Match Me if You Can (29 page)

He thought it over. “Robillard. Guy’s a sleaze.”

She glowered at him. “I wasn’t that out of it. You copped a feel when you unzipped them.”

He couldn’t have looked repentant if he tried. “Hand slipped.”

She sank down at the kitchen table. “Did I imagine it, or was Delaney here last night?”

“She was here.”

“Why didn’t she stay and help out?”

Now came the tricky part. He made a play of rooting around in the cupboard for something to eat, even though he knew she’d been cleaned out. After he’d shuffled around a couple of cans of stewed tomatoes, he closed the door. “The whole thing was a little too much for her.”

She sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

Too late, he realized he should have been figuring out how he wanted to spin this instead of hiding African violets and standing in front of the refrigerator reading inspiring quotes from Oprah. Maybe a shrug would help stave off this particular discussion until she was wide awake. He gave it a try.

It didn’t work.

“I don’t understand.” Annabelle untucked the leg she’d crooked under her hip and started looking worried. “She told me she was starting to like football.”

“As it turns out, not when it’s quite so up close and personal.”

The lines on her forehead deepened. “I’ll coach her through it. They’re only intimidating if you let them get the upper hand.”

He shouldn’t smile, but wasn’t this exactly why his new plan would work so much better than the old one? From the very beginning, Annabelle had made him happy, but he’d been so focused in the wrong direction that he hadn’t understood what that meant. Annabelle wasn’t the woman of his dreams. Far from it. His dreams had been the product of insecurity, immaturity, and misdirected ambition. No, Annabelle was the woman of his future…the woman of his happiness.

His clearer vision told him she wouldn’t take his news about Delaney well, especially when he couldn’t quite rein in his smile. “The thing is…Delaney and I are over.”

Annabelle’s coffee mug dropped to the table with a thud, and she rose from the chair. “No. You’re not over. This is just a bump in the road.”

“I’m afraid not. Last night she got a good look at my life, and what she saw didn’t make her happy.”

“I’ll fix it. Once she understands—”

“No, Annabelle,” he said firmly. “This one can’t be fixed. I don’t want to marry her.”

She exploded. “You don’t want to marry
anyone
!”

“That’s not…exactly true.”

“It
is
true. And I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you.” Her arms started to flail. “You’re making me crazy, and I can’t take it anymore. You’re fired, Mr. Champion. This time
I’m
firing
you
.”

It was an impressive display of temper, so he proceeded cautiously. “I’m a client,” he pointed out. “You can’t fire me.”

She bored into him with those honey eyes. “I just did.”

“In my defense, I had good intentions.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the jeweler’s box. “I was planning to propose last night. We were at Charlie Trotter’s. The food was great, the mood perfect, and I had the ring. But just as I got ready to give it to her…you called.”

He paused and let her draw her own conclusions, which she, being female, was quick to do.

“Oh, my God. It was me. I’m responsible.”

A good agent always shifted the blame, but as her consternation grew, he knew he had to come clean. “Your phone call wasn’t the real problem. I’d been trying to give her the ring all evening, but I couldn’t seem to get it out of my pocket. That’s got to tell you something right there.”

By putting the blame where it belonged, he set her off again. “Nobody’s right for you! I swear, you’d find something wrong with the Virgin Mary.” She snatched the ring box from him, flipped it open, and curled her lip. “This was the best you could do? You’re a multimillionaire!”

“Exactly!” If he’d needed any more proof that Annabelle Granger was a woman in a million, this was it. “Don’t you see? She likes everything subtle. If I’d chosen anything bigger, she’d have been embarrassed. I hate that ring. Imagine how the guys would react if they saw a puny rock like that on my wife’s finger.”

She snapped the lid shut and shoved the box back into his hand. “You’re still fired.”

“I understand.” He slipped it into his pocket, took a last swig of coffee, and headed for the door.

“I think it’ll be better for both of us if we cut if off right here.”

He hoped that tremor he heard in her voice wasn’t all in his imagination. “Do you now?” The urge to kiss away her outrage nearly overwhelmed him. But while short-term gratification was tempting, he needed to focus on the long term, so he merely smiled and left her alone.

Outside, the morning air held the crisp smoky scent of autumn. He breathed it in and, with a light step, headed down the street to his car. Watching her with the men last night had opened his eyes to something he should have realized weeks ago. Annabelle Granger was his perfect match.

E
ver since the day Annabelle had walked into Heath’s office, her life had been a Ferris wheel spinning at triple speed. She’d soar to the top, hang there for a few blissful seconds, then take a stomach-turning plummet to the bottom. As she got ready for her birthday party, she told herself she was glad she’d fired him. He was crazy. Even worse, he’d made her crazy. At least tonight she wouldn’t have time to think about him. Instead, she’d be making sure her family saw her as she was, no longer a failure but an almost-successful, just-turned-thirty-two-year-old businesswoman who didn’t need anybody’s advice or pity. Perfect for You might not be a candidate for the Fortune 500, but at least it was finally turning a profit.

She screwed the top back on a tube of lip gloss and headed across the hall from the bathroom to the full-length mirror in Nana’s bedroom. She liked what she saw. Her cocktail dress, a long-sleeved A-line, had been a splurge, but she didn’t regret a penny. The flattering off-the-shoulder neckline made her neck look long and graceful, as well as dramatizing her face and hair. She could have chosen the dress in safe, conservative black, but she’d opted for peach instead. She loved the dramatic juxtaposition of the soft pastel with her red hair, which was behaving perfectly for a change, floating around her face in a pretty tousle and providing peekaboo glimpses of a delicate pair of lacy gold chandeliers. Her buttercream stilettos gave her a few extra inches of height, but not nearly as much stature as the man on her arm would provide.

“You’re bringing a date?” Kate’s astonishment over breakfast at her parents’ hotel that morning still grated, but Annabelle had held her tongue. While Dean’s relative youth might work against her, the Grangers were huge football fans. With the exception of Candace, the family had followed the Stars for years, and she could only hope that Dean’s status would compensate for his youth and diamond studs.

She took one last look at her reflection. Candace would be wearing Max Mara, but so what? Her sister-in-law was an insecure, social-climbing dork. Annabelle wished Doug had brought Jamison instead, but her nephew was home in California with a nanny. Annabelle glanced at her watch. Her trophy date wouldn’t be picking her up for another twenty minutes. Before Dean had agreed to do this, she’d had to promise to be at his beck and call for the rest of her natural life, but it would be worth it.

As she headed downstairs, she grew uncomfortably aware that there was something pathetic about a now thirty-two-year-old woman still trying to earn her family’s approval. Maybe when she was forty she’d have gotten past this. Or maybe not. Face it, she had reason to be apprehensive. The last time she’d been with her family, they’d staged an intervention.

“You have so much potential, darling,”
Kate had said over Christmas Eve eggnog on the lanai of their Naples home.
“We love you too much to stand by and watch you waste it.”

“It’s fine to be a screwup when you’re twenty-one,”
Doug had said.
“But if you haven’t gotten serious about a career by the time you’re thirty, you start looking like a loser.”

“Doug’s right,”
Dr. Adam had said.
“We can’t always be watching out for you. You need to dig in.”

“At least think about how your lifestyle reflects on the rest of the family.”
That had come from Candace, after she’d tossed back her fourth eggnog.

Even her father had piled on.
“Take some golf lessons. There’s no better place to make the right kind of connections.”

Tonight’s “party” would be at the stodgy Mayfair Club, where Kate had booked a private room. Annabelle had wanted to invite the book club for protection but Kate had insisted it be “just family.” Adam’s newest girlfriend and Annabelle’s mystery date were the only exceptions.

Annabelle tested the temperature outside. It was chilly, almost Halloween, but not cold enough to ruin her outfit with one of her ratty jackets. She stepped back inside and began to pace. Another fifteen minutes until Dean was due to pick her up. Surely tonight her family would finally see that she wasn’t a failure. She looked good, she had a very hot, make-believe boyfriend, and Perfect for You had begun to turn the corner. If only Heath…

She’d been trying so hard not to gnaw over her unhappiness. She hadn’t talked to him since the party last weekend, and, so far, he’d honored her demand to leave her alone. She’d even managed to resist calling him to acknowledge the boxes of gourmet groceries and pricey liquors he’d had delivered to replenish her pantry. Why he’d included the lone African violet remained a mystery.

As painful as it was, she knew he was an emotional investment she could no longer afford. For months, she’d tried to convince herself that her feelings for him centered more on lust than love, but it wasn’t true. She loved him in so many ways she’d lost count: his basic decency, his humor, the way he understood her. But his emotional hang-ups had roots a mile deep, and they’d caused him irreparable damage. He was capable of absolute loyalty, of total dedication, of offering strength and comfort, but she no longer believed he was capable of love. She had to cut him out of her life.

The phone rang. If Dean was canceling, she’d never forgive him. She rushed into her office and snatched up the receiver before the voice mail could kick in. “Hello?”

“This is personal, not business,” Heath said, “so don’t hang up. We have to talk.”

Just the sound of his voice made her heart leap. “Oh, no, we don’t.”

“You fired me,” he said calmly. “I respect that. You’re not my matchmaker any longer. But we’re still friends, and in the interest of our friendship, we need to discuss page thirteen.”

“Page thirteen?”

“You’ve accused me of being arrogant. I’ve always thought of myself as confident, but I’m here to tell you, no more. After studying these pictures…Honey, if this is what you’re looking for in a man, I don’t think any of us are going to measure up.”

She had a sinking feeling that she understood exactly what he was talking about, and she sank down on the corner of her desk. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Who knew flexible silicone came in so many colors?”

Her sex toy catalog. He’d taken it months ago. She’d hoped he’d forgotten it by now.

“Most of these products seem to be hypoallergenic,” Heath went on. “That’s good, I guess. Some with batteries, some without. I suppose that’s a matter of preference. There’s a harness on this one. That’s pretty kinky. And…Son of a bitch! It says this one is dishwasher safe. As much as I like—I’m sorry, but there’s just something unappetizing about that.”

She should hang up, but she’d missed him so much. “Sean Palmer, is that you? If you don’t stop talking dirty, I’m telling your mother.”

He didn’t bite. “The top of page fourteen …That model comes with some kind of pump. You’ve got the corner turned down, so you must be interested.”

She was fairly sure she hadn’t turned any pages down, but who knew?

“And how about this one with the suction cup? The question is, exactly what would you stick it to? A word of caution, sweetheart. You suction something like that to your bedroom window or, hell, the dashboard of your car—it’s going to attract the wrong kind of attention.”

She smiled.

“Just tell me one thing, Annabelle, and then I have to go.” His voice dropped to a low, intimate note that made her shiver. “Why would a woman be so interested in an artificial one when the real thing works a hell of a lot better?”

As she searched for just the right comeback, he hung up. She took a few deep breaths, but they didn’t begin to steady her. No matter how much she tried to inoculate herself, he got to her every time, which was the biggest reason of all why she couldn’t afford these conversations.

The doorbell rang. Thank God, Dean was early. She jumped up from the desk and pressed her hands to her cheeks to cool herself off. Plastering a smile on her face, she opened the front door.

Heath stood on the other side.

“Happy birthday.” He slipped his cell into his pocket, tossed her catalog down, and brushed her lips with a soft, quick kiss, which she could barely keep from returning.

“What are you doing here?”

“You look beautiful. More than beautiful. Unfortunately, your present won’t get here until tomorrow, but I don’t want you to think I forgot.”

“What present? Never mind.” She made herself block the doorway instead of opening her arms. “Dean’s picking me up in ten minutes. I can’t talk to you now.”

He moved her out of the way so he could get inside. “I’m afraid Dean’s indisposed. I’m taking his place. I like your dress.”

“What are you talking about? I spoke to him three hours ago, and he was fine.”

“Those stomach viruses come on fast.”

“Bull. What have you done with him?”

“It wasn’t me. It was Kevin. I don’t know why he had to insist on watching game film with him tonight. Don’t quote me, but your pal Kevin can be a real prick when he wants to.” He nuzzled her neck, right behind her chandelier earring. “Damn, you smell good.”

It took her a few beats too long to push herself away. “Does Molly know about this?”

“Not exactly. Unfortunately, Molly’s gone over to the dark side along with her sister. Those two women are way too protective of you. It’s me they should be worrying about. I don’t know why they haven’t figured out you can take care of yourself.”

She liked knowing he understood that about her, but she still wouldn’t give in to his smarmy agent’s charm. “I don’t want to go to my birthday party with you. As far as my family knows, you’re still my client, so it would look a little odd. Besides, I want to go with Dean. Someone who’ll
impress
them.”

“And you think I won’t?”

She took in his dark gray suit, probably Armani, his designer necktie, and tonight’s watch, an incredible white gold Patek Philippe. Her family would roll on their backs and beg him to scratch their stomachs.

He knew he’d boxed her in. She saw it in his crafty smile. “Oh, all right,” she said grouchily. “But I’m warning you now, my brothers are the most clueless, obnoxious, opinionated men you’ll ever meet.” She threw up her hands. “Why am I wasting my breath? You’re going to love them.”

A
nd they loved him right back. Their shocked expressions when she walked into the Mayfair Club’s walnut-paneled private dining room with Heath at her side fulfilled all her fantasies. First they checked to make sure he wasn’t wearing high heels, then they mentally priced out his wardrobe. Even before introductions were exchanged, he was one of them, a certified member of the high-achievers’ club.

“Mom and Dad, this is Heath Champion, and I know what you’re thinking. It sounded phony to me, too. But he was born Campione, and you’ve got to admit the name Champion is good for marketing.”

“Very good for marketing,” Kate said approvingly. Her favorite bracelet, an engraved gold cuff, clinked against Nana’s old charm bracelet. At the same time, she shot Annabelle an inquisitive glance, which Annabelle pretended not to see, since she still hadn’t figured out how to explain why the man they knew as her most important client had shown up as her date.

Tonight Kate was clad in one of her St. John knit suits, the champagne color perfectly matching her ash blond hair, which she’d worn in a jaw-length Gena Rowlands pageboy for as long as Annabelle could remember. Her dad sported his favorite navy blazer, a white shirt, and a gray necktie the same color as what remained of his curly hair. Once it had been auburn like hers. An American flag pin graced his lapel, and as she hugged him, she drew in his familiar daddy scent: Brut shaving cream, dry-cleaning fluid, and well-scrubbed surgeon’s skin.

Heath started pumping hands. “Kate, Chet, it’s a pleasure.”

Although Annabelle had met her parents earlier for breakfast, her brothers had only flown in a few hours ago, and she exchanged hugs with them. Doug and Adam had inherited their blond, blue-eyed good looks from Kate, although not her tendency to carry a few extra pounds at the waist. They were looking especially handsome tonight, hard-bodied and successful.

“Doug, you’re the accountant, right?” Respect shone in Heath’s eyes. “I heard you made VP at Reynolds and Peate. Very impressive. And, Adam…The top heart surgeon in St. Louis. It’s an honor.”

Her brothers were honored right back, and the men did a friendly little shoulder slapping. “Read about you in the paper…”

“You’ve built quite a reputation…”

“…amazing client roster you have.”

Her sister-in-law used perfume like bug repellant, so Annabelle hugged her last. Overly tanned, aggressively made-up, and undernourished, Candace wore a short black strapless dress to showcase her toned arms and trim calves. Her diamond studs were nearly as big as Sean Palmer’s, but Annabelle still thought she looked like a horse.

Heath gave Candace his double whammy—sexy smile and patented dead-eyed sincerity. “Wow, Doug, how’d an ugly guy like you manage to land such a beauty?”

Doug, who knew exactly how good-looking he was, laughed. Candace gave a coquettish toss of her mahogany brown hair extensions. “The question is…How did a girl like Annabelle manage to talk a man like you into joining our silly little family party?”

Annabelle smiled sweetly. “I promised he could tie me up afterward and spank me.”

Heath enjoyed that, but her mother huffed. “Annabelle, not everyone here is familiar with your sense of humor.”

Annabelle turned her attention to the stranger in the room, Adam’s latest conquest. Like the others, including his ex-wife, this one was well tailored and attractive with square features, a blunt-cut dark brown bob, and a total lack of charm. Just the sight of those thin, unsmiling lips announced that her brother had chosen still another emotionally robotic female.

“This is Dr. Lucille Menger.” He slipped a protective arm around her shoulders. “Our very talented new pathologist.”