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“Got it,” he said dryly. “Why do I feel as if I should be taking notes?”
“It may be a good idea. Anyway, traveling frequently would be a good excuse if you had another place you called home instead of—” she gestured around her “—this.”
He arched a brow.
“I’m not going to redecorate your apartment.” She sought to reassure him.
“Happy to hear it.”
“But I would suggest a few pieces to give a woman a clue about you. Maybe some strategically placed photos. Nothing major. We can find some frames that blend with your new decor.”
She was not going to be intimidated by him, she told herself for the umpteenth time. She’d handled high-powered prosecutors and corporate titans without being unnerved.
“Let’s look at your closets next,” she heard herself say. “Then maybe we can take the shopping trip we discussed as a possibility for this afternoon.”
On to his bedroom. She was about to discover what lay at the end of the long hallway in front of her.
His bedroom was huge, easily the size of half her modest apartment. A king-size bed dominated, and the furniture had a contemporary look—dark with clean lines and brushed metal knobs. A master bath was visible through one open door, and a fireplace occupied the wall facing the bed.
She took a deep breath. The room was as imposing as its occupant, but she was a professional. At least as far as matchmaking went, she qualified to herself.
She looked at the closet on the far wall. “May I?”
“Go right ahead.”
When she threw open the double doors, she was confronted by expensive shirts and conservative business suits hanging in neat rows. Everything was a variation on a theme.
“Where’s the casual clothing?” She looked at him, then raised a hand to stop him before he could answer. “No, don’t tell me. You live in suits most of the time.”
He cocked his head. “Very perceptive of you.”
“We’ll have to fix that.”
His look was sardonic. “Do you subject your female clients to this treatment?”
“Absolutely. It’s not about becoming someone you’re not, but about creating a better you.”
“So what do you recommend to the women?”
“Now if I told you, I’d be letting you in on the secret handshake.”
“My lips are sealed.”
She sighed. “I’ll share only because I think you’ll put this information to good use.”
A smile played at his mouth. “I’m all ears.”
“Well, I recommend that with clothing, they start with the basics, which never go out of fashion. A little black dress, a suit, a pair of jeans, a white shirt, nude color high heels, and a pair of sneakers. As far as jewelry, a watch and pearls.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Why would I joke?” she asked. “The basics are just that. They can be mixed and matched to take you from morning to evening, casual to formal.”
“Okay, I have to ask. Why nude on the heels?”
“It’s sexy,” she said simply. “It draws the eye away from the feet and upward, which makes a woman appear taller, and is particularly important if she’s—” she paused, as she belatedly realized how much she was revealing, and finished lamely “—ah, petite.”
He gave her a look of mock gravity. “You’ve thought about this a lot.”
“Naturally.” He could make fun all he wanted, but she had a nice little business going—and he’d been the one to seek out her help.
He raked her with his eyes, from the faux pearls set off by her scoop-neck sweater and the black jeans hugging her curves to her wedge sandals.
She shifted self-consciously, then gave herself a mental shake.
She was his matchmaker, and she was going to get him married off to some appropriate socialite or wannabe—even if she had to custom order a woman from Mattel with mythical characteristics to match a Barbie doll’s mythical proportions.
She was going to make him Ideal Match’s biggest success story to date, even if it dredged up every single best-forgotten memory in her.
“I suppose the pearls can be fake?” he queried.
“Of course. Everyone knows it’s nearly impossible to tell the difference between real and faux pearls by sight alone.”
“It’s nice to know your 12-step plan is accessible to the masses.”
She began flipping through the clothes hanging in his closet. “If you’re going to mock it, this exercise isn’t going to work.”
“Don’t worry. I’m taking it very seriously.” He paused. “So what basics do you advise men to take to a deserted island with them?”
“Prince Charming doesn’t need a list of essentials,” she said, matching his irreverent tone, “because for men, fashion is all about the basics. You know, suits, ties…a tux.”
“Great. Looks like I already have it covered.”
“Yes, but a pair of jeans would be useful,” she said, glancing back at him. “Men have the opposite problem from women, and that’s an inability to move beyond the essentials.”
“I own a pair of jeans.”
“That are how old—?”
He eyed her. “Nothing much escapes you, I can tell.”
She gave him a modest smile. “You hired me, you get the full extent of my expertise.”
“All right, how about this?” he countered. “I like my jeans, even if I don’t get to wear them much these days.”
“Yes, I know. Because you do a lot of business travel. We’ll need to do something about that. In the meantime, let’s get you into something your old college buddies won’t recognize.”
Lauren hoped if she kept concentrating on the task at hand, she’d keep illicit thoughts at bay. Authority and male power clung to him like a second skin, and she felt diminutive and feminine in contrast.
He looked at her bemusedly. “You know, I don’t let just anyone talk to me this way. Those who work for me never do, and even my business rivals know better.”
His look turned thoughtful. “This isn’t how I remember you.”
“Things can change in a few years,” she forced herself to say. She’d vowed never again to be so vulnerable…so naive.
“I can see that.”
They were drifting into dangerous territory, so she faced the closet again and tapped her lips with her index finger. “I’m thinking Helmut Lang on the jeans.”
“No way.”
She glanced at him. “If you were a denim fanatic, I’d suggest Japanese jeans made from organic cotton and natural dyes.”
“What’s wrong with Levi’s?”
“Nothing. It depends on the message you want to send.” The thought of him filling out a formfitting pair of Levi’s sent a wave of heat through her. “Actually, it wouldn’t hurt to inject an element of everyman into your image. It might be a nice balance, particularly if what you said in our interview is true and you’re looking for a down-to-earth woman.”
“I am.”
“All right, then.” Her gaze went back to his closet. “Let’s see if we can wake things up a bit.”
“No.”
“Real men wear pink.”
Matt eyed the dress shirt in Lauren’s hand. “Not flamingo pink.”
This afternoon’s shopping trip hadn’t been going as he’d expected. They’d hit some of Boston’s upscale men’s stores, ending up in Neiman Marcus.
As far as Matt could tell, Lauren was intent on softening his hard edges. Her idea appeared to be to make him seem like less of a hard-driving business executive so, with any luck, he’d become less of one, as well.
Not a chance, he wanted to warn her.
She sighed. “I see I’ll have to introduce you to P. Diddy’s fashion line.”
“Stick to Ralph Lauren Polo. You might have better luck.”
“You know, if I really wanted to recommend something trendy, I’d suggest bespoke clothing.”
“Bespoke?”
“Handmade.”
He made a sound of disbelief. He had his suits custom-made, but hand sewn was a different matter.
“Just for the record, the shade we were talking about is called fiesta berry.”
“They can call it lucky gambler’s red, but I won’t be wearing it.”
A middle-aged salesman approached, wearing a polite smile. “May I offer some assistance?”
“Thanks, but we were just leaving.”
Lauren smiled apologetically at the clerk. “We’re looking for something casual, but we seem to be having a difference of opinion.”
The man nodded. “Wives sometimes have a different opinion from their husbands.”
A look of embarrassment crossed Lauren’s face. “We’re not—”
“What my wife is trying to say,” he cut in, “is that we’re not looking just for casual clothing. She’s trying to soften my image at work, too.”
Lauren opened her mouth, but before she could say anything more, he took her elbow and steered her toward the salesman. “Come along, sweetheart. Let’s see what he can show us.”
To the salesclerk, he said, “Let’s start with some casual pants.”
“Very good,” the salesman said. “If you’ll follow me…?”
As they walked toward another section of the store, Lauren muttered, “What are you doing? If anyone recognizes you and thinks we’re an item, or worse, that you’re secretly married, you’ll undermine everything we’re trying to accomplish.”
“Don’t worry,” he said easily. “I’m the kind of action hero who is invisible to everyone but husband-hunting females.”
She gave him a sidelong look. “Really? And your superhero powers would be—?”
“I’d show you, but they’re best demonstrated privately.”
She compressed her lips. “I don’t know why he assumed we’re married. Neither of us is wearing a wedding band.”
“Not everyone wears a ring. Besides, girlfriends don’t pick out a man’s clothes, wives do.”
She opened her mouth again.
“If he thinks we’re married, he’ll listen to you. Otherwise, he’ll keep addressing me.”
“You put me on the spot.”
“Learn to ask for what you want. That’s the problem with women.”
She pulled her elbow from his grasp. “We’ll have to work on your unfortunate tendency to put the words problem and women in the same sentence.”
“When have I done that?” he said mildly. Ever since she’d arrived at his apartment, he felt as if he’d been taken to task by Ms. Manners. “All I said was I’ve been targeted by social climbers and gold diggers.”
“Same thing,” she responded before giving her attention to the salesman.
Lauren and the clerk got into a conversation about the “it” colors of the season and various private labels.
Matt limited his answers to yes, no and forget it. It was the way he was used to operating in the boardroom, and the approach had served him well.
He could tell it was exasperating Lauren, however.
