by Lila Monroe
“I must have been imagining it,” I say. “I’m so not his type.”
“I don’t know,” Jill says with a thoughtful expression. “You’re pretty great. Why wouldn’t he want to boink you?”
I cover my face with my hand. “Can we please at least stop saying ‘boink’?”
“Jill’s right,” Tessa says. “Sure, he goes for lots of women—so why not you? Do you really think it’s impossible he’d be interested in making sweet, sweet love with you?”
“Rocking your world,” Jill adds, grinning.
“Playing hide the salami—”
“OK!” I protest, laughing. “ ‘Boink’ is allowed. And you’re wrong,” I inform them. “I shouldn’t want to hook up with him. I can’t. He’s only just starting to respect me as a businesswoman. Even a one-night stand would make things so messy. And I don’t even like one-night stands!”
“Ah,” Jill says sagely. “So it’s not just that you want to boink him, it’s that you want to boink him continually, but you don’t think he’d be up for that.”
I glare at her. “Even if he would be, going for a relationship with him would be even more unprofessional. And contradict my entire goal. I want him falling for one of his matches, not for me! If I hook up with him, I might as well throw any chance of him funding Perfect Match away.”
“That makes sense,” Tessa says. “Of course you don’t want to screw up your business.”
I push my hands back through my hair. “What I need is to figure out how to get rid of these feelings,” I declare, determined. “How can I stop being attracted to him? Or at least make sure it doesn’t get any worse. I’m trying to work with this guy. And he’s just so …”
Sexy. Handsome. Infuriating.
“Hmm.” Jill purses her lips. “Usually when I want to get over one guy, the easiest thing is to fall for another. But you’re not really the fall-fast-and-often type.”
“Can you spend less time with him?” Tessa suggests. “The less you see him, the less it’ll come up.”
“I don’t know.” I sigh. “I fought so hard to get any meetings with him, I don’t really want to start turning them down. And Jack doesn’t seem to like to talk except in person. I’d rather take a whole lot of cold showers than jeopardize our deal.”
“Then you’ve got to end it fast,” Jill says. “Find him his match, land his investment, and then you’re done. And you’ve won!”
“If only it were that easy.” Even if I do convince him to invest, he’ll want to stay involved. But I could put more buffers between him and me then. Hire an operating officer, some corporate liaisons … Besides, if I could find him a match he’s really into, then there won’t be anything to hope for. He’ll be hooked on someone else.
“Or you could fuck him and see what happens,” Tessa suggests. “Just once, so it won’t get in the way of the matching.”
Jill and I both turn to stare at her.
“What?” She grins. “I’m allowed to have controversial opinions. He’s obviously not McKenna’s type. Right, Mac? It’s just about … physical temptation, or whatever. Wondering what it’d be like. If you go for it and then you know, there’ll be less temptation. I’d think, anyway.”
“I … don’t know about that,” I say. “Jack seems like he knows what he’s doing.”
Jill grins. “She could end up addicted to that hot stud-muffin body.”
I roll my eyes at her, but, yeah, that’s a possibility. “It’s too risky. For the business.” And for my heart. But my mind is still stuck on Jill’s suggestion. Finish the deal, land the investment.
There’s no acceptable way out of this except through to the end. I need to crack Jack’s soulmate code, and fast.
“I’ve entered the new data into his profile,” I say to Warren the next afternoon. “You’ve made the adjustments to the deal-breaker and psychological measures I asked for?”
“All finely tuned and ready to go,” he says with a salute from his desk.
“All right.” I clap my hands together, wishing the jittering inside me felt more like excitement and less like nerves. This is good. I’ll find Jack is absolute perfect match, and we can all move on. No reason to feel anything but happy about that. “Let’s run this baby.”
Warren sets the match function running. My feet want to pace the office. Instead I make myself sit down beside Warren. The thumping bass of porno music and a particularly loud moan filters up from the studio below.
Don’t think about Jack making those sounds …
A new list of women pops up on screen. The one at the top is highlighted with a red border. 99% confirmed compatibility.
“Wow,” Warren says. “I don’t think I’ve seen higher than a 95 before.”
My heart starts to thump along with the bass. I can only see the woman’s picture in thumbnail, but she’s obviously gorgeous. Lush chestnut hair, creamy skin, a bright smile. I can already picture her at Jack’s side.
“Let me take a look?”
Warren scoots to the side. At my click, Miss Perfect’s profile expands on the screen. Claudia, age 28. Lit major turned style blogger. She loves travel (check), culture, (check), and horror movies. She also likes vintage Seinfeld, new indie music, and rock climbing.
“She looks good.” Riley’s voice comes from over my shoulder. She’s behind me, leaning in. “Confident but not arrogant.”
“Adventurous but not flighty,” I agree.
“And don’t forget smokin’ hot,” Warren finishes. “Damn, we’re good.”
“Uh huh,” I agree, taking it in.
“This girl is perfect for him,” Riley exclaims. “So why aren’t you happier?”
“I am,” I lie, fighting the urge to close her profile and delete her right off the system.
I’m being ridiculous. I have to find Jack a match. And even if I wasn’t in this situation, he couldn’t be further from perfect for me.
“What are the date activities?” Riley asks.
I open up the list. “Learning to sail … An escape room … No, this one,” I say, smiling. “Dining in the dark.”
“Really?” Riley wrinkles her nose. “Don’t you just get food everywhere?”
“It’s an experience,” I tell her. “All the other options, Jack can show off and pull his whole ‘master of the universe’ thing. This will even the playing field and get him out of his comfort zone.”
Even Jack can’t see in the dark.
I select that one and send him the info, then dial. I’m not letting him delay another few weeks: the countdown is on, and besides, I need him safely coupled up with some other woman ASAP—and out of my fantasies.
“McKenna,” Jack answers, sounding cheerful. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I just sent you a new match,” I say, jumping right into it. “And I’m not taking no for an answer on this one. She’s perfect for you.”
There’s a rustle and a tapping of fingers over a keyboard. Then a pause. I realize I’m holding my breath.
“Hmmm.” He makes an approving noise. “Looks good to me.”
“So you’ll arrange the date?” I press. “Not next week, or next month. But soon.”
He chuckles. “Trying to get rid of me?”
Anything but.
“Fine, I have an opening in my schedule tonight …” He pauses, and I can hear more typing. “OK, she’s free, we’re all set.”
“Just like that?” I blink. I was expecting more resistance, somehow. Chasing, and arguing, and more of that infuriating banter that makes my blood boil and my heart race and—
Well, heats up other parts, too.
“She looks great, on paper,” Jack continues. “Who knows? Maybe she’s my perfect match, after all. You may prove me wrong yet.”
My heart sinks. “Maybe.
I hang up. I should be pleased. I couldn’t have asked for the situation to go better. But somehow I just can’t get my head back into work. I putter around the office for another couple hours, chec
king over marketing plans and recruitment data. Then I call it a day early and send Warren and Riley home, too.
I head home, but I can’t shake this restless feeling—or the buzz of thoughts wondering about Jack and his perfect date. I picture them meeting up outside the restaurant, his eyes lighting up as he gets that spark he’s been looking for.
No, that’s not helpful at all.
I go into my bedroom and grab Sense and Sensibility off the shelf. It’s my favorite comfort read, and I could definitely use some Austenian sense knocked into my head. Now, she was a woman who knew about matchmaking—and what made two people perfect for each other. But even curled up on the couch, I can’t focus on the pages. Jack’s voice keeps ringing in my head.
Who knows? Maybe she’s my perfect match.
Argh. I need a more mindless distraction. I turn on the TV, zoom through my Netflix list, my foot tapping on the floor. I try to tell myself I’m just anxious about whether it’ll go well because I want to settle this deal and secure my funding, but I know that’s a lie.
I’ve cycled through the list twice without settling on anything when my phone rings. I check the screen—shit.
It’s Jack. It’s barely dinnertime. He can’t have ended the date already, can he?
“Hey,” I answer. “What’s up? No last-minute cold feet, I hope.”
Jack chuckles, and damn, damn, damn, that’s all it takes to make my blood run hot. “Not on my end,” he says. “I just got a text from her asking to reschedule. Unexpected family emergency, apparently. She was very apologetic and said she’d let me know when the crisis is over.”
“Oh,” I say, unable to stop my smile spreading. “That’s too bad.”
“Especially since I have this reservation now.” He pauses. “Want to join me?”
My heart leaps in a way it very definitely shouldn’t. But before I’ve even thought twice, I’m saying, “Yes, sure. That sounds great.”
“Wonderful. I’ll text you the address.”
And just like that, I have a date with Jack Callahan.
14
McKenna
I deliberate over my outfit for ages and arrive at the restaurant just a few minutes late. The lobby area of the restaurant is surprisingly well-lit for a place that’s all about dining in the dark. Jack is already waiting there, menu in hand, along with several other couples. But my gaze goes straight to him. Wouldn’t anyone’s? Even in slacks and a simple button-up, he looks illegally hot.
“I’ve never done this kind of thing before,” he says as I join him. “Have you?”
“No. It sounds like fun, though.”
He hands me the menu. “We’re supposed to order our meal before we go into the dining area. I suppose that makes sense. It’d be kind of cruel to make the waiters recite the entire thing.”
He’s acting like this is a totally casual meet-up. Definitely not a date.
Which it isn’t. Just two business associates having dinner. In a romantic restaurant. Alone.
Okay. I’ve got this.
I glance through the menu, trying to decide what dinner is least likely to fall off my fork onto my dress. Pasta is out. How hard is it to cut a steak in the dark? Maybe I should stick to things already bite-sized. Shrimp, that sounds reasonably safe. And wine. I’m definitely going to need a drink to make it through tonight.
The waiters take our orders, then guide us into the pitch-black dining room.
It’s dark.
Like, really dark.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but even then, I can’t make out a thing.
My pulse kicks up, disorientated, and I reach out to my side—and hit something warm and solid. “I’m right here,” I hear Jack’s voice say.
I snatch my hand back.
“Your table is here, to your left.” The waiter gently nudges me deeper into the room, then guides me onto a seat. A moment later, I feel Jack’s body sit beside me, and I realize we’re side-by-side at the table, on some kind of leather booth.
In the dark, he suddenly feels even closer than before. All at once, I can smell him—that spicy musky scent that makes my blood run hotter.
What was that I was saying about keeping my distance and palming him off onto somebody else?
“I’ll be bringing you your dishes tonight,” the waiter continues. “Take a moment to get yourself situated. You’ll be relying on touch, so feel free to explore the table and enjoy the experience.”
Explore. OK.
I grope along the tabletop for my napkin. Knife, fork, spoon. There’s a wineglass, too, and I grab mine and take a long gulp.
“This has got to be one of the weirdest things I’ve ever done,” I say. “And growing up with a world-famous boy-band star in the family, I’ve been around for some pretty epic stuff.”
I hear surprise in Jack’s voice. “A boy band? How have I not heard about this already?”
“It was years ago,” I explain.
“Don’t leave me hanging? Who is this famous relative of yours?”
“My brother was in Category 5.” I reply. “Remember them?”
“Lord, who doesn’t?” Jack pauses. “Wait, you’re Drew Delaney’s sister? Are you kidding me?”
He sounds so startled I have to laugh. “Nope. Like I said, wild times. He’s a lot more settled now,” I explain. “He’s a record producer, back in Philly.”
“Is that where your family is?”
“My mom,” I reply. “What about you? Is your family back in England?”
“Yes.”
Jack doesn’t elaborate, and I realize I don’t really know much about his background. All the interviews with him seem to start with him launching his first company. I open my mouth to ask more, then close it. I don’t want to pry.
“I have your appetizers,” the waiter’s voice appears, startling me. I jump, and Jack chuckles. “A sunchoke velouté with crab mousseline and cranberry gastrique.”
There’s a bump as he places the plates in front of us, then there’s silence again. I didn’t recognize half the things he just described, but I’m not about to show how clueless I am in front of Jack.
“So, we just … dig in?”
“Seems that way,” Jack replies.
I reach for my silverware, and my fingers brush Jack’s.
“Here they are,” he says, his voice so low it sends a shiver through me. He takes my hand gently and guides it to the fork. My heart is thumping when he lets me go.
And I can’t blame it on being halfway up a cliff this time.
“Mmm,” I say loudly, taking a bite. Then the flavor fills my mouth, somehow more intense than ever. “Okay, that’s good.”
“Not being able to see really does heighten the other senses, doesn’t it?” Jack remarks.
Yup.
Like the touch of him, his thigh pressing lightly against mine on the bench. Or the brush of his arm as he reaches for another bite.
Or even just the sound of his voice, with that low, sexy British accent making every word seem seductive and intimate.
Down girl.
I resist the urge to fan myself, as if somehow he’d see that. If he keeps talking like this, I’m going to melt into a puddle before our main course arrives.
Business. We were supposed to be talking business here. I grope for a topic, any topic. “Have you funded any restaurants before?”
“No, you know, that’s one area I haven’t gotten into. I wanted to go into business with Katie—do you remember her? Seb’s wife. Her place is just a few blocks from here. She’s a really talented chef. But they don’t exactly need my support. Plus, I think she had doubts mixing money and friendship.”
“That makes sense. I feel the same way about taking money from Drew,” I admit. “He’s offered to loan me the start-up funds for Perfect Match, but I don’t know … it doesn’t feel right. I’d rather do it on my own. Or rather, with you,” I correct myself.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence. And I understand where y
ou’re coming from.” His voice takes on a serious note. “It means so much more when you do it yourself.”
I almost ask about what he means, then take another mouthful instead. I shouldn’t be bonding with him over hopes and dreams, not if I want to keep my distance—and stop imagining those arms of his sliding around me in the dark, and those lips leaning closer …
I lean back in my chair, chewing frantically. As long as I’m eating, I don’t have to think about what to say. Only make sure no embarrassing sounds come out of my mouth.
The entrees arrive promptly, and the waiter says something about shrimp. Fine with me. I fumble for my fork and then wince as I scrape it across the china.
“Quite an adventure,” Jack chuckles, sounding perfectly at ease. He would be. Nothing ruffles this guy, and I would bet a million bucks he’s not imagining doing filthy things right here on the table.
I busy myself with the food. Again, the flavors are rich and intense.
“I’m amazed how simply switching off the lights changes my whole perspective,” Jack says, as if reading my mind.
“We learned about this as part of my degree,” I reply. “The human brain experiences everything in a context. Even relationships.”
“Really?”
“Sure. We judge people relative to the group. Someone you could overlook sitting next to you at work would suddenly be the most interesting woman in the room if you met as strangers.”
“And if we’d met in a different circumstance?”
Jack’s voice is low, with a seductive edge. Or maybe I’m imagining it.
I clear my throat. “I don’t know. Somehow, I don’t think you would give me a second look,” I add, wry. “I’m not exactly your usual type.”
“Intelligent, passionate, beautiful …” Jack’s voice is still husky. “What’s not to like?”
There’s silence. My head spins. I don’t know if he means it, or if he’s just pulling out the charm, but either way, we’re moving into dangerous territory. I clear my throat again. “Mmmm,” I say loudly. “This shrimp is great.”
His thumb traces over my knuckles, and that contact sends a jolt right between my legs. “Here, you should try this steak.”