by TWCS Authors
She opened her eyes to find him watching her intently, his eyes focused on her lips.
“This is incredible,” she said, a little breathless.
His gaze snapped up to meet hers. “Thank you,” he rasped, the sound stirring something trembly within her. He shook his head, as if to clear it. “Thank you,” he repeated, a little louder.
She just nodded, unable to form words, and took another bite of the cupcake as he cleared his throat.
Eventually, they overcame the awkward moment and ended up at one of the small tables talking over cups of coffee. They chatted about the business, how he became a cake designer—“The cake was always my favorite part of any party. Birthdays, weddings, whatever, so I figured, why not?” Favorite books—Tolkien for him, Austen for her, although they both had a soft spot for C.S. Lewis—his love of rock climbing and her preference for hiking. Even cartoons they watched as children.
“How could you not like the Super Friends?” she asked, coffee long forgotten as she threw up her hands in frustration. “Superman? Wonder Woman? It had all the big names!”
He snorted in derision. “Come on, Aquaman? Lamest superhero ever. And those Wonder Twins were ridiculous!”
“You don’t fool me. I bet you played Wonder Twins when you were little.”
“Are you kidding?” He really looked affronted. “Like I’d ever want to be Zan.”
“Ha! You remember his name.” She pointed at him, laughing, and he had the grace to look a bit chagrined.
“I have a good memory,” he said stubbornly. “And I still say Scooby Doo! was better.”
“It was the same show every time! The ghost was always the caretaker in a rubber mask.”
“Yeah, well, he would have gotten away with it if it wasn’t for those meddling kids.”
By this time, they were laughing hysterically. Emily couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so relaxed with another person. Perhaps it was because she’d forgotten to worry about touching him. He stuck to his side of the table and didn’t make any move to come closer, so she’d just been able to enjoy the conversation.
In fact, she was a little scared to think about just how much she’d enjoyed it. It was only as the streetlights outside the window kicked on that she realized they had yet to discuss what she’d come there to talk about.
“So,” she said, fiddling with her empty cup. “Jessica said she had a nice time.”
He blinked a bit at the abrupt change of topic, but recovered quickly. “I’m glad.”
“She’d like to see you again.”
He choked a bit on his coffee. “She would? I have to say I’m surprised.”
“Yes, well . . .” She spun her cup around on the saucer, not meeting his eyes. “You two do make a compatible match, and I understand that the chemistry might not have been there initially, but that kind of thing can grow over time. I would encourage you to pursue the relationship.”
“That’s really what you want?”
“Of course. It’s my job to find Jessica the right—”
“Is that really what you want?”
She looked up and immediately regretted it when she was caught in his gaze—his blue eyes focused on hers and searching for the truth.
She sprang to her feet. “Of course.” She cleared her throat, gathering her things. “Of course,” she said again. “I’m sorry, I’ve taken up too much of your time. I really should be going—”
“Emily . . .” He stood up, leaning forward across the table.
“You can contact Jessica at any time to arrange a second date—”
“Don’t do this . . .”
“Of course, if you have any questions, you can contact Heather, my assist—”
“Emily!” he said, sharper now. “Why are you doing this?”
“I’m not doing anything but my job.” She shouldered her purse, jumping as he stepped toward her. “Don’t!”
“What’s wrong?” he asked softly. “I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
“I know,” she stammered. “I know that.” She was floundering, uncertain.
“There’s something between us. I know you feel it.”
“It doesn’t matter—I mean, no, there isn’t. There can’t be.” A rush of panic twisted in her stomach as she turned toward the door and he reached for her, his fingers wrapping around her wrist.
“No!” she shouted, but it was too late. Her wall came tumbling down and a rush of intuition surged through her. She gasped at the influx of emotion . . . of knowing . . . of the familiar click of a key in a lock.
But not Jessica’s lock.
No, in that instance, she realized she’d misread her gift. It didn’t see Sam as the match for Jessica. The key was him, but the lock was her.
“No,” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. This was not what she wanted. This was not what she needed.
“Emily, what is it?” he asked, concern in his gaze as he leaned toward her. His thumb rubbed at her pulse point as his eyes dipped to her lips. “Can’t we . . . Can’t I . . .”
Tentatively, he bent toward her and she swayed slightly, caught in his magnetic pull. For a long moment, she considered dropping her guard and for just once, giving in to what her heart—her very being—seemed to want. She felt her gift surge in pleasure, reaching out for him.
“No!” she said, wrenching her hand out of his grip and fighting to build her wall back up. Brick by brick, it held back the knowing, the wanting, the desire, and longing so fierce it made her ache as she moved away from him. “No,” she said again, swallowing thickly as she straightened her jacket, her professional persona once again moving to the forefront.
“I need to go. I think it best that Heather handle any further questions you may have.”
He opened his mouth as if to respond, and she realized his arm was still stretched out toward her. She lifted her chin stubbornly and his hand fell to his side, his jaw tense.
“All right. If you think that’s best.”
Emily said nothing more, just gave him a businesslike nod and made her way to the door, keeping a safe distance between them.
Instead of going home, she went to the office. That is to say, she started to go home, then changed direction two or three times before heading back to Perfect Match with a frustrated growl and a frown of grim determination.
Or desperation. Take your pick.
The offices were dark except for the security lights casting the hallways in shadow. Emily didn’t bother turning on the main lights. She didn’t need to, having navigated the path countless times before. Once she made it to her desk, she waited impatiently for her computer to power up, tapping her fingers on the desk and glancing several times toward the open door.
Why was she so nervous? It was her own office, for heaven’s sake, her own company. She had every reason to be there. It wasn’t as if the night custodian was going to show up and demand to know why she was running a compatibility algorithm on herself. And Sam Cavanaugh.
She logged on and accessed the database, easily finding Sam’s profile. Her own, although in the system, was not currently active, so it took a few keystrokes to bring it up.
She hesitated, the two profiles side by side on the screen, her finger hovering over the mouse.
What was she doing?
There was no way this could end well. If the computer confirmed their compatibility, what was she supposed to do? It wasn’t as if she could act on it in any way. He was a client. Jessica was a client. And according to the system—her own system—they were perfect for each other.
But still . . .
Her gift’s reaction to Sam taunted her, and she just wanted to know for sure. Had to know, even if she couldn’t act on it. Wouldn’t act on it.
Right. It was a scientific test, really. An assessment of the algorithms to prove, once and for all, that they were superior to any other method. It was a perfectly logical reason, actually. One the custodian would surely believe.
“Crap,”
she muttered. “Just do it.”
She clicked the mouse and sat back, arms crossed over her chest as she waited for the results. Staring at the progress meter apparently did not make it move any faster, so she got up and walked across her office, purposely not looking at it. She checked her phone, her watch . . . made a circuit around the outer office, then with a deep breath sat back down at her desk and looked at the results.
Thirty-eight percent.
Emily blinked in shock, unable to comprehend what she was reading. But there it was in black and white: Overall Compatibility: 38%. She scanned the subcategories—interests, psychological profile, beliefs and morality—but nothing scored over forty percent. After reading through the results at least a half-dozen times, she slumped in her seat.
Her gift was wrong. Almost as wrong as she and Sam were for each other.
This was . . . good, right? It proved the accuracy of her system and that Jessica and Sam were the right match. Any attraction she had for Sam was misplaced, and a relationship with him would definitely be doomed from the start. They obviously had nothing in common.
Right. Good news. Now she could move forward, do her job, and put any ridiculous fantasies about Sam Cavanaugh behind her.
Days dragged into a week, then another. Emily carefully avoided anything having to do with Jessica’s match, pawning her calls off on Heather and not even requesting detailed updates. She knew Jessica had gone out on her second dates and that there had been no major disasters, but other than that, she’d stayed out of it. Jessica was apparently happy, and Heather seemed to be handling it well. Emily noted absently that it might be time for a promotion for her assistant. Obviously, she was well suited to the business.
She sat at her desk with her chin propped on her hand, half-daydreaming and half-checking her e-mail, rolling her eyes when she spotted yet another reminder from her mother about her grandmother’s eightieth birthday party the coming weekend. For some reason, she seemed certain Emily would forget, although she’d yet to miss an important family event, despite her busy schedule. Emily was in the midst of typing back a quick, “Yes, Mom. I’ll be there” response when Heather knocked briskly on the doorjamb.
She hesitated, shifting on her feet, before crossing to Emily’s desk and dropping two foil-wrapped truffles before her.
Emily’s eyes widened. “Two? This must be bad.” She quickly unwrapped one and popped it into her mouth.
“Well, I have good news and bad news,” Heather said, dropping into the chair across from her and running her fingers through her hair. “The chocolate’s for the bad.”
Emily nodded, bracing herself. “Hit me.”
“It’s about Jessica.”
Emily stiffened, automatically reaching for the second truffle. “I told you. I’m too busy with other clients to deal—”
“She’s eloped.”
Emily choked as she tried to swallow the candy and grabbed at her cup of lukewarm coffee to wash it down. Her stomach dropped, heart thudding slowly in her chest as she absorbed Heather’s words. She tried not to think it, but did anyway.
Was it him?
“Are you okay?” Her assistant asked, starting to get to her feet. Emily waved her back.
“I’m fine. It’s fine. It’s all . . . fine.” She stacked up the papers on her desk before her, tapping the edges to level them, first one way then the other. She set them down and picked them up again. “Did you talk to her?”
“Yes, she called from Vegas. She and Adam—”
“Adam?” Hope swelled, and was quickly squelched back down. What did it matter?
“Yes, Adam,” Heather said slowly. “She and Adam decided that they didn’t want to wait. They felt it was right, and wanted to make it official.” She watched Emily closely, her head tilted. “She said to thank you for all your hard work.”
Emily nodded, clearing her throat as she set the stack of papers aside again. “Of course. We’ll . . . uh . . . make sure you send a gift. Maybe one of those crystal vases.”
“Already taken care of.”
“All right then.” Emily turned back to her computer, trying to get a handle on her racing thoughts. “If that’s all . . .”
Heather leaned forward. “You didn’t ask me about the bad news.”
“What?”
“The bad news. You didn’t ask me about it.”
“Oh!” Emily waved a hand. “Well, what is it?”
“Somebody’s got to tell Sam.” Heather stood and brushed off her skirt, giving Emily a significant look. “And that’s outside of my job description.”
“I could give you a promotion.”
“Thanks,” Heather said with a grin. “But you’re still calling him.”
“I’m too busy.”
“Em.” Heather rounded the desk and perched on it next to her. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two—”
“Nothing’s going on,” she said quickly.
Heather raised a disbelieving brow. “Like I said, I don’t know what’s going on. But I do know that you’ve been miserable these last few weeks.” She reached out to lay a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “You can’t use me to avoid him, Em. If you’re going to push him away, that’s your business. But it’s not fair to use me to do it.”
Emily grimaced, realizing she was doing exactly that. “Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll call him.”
“Good,” Heather said brightly, patting her shoulder. “While you’re at it, why don’t you ask him to dinner?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
“I don’t know what you have against him,” she said as she got up to head to the door. “He’s smart, nice, now available, not to mention extremely hot.”
“He’s a client.”
“So what?” Heather asked, turning around in the doorway to face her. “He came to us for a match. Who’s to say you aren’t it?”
“I’m to say,” Emily said, a little too strongly. “Sorry, I just . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t feel comfortable dating clients.”
Heather shrugged. “Your loss, Em. I hate to see you missing out on a great guy out of some misguided sense of ethics.”
“Ethics can’t be misguided,” she argued. “That’s kind of the point of ethics.”
“They can when they keep two people apart who belong together,” Heather said with a shrug before she headed out the door.
With a heavy sigh, Emily picked up the phone and dialed Sam’s phone number. Yes, she had it memorized. No, it didn’t mean anything other than she was good at her job. She held her breath as it rang once . . . twice . . . only releasing it with a relieved sigh when the call went to voice mail.
Now for the tough part. How do you explain to a man that the possible love of his life had just run away with another man? Emily figured quick and direct was best, like ripping off a band-aid.
“Hi Sam, this is Emily Valentine from Perfect Match. I have some good news and some bad news . . .”
She didn’t talk to Jessica for the rest of the week. Emily figured the newlyweds were enjoying their honeymoon. They’d gone from Vegas to some island in the Bahamas for a month, and she really didn’t expect to hear from them other than the rather large check that showed up on her desk that Friday.
As for Sam . . .
Well, she chose not to think about him. Or at least pretend she wasn’t thinking about him. Instead, she busied herself with work and finding the perfect gift for her grandmother’s birthday, finally opting for a silver locket engraved with her initials.
Saturday night, Emily arrived at the Italian restaurant her mother had reserved for the party and was surprised at the crowd of people inside. She knew her grandma had friends, but had no idea she had so many. Emily recognized some, but many were unfamiliar. It took a moment and then she realized many were former clients—matches made over the years. Some had obviously been together a long time, while others appeared to be in the early stages of a relationship, all starry-eyed and dazed. They all looked happ
y, though, and lined up to offer congratulations to Ellen.
Emily spotted her mother ducking into the kitchen and followed her, weaving between the groups of talking and laughing people. Aunt Ada grabbed her arm as she passed, pulling her in for a hug and a pink-lipstick kiss on the cheek.
“How are you, sweetie?” she asked, eyes narrowing behind her cats-eye glasses. “You seem a bit muddled.”
“She’s not muddled, she’s conflicted.” Ada’s twin sister, Ida, popped up on Emily’s other side. Ada and Ida were actually Emily’s great aunts, her grandmother’s older sisters, and ran their own matchmaking business in Phoenix. They were identical in every way, from their close-cropped curly, white hair and matching pink pantsuits to their ability to read someone’s emotions by looking into their eyes.
“Fine, thanks,” Emily said, avoiding the muddled comment. “It’s nice of you both to make the trip.”
Ada waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, you know we wouldn’t miss it.”
“Now, tell us what’s wrong,” Ida said, pressing the point. “You’re not here alone, are you? Pretty girl like you should have the boys lining up.”
“Don’t pressure her, Ida. It’s obvious she’s going through boy troubles.”
“I’m really not—”
“They’re not going to go away by ignoring them,” Ida replied.
“No, but if she doesn’t want to talk about it—”
“She needs to talk about it.”
“There’s really nothing to talk about—”
“Of course there is dear,” Ida said, patting her arm consolingly. “You’ll feel better if you face these things head-on.”
Emily felt a bit dizzy. “There’s nothing to face.”
Ida looked into her eyes for a long moment, pale green eyes searching. Emily wanted to turn away, but she knew it would hurt her feelings. Despite the invasiveness of her aunt’s gaze, she held it, almost unable to look away.
“Ah,” Ida finally said softly.