Undercover Bachelor (Undercover Matchmakers Book 1)

by Maria Geraci

  Annie had never heard Walter sound so passionate before.

  Her pulse raced out of control.

  Yep. This was it.

  Walter was about to propose.

  She’d been waiting three years for today. Well, not three years exactly, but the last year for sure. Every time Walter acted the tiniest bit mysterious or hinted about how much money he’d saved up, Annie was certain it was the prelude to a proposal. How many times had she set herself up for disappointment? And now, on a perfectly normal Tuesday evening, he was about to say those magical words she’d waited so long to hear.

  What would she say in return?

  Her heart braked, sending her pulse to a sudden stop.

  What would she say?

  Where on earth had that come from? There was only one thing she could say. After dating for three years, it would be ridiculous to turn Walter down. She loved him. Of course, she did! Their lives would be wonderful. They’d continue in their respective jobs. Buy a house together. Have two kids. A dog. Or a cat. No, scratch the cat. Walter was allergic to them. He was allergic to dogs too, now that Annie thought about it. So make it a gerbil. Or some goldfish. Whatever. They’d still have a great life. Right?

  Her palms went damp, and her throat dried up. Nothing about this proposal seemed right. “Walter, let’s not rush into anything. Maybe—”

  “Rush? Annie, I’ve been waiting my whole life for this.”

  “Oh. I had no idea, I mean—”

  “Can you believe it? I’ve only been with the firm seven years. Which, in some places, is plenty of time, but Hank didn’t make partner until he’d been there almost ten.” He pulled his shoulders back. “Walter Tillman,” he said, referring to himself in third person, “is about to become Carter, Helling and Robinson’s youngest partner ever.”

  “Partner?” Annie asked, dazed.

  “I know it’s not in our timeline, babe, but I just can’t turn this down. You understand, don’t you?”

  Of course, she understood. Walter had talked of nothing else this past year. Making partner was important to him. And to their future. “Walter, this is fantastic. Congratulations!”

  “You really think so?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be great news?”

  “You understand that making partner means I’m going to have to put even more hours in than before.” He hesitated. “That could be a good thing for you too.”

  Annie wasn’t sure how Walter spending more time at work was a good thing for her, but she’d bite. “What do you mean?”

  “Since we won’t be seeing so much of each other, you don’t have the pressure of having to leave your desk by six to meet me for dinner. You can stay at work as long as you want. Isn’t that great? Think of all you can accomplish at the dealership.”

  She’d already accomplished everything she’d set out to do four years ago when she’d taken the job. The accounts, the inventory, the day-to-day workings of the dealership all ran smoother than ever. But maybe she could think of something to keep her busy. If she put her mind to it.

  “And I’ll have to buy into the firm,” Walter continued. “It’ll take up most of my savings, but it’s an investment in our future. Of course, it does mean putting off other things too,” he emphasized.

  Other things.

  Like their engagement. He didn’t have to say it out loud, but it was clearly implied.

  A week ago, Annie might have been upset by that. But tonight, all she could feel was—

  “Wait. Is this what Connie was congratulating you for? Because you made partner? You told her before you told me?”

  Walter’s cheeks went pink. “If you hadn’t been late for dinner, then you’d have been the first to know. C’mon, Annie, this is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. I mean, to us. I had to tell someone.”

  Walter was right. This was exciting news. She was happy for him. For them. Making partner at the firm was an essential step in their relationship timeline. The fact that it had come sooner than expected was something to be celebrated. It shouldn’t matter that he’d shared the news with someone else first.

  But shouldn’t she feel more disappointed that this meant putting off their engagement for another, what, couple of years?

  Something here wasn’t right. She should definitely be upset about that. But the truth was, all she could feel was a dizzying sense of relief.

  6

  Annie stared at the numbers in front of her, willing them to come together on their own. Here it was, eleven o’clock on a Wednesday morning, and she’d barely gotten any work done. Add that to yesterday’s time suck on YouTube, and this week was turning out to be a bust.

  She took a big breath and tried to concentrate, but her mind wasn’t on work. It wasn’t on Walter either. It was on that ridiculous show she’d watched the other night at her parents’ home and on this Sam character and the pretty little speech he’d given on the morning show.

  I want to feel that zing you get when you meet the woman you know you were meant to spend the rest of your life with. That’s what I want.

  If only there was some way to get those words out of her head. This obsession with Sam DeLuca was taking over her life. Which was ridiculous. She didn’t do celebrity crushes. Not even when she was a teenager and all her friends had posters of the Jonas Brothers up on their bedroom walls.

  In the past whenever something weighed on Annie’s mind, she’d write out her dilemma on paper, going through all the pros and cons until she found the perfect solution to the problem. Maybe a similar technique could work here. If she wrote all her thoughts down, then maybe she could get it all out of her system and she could move on.

  Bridget wanted her to get in contact with this Gas Station Sam character.

  Perhaps if she wrote him a letter (one that she’d never ever mail), then she could get back to normal life. She closed the monthly financial report on her computer screen and opened a new word file.

  Dear Sam,

  No. Scratch that. “Dear” sounded old-fashioned. She deleted the salutation and started over.

  Hey, Sam!

  Double scratch that. Much too laid back.

  She leaned back in her chair and stared at the screen again. Then it hit her. She never wrote Gram’s letters on the computer. Or any of her lists, either. She always hand-wrote those. Annie pulled a sheet of stationery paper from her desk drawer, picked up the Cross pen her parents had given her when she’d graduated college, and started her letter.

  Sam,

  First off, I’m not some crazy person or an unhinged fan. Honest. I’m a normal twenty-nine-year-old woman with no history of mental health issues. I’m writing you this letter that I know you’ll never see in an attempt to get back to my regularly scheduled life. Which, by the way, is pretty terrific. I’m a C.P.A. (no accountant jokes please) and the chief financial officer for my family’s business, Esposito’s Used Cars in Old Explorer’s Bay, Florida, where I also grew up.

  Old Explorer’s Bay is exactly how it sounds. It’s a sleepy little town of about ten thousand people on the east coast of Florida, just south of St. Augustine. Most historians will tell you that the Spanish conquistadors landed in St. Augustine, making it the country’s oldest continually established European settlement, but the people in town believe a bit differently. You see, we think the Spanish landed here first (as a matter of fact, most folks in Old Explorer’s Bay are a bit fanatical about that). But I digress. Not trying to bore you or anything.

  My entire family lives here, including my grandparents, parents, my baby brother Frank Jr., and an assortment of uncles, aunts, cousins and all their spouses and babies. I live a simple life. I work hard every day, try to exercise (but usually give up after twenty minutes), love to read, and, oh yes, I also do the crossword puzzle every morning. In ink. Because let’s face it, people who do the daily crossword in pencil aren’t taking any real risks, you know?

  Besides crossword puzzles and reading, I love my mother’s
chocolate chip cookies and watching reruns of The Office. It’s a shame that there’s no good sitcoms anymore. And like you, I’m also not a morning person. Coffee, please!

  At this point, I should probably tell you that I’m somewhat of an object of pity here in town. You see, six years ago when I finished grad school, I followed my boyfriend, Russell, to Miami, where he got this great job. I got a great job too, and we moved in together. Everything was going awesome (or at least I thought it was). We talked about getting married all the time, and then Russell got this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a big promotion with his company. Only it meant moving to London. Naturally, I urged him to take it. London! I mean, who in their right mind would turn that down? So I did what any good girlfriend would. I quit my job and followed him out there, and then two weeks later, he dumped me. Since I didn’t have a job in London and no work visa, I had to go back to Miami, where, you guessed it, my job had already been filled.

  It’s a sad little story, but please don’t feel sorry for me (there’s enough of that going around town). My grams has even named it “Annie’s Unfortunate Incident” like I’m some character in a Lemony Snicket novel. Even though it happened four years ago, it’s like the people in this town can’t get over it.

  At this point, I think I need to mention that I’m “pre-engaged” to the man I’ve been dating for the past three years. Walter is a lawyer, and he’s about to make partner at his firm, which is a huge deal for him (for both of us really), and it’s just not the best time to be spending a lot of money on an engagement ring. Which I’m perfectly fine with.

  This brings me to the fact that I feel pretty silly writing a complete stranger when I’m in a relationship with someone else, but something has felt off between Walter and me for the past few months (for the past few years, if I’m being truthful) and ever since I saw you on Single Gal I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.

  Which makes me wonder if maybe Walter isn’t the right guy for me. On paper, he’s perfect, but in real life … I don’t feel that “zing” with him. I never have. I do love him. I’m just not in love with him. And deep down, I don’t think he’s in love with me either.

  Wow.

  I just figured it all out.

  I have to break up with Walter.

  Strangely enough, I’m not upset. I’m totally at peace with this decision, so I guess writing this letter to someone I’ve never met before has helped me figure things out.

  Thanks, Sam. Best of luck to you.

  Sincerely,

  Annie Esposito

  PS Not to brag or anything, but every Sunday I do the New York Times crossword puzzle, and last week I finished it in under an hour and twenty minutes (my personal best time!). Okay, yeah, I’m totally bragging.

  A knock on the door made her jump. Without waiting for an answer, Bridget strolled into her office as if she owned the place. Annie gave the other woman her fiercest scowl. “Haven’t you ever heard of waiting until you get permission to enter?”

  Bridget perched her bottom on the edge of Annie’s desk. “How was dinner last night?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “I know you think I’m just the heartless office busybody, but I only get involved because I care.” Bridget fluttered her eyelashes in a way that made Annie laugh.

  “Right.”

  “Did you watch any of the late-night TV shows? Gas Station Sam was on almost every one of them.”

  “Nope,” Annie lied. “I went to bed early.”

  “Alone?” Bridget persisted.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “That means you were alone.”

  “Okay,” Annie admitted, “so maybe I watched some late-night TV.”

  Bridget smiled sympathetically. “There’s no harm in dreaming, Annie.”

  “There is if it interferes with your reality.” She sighed. “So what if I find this guy intriguing? From what I gather, so does the rest of America.”

  “True, but there’s no reason you should settle for Mr. Tall Dark and Boring when there are men like Sam in the world.”

  Annie chewed that over. Maybe she should tell Bridget about her plan to break up with Walter. She’d find out sooner or later anyway, and Bridget seemed to know a lot about men. Maybe she could give Annie some tips on how to break things off gently. “Walter is making partner at his law firm,” she began.

  Bridget faked a yawn. “That’s nice.”

  “It means he’s going to have to buy into the firm, which means financially this isn’t the best time to get engaged.”

  “Does Walter have any idea when it might be a good time?”

  “In about two years.”

  “A person could fall in love, get married, and have a baby in half that time.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, you don’t owe Walter anything. Not if he chooses to put his career over you.”

  “I agree.”

  Bridget nearly fell off the desk. “Did I just hear right?”

  Annie swallowed hard. “I’m going to break up with Walter.”

  “It’s about time! What brought this on?”

  She handed Bridget the letter. “I took your advice and wrote to Gas Station Sam.”

  Bridget pumped her fist in the air. “Yes!”

  “But I’m not going to mail it. I only wrote it to clear my thoughts. Which it did. So I guess I have him to thank for that. And you. Only don’t get a big head about it.”

  Bridget quickly perused the letter. “Mmm … definitely not what I would have written, but you never know. He might find it interesting.”

  “That’s something we’ll never find out since he’s never going to read it, because I’m never going to mail it.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. For one thing, I have no idea where to send it. Like I said, I only wrote it to help give me clarity. Which it did.”

  Bridget pursed her lips.

  “Don’t get all pouty on me. I would think you’d be happy that I’ve come to a decision about Walter.”

  “I’m happy that you’ve decided to get on with your life. He wasn’t the guy for you, Annie.”

  “I agree. Which is why I was hoping you could give me some pointers on how to break up with him.”

  “Let me guess.” Bridget gave her a wonky look. “You’ve never broken up with anyone before.”

  “Nope.”

  “Not even in high school?”

  Annie shook her head.

  “Middle school?” Bridget persisted.

  “Who has a boyfriend in middle school?”

  Bridget looked up at the ceiling like she was trying to channel some divine intervention. “Never mind. You’re right. You do need help. You could always ghost him, but I don’t think Walter would notice.”

  “Not funny.” Except Bridget might have a point. Walter was always so busy at work, it might take weeks before he noticed that she’d stopped texting him. No, not weeks. Tuesday would roll around and he’d want to know why she wasn’t waiting for him in their usual booth at the diner.

  “Okay, so you want to do it publicly,” said Bridget, “like in a restaurant. That way he can’t make a scene. Not that I think Walter will make a scene. He’d never do anything to risk his professional reputation.”

  “You think I should break up with him over dinner? Doesn’t that seem a little harsh?”

  “Rejection is a dish best served cold.”

  “I thought that was revenge,” said Annie.

  “Same thing. Breaking up with him is both rejection and revenge. He’s made it clear that you aren’t number one in his life. For instance, when is the last time you and Walter had sex?”

  Annie stiffened. “I’m not going to answer that.”

  Bridget stared at her until Annie felt her cheeks go hot. Man, Bridget was good. “Okay, so it’s been a while.”

  “I don’t even want to know what your idea of a while is. So this man who puts his job ahead of you and you
r needs really doesn’t deserve much in the way of a breakup. I say you tell him right before dessert. And make sure he pays the bill.”

  Annie would have to think that over. “Thanks for the advice.” She put out the palm of her hand. “Now, can I have my letter back please?”

  “What’s the harm in sending this letter off to—”

  “Don’t. Even. Think. It. This letter is never going to see the light of day.” She snatched the paper from Bridget’s hand, then crumpled it and tossed it into the bin. “There. It’s gone now. Promise me, that’s the end of Sam DeLuca.”

  Bridget stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Bridget,” Annie said sternly, giving her a hard stare back. “Don’t forget who signs your paycheck.”

  After a few seconds, Bridget blew out a breath. “Okay. I promise. No more talking about Sam DeLuca.”

  7

  A patch of bright blue Texas sunshine fought its way through an army of Dallas skyscrapers to stream through the corner window of Sam’s high-rise office. That little slice of heaven should have been enough to put him in a good mood, but not today. It was the first time since appearing on Single Gal that he’d gone in to work at the Big B Gas and Oil building. He thought he’d check his mail, go over a few budget reports, maybe even pop in on a meeting, but the ribbing—albeit good-natured—was enough to make him want to jump out the window.

  Hey, Sam, been supplying gas lately?

  It stinks that you were kicked off the first night.

  How does it feel to be the most sought-after man in America?

  In the week since the show’s premiere, he’d been inundated with offers. He’d politely and, in some cases, not so politely declined them all.

  No, he didn’t want to go on any more reality dating shows.

  No, he didn’t want to open an Instagram account and peddle sunglasses.

  And especially oh-hell-no he didn’t want to make a fool of himself on Dancing With The Stars.

  He wasn’t so naïve to think that the sudden interest was just about him. If he wasn’t Cyrus Byrd’s grandson, no one would give a flying fuck about Sam DeLuca. He should have listened to his gut and never gone on that show or done those interviews. Lesson learned. From now on, no matter how hard Becks or his mother or any other female on the planet pleaded or cajoled, if he didn’t want to do it, then the answer was going to be a firm and resounding no.