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By nine forty-seven, he’d participated in three conference calls, signed a contract for the purchase of a regional newspaper, read and replied to an in-box full of emails, and drunk two cups of coffee. Dax lived for Wakefield Media.
And now he’d have to sacrifice some of his day to the Fairy Godmother. Because he said he would.
Dax’s mother was a coldhearted, untrustworthy woman, but in leaving, had taught him the importance of living up to your word. That was why he rarely promised anything.
EA International resided in a tasteful two-story office building in Uptown. The clean, low-key logo on the door spoke of elegance and sophistication, exactly the right tone to strike when your clients were high-powered executives and entrepreneurs.
The receptionist took his name. Dax proceeded to wait until finally she showed him to a room with two leather chairs and a low table strewn with picture books, one sporting a blue-and-gold fish on the cover and another, a waterfall.
Boring. Did Ms. Arundel hope to lull her clients into a semi-stupor while she let them cool their heels? Looked as though he was about to find out.
Elise clacked into the room, high heels against the hardwood floor announcing her presence. He glanced up slowly, taking in her heels, those well-built legs, her form-fitting scarlet skirt and jacket. Normally he liked taller women, but couldn’t remember why just then. He kept going, thoroughly enjoying the trip to her face, which he’d forgotten was so arresting.
Her energy swept across him and prickled his skin, unnerving him for a moment. “You’re late.”
Her composed expression didn’t waver. “You were late first.”
Not that late. Ten minutes. Maybe. Regardless, she’d made him wait in this pseudo dentist’s office on purpose. Score one for the matchmaker. “Trying to teach me a lesson?”
“I assumed you weren’t going to show and took a call. I am running a business here.” She settled into the second chair and her knee grazed his.
She didn’t even seem to notice. His knee tingled but she simply crossed her legs and bounced one siren-red pump casually.
Just as casually, Dax tossed the fish book back on the table. “Busy day. The show does not go on without a lot of hands-on from yours truly.”
But that didn’t really excuse his tardiness. They were both business owners and he’d disrespected her. Unintentionally, but point taken.
“You committed to this. The profile session takes several hours. Put up or shut up.”
Hours? He nearly groaned. How could it possibly take that long to find out he liked football, hated the Dallas Cowboys, drank beer but only dark and imported, and preferred the beach to the mountains?
Dax drew out his phone. “Give me your cell phone number.” One of her eyebrows lowered and it was so cute, he laughed. “I’m not going to prank call you. If this is going to take hours, we’ll have to split up the sessions. Then I can text you if I’m going to be late to the next one.”
“Really?”
He shrugged, not certain why the derision in her tone raised his hackles. “Most women think it’s considerate to let them know if you’re held up. My apologies for assuming you fell into the category of females who appreciate a considerate man.”
“Apology accepted. Now you know I’m in the category of woman who thinks texting is a cop-out. Try an actual phone call sometime.” She smiled, baring her teeth, which softened the message not at all. “Better yet, just be punctual. Period.”
She’d accepted his quasi-apology, as if he’d meant to really convey regret instead of sarcasm.
“Personal questions and punctuality?” He tsked to cover what he suspected might be another laugh trying to get out. When was the last time he’d been taken to task so expertly? Like never. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Arundel.”
And she’d managed to evade giving out her digits. Slick. Not that he really wanted to call her. But still. It was kind of an amusing turnabout to be refused an attractive woman’s phone number.
“You can call me Elise.”
“Really?” It was petty repetition of her earlier succinct response. But in his shock, he’d let it slip.
“We’re going to be working together. I’d like it if you were more comfortable with me. Hopefully it’ll help you be more honest when answering the profile questions.”
What was it about her and the truth? Did he look that much like a guy who skated the edge between black and white? “I told you I’m not a liar, whether I call you Elise, Ms. Arundel or sweetheart.”
The hardness in her gaze melted, turning her irises a gooey shade of chocolate, and she sighed. “My turn to apologize. I can tell you don’t want to be here and I’m a little touchy about it.”
It was a rare woman who saw something other than what he meant for her to, and he did not want Elise to know anything about him, let alone against his will. Time for a little damage control.
“My turn to be confused. I do want to be here or I wouldn’t have agreed to our deal. Why would you think otherwise?”
She evaluated his expression for a moment and tucked the straight fall of dark hair behind her ear, revealing a pale column of neck he had an unexplainable urge to explore. See if he could melt those hard eyes a little more. Unadulterated need coiled in his belly.
Down, boy.
Elise hated him. He didn’t like her or anything she stood for. He was here to be matched with a woman who would be the next in a long line of ex-girlfriends and then declare EA International fraudulent. Because there was no way he’d lose this wager.
“Usually when someone is late, it’s psychological,” she said with a small tilt of her head, as if she’d found a puzzle to solve but couldn’t quite get the right angle to view it.
“Are you trying to analyze me?”
She scowled. “It’s not bargain-basement analysis. I have a degree in psychology.”
“Yeah? Me, too.”
They stared at each other for a moment, long enough for the intense spike in his abdomen to kick-start his perverse gene.
What was it about a smart woman that never failed to intrigue the hell out of him?
She broke eye contact and scribbled furiously in her notebook, color in her cheeks heightened.
She’d been affected by the heat, too.
He wanted to know more about Elise Arundel without divulging anything about himself that wasn’t surface-level inanity.
“The information about my major was a freebie,” he said. “Anything else personal you want to know is going to cost you.”
If they were talking about Elise—and didn’t every woman on the planet prefer to talk about herself?—Dax wouldn’t inadvertently reveal privileged information. That curtain was closed, and no one got to see backstage.
* * *
Elise was almost afraid to ask. “Cost me what?”
When Dax’s smoke-colored eyes zeroed in on her, she was positive she should be both afraid and sorry. His irises weren’t the black smoke of an angry forest fire, but the wispy gray of a late November hearth fire that had just begun to blaze. The kind of fire that promised many delicious, warm things to come. And could easily burn down the entire block if left unchecked.
“It’ll cost you a response in kind. Whatever you ask me, you have to answer, too.”
“That’s not how this works. I’m not trying to match myself.”
Though she’d been in the system for seven years.
She’d entered her profile first, building the code around the questions and answers. On the off chance a match came through, well, there was nothing wrong with finding her soul mate with her own process, was there?
“Come on. Be a sport. It’ll help me be more comfortable with baring my soul to you.”
She shook her head hard enough to flip the ends of her hair into her mouth. “The questions are not all that soul-baring.”
Scrambling wasn’t her forte any more than thinking on her feet, because that was a total misrepresentation. The questions were designed to strip away surface-level BS and find the real person underneath. If that wasn’t soul-baring, she didn’t know what was. How else could the algorithm find a perfect match? The devil was in the details, and she had a feeling Dax’s details could upstage Satan himself.
“Let’s find out,” he said easily. “What’s the first one?”
“Name,” she croaked.
“Daxton Ryan Wakefield. Daxton is my grandmother’s maiden name. Ryan is my father’s name.” He shuddered in mock terror. “I feel exposed sharing my history with a virtual stranger. Help a guy out. Your turn.”
This was so not a good idea. But he’d threatened her business, her livelihood. To prove her skills, his profile had to be right. Otherwise, he might be matched with an almost–soul mate or worse, someone completely incompatible. Dax wasn’t a typical paying client, and she couldn’t treat him like one. What was the harm in throwing him one bone? It wasn’t as if she had to answer all of the questions, just enough to get him talking.
“Shannon Elise Arundel.”
How in the world had that slipped out? She hadn’t told anyone that her real first name was Shannon in years. Her shudder of terror wasn’t faked.
Shannon, put down that cake. Shannon, have you weighed yourself today? Shannon, you might be vertically challenged but you don’t have to be horizontally challenged too.
The words were always delivered with the disapproving frown her mother saved for occasions of great disappointment. Frowning caused wrinkles and Brenna Burke hated wrinkles more than photographers.
Dax circled his finger in a get-on-with-the-rest motion. “No comment about how your father was Irish and wanted to make sure you had a bit of the old country in your name?”
“Nope. My name is very boring.”
Her mother was the Irish one, with milky skin and glowing red hair that graced magazine covers and runways for twenty years. Brenna Burke, one of the world’s original supermodels, had given birth to a short Black Irish daughter prone to gaining weight by simply looking at cookies. It was a sin of the highest order in Brenna’s mind that Elise had a brain instead of beauty.
Dax quirked his mouth in feigned disappointment. “That’s okay. We can’t all have interesting stories attached to our names. Where did you grow up?”
“This is not a date.” The eye roll happened involuntarily, but the exasperation in her voice was deliberate. “I’m asking the questions.”
“It’s kind of like a date,” he mused brightly as if the thought fascinated him. “Getting to know each other. Awkward silences. Both of us dressed just a little bit more carefully than normal.”
She glanced down at her BCBG suit, which she’d snipped the tags from that morning. Because red made her feel strong and fierce, and a session with Dax called for both. So what? “This is how I dress every day.”
Now she felt self-conscious. Did the suit and five-inch stilettos seem as though she was trying too hard?
“Then I’m really looking forward to seeing what you look like tomorrow.” He waggled his brows.
“Let’s move on,” she said before Dax drove her insane. “This is not a date, nor is it kind of like a date, and I’m getting to know you, not the other way around. So I can find you a match.”
“Too bad. A date is the best place to see me in action.” When she snorted, he inclined his head with a mischievous smile. “That’s not what I meant, but since you started it, my favorite part of dates is anticipating the first kiss. What’s yours?”
She lifted her gaze from his parted lips and blinked at the rising heat in his expression. The man had no shame. Flirting with his matchmaker, whose business he was also trying to destroy.
“Jedi mind tricks only work on the weak-minded. Tell me more about what you like about dating. It’s a great place to start.”
He grinned and winked. “Deflection only works on those who graduated at the bottom of their class. But I’ll let it pass this time. I like long walks on the beach, hot tubs and dinner for two on the terrace.”
Clearly this was slated to be the battle of who had the better psychology degree. Fine. You want to play, let’s play.
“Why don’t you try again, but this time without the Love Connection sound bite? I didn’t ask what you liked to do on dates. I asked what you like about dating.”
“I like sex,” he said flatly. “In order to get that, dating is a tiresome requirement. Is that what you’re looking for?”
“Not really. Plus it’s not true.” His irises flashed from hearth-fire smoke to forest-fire smoke instantly and she backpedaled. “I don’t mean you’re lying. Get a grip. I mean, you don’t have to date someone to have sex. Lots of women would gladly line up for a roll in the sheets with a successful, sophisticated man.”
Who had a face too beautiful to be real, the physique of an elite athlete and eyelashes her mother would kill for. Not that she’d noticed.
“Would you?”
“I don’t do one-night stands.”
She frowned. When was the last time she’d even been on a date? Oh, yeah, six months ago—Kory, with a K. She should have known that one wouldn’t work out the instant he’d introduced himself as such.
“There you go. A woman who would isn’t worth my time.”
Her head snapped back. Was that a compliment? More flirting? The truth?
“So you aren’t just looking for sex. You want to put some effort into a relationship. Have drinks, spend some time together. And you want to know things about the women you date, their history, their likes and dislikes. Why?”
He contemplated her as he sat back in his chair, thumb to his jaw, a habit she’d noticed he fell into when she made the wheels in his convoluted head turn. Good.
“You’re much more talented than I imagined,” he allowed with a jerk of his chin. “I’m so impressed, I’m going to tell you why. It’s so I can buy her something she’d genuinely appreciate and give it to her on our next date.”
So the woman in question would sleep with him, no doubt. And it probably never failed. “Another example of a considerate man?”
“Sure. Women like to be treated well. I like women. Ergo, it’s no chore to do my best to make them happy.”
There had to be something wrong with that, but she couldn’t find the fault to save her life. Plus, the glow from his compliment still burned brightly. “If only all men subscribed to that theory. What do you find attractive in a woman?”
“Brains,” he said instantly and she didn’t even bother to write that down.
“You can’t tell if a woman has brains from across the room,” she responded drily. “If you walk into a bar, who catches your eye?”
“I don’t meet women in bars, and last time I walked into one, I got four stitches right here.” He tapped his left eyebrow, which was bisected by a faint line, and his chagrined smile was so infectious, she couldn’t help but laugh.
“Okay, you win that round. But I have to note something. Redhead, blonde? Voluptuous, athletic?”
“Would you believe it if I said I have no preference? Or at least that used to be true.” He swept her with a sizzling once-over that curled her toes involuntarily. “I might be reconsidering.”
“The more you try to unsettle me, the less it works,” she advised him and cursed the catch in her throat that told him her actual state far better than her words. This was ridiculous and getting them nowhere. “You promised to take this seriously and all I know about you so far is that distraction and verbal sleight of hand are your standard operating procedure. What are you hiding?”
The flicker of astonishment darting through his expression vanished when a knock sounded on the door. Dang it. She’d hardly begun to dig into the good stuff.
Elise’s assistant, Angie, stuck her head in and said, “Your next appointment is here.”
