Miss Match

by Laurelin McGee

  It was a completely exhilarating feeling that warmed her from head to toe, made her giddy like a teenager. It also frightened her a tad bit. But it was the sort of frightening that she was more than willing to face.

  She found his T-shirt from the pile of clothing on the floor and threw it on. Eager to be with the man she loved, to kiss him and wrap her arms around his strong form, she set about searching for him. With Puppy at her heels, she peeked first in his office. Finding that empty, she followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen, assuming that was a good place to start. No Blake. But she found a mug and poured herself a cup before resuming her hunt.

  She wandered the rest of the floor, calling his name with no answer. Before heading back upstairs, she peeked in the garage. His car was gone. How strange.

  With a mixture of confusion and disappointment, she returned to his office, the room she felt the most comfortable in. She curled up in the armchair by the window and sipped her coffee as she debated what Blake’s absence meant. There were really only a couple of options to debate. Either he’d left because something had come up, an emergency of some sort, like he’d run out of creamer—in which case, he would have left a note or would return shortly.

  But she hadn’t seen a note and it had been nearly thirty minutes now since she’d awoken, which was past the return shortly window. And she’d found creamer for her coffee with no problem.

  Which led to the other possibility—the awful, terrible option that made her stomach churn and her heart ache just thinking about it: Blake wasn’t there because he didn’t want to be. Because he didn’t want to see her.

  That was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Even if their night hadn’t been as incredible for him as it had been for her—a notion that caused a lump to form in her throat—even if it had just been another night in the life of Blake Donovan, he wouldn’t be so rude or heartless to simply walk out on her. Would he?

  No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He’d come too far in their time together. She didn’t even have a ride—he knew that. There was no way he’d leave her stranded. No way would he abandon all his social graces, no matter how miserable an occasion her visit might have been. She couldn’t believe that about him.

  Then she spotted the files on his desk—the date files that she’d brought with her the night before. When she’d left them there, they were still wrapped in their elastic band. Now they were spread out, a couple of them open. He’d looked at them that very morning, he had to have.

  She stood and crossed over to his desk, a ball of dread forming in her gut. Without touching anything, she circled to sit in Blake’s chair, to see things exactly as he saw them last. The topmost open file belonged to Jane Osborne, name circled. That didn’t mean anything, of course. Maybe he was thinking about canceling his date with her or looking up her phone number or a million different reasons.

  Under Jane’s file, though, was the restaurant file. Menton’s profile sheet was on top. The reservation number was circled in black pen. That hadn’t been there yesterday. Blake must have done it that morning. It was so obvious. Oh, God. Blake was planning to take Jane to Menton’s—the nicest restaurant in all of Boston.

  Andy’s heart sank.

  When she’d met Jane all those weeks ago, Andy had been ecstatic. She’d found the perfect candidate for Blake in Jane. She had the right hair, the right eyes, the right background, the right personality. Finding her had been kismet.

  Now it felt less like kismet and more like karma.

  For all the shitty things she’d done working for Max Ellis, this was her reward. She now had to sit back and watch as the man she loved continued to date another woman—a woman who was perfectly picked for him by none other than herself.

  A tear trickled down Andy’s cheek. Another threatened, but she held it in and forced herself to calm down, to breathe and think it through. It might not be what it looked like. After their night together, Blake wouldn’t treat her this way. It was a lot to assume based on two open files. There was probably another explanation. She simply had to talk to him and find out.

  Using his desk phone, she dialed his cell. There was no answer. Where the hell would he be at eight thirty in the morning? If he’d seen his house number come up, he may have avoided it realizing it was her. But then he probably would have simply dismissed the call and it would have gone straight to voice mail.

  She was overthinking. She couldn’t know anything without talking to him.

  Deciding she’d give him the benefit of the doubt until they spoke—well, as much benefit as she could muster—Andy headed back to the bedroom to get her clothes. She dressed and grabbed her phone off the nightstand, spotting the twenties that had fallen to the floor earlier. Suddenly it occurred to her that the money hadn’t been there the night before when she’d reached for the remote. Had it?

  No, she did not remember seeing it.

  Did that mean…? Was it…? She couldn’t formulate the thought into words, the idea was so putrid. Still, she had to take this at face value. And face value said that Blake had left her money. On the bedside table. For sex. Like she was a hooker.

  Her vision went red. He hadn’t even treated her as good as a hooker—a hooker would have been paid more than forty fucking dollars. They’d been through this before, with a near-disastrous outcome. They’d agreed to never talk about pay for sex again. Was leaving it on the nightstand his way of sneaking around that agreement? Or now that all the rules had been broken, was this also off the table?

  God, this better be something different from what it looked like, because if it wasn’t she might very well do something drastic. Something that made burning Ellis’s files look like model employee behavior in comparison.

  Hands shaking with fury and heart still bruised from Blake’s absence, she used the remaining battery in her dying cell phone to call a cab. She briefly considered hugging Puppy good-bye—she had fallen just as hard for the little guy—but he had gone back to chewing on whatever bit of debris had his attention earlier.

  With a soft, “Bye, Puppy,” she went outside to wait, locking the door behind her. She didn’t trust her restraint enough to be left alone in the Donovan mansion, and it wouldn’t be fair to act without hearing Blake’s side. Besides, Lacy would kick her ass if she got hit with another lawsuit. At this point, the latter was a bit more motivating than the former.

  Chapter Nineteen

  By the time Andy got home, showered and cleaned up, and then to the office, it was nearly eleven. She’d never been that late for work before. As she rode the elevator up, she considered feeling guilty about her tardiness. That idea was quickly smothered by the other emotions waging war inside her—rage, jealousy, hurt, betrayal. She kept reminding herself that she didn’t know the whole story yet, but it did little to calm her. She was on the warpath and God help anyone who got in her way.

  She entered the office with guns blazing, ready to accuse and blame. But Blake wasn’t at his desk. His computer wasn’t even on. Had he not even come in?

  Immediately, she stormed back out to interrogate the secretary. “Where’s Blake?”

  “He has meetings all morning, Ms. Dawson,” she answered. “He’ll be in this afternoon.”

  “Dammit.” She cursed again under her breath when she realized her first swear had been out loud. “Fine. Just … fine.” There was no use taking her disappointment out on Sarah. It wasn’t her fault that Blake was absent or an ass.

  The phone rang and Sarah excused herself to answer it. Andy was about to turn back to the office when a delivery woman approached the desk carrying a beautiful bouquet of red roses.

  Her breath hitched. Blake isn’t an ass after all! He’d gotten her flowers. Roses, which were commonplace and lacking in character, but it was the thought that counted. It didn’t exactly make up for waking up alone or for being paid like a pro. Still, it was promising.

  She felt her face glowing as she accepted the vase from the girl. Then she set them down on Sarah’s desk so she could s
ign the handheld tablet. She wished the girl a nice day and turned to admire the flowers.

  “Ah,” Sarah exclaimed as she hung up her phone. “The flowers for Ms. Osborne arrived.”

  Andy’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” She must have misheard. Sarah didn’t know the name of the candidates Blake took out. At least, Andy hadn’t thought she did.

  “The flowers are for a Ms. Osborne.”

  Apparently Andy was wrong. Sarah obviously knew Jane’s name. But maybe Sarah was wrong about the flowers being for Jane. Andy scanned the bouquet for a card. “Are you sure they’re for Jane? I don’t see her name anywhere.”

  “Yes. Mr. Donovan emailed me to order them for her this morning before he went to his meetings.”

  Just like that the warm fuzzy feeling was gone and the rage was back. So he’d found time to email his secretary with instructions on ordering flowers for Jane, but he couldn’t leave a simple note for the woman he’d screwed all night?

  Fine. Just … fine.

  Sarah stood and fake-swooned over the roses. “Aren’t they lovely? This one must be special. Mr. Donovan never lets anyone in on his private life. I had occasionally wondered if he was a cyborg.”

  Andy’s hand tightened into a fist at her side. She’d never wanted to hit something so hard in her life—or someone. God help Blake Donovan when he arrived. For that matter, God help anyone who got in her way before then.

  She spun toward the office when Sarah stopped her. “Could you put this note on Mr. Donovan’s desk?”

  Andy spoke through gritted teeth. “Sure.” She snatched the note out of Sarah’s hand. Then, because she was compulsively nosy, she scanned the message before walking away. “Blake has reservations tonight at Menton?”

  “Yes. They just called to confirm. Like I said—this woman must be special.”

  Then her assumption that morning had been right. Blake had a whole evening planned for Jane Osborne—roses, dinner at the classiest restaurant in town. So much for giving him the benefit of the doubt. Now she’d give him the benefit of a knee to the crotch.

  Sarah’s eyes flitted to a spot behind Andy. “Can I help you?”

  Andy turned to see a young man carrying a small silver bag and a clipboard. “Yeah, I’ve got a package for Blake Donovan.”

  “What is it today? Delivery central?” She’d lost her cool and didn’t even care anymore. Too bad if she snapped at the deliveryman—boy, really. It was Blake’s fault, not hers.

  The boy’s eyes widened with apprehension. “Uh, I could come back…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Give it here.” Andy held her hand out for the bag.

  “It’s for a Mr. Blake Donovan. I’m supposed to only leave it with him.” He was one of those rule followers, apparently.

  Well, rules were horseshit. What had been the point of the rules with her and Blake? It hadn’t gotten them anywhere. Hadn’t gotten her anything but heartbroken.

  “Blake’s not here. This is his office, though.” She pointed to the sign on the wall. “See? Blake Donovan. If you have to leave it with him directly, then you are going to have to come back.”

  His eyes danced from Andy’s to Sarah’s and back to Andy’s. “I’m not sure.”

  “Just give me the damn package.” Andy was pretty sure the boy handed the bag over because of fear and not because she’d convinced him he was doing the right thing. “Thank you. I’ll make sure he gets it.”

  “Wait, you have to—” Tentatively he held his clipboard toward her.

  “Yes, yes, of course.” She wrapped the bag strap around her wrist and snapped the board from him. “Where do I have to sign?”

  “On the line. At the bottom.”

  Andy glanced over the receipt looking for the signature line when her eyes caught on the package description. Two-carat Lucida cut, platinum band, sized.

  She almost dropped the clipboard. Her knees weakened and her breath left her entirely. All the anger she’d felt only a second before dissolved into a crashing wave of anguish. A diamond ring. It couldn’t be. There was no way.

  In a daze, she finished with the delivery boy. She couldn’t say how she managed to walk when she barely had strength in her legs to stand, but the next thing she knew she was sitting behind Blake’s desk with the silver bag clutched in her grasp.

  She took a deep breath and peeked inside the bag. Sure enough, next to a fancy-looking pamphlet and a bottle of cleaner, there was a small, black velvet box. The kind of box that only held jewelry, and small enough that the jewelry inside was limited to very few options.

  Andy’s hand shook as she took the box out of the bag. She closed her eyes and flipped the top open, hoping with all her might that she’d read the receipt wrong and inside would be a pair of earrings.

  But when she opened her lids again, she came face-to-face with the most beautiful ring she’d ever seen in her life. The two carats of rectangle diamond sat on top of a platinum band. Definitely worth more money than she’d ever made in a single year. It was breathtaking and gorgeous and if Blake presented it to her she’d dissolve into happy tears and she’d squeal even though she’d never been a squealer. Squee, even.

  But the ring wasn’t hers. It wasn’t meant for her finger. And so the tears that splashed down her cheek were not of the happy variety. They also weren’t of the gentle variety—her face and nose were soon a mess of snot and salt while her mind spun with the horrible soul-crushing revelation that Blake Donovan was planning to propose to Jane Osborne.

  How the hell had that happened?

  They’d only been on a handful of dates—how had Blake decided that this woman was the one? They hadn’t even slept together—or not slept together—at least, that’s what he claimed. It was ridiculous that he was making such a big decision after such a small amount of time. But then—Blake liked to tell Andy how his lightning decisions were famous and spot-on. Here was her proof.

  Though—and this was agonizing for Andy to admit—if Blake had ever asked her to marry him, she probably wouldn’t have said no. And they’d never even been on one date together. Not officially, anyway. Her stomach threatened to drop straight through her shaking knees.

  It dawned on her that the way she felt about Blake could very well be the way he felt about Jane. That he could adore her every flaw and cherish the quality of their time rather than quantity. Maybe he didn’t need any longer to know that he would love her forever. After all, Andy was pretty confident that she would love Blake forever.

  And if he did feel that way about Jane, then there was nothing that Andy could do to convince him otherwise. She could sabotage every single one of their encounters and he’d never waver. All her efforts had been a waste. Most important—there was no reason for her to stick around any longer.

  The thought was her own lightning bolt, one that seared through her, cleaving her heart in half. She thought she’d felt broken that morning. She was wrong. This was ten times that pain. There was nothing she could imagine that would have hurt more.

  With no tissues in the office, her swollen eyes were still leaking when she finally cleared them enough to write a note for Blake. Instead of writing all the rage-filled insults that she’d been collecting in her brain that morning, she wrote her letter of resignation. Hopefully the tearstains that streaked the paper would fade by the time he read it.

  * * *

  After a long morning of meetings that drifted into lunch, Blake was eager to get to the office. To Andrea. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since he’d left her in his bed. Even while he’d finalized a huge IT contract, every thought had been on her—her eyes, her sassy mouth, the way she felt wrapped around him while he buried himself inside of her.

  He missed her like it had been weeks since he’d seen her instead of hours. If he hadn’t left his phone in his locker at the gym, he’d have called and texted her a million times by now. Who cared? He’d buy a new phone. He’d buy the whole company new phones if they asked, that was
the kind of mood he was in.

  Luckily, he had the afternoon free. They’d have lunch together, then they could spend the rest of the day … well, the possibilities were endless. Though he had a few creative ideas. In the evening, he’d stop by Jane’s and deliver his bad news. Then it would be dinner with Andrea—a dinner neither of them would forget.

  Excitement pulsed through his veins as he passed his secretary’s empty desk. She must be at lunch, he decided, and noted that the flowers had arrived. That was good. In his hand, he clutched the bouquet of stargazer lilies he’d picked up on the way back from his meeting. They said Drea like roses never could. Roses were bland and overbred; lilies were wild and sensual.

  He couldn’t wait to give them to her. He wanted to see her face light up. He wanted to know she was as over-the-moon happy as he was. He wanted her to see that he saw her, Andrea Dawson, and loved every phenomenal atom for no other reason than that they existed.

  Except when he stepped into his office, the place was deserted. He crinkled his forehead wondering where on earth Andy could be. His note had been clear that they’d have lunch together. She must be in the bathroom. Freshening up or whatever it was that women did in there.

  Blake unbuttoned his jacket and started toward his desk when he heard someone come in behind him. He turned, expecting Andrea, but instead came face-to-face with his latest Sarah.

  “Mr. Donovan, I’m back from my meeting.”

  Blake nodded. He’d forgotten it was the monthly secretaries lunch day. Whatever that was about. Gossip about him, he assumed. “Good session?”

  “Some of it. Nothing worth sharing. Did you get you my message about dinner?”

  It took him a second to recall that he’d asked her to make his reservations. “I just got back myself. Haven’t even looked at my desk.”

  “Well, you’re all set for seven sharp at Menton. You’re lucky the manager is one of our clients. Do you know how hard it is to get into that place?”