Bad Bachelor

by Stefanie London

  Christ. The unexpected detail stopped him in his tracks. She’d hit the On switch to his nervous system and a low hum started up like the first twig lighting up in a bonfire. His eyes skated over her lithe figure, over the almost-masculine jeans and combat boots, over the black shirt where the cuffs stopped just shy of her wrists, allowing some elaborate ink to peek out. He wondered how much of her body was covered with it.

  So much darkness, and yet there was a light and earnestness in her face that struck him deep in the chest. Curiosity skittered through his brain. He wondered what the piercing would feel like running over his skin.

  Stop that right fucking now.

  “I’m not the enemy, Darcy. I’m here to help you. But I’m also not going to give you some rose-colored-glasses bullshit.”

  “Why are you helping us?” she asked. “Apparently, you’re offering your services for free. We don’t exactly seem like your regular kind of client.”

  “How would you know that?” he asked, enjoying the narrowing of her eyes.

  “I can tell from all this”—she waved her hand in his general direction—“that you’re not in your comfort zone.”

  He looked down at his custom suit, a purchase made from one of his favorite tailors, and stifled a grin. The number of zeroes on that bill had made his eyes water, but it was all a necessary part of the Reed McMahon image. The real him—the boy who’d come from nothing—wouldn’t appear until he was home and hanging up his public identity in his modest bedroom.

  Not that people like Darcy would ever assume there was more beneath the surface.

  “Is this your way of telling me I’m not in Kansas anymore?” he drawled.

  “Correct. And don’t go thinking I’m Glinda the Good Witch or some pushover munchkin.” She walked past him with her nose in the air. “If I think you’re going to do anything to make our situation worse, I’ll get all Wicked Witch of the West on your ass.”

  * * *

  After Reed listened to Darcy talk for an hour about all the things that needed fixing in the library, two things were clear. One, she was incredibly passionate about her job. Two, he would need to end this conversation now; otherwise, he’d be here all night. The sexy little librarian had written her own version of War and Peace in the form of a detailed spending plan for the funds raised.

  “This is all very interesting, but I honestly don’t care how you spend the money.” Reed checked his watch. “The public doesn’t care either.”

  Darcy narrowed her eyes. “Why would they donate money if they don’t know how it will be spent?”

  “Because computers and curriculum aren’t interesting.”

  “There’s that word again,” she muttered.

  “Why are you so afraid to be interesting, Darcy? You should try it some time. It’s so much fun.” Lord help him, he couldn’t resist tugging on the strings of someone as prickly as her. His reward was an irritated huffing noise. “People care about feelings.”

  “That’s an interesting assessment coming from a guy who doesn’t seem to have any.”

  “You shouldn’t believe everything you read on the internet,” he said. “And computers don’t make people feel anything. They want to know that their money means a brighter future for little Jimmy down the road.”

  “Did I not just talk about the after-school program?” She folded her arms across her chest and the action made the buttons strain on her black shirt.

  Focus, McMahon.

  “That’s exactly what’s going to help the kids in our community,” she added.

  “But we’re not selling them on the program. We’re selling them on little Jimmy. We’re going to appeal to what they care about, which is themselves.”

  “You think people only care about themselves?” she scoffed. “Not that I should be entirely surprised by that…”

  “I never said they only care about themselves. But they do care about themselves first.” In all his years dealing with people’s image problems, he knew one thing for certain: people were a hell of a lot more selfish than they wanted to admit.

  “That’s incredibly cynical.”

  “Maybe. But it’s accurate.” He sucked in a breath. For a situation where he was offering his expertise for free, he was certainly having to explain himself a hell of a lot. “Think about it this way. It’s a caveman thing, self-preservation. We all take an interest in what’s best for ourselves and, therefore, so long as our needs aren’t in direct competition, we’re all better off.”

  “What does this have to do with asking people for money?” she asked.

  “Because helping little Jimmy have a brighter future means an improvement to the community. Educated kids means less crime and better job prospects. They’ll grow up, have educated kids of their own, and give back to the community. Success begets success.”

  “So we appeal to people by showing them how improving the library will benefit the community—a.k.a. them—in the long term?”

  “See, I knew you’d be a good student.” He grinned when she shot him a murderous look. “Now, let’s talk about a possible venue for the fundraiser.”

  “I thought we would have it here.”

  “No.”

  He looked around the library and tried to resist the automatic lip curl. This was one area where he wouldn’t be budging. Fundraisers weren’t meant to depress people, and that meant the venue couldn’t be in some run-down building painted entirely in baby-puke beige.

  “What do you mean, no?” Darcy looked at him incredulously. “Do you think we’ve got spare cash lying around to pay for some fancy function room?”

  “You don’t need to pay for a venue—that’s Fundraising 101. I’ll use my contacts to secure us an appropriate place willing to donate the space in exchange for some good press.”

  “I still don’t see what’s wrong with having it here.”

  He resisted the urge to ask her if she’d prefer to run the event on her own without his help, because he suspected he knew what her answer would be. But he wasn’t going to let Kerrie down just because some snippy librarian wanted to question his approach. He knew what worked best to get the dollars rolling in, and therefore, he knew what was best for this library.

  “I get that you’re really passionate about this place,” he said, using the sincerest tone he could muster. “I really do. But this is what I do for a living. I promise if you trust me to take care of the library, you’ll be able to get everything you need to keep this place running the way you want.”

  Darcy’s tongue darted out to moisten her lips and he caught that sinful flash of silver again. Her vivid-blue eyes watched him, assessing and cool. Her distrust was palpable.

  “I’m no saint,” he added. “But you don’t need a saint right now. You need someone who can convince the world to eat out of the palm of his hand.”

  “And you think you can do that?” She cocked her head. “Even when the whole city thinks you’re an asshole?”

  “I’m good at my job, Darcy. And the fact is, I don’t see anyone else lining up to help you out.”

  “Maybe I don’t need help,” she said stubbornly, but the hardness had leached out of her voice.

  “If you truly care about this place, you won’t take that chance. But I’ll put the ball in your court. If you want me out, I’m gone.”

  It was ballsy. She was about as warm and fuzzy as a porcupine and he hadn’t exactly started out on a positive note. But he knew the best way to reel someone in was to show you were confident enough to walk away.

  “Fine,” she said after a painfully long pause. “I’m willing to hear your approach. But I don’t want this to be some flashy, grand event. That might be how you do things in your world, but that’s not how we operate here.”

  “Got it.” He stuck out his hand. “So we’re working together now?”

  She hesitated
for a moment, and when she slipped her small hand into his, a little thrill of accomplishment ran through him. The buzz of convincing someone to do what he wanted never faded. If he were a more philosophical guy, he might have contemplated what that said about him.

  “I guess we are,” Darcy said. “I hope you don’t make me regret it.”

  “Regret is for chumps.” He flashed her his most winning smile. “We, Darcy, are most certainly not chumps.”

  Chapter 5

  “Don’t go there with Reed. Just don’t.”

  —TheOtherMonica

  Darcy hated herself for the prickle of attraction she felt toward Reed since she knew what kind of guy he was. Okay, so the attraction was more like being struck with defibrillator pads. But still, the guy was cocky beyond belief.

  Cocky and pushy and utterly gorgeous.

  He had the kind of charisma that an awkward turtle like her would never embody. A confidence and comfort in his own skin that she would kill for.

  Ever since their meeting, she’d been distracted by the fact that they would be working together. The weekend had ticked past slower than usual, and she’d found herself unable to concentrate. Even her favorite comfort read hadn’t been able to get her in the zone. Then she’d awoken to an email on Monday morning requesting she meet him that evening at a potential venue for their fundraiser. Some place with a difficult to pronounce name. Some place that was exactly not what she’d wanted.

  Now she was being forced to spend another evening with him. A dinner, no less.

  “Do my eyes deceive me?” Remi poked her head into Darcy’s bedroom. “Are you wearing…a color?”

  “Very funny, Rem.” She smoothed her hands down the front of the deep indigo blouse.

  “Clearly I’m mistaken.” Remi leaned against the doorframe. Her long legs were encased in a pair of lilac leggings and pink legwarmers. “It must be some new shade of black I don’t know about yet.”

  “We can’t all dress like a My Little Pony.”

  “It’s the parents-and-kids class today. The little ones get pissed if I don’t wear pink.” A dainty hand patted the edge of her plump ballerina bun. “Where are you off to? That doesn’t look like your usual attire for a night on the couch. Have you got a date already?”

  “No.” The word shot out of her like a missile. Dinner with Reed was strictly business. “It’s, uh…a work thing.”

  She hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell the girls about Reed. Her poker face was shitty at the best of times, let alone when talking about someone who’d made a surprise appearance in the form of an unusually sexy dream. Highly unusually sexy. To make matters worse, Annie had sent a screenshot of one of his latest reviews to her yesterday with a string of laughing-crying emojis. Needless to say, that had sealed Darcy’s decision to keep her new colleague’s identity a secret.

  “I’m looking at a potential venue for the fundraiser. I can’t turn up in my old jeans and T-shirt, you know.” God, could she sound any more nervous? Clearly a career in acting wasn’t in her future. Hopefully she could keep it together in front of Reed.

  “Right.” Remi nodded, a curious twinkle in her eye.

  “Do you think I look…” Her eyes flicked to the mirror. “Appropriately dressed?”

  The blouse was old, but it hadn’t been worn. Darcy had originally purchased it for her honeymoon, thinking it looked like something a wife should wear. She realized now that was a stupid concept, and she shouldn’t have been planning to change herself simply because she’d gotten married. So she’d ripped the tags off and now it was just a blouse.

  The silky fabric was sheer on the arms, enough that a faint glimpse of her tattoos could be seen through it. A single gold button dotted each cuff.

  “For a work function? Sure. It’s gorgeous.” Remi’s gaze drifted down to Darcy’s feet, but she didn’t say anything.

  Dark jeans and black, lace-up combat boots probably weren’t the best accompaniment to a silk blouse. But high heels were Darcy’s sworn enemy. At five feet nine inches, she didn’t need them anyway.

  “I don’t want to wear heels, so don’t even suggest it.”

  Remi’s eyes lit up as she raised a finger to signal Darcy should wait a moment. If she were a cartoon, a big lightbulb would have appeared above her head. A few seconds later, she returned with a pair of pointy-toed black flats, the edges decorated with gold studs.

  “What about these?” She held them out as if offering a sacred gift. “I thought they might be a nice compromise…and they’re Valentino.”

  “I’m going to assume that’s a good thing.” Darcy reached down and unlaced her boots.

  “They’re very work appropriate.” Remi bit back a smile.

  “Good, because that’s what I’m doing tonight.” She concentrated on peeling off her stripy socks so Remi wouldn’t see the warmth in her cheeks. “Work.”

  “Yes, you mentioned that.”

  Slipping the shoes on, she stood and checked out her reflection. “You know what? I kind of like them.”

  Remi shook her head. “Only you could sound so surprised that an eight-hundred-dollar pair of shoes looks good.”

  “Eight hundred dollars?” She froze on the spot. “Why the hell would you spend so much money on something that goes on your feet?”

  “I’m a ballerina, Darcy. My feet are important.” She grinned. “Besides, they were a gift from my ex. I can’t blame the shoes because they were purchased by an evil wanker. That would be unfair.”

  “Yes, we must consider the feelings of the shoes at all times.” She rolled her eyes.

  Joking aside, Darcy could see why Remi had kept them. They managed to look dainty and tough at the same time. They also made her legs look longer, leaner. And they were sexy without looking as though they tried.

  Not that you’re trying to look sexy for tonight. You’re trying to look professional, remember? Confident. In control.

  “Maybe you could wear a necklace,” Remi suggested. “I have one that—”

  “That’s my limit for girlie stuff.” Darcy grinned. “But thanks for letting me wear a chunk of your rent on my feet.”

  “Try not to scuff them. Please.”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t expect to be doing anything strenuous tonight.”

  “Why would you?” Remi said with a grin. “It’s just work, right?”

  “Right.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Darcy stepped out of a cab at the address that Reed had emailed her. The borrowed shoes were already starting to pinch her feet and Darcy cursed herself for not sticking with her boots. Who cared what Reed thought of the way she looked anyway?

  Anticipation fluttered low in her belly, her insides tickled by the gossamer wings of anxious butterflies. It was different to how she’d felt on her last date a few months ago. Different, good. Different, scary.

  Repeat after me: this is not a date.

  “You scrub up well.” Reed came up beside her out of nowhere. Like a ninja, but better dressed.

  “Don’t sound so surprised.” Darcy flicked her gaze over his ink-black suit and tried not to let any appreciation show.

  But it was tough to ignore the zing of excitement that shot through her, stirring up the butterflies once more. She liked him in black. It made him look dangerous. Beautiful dangerous.

  “I’m not surprised at all.” He gestured to the heavy wooden doors. “Shall we?”

  As they walked, Darcy almost expected his hand to find the small of her back in that awful, clichéd way often seen in movies. Her skin anticipated the touch. But it never came. He did, however, hold the door for her.

  “Can I help you?” A woman in a sleek, gray dress stood with her hands clasped in front of her.

  “Uh…” Darcy faltered, feeling instantly out of place next to the chic marble-and-brushed-silver decor. She looked to Reed
for a cue. “I believe we have a reservation.”

  “Mr. McMahon,” the woman said as a knowing smile spread across her lips. “You must be here for the tasting.”

  “Yes. This is my companion, Darcy Greer. We’ll be doing the tasting together.”

  As they followed the woman through the restaurant, Darcy fought back a smile. “Your companion?”

  “Would you have preferred client?” He was close behind her as they wove through the tables covered in white linen. “But you’re not paying me. Associate then?”

  “Why do we need to label it?”

  “Ah, commitment issues. You’re a woman after my own heart.”

  “I don’t have commitment issues. I think that’s what psychologists call ‘projecting.’”

  She turned to retort further, but the pointed toe of her shoe clipped a wayward chair and she stumbled. Reed’s hand shot out and steadied her, his grip sure and strong. Confident. His touch burned through the thin silk of her top.

  “One foot in front of the other,” he said. “Haven’t you made it around to the biomechanics section of the library yet? You must be too busy reading books on manners and etiquette.”

  Flames licked at the inside of her cheeks. She’d give anything to have a book on hand now. A nice hefty hardback she could whack over his head.

  “Actually, I’ve been spending most of my time in the hand-to-hand-combat section. So don’t try me.” She glared at him over her shoulder. “Or I’ll put you in a sleeper hold.”

  Reed cleared his throat. Was it her imagination or was it covering up a laugh?

  “Our event coordinator will be over shortly to run you through our function menu.” The maître d’ stopped in front of an empty booth. “The chef has selected the most popular options for you to taste, but we can certainly bring out more if you’d like. And if there’s anything else I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

  The comment was obviously directed at Reed. The woman spoke with a clipped, professional tone, but her tongue darted out to moisten her lips in a way that said she’d very much like to be of service to him.