The Right Guy

by Kate O'Keeffe

  Interesting.

  Lately, it’s all been about The Wedding. Ash has been obsessed. Seriously obsessed. She’s not quite a bridezilla, but she’s borderline. In my eyes, Taylor’s a saint for putting up with her.

  A perky, smiling hostess arrives at the front desk where we’ve been waiting. “Hi, welcome to Joe’s! Table for two?”

  I nod at the girls. “Want to join the future missus?”

  Tim looks in their direction, and it’s clear to me he hasn’t noticed them before now. “Sure. If that’s okay with you?” The look on his face gives away how eager he is. “I mean, I know this is meant to be a pre-game-post-last-night-guy-thing, but if you’re cool with it?”

  Tim and I have tickets for the Giants game today. We’ve been going with the same group of guys since we met all those years ago. It’s kind of our tradition. I don’t get to go as often as I’d like, thanks to the demands of Manger, the restaurant where I’m head chef, but with Tim and Ash’s wedding only a week away, I made sure I was free.

  You don’t lose a buddy to marriage every day of the week.

  I shake my head, letting out a chuckle. Tim and Ash are about as loved up as a couple of twenty-somethings can get. I knew he’d want to go sit with them before I even opened my mouth.

  I glance over at the girls’ booth once more. Ash now has her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. Whatever they’re talking about, it has her full attention. My eyes dart to Taylor. Cute and curvy Taylor Jennings. With her long, wavy dark hair she always wears loose, those full lips, and that old-fashioned centerfold thing she’s got going on, she looks good enough to eat in her short skirt and T.

  Sexy? Hell, yeah.

  Problem is, she’s like a kid sister to me. I’ve known her since she had those Rug Rats braids and freckles dashed across her nose. She must have been about seven or eight when she and Ash became friends. She spent so much time at our house when we were growing up, my mom practically raised her.

  Which makes that look she just shot me outside so . . . unexpected, I guess. Unexpected and totally hot.

  Usually, she rolls her eyes at me, chucks me on the arm, does the banter thing. You know, like I’m her big brother. And I’m good at that. We’re good at that. It’s the way it should be. But that look?

  Yeah.

  It was intense. Not Tay Tay shooting her B.F.F.’s big brother a snide glance. I know this is going to sound totally cheesy, but it was like she was a woman looking at a man. Like she was seeing me, really seeing me, for the first time.

  See what I mean? Major cheese-fest.

  I drag my eyes from Taylor back to Tim. “You lead the way. Your future bride awaits.”

  Tim turns back to the hostess. “We’re gonna join some friends over there.”

  “All righty!” Miss Perky replies as she hands us some menus. “Go take a seat, and I’ll send someone right over to take your order.”

  We reach the booth. The moment Ash claps eyes on her future husband, she slides around and hops up to kiss him like she hasn’t seen him in months. I look away because . . . brother.

  I shoot Taylor a smile of solidarity. She’s got to live through this crap just as much as I do. But she’s not looking my way. Instead, she’s staring at Tim, her brows knitted together.

  “You’re wearing an orange shirt.” Her voice sounds weird, almost strangled.

  I narrow my gaze. What is with her today?

  “Yeah. Giants game. Gotta look the part.”

  Taylor merely nods. After a beat, her gaze slides up to meet mine. Our eyes lock, her baby blues just as intense as they were outside. I’m struck by a sudden urge to reach out and brush my lips against the creamy skin of her bare shoulder, make the tiny hairs on her arms stand on end.

  What the hell?

  This thing is getting out of control.

  She looks down, breaking the whatever it is between us. Just as well. I’ve been burnt by Taylor, and I’m not sure I can deal with going there again.

  I clear my throat. “Move over, Tay Tay.” I keep my tone light.

  She slips further into the booth, sliding the plate with her half-eaten burger across the table with her. I slide in after her.

  “How’s your burger?”

  “A whole lot better than the ones they serve at that over-priced place on Valencia.”

  My restaurant, Manger. I’m head chef. Not bad for a guy from a family who microwaved their TV dinners most nights of the week. “Tasty, gourmet food not your thing, Tay Tay?”

  “At those prices?” She raises her eyebrows, shooting me her “you’re such an easy target” look. She’s ribbing me. It’s fun, familiar. Safe.

  Modus operandi restored.

  I lean my elbows on the table. “Are you saying I can’t tempt you with a succulent grass-fed beef burger with semi-dried tomatoes, pickled zucchini, and sweet relish, served in a crispy ciabatta bun?”

  She pulls a face. “Who wants pickled zucchini in a burger?”

  “A lot of people.” It’s one of my biggest sellers. And it’s good. Damn good. “Believe me, it’s like an orgasm in your mouth.”

  Taylor laughs. “That sounds messy.”

  “Yeah, I guess it does. Come by the restaurant. I’ll make one for you.” My phone beeps. I turn it over to check it.

  See you at the game in ten.

  A message from Big Red, one of the guys going to the Giants game today.

  I fire off a quick reply.

  Running late. Be there soon.

  Taylor takes a sip of her Coke. “One of your lady friends? What is it, a late-morning booty call?”

  I may have been a player in the past, but that’s not who I am anymore. It got old a long time ago. “It was Big Red.” I place my phone face down on the table.

  “Weird name for a girl. Is she all manly with a lot of red hair all over her body?”

  I shake my head. Taylor knows exactly who Big Red is. One of Tim’s groomsmen about to come to Cabo with us all next weekend for the bachelor-slash-bachelorette party. I lean in. “You know how much I love a chick with a deep voice and chin stubble.”

  She raises her eyebrows, her lips curving into a smile. “And balls?”

  “Definitely balls.”

  She shoots me her dazzling smile as a laugh escapes from between her lips. We continue to wind each other up until Ash and Tim have finished acting like they haven’t seen one another for a year and join us at the table.

  Miss Perky turns up, and we order a couple of burgers, two bowls of fries, a couple of shakes, and an extra-large serving of garlic bread. #Manfeast.

  We shoot the breeze until the food’s delivered.

  “You know they have food in Cabo, right? You don’t need to pre-load before we go.” Ash gives us a motherly look.

  “Man need food,” Tim replies with his mouth half full. He beats his chest to make his point.

  “Yeah, and we’ve got a game to get to. We’ll need the calories so we can hurl abuse at the opposition,” I say.

  “You’re just a couple of he-men, aren’t you, a throwback to cavemen times?” This from Taylor.

  “You complaining?” I ask her.

  She raises her hands in the air. “It’s nothing to do with me.”

  Our burgers devoured—nothing compared to Manger’s, of course—and the weirdness between Taylor and me long gone, we call for the check. Once it’s delivered, we split it and pay.

  Tim looks at his watch. “We need to get to the game.”

  I glance at the time on my phone. The game started twenty minutes ago. Outside, Tim pulls my sister in for a hug and kisses her long and slow on the lips.

  “Enjoy your last game as a single man,” she coos, sliding her hands up his back.

  Really, no brother should have to witness this as often as I do.

  “Enjoy the game, guys,” Taylor says.

  “See you in Cabo, Tay Tay.” I know my eyes linger on her face longer than necessary, but there’s something in the way she’s looked at me to
day that’s drawing me in, keeping me there. Wanting a whole lot more from her than just friendship.

  “Come on, Ash. You’ll see him after the game.” Taylor pulls Ashley by the arm, and she reluctantly untangles herself from her fiancé’s grasp. “Bye, boys.” Taylor’s eyes briefly flash to mine before she turns and walks away from us.

  “You okay?” Tim asks, my eyes still trained on Taylor’s retreating figure.

  “Yeah, man. I’ll get us a ride.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and order an Uber. “Two minutes.”

  “Enough time to put this on.” Tim throws the black plastic bag at me that he’s been carrying around.

  I catch it and glance inside. It’s a new Giants shirt. My last one had died a death by vicious washing machine, and Tim can get them cheap through the sports store chain he works for. “Thanks, man. It’s awesome.”

  “No problem.”

  I slip the orange shirt over my T-shirt. “Fits perfect.”

  “It goes with your eyes. Orange and green.”

  I shoot my suddenly effeminate friend a look. “What the hell, Tim?”

  He laughs. “Just screwing with ya.”

  The Uber pulls up, and we get inside. As we fall into silence, my thoughts drift to Taylor. The way she looked at me plays on my mind. Whatever it was about, I know it’s over.

  But I can’t help hoping for something more.

  CHAPTER 3

  Taylor

  “Look, Kelvin, as well as all the standard benefits like medical and dental, they have less common things like rebounders throughout the office.” I tap my pen against my desk, willing this phone call to be done.

  “Rebounders?”

  “You know, those little trampoline things?”

  “Why?” Kelvin Doyle, the guy on the other end, scoffs.

  I’ll admit, I’m kinda with him on this. “So you can bounce while you think. It’s kind of a cool concept, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t like to do anything that gets my heart rate up.”

  Great. A couch potato.

  I let out a sigh. Talking overly-bright, introverted guys who never see the sun into becoming applicants for jobs at mammoth tech companies Trikal and Gigatron is what I do all day, every day. Sure, it has its rewards, like when I place someone I think would be perfect for a role and my intuition is spot on. And then there are the less rewarding parts, like having to talk the likes of Couch Potato Kelvin into becoming a candidate.

  Or worse, listen to one of them tell me all about why The Green Lantern would beat Aquaman in a fight. You know, the important issues we face as a nation today.

  At least he isn’t putting me through that.

  I shift the phone to my other ear. “I think the idea behind the rebounders is that they help your circulation, which increases blood supply to the brain. More blood equals better thinking.”

  There’s silence at the other end of the line. I know I’m beating a dead horse here. I run my finger down a list of job benefits until I find something I hope will appeal to Kelvin Couch-Potato-with-the-Perpetual-Low-Heart-Rate.

  I find something that requires little to no actual movement. “You can participate in self-realization classes. I’m told they’re really beneficial.”

  “What’s self-realization?”

  Good question. I was kinda hoping he’d already know. I quickly type it into Google. “It’s realizing your full potential. Being all you can be,” I say with authority as I read the screen.

  “Sounds crap.”

  I can’t argue with that.

  “Sure. I’ve gotcha.” I decide to try a different approach. “What do you like to do, Kelvin?

  “Gaming.”

  Shocker.

  I spot a benefit on my list. “How about the fact you can take every second Friday off as a ‘Yes, Please’ day where you can skip work and pursue sporting activities?”

  “I don’t like sporting activities. I like gaming.”

  I picture Kelvin dressed in his tighty-whities, sitting on some beat-up old sofa in his parents’ garage. He’d be at his computer, his skinny arms jutting out at his sides as he kills off an endless stream of zombies or bad guys or whatevers.

  “Sure. Well, they offer social activities with other employees who like to game.”

  Okay, I totally made that up.

  I don’t usually make up little white lies to candidates, but this guy needs the push. I figure a little sprinkling of Taylor fiction won’t go amiss. And the likelihood there are a gazillion gamers at this company is extremely high anyway, so it’s not really fiction.

  “Cool guys like me?”

  I press my lips together. “Absolutely, Kelvin. Cool guys like you. In fact, I know a few of them myself, and they spend practically all their weekends gaming online.”

  “For real?”

  “Totally. Some of them are really good. In fact, I hear one of the guys there is the reigning champ for that game with the swords and pickaxes and things.”

  I’m getting into this now.

  “Kingdom Clash?”

  Sure, why not? “That’s the one.”

  There’s a pause. “Okay, you got me.”

  I grin. “Awesome. Thanks, Kelvin. I’ll send your résumé over and be back in touch.”

  I hang up and highlight his name on my list of candidates. I click the next on the list, find his number, and punch it into my phone. I let out a puff of air. These people don’t know how good they’ve got it. Both companies we recruit for pay well and have amazing perks—the kind most people would kill for.

  Unlike my own job. Associate Recruiter at Sefton’s Agency. Long on hours, short on pay—not exactly what you would call the ideal combination. But I’m hoping it’s only short term as I build my career. And I’ve put my all into it. You see, my career is my safety net. And I know I’m not going to end up like my mom: no education, pregnant, alone. Never around for her kid.

  No way. I’m looking out for myself, doing what I can to create the best life for me.

  My boss, Julia Sefton, is a total inspiration. She’s the reason I took this job. She started up her own business in a niche market. Placing candidates in the tech industry, sure. I mean, we’re in the San Francisco Bay Area, so for recruiters, that kinda goes without saying. What’s different about Julia’s company is that she focuses solely on two big tech firms she knows inside out. Two of the hippest, sought-after companies. They pay her a retainer, and she brings in the candidates.

  She’s who I want to be. Who I have to be.

  “Taylor, will you get in here, please?”

  I peer over the top of my screen at my boss. She’s sitting at her glass desk in the only office in our otherwise open-plan space.

  A few short steps and I’m at her desk. “What’s up, Julia?”

  “I need you to come to a lunch with me. I’m hoping to win someone over, and I know having you there will help.”

  I smile at the compliment. “Sure. When?”

  She stands up, collecting her purse from a drawer. “Now. I’ve already ordered a car, and it’ll be here in,” she checks her phone, “two minutes.”

  Nothing like giving me a little notice.

  A couple of minutes and some hastily applied lipstick later, we step from the elevator into the lobby and out onto the street. Julia spots the car she ordered, and we slip inside.

  “Who are we going to meet?” I ask once I’m buckled up, trying not to notice that the Uber smells of boiled cabbage. I crack a window.

  Julia bites her lip, her face bright with excitement. “We’re meeting Jorge Dvorak.”

  I raise my eyebrows. I was expecting some techie we were trying to poach from one of the big firms we work with. “The Jorge Dvorak?”

  She nods, trying to suppress a grin. “Yes.”

  “The Jorge Dvorak who singlehandedly revolutionized Tantech’s business, making them the most widely used e-storage company in North America?”

  “Don’t forget Europe. And Asia.”
r />   “Oh, my God. Julia, that’s amazing!”

  Jorge Dvorak would be a huge catch for our employment agency. He was on the cover of Techie magazine only last month, being heralded as one of the key technology marketing gurus for his generation, which is only a handful of years older than me. He’s been in other magazines, too, less high-brow, gossip rags, labeled as “the hot nerd.” He’s built quite the reputation.

  “He’s agreed to meet us to discuss the Trikal Head of Marketing position.”

  “But there isn’t a vacancy for Head of Marketing at Trikal, is there?”

  “There is for Jorge Dvorak.”

  “Oh.”

  “And it’s not our call. All we can do is talk him into working with us. It’ll be up to Trikal to make it happen at their end.”

  I think of the smart woman who currently heads up Trikal’s marketing division. As good as she is, she won’t stand a chance against someone like Jorge Dvorak and his badass go-getter reputation.

  I feel sorry for her, but business is business, as Julia would say. Or was that The Godfather?

  The car takes us away from the high rises of the city to a different part of town with a mixture of launderettes, taquerias, fashion boutiques, and delis.

  I peer out the window at the surroundings. “What are we doing here?”

  I expect a guy like Jorge Dvorak would want to meet at a chic downtown restaurant, not in some city suburb that may be up and coming but still has a long way to up and come.

  “Jorge wants to meet for lunch at this hot new place.” Julia waves her hand in the air. “Something that sounds French, but could be from a Christmas hymn.”

  I know exactly which restaurant she means. “Manger.”

  “That’s the one.”

  I bite my lip. Jake Harrison’s restaurant. “Right. It’s good.”

  “You’ve been there?”

  “Mm-hm.” I’ve been trying not to think about Jake since that look we shared last weekend. Or the way it made me feel. It was . . . nice. Surprising.