda’s meeting with Richard. She had reviewed the group evaluation reports from his past five projects over her morning coffee. Her suspicions about his participation were confirmed: he was consistently inconsistent when he was a cochair or supporting staff. She found an alarming trend in his peer reviews demonstrating poorly rated performances when Claire Moseley or the other female executive were in the point position. Simple mistakes marred his reports: typos, spacing errors, one report had a coffee stain on the bottom right of the second to last page—glaring, foolish errors. A knock at Lucinda’s door drew her attention to the shadowed figure on the other side.

  “Come in,” she called.

  Richard opened the door slowly. He swallowed as he walked in, closing the door behind him. “Hi, Lucinda.” He gulped nervously and sat on the edge of the chair Lucinda offered.

  “Richard.” She offered him a tight smile, appreciating his nervousness. “I want to talk to you about some of your recent projects. Did you have a chance to review the email I sent you yesterday?”

  He nodded and tapped his fingers on the portfolio balancing on his lap.

  “Good. Listen, I’m going to get right to it—your projects have been successful but I have some serious concerns about your performance. I have notes here pointing out late submissions, missed meetings, typographical errors—simple mistakes, Richard. Mistakes that are sloppy, mistakes from inattention, mistakes that don’t represent the high caliber of executive performance that you are expected to exhibit. Is there something I should know? Do you feel like you’re being overworked?”

  “No, I’m not overworked.” He loosened his tie and cracked his neck before squaring his shoulders and looking at Lucinda directly. “I can handle it. Everything is fine.”

  Lucinda leaned back and crossed her legs. Richard looked rattled despite the cockiness that radiated off his fake smile. She despised that smug grin. She kept eye contact with him as she reached for her tablet and pulled up his performance reports, opening windows and moving documents into a clearly presented collage.

  Her face was blank as she spun the monitor toward him. “Consider this your quarterly review,” she said. “These mistakes cannot continue. I expect you to cooperate fully in all groups you are a part of, turn in your portion of the work on time, and never, ever submit your final projections with coffee stains.” She dragged the curser over the enlarged image before adding, “This type of oversight is positively unacceptable.”

  Richard narrowed his eyes and snarled at her, letting his typically cool façade falter. “I understand, Ms. Moss.”

  “We’ll be meeting again in two weeks. I have a project I want you to complete in the meantime. I expect an email update in two days.” She held out a folder to him. Richard reached for the folder as he stood, a sour expression on his face. “Your final submissions will be coming directly to me until I see significant improvement in your work.” Lucinda held the folder for a moment longer, not releasing it to him until she added, “Have a good day, Richard.”

  He exited her office without a single word. She let out a weary sigh as he closed the door. This was the part of her job she disliked. Not the firing of insubordinates, no; it was the managerial duties that drained her. Although sometimes she missed the days when the completion of a project was her only task, she really enjoyed guiding the execs under her to success. She did not, however, enjoy dealing with people like Richard who weren’t interested in getting with her program. She was proud of the strides Clear View had made under her meticulous management. This was just one of those annoying little bumps along the road to success she told herself. Three deep breaths and a sip of coffee later, she reached for her phone and texted Samantha.

  *

  “Miss Monteiro?” the young, dark-haired PA called out. “Can we have you over here for the last shot?”

  She let the makeup artist add some final touches before stepping toward Andrew and standing on her marked spot. She placed her hand on his back and flashed a perfect smile to the camera. Click, click, click and they were done for the day. Lucinda had texted her a few times over the past hour and Samantha grew more giddy with every new vibrating notification.

  Andrew crowded around the monitor with the photographer to go over the last of the images and pick the best ones for the publication. They had completed all their interviews without incident and would review the final screens again tomorrow once Andrew narrowed them down a bit.

  Samantha thanked the support staff and technicians as she excused herself from the main staging area to a bench off to the right. She scrolled over the past texts just as a new one from Lucinda buzzed through: Done? How’d it go?

  Samantha smiled and chewed her lip before typing back: Yeah, it was great.

  I bet it was, you’re very easy to want to photograph…

  “So, giggles,” Andrew interrupted her flirtation, “what’s Lucinda doing later—is she coming to celebrate with us?”

  Samantha turned her phone over, hiding the conversation from view. “Celebrating, huh? What did you have in mind?”

  “Since we’re going to be the most eligible bachelor and bachelorette of matchmaking in Boston, we should toast our success in style.” He winked playfully. “You, me, cocktails, and a view of our urban playground.” He bowed forward and made a grand sweeping motion with his arm.

  “Well, when you put it like that, how could I say no?” Samantha stood and pulled Andrew into a tight hug, panicking slightly about the stigma of being a matchmaker who couldn’t find a match. Maybe this article wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  He pecked her on the cheek and rubbed her arms before flashing a mischievous smile. “Good. I figured you’d say that, so I made a reservation at Top of the Hub. For three.”

  Samantha scrunched her forehead in confusion, then, almost if on cue, her phone buzzed and her eyes widened comically. “No, Andrew. No way.”

  “Sam! C’mon. It’ll be fun. Plus, I’ll have the opportunity to actually spend some time with your new favorite plaything.” He batted his eyelashes flirtatiously and stuck out his bottom lip. “I’m feeling awfully neglected lately—it’d be nice to see why firsthand.”

  “I don’t know about this,” Samantha said. “Something tells me this is a bad idea. We’re just getting to know each other.”

  Her phone buzzed again. Andrew snatched it from her hands and hopped out of reach. Before Samantha could get ahold of him he had pulled up Lucinda’s number, put the phone on speaker, and dialed. She listened in mortified paralysis.

  “Is this my favorite brunette?” Lucinda purred.

  Andrew replied with a sly smile, “No, darling, it’s your other favorite brunette…tell me, are you free tonight
?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Lucinda smiled as she recalled her earlier conversation with Andrew. She was glad she hadn’t answered the phone with anything too provocative. She had left work early to take a conference call on the ride home and decompress before dinner tonight. Two particularly body-flattering outfits were on her bed, one a black and white dress, the other a soft shirt with a pair of slacks. In the end she chose the dress.

  Top of the Hub was a beautiful restaurant encased in glass at the top of the second tallest building in the city. Every table offered an unobstructed view of the city below from high atop the Prudential Tower in the center of Boston. Even Jamaica Plain, the suburban part of the city where Lucinda lived, could be identified from such a high height.

  She lived close to an old clock tower in JP that served as a beautiful landmark; it was visible from the southeast corner of the restaurant. She remembered the first time Dominic had pointed it out to her after a dance win they were celebrating at the posh restaurant. She had placed a bid on an old house and had been nervously anticipating the bid’s acceptance. He had been so reassuring to her, as he always was. He had a way of making everything seem much easier and less daunting. All the big milestones and important moments in her life featured Dominic Andiamo. Tonight, meeting up with Samantha and Andrew felt bittersweet without him.

  As she stepped onto the elevator and opened her coat, she was reminded about her thoughts this morning, keying into her empty house, her body still buzzing from her night with Samantha. She could feel herself falling for her. It was more than just the physical attraction; Samantha had consumed her thoughts all day. The idea of creating new memories at this restaurant with Samantha was both exciting and terrifying. She wasn’t quite sure where this relationship was headed, but there was a part of her that really wanted to find out. Now if only she could quiet the other parts, everything would be fine.

  *

  Lucinda stepped off the elevator on the fifty-second floor and headed toward the hostess table. She checked in at the podium and was informed that the remaining members of her party had not arrived, so she headed for the bar. She ordered a martini and stood at the edge of the bar, looking out at the view of the north side of the city. The night was clear and the view was perfect, shimmering lights and the warm glow of the city street lamps illuminating the bustle of the streets below.