Dead End Dating (13 page)

“Four?”
She nodded and I smiled. Okay, so it wasn’t the line I’d envisioned extending all the way around the corner, but it was a start. Pretty soon, room A would be busier than Grand Central Station.

Wait a second…“We have a room A?”

“I figured we needed a space for clients to relax and fill out their profiles in private, so I cleaned out the storage closet and brought a few things from home to dress it up.”

Okay, so I knew Evie had it going on the moment I saw her, but I didn’t realize that she was as conscientious as she was stylish. “Very impressive.”

“Impressive enough to warrant a raise?” She gave me a hopeful look. “I’ve been dying since I had to give up TiVo, and all accessories, too, on account of I’m tightening my belt.”

TiVo I could live without, but designer bangles? “That’s terrible. Don’t worry. I’ll work something out. Listen, doesn’t having a room A imply that we also have a room B?”

“Technically, yes. But it could also imply that we’re being optimistic and looking toward the future. As in a penthouse suite, complete with rooms A to Z and a media room so that we can keep up with current trends.”

“And
CSI
?”

She grinned before the look faded into confusion. “So why
do
we need to know about the orgasms?” She waved a clipboard at me. “Not to mention, what is a fertility rating? Because one of the women from earlier today asked me about it, and I told her it was the reading from this new scale that they just came out with. You know how some measure body fat? Well, I told her this one measures a man’s percentage of fertile sperm. He just steps on and
bam,
he knows just how many loaded bullets he’s ready to fire.”

“Clever.” I flew around my desk and snatched the clipboard from her hands. “Wrong questionnaire.” I retrieved a set of the newly drawn-up questions for humans from my file cabinet and handed it to her. “This is the one you should be giving out. This other one was just a…a joke. Yeah, my girlfriends and I were sitting around last night, and we came up with these joke questions. I guess we had too many appletinis.”

“That’ll do it.” She started to turn. “Oh, and by the way, your mother is holding on line one.”

“Tell her I’m not here.”

“I already told her you were here.”

“Tell her you made a mistake.”

“She can’t be that bad. She really sounded sort of nice. She said she wants to invite you and Wilson for drinks on Saturday.”

“Tell her I can’t make it.”

“What about Wilson?”

“He can’t make it either.”

“No, I meant who is Wilson?”

“A client.”

“Your mom said he was your significant other.”

“He’s a client.” A very impatient client. He’d already called my cell phone twice to see if I’d found him a prospect and I’d only made the deal with him last night. “Just tell her we can’t make it because…I don’t know. A prior engagement or something.”

“Why don’t I tell her he doesn’t drink?”

“I don’t think she would buy that.”

“Sure she would. Lots of people don’t drink.”

People
being the key word. Vamps were a different animal altogether.

“Tell her he cheated on me and we broke up,” I said. “Tell her it was really ugly and I’m too upset to talk and I’ll have to call her back later.” I read the doubt racing in her mind. “Please. I really can’t talk to her right now. I’m in a hurry and she makes me crazy.”

“Okay, but I’m agreeing only because I have my own mother and I understand the crazy issue completely. You’re doing your own dirty work next time.”

“I promise. Oh, and can you call Nina and give her this address?” I handed her a piece of paper.

“Which Nina?”

“Either. They’ll pass it on to the other one. Just tell whichever to be at that address in exactly half an hour.” I moved past her and nearly collided with the petite redhead who’d just exited the storage closet aka room A.

“Are you the matchmaker?” the young woman asked.

“I’m Lil.” I juggled my purse and Gucci carry-all to one arm and held out my hand. “Lil Marchette.”

“I’m Melissa.”

As if I didn’t know. Her eyes were deep brown and they said it all. Melissa Thomas. Born December 27, 1978. Capricorn. Allergic to peanuts. Prone to bad relationships. Most hated body part: hips. Second most hated body part: thighs. Third most hated body part: arms. Fourth…

I blinked and forced my attention to the small mole on her left temple. “Thanks for coming in, Melissa. I’d love to chat, but I’ve got an important meeting. Just relax and be as detailed as you can with your an swers. When you’re finished, we’ll enter your information into the computer and see if we can match you up.”

“How long will it take? I need a date by Saturday night. My oldest sister is getting married in Jersey, and if I show up without a date, my mom—who’s flying in from Philadelphia—will start to worry. The last thing I need is her worrying over me. She didn’t want me to move to New York in the first place. She wanted me to live in Jersey near my oldest sister, which I wasn’t about to do because my sister, Marjorie, is just as bad as my mother.”

“I understand completely.” While Max was younger and hipper, when it came to Moe’s he could be just as anal as my father.

“When my youngest sister moved out to California,” Melissa went on, “my mom got so worried that she started flying out once a month to ‘keep her company.’ Instead, she killed her social life and her sex life and almost got my sister fired from her job on account of my mom insisted on telling off her boss because he’d passed her over for a promotion. Katie’s back in Philadelphia now. She works in the shoe department at the local Wal-Mart, and she’s gained thirty pounds. I seriously think she’s trying to eat herself into a coma as a means of escaping her crappy life.”

“Say no more. Been there, done that.” Hey, I had a meddling mother, too. Even more, I had a serious aversion to faux leather footwear and was one pay check away from the whole crappy scenario myself. “I’ll certainly do my best to find that perfect someone.”

“Oh, he doesn’t have to be perfect,” she blurted. “I mean, eventually I do want to meet someone perfect who likes dogs and doesn’t mind that I still haven’t found the perfect career—I’m waitressing at this little hole in the wall in the Village until I can find something more permanent.”

“As a waitress?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. The tips are pretty good—Daisy and I aren’t about to go hungry or anything like that—but I haven’t decided if I really like it or not. Right now I’m just trying different things.”

“Who’s Daisy?”

“My dog. She’s the only thing I brought with me from Philadelphia. Anyhow, right now I don’t give a crap about meeting someone for the long term. I’ll gladly settle for a warm body. Just so that I don’t have to go alone and my mom doesn’t think I’m navigating the big city all by my lonesome, which I am. Except for Daisy, that is.”

“Got it.” I smiled and patted the young woman’s shoulder. “It was wonderful meeting you. Evie will help you finish up. And remember, happily ever after is just a question away.”

Okay, so it was another lame slogan, but I’d had so much on my mind that I hadn’t had the leftover brainpower to come up with a brilliant ad logo yet.

“Lock up for me, would you?” I asked Evie as I headed for the door. “After I meet The Ninas, I have to head down to SoHo for my meeting with Francis, so I doubt I’ll make it back tonight.”

“The dorky guy?”

I’d already filled Evie in on Francis. Rich. Eccentric. Lame. I’d left out the vicious bloodsucker part, of course. Not that it mattered. A dweeb was a dweeb was a dweeb.

“Good luck,” she told me. “If he’s half as bad as you said, you’re going to need it.”

“We’re at the library,” Nina One declared when I met her outside the New York Public Library. The clock had just struck seven in the evening, which meant we had exactly thirty minutes to get some work done before closing time. “The
library.
”

“And?”

“I thought we were going to hand out cards to singles like we did Saturday night.”

“We are.”

“Here?”

“Lots of single people come here. Lots of single, intelligent, successful people.” I glanced at a man in a three-piece suit who walked past us. He was carrying a thick volume on tax law in one hand and a leather briefcase in the other. “Case in point. A single, successful lawyer.”

“How do you know he’s successful?”

“Hello? He’s wearing a Cartier watch. Not to mention, I’m a vamp and can actually read some of the case load currently swamping his brain. Namely a five-million-dollar lawsuit that he’s
this
close to winning.”

“So he’s successful. Libraries are boring.”

“It’s a half hour out of your endless existence.” I handed her a stack of cards. “You take the fifth floor.”

“To think I gave up a date with Adrian for this.” Nina slid the cards into her Fendi bag.

“Adrian’s a self-centered, pompous ass.”

“True, but he’s great in bed. I could be having an orgasm right now.”

An image of Wilson the CPA rushed at me, and I eyed Nina. “How many orgasms?”

“Six.”

“Minimum or maximum?”

“Minimum. I can go eleven on a really good night.” I smiled. “I think I love you.”

“So what sort of female are you looking for?” I asked Francis after I left The Ninas, and several dozen business cards, at the library.

We stood neck deep in silk shirts and hand-stitched suit jackets at Pierre Claude’s, an exclusive men’s boutique. Pierre was one of the trendiest new designers in Manhattan (and a mega-hot born vampire), and so he kept much later hours than everyone else. He’d gone to the back to unearth a few casual classics from last season while we cruised the front of the elegant storefront. It smelled of champagne and money and new clothes, and I took a deep, rejuvenating breath. Ahhh…

“What’s your ideal?” I prodded.

“Well.” Francis rounded a rack of suit jackets Pierre had just finished for an up-and-coming runway show. “I’d like someone who’s nice.”

Francis might be a total dweeb, but he was a sweet dweeb. Unfortunately, sweet wasn’t an attractive quality when it came to male vampires.

“I was thinking more in terms of an orgasm score? You want a three, four, or a five? A ten? Don’t be afraid to dream big.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged and bypassed a bright orange box cut.

Atta boy. Despite Pierre’s great design, he had the crazy notion that he was going to bring back shoulder pads. Not!

“A one would be okay.”

“
One
? Don’t you think you’re underestimating yourself? I mean, sure, you’re nothing to look at now.” I pulled out a silk navy blazer with pinstripes and held it out to him. “But once we’re done, you’ll be a hot commodity.”

“Maybe so, but that’s not going to change my fertility rating. It’s sort of low.”

“How low? On second thought”—I shook my head and handed him a pair of navy trousers, the color a slightly darker shade than the jacket, and a fitted crimson button-up—“I’d rather not know.” The odds were already stacked against us, and I didn’t want to give myself yet another thing to worry over. “So what if you have a low fertility rating? That’s all the more reason to aim high. If we can find you an eight or nine, she should balance out that low rating.”

“You might need to look a little higher if you really want to balance.” He eyed the clothes as if I’d handed him a girdle and a pair of support pantyhose.

“How high?”

“A fifteen or so.”

Fifteen? I was not going to freak. I had known this would be difficult from the start. That’s exactly why I’d decided to do it. The higher the degree of difficulty, the more impressive when I found Francis an eternity mate. “Okay,” I said as I pointed him toward the fitting room. “A fifteen orgasm quotient it is.”

“Or above,” he called back over his shoulder.

“Or above,” I added, doing my best to keep the tremble from my voice.

“And she has to like dogs,” he said from behind the curtained area. “Specifically smaller dogs with shrill barks. No way am I bringing anyone home who can’t get along with Britney.” Several minutes passed before his voice floated from behind the curtain. “I don’t know about this. It really isn’t me.”

“That’s the point. Come on. Don’t be such a wuss. Lemme see.”

“Okay.” A few more seconds ticked by. “I feel sort of weird.”

“Vampires don’t feel weird. They’re in control of the situation. Speaking of which”—I took control and shoved the curtain aside—“they also don’t cower behind dressing room curtains. They seize the moment to strut their stuff and…” My words trailed off as I stared.

He glanced up and his nervous gaze collided with mine. “What do you think?”

“I think…” Actually, I couldn’t think at the moment. The shock I’d experienced at seeing Francis naked didn’t begin to touch what I felt right now.

The navy blue jacket molded to his modest but well-shaped shoulders. The trousers shaped his trim waist and thighs. The color brought out the blue in his eyes and made them seem more vivid and penetrating. And the red shirt was just…red. Vivid. Stimulating.