The Matchmaking Machine

“I need a Phillips screwdriver. Do you know what one looks like?”

“Of course I know what a Phillips head screwdriver looks like. The days of the helpless little woman are long gone.”

“Oh, I don’t know. There’s something kind of appealing about knowing more than a woman about guy things.”

“There are no guy things. That’s…” Her voice trailed away as her eyes instinctively dropped to his groin and the muscles in her abdomen suddenly clenched. Okay, so there were some exclusively guy things, but she had no intention of amending her original statement and opening up what could prove to be an embarrassing line of discussion.

“Okay, traditional guy things, then,” Richard said. “Turn on the faucet, will you?”

Maggie obediently turned on the faucet and yelped when cold water spurted up, soaking the front of her sweater. Hastily, she jumped back. To her dismay, the heel of her shoe caught on the edge of his body and she tripped, landing on him.

The feel of his hard body beneath her soft hips had a curiously enervating effect on her. All she wanted to do was stay there and absorb the feel of his flesh pressing into hers. He felt so good. So…

“Are you all right?” Richard demanded, as Maggie winced. The man must think she was a total klutz.

Hurriedly, she scrambled off him and muttered, “Other than being drenched, I’m fine.”

“Sorry about that, but getting wet is one of the hazards of being a plumber’s helper,” Richard said in a cool tone that was totally at odds with the interest in his eyes as he moved from under the sink and noted the way her wet sweater was plastered to her breasts.

“I am not a plumber’s helper. I’m simply an innocent bystander. A wet innocent bystander.”

“I should be able to do something about the wet part. I replaced a washer in the sink in the kitchen earlier and there’s a washer and dryer in there. We’ll just throw your sweater and bra in the dryer. Since no one’s living here yet, no one will mind.”

Maggie felt her cheeks heat at his casual reference to her underwear. It appeared that even the plumber was more sophisticated than she was.

She shook her head, sending the damp ends of her curls flying. “It’s too risky. Suppose Worthington decided to catch an earlier flight. I can just imagine his reaction if he walked in and found me wrapped in a towel. Besides, I don’t make it a habit to take off my clothes in front of strange men.” Even handsome ones, she silently added.

Actually, she was pretty sure she knew exactly what Worthington’s reaction would be, she thought grimly. One of the strongest dislikes her program had registered was that he hated being chased—apparently even more than he hated publicity. Which probably accounted for the fact that the only photograph she had been able to find of him had been a grainy long-distance shot that looked like it had been taken through a heavy fog. Even the holding company’s website hadn’t included a single photo of her quarry, only of his father, the titular head of the company, John Worthington, Sr.

“We’ll hear him if he shows up, and I’ll distract him with a report on his plumbing while you retrieve your clothes. In the meantime, you can wear my shirt.”

Richard casually stripped it off and handed it to her.

“The guard downstairs told me to make a pot of coffee if I wanted to,” he lied. “Why don’t you change while I fix us some? I’m ready for a break anyway.”

Normally, Maggie would have never considered the offer, but she was due back at the office and showing up in soaking wet clothes just wouldn’t do. Unfortunately, she didn’t have enough time to run back to her own apartment to change. Spending the next fifteen to twenty minutes letting her stuff dry was her best option.

Cautiously, she reached for his shirt, her entire attention focused on his bare chest. It was covered by a thick wedge of curly black hair that arrowed downward, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.

Maggie’s breathing shortened as in her imagination her fingers followed that line of silky hair down his body, all the way down his body. She shivered as goose-bumps popped up on her arms.

“You’re chilled.” Richard misinterpreted her reaction.

“Hurry up and get out of those wet clothes.”

Stepping around her, he left, quietly closing the door behind him.

Maggie released her breath on a long, wistful sigh, then blinked when she could still see the enticing vision of his bare chest in her mind’s eye.

“Okay, so you’ve got a bad case of the hots for the plumber,” she muttered to herself. “There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re a normal woman. Why shouldn’t you respond to male perfection when you find it?”

Heat twisted through her abdomen at the thought of just how enthusiastically she’d like to respond.

Chance was a fine thing, she thought ruefully as she pulled her sweater over her head. She might lust after him, but she’d seen no sign that he felt anything at all when he looked at her.

What kind of woman would appeal to Richard? She wondered and immediately thought of her program. Unfortunately, there was no way she could apply it to a normal man. It was only high-profile ones like John Worthington that she could find out enough information about to use it on.

She frowned as she remembered why she was here in the first place. Unfortunately, her plan to check the apartment for clues to Worthington’s personality wasn’t going to get very far with Richard here. He might be taking full advantage of his boss’s offer to use the facilities, but she doubted that he’d stand by and let her snoop in drawers. He’d be afraid that she might take something and he’d get blamed.

The vexing problem of getting even with John Worthington slipped from her mind as she pulled Richard’s softly worn denim shirt on and the citrusy scent of his cologne drifted into her lungs, speeding up her heart rate and making her nerves tighten. Trying to ignore the unsettling sensation, Maggie buttoned the shirt and then rolled up the sleeves so that she could use her hands. Picking up her wet clothes, the manila envelope and her purse, she went to look for the kitchen.

She had no trouble finding it. She simply followed the tantalizing smell of freshly brewed coffee. She walked into the large room decorated entirely in white—white tile floor, white walls, white cabinets and white ceiling. Even the appliances were white.

“This place could double as an operating room,” she said as she handed Richard her wet clothes. “Make sure you use the delicate low-heat option.”

He opened a pair of white louvered doors on the opposite wall to reveal a tiny laundry room. He tossed her damp things into the white dryer, set it and turned it on.

“I think the owner is into the utilitarian look. Either that or he never comes into the kitchen, so he doesn’t care how stark it looks. Help yourself to some coffee.” Richard gestured toward the steaming pot.

Maggie set her envelope and purse down on the counter, took one of the mugs hanging from a cast-iron holder and poured herself a cup. She sat down on a bar stool at the Corian breakfast bar.

“I hope they don’t take long to dry. I want to get out of here before Worthington shows. Did whoever hired you tell you when he was scheduled to arrive?” she asked.

Maggie noticed his slight frown and assumed it was because he didn’t know whom she was talking about. “Or weren’t you told whom you were doing the job for?”

Thoughtfully, Richard took a drink of his coffee as he tried to decide what to do. He didn’t like lying, even by omission, but the idea of telling Maggie the truth appealed to him even less. If he did, she would probably walk out, and he didn’t want her to. He wanted the chance to get to know her better. Much better.

He’d been intrigued by her from the moment he’d first he’d seen her. Her gleaming brown hair with its reddish highlights and her deep blue eyes appealed to his aesthetic sense, while the perfection of her slender, long legs made him fantasize about what it would feel like to have them wrapped around him.

Richard studied her over the rim of her coffee cup. She really did think he was the plumber, which meant that the sexual interest he could see in her eyes every time she looked at him was for him and not his money. The knowledge sent a fizz of anticipation zinging through his bloodstream—an anticipation vaguely tinged with worry as he remembered her very unflattering opinion of him. Would that spark of interest die when she found out who he really was? And she would have to find out. There was no way he could keep his identity a secret from her indefinitely. Once he showed up at the office on Monday, everyone would be jostling for a glimpse of him. But that was Monday, and this was only Friday. He had a little time before he had to tell her the truth—time enough to convince her that the nasty rumors circulating in the office about him obviously had no basis in fact.

He frowned as Maggie’s eyes suddenly widened in shock.

“Ugh!” she gasped and set the mug down with a thump. “What is this?” She stared into the stygian depths of the cup with disbelief.

“Just coffee,” Richard said. “I made it myself.”

“I certainly wouldn’t advertise the fact,” she shot back. “You might be held responsible for the results. This stuff could double as paint remover.”

“I can’t stand it weak.”

“And I can’t stand getting my week’s allotment of caffeine in one shot.” Maggie got up and poured half the brew down the sink. Then she added water, a large spoonful of sugar and a hefty dose of milk.

“Milk and sugar ruin the flavor of good coffee,” he said.

“This is not good coffee,” Maggie said, cautiously taking a sip of the resulting mixture. “Strong, yes. Good, no. And don’t tell me it’s a guy thing. Bad is bad.”

“Ha, you probably make instant. Your taste buds need educating.”

“If I drank much of this stuff, my taste buds would be more likely to be dissolved than educated. It…”

She tensed as she heard the chimes from the front door.

Was that Worthington? She wondered in dismay as Richard got up to answer it. But Worthington wouldn’t knock on his own apartment door, would he? Surely, he’d have a key.

She didn’t know, but she had no intention of guessing—and guessing wrong. She didn’t want to meet him yet. She wanted their first meeting to take place on ground of her choosing, not his. Hurriedly, she grabbed the envelope and rushed after Richard, catching up with him at the front door.

“Don’t open that,” she whispered to Richard.

He paused, his hand halfway to the doorknob. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to meet anyone wearing your shirt.”

“How about if I just call through the door and tell them to come back when the dryer goes off.”

“Don’t be silly,” she muttered.

“Me?!”

“I need to put this envelope on the desk the way I was told to. Stall whomever is out there while I find the study.”

The person rang the bell again.

“Wait a minute. We’re stalling,” Richard yelled through the door.

“Honestly!” Maggie gave him an exasperated look. “This is important. That could be Worthington.”

“It can’t be Worthington,” Richard said. “The guard at the front desk was specific about him not arriving until after I was finished.”

“Then if you know so much, who is it?”

“Who are you?” Richard yelled through the door.

“Daniel Romanos,” the voice called back.

“Damn!” Maggie scowled. “It’s almost as bad. That’s Worthington’s hatchet man. Stall him.”

She raced down the hall and pulled open an oak door. To her relief, it was the study. She pitched the manila envelope onto the middle of the bare desk and hurried back to the living room and Richard.

“Is the evidence hidden?” Richard asked.

“I wasn’t hiding it. I was just putting it where it belongs.” Where she should have put it the minute she arrived—and would have if she hadn’t been distracted by him.

Her eyes lingered on the firm line of his dark jaw. And it had been fatally easy to get sidetracked, too, she conceded honestly. There was something about Richard that made everything else fade into the background. It was a reaction she’d never had before, and it worried her. This was not the time for her to finally discover a man who appealed to her sexually—not when she had everything in place to launch her plan of revenge against Worthington.

Chapter Two

“So tell me, Sherlock, what am I supposed to do about our visitor?” Richard asked.

“Why ask me?”

“Because you’re the one who told me not to open the door.”

“I didn’t mean permanently,” she said and then hastily lowered her voice, having no idea just how solid the door was. She most emphatically didn’t want Romanos to know she was here. He couldn’t report what he didn’t know to Worthington.

“Maybe if we just ignore him, he’ll go away?” she suggested hopefully.

Richard frowned as Daniel suddenly got more insistent and began to pound on the door. Normally, he appreciated his personal assistant’s dogged determination to get things done, but in this instance, it threatened to mess up his plans for Maggie.

“Impatient soul, isn’t he?” Maggie said. “You sure can tell he’s Worthington’s right-hand man.”

Richard ignored the pounding. Daniel could wait. For what he paid the man, he could wait quietly, too.

“Why do you say that?” Richard asked curiously.

“Because according to office gossip, Worthington is a real mover and shaker in the business world. That type never waits patiently, so it makes sense that he would surround himself with the same kind of people. And with Worthington due to arrive in New York tonight, it also makes sense that his assistant would want to report in as soon as possible. I’m just surprised he isn’t camped out at the airport.”

Impeccable logic, Richard thought. As smart as she was, it would be impossible to fool her for any length of time, but he hoped keeping his identity a secret from Maggie would be possible for at least one night.

Maggie winced as Daniel attacked the door again.

“He clearly has no intention of going peacefully into the night she said regretfully. “We’re going to have to let him in.”

“I could try telling him to go away and come back later,” Richard suggested. Whether Daniel would or not depended on whether or not he recognized Richard’s voice through the distorting effects of the wood.

“I think we’ve tried his patience enough,” she said with a glum look at the entrance. She could almost feel the hostility bristling through it.

“Why don’t you go see if your sweater and bra are dry while I let the guy in. I’ll give him my best ain’t-nobody-here-but-the-plumber routine.”

Only too happy not to have to face Daniel, whom she’d met Monday when he’d arrived from San Francisco and disliked at first sight, Maggie hurried back into the kitchen. This had been the most unsettling day. And meeting Richard had been the defining point. Who would have thought that she would find the most appealing man she’d ever met under a cabinet in a strange bathroom.

Not that she’d met that many men, she conceded. Mostly, she just avoided them. It was safer that way. Men were a huge complication that she hadn’t been able to afford in her life. She had been too busy, first studying and then working to establish her career. Too busy proving to herself that she wasn’t the least bit like her mother. Or her father. The acid burn of anger that thoughts of her father always engendered overwhelmed her and she briefly closed her eyes, took a deep breath and resolutely banished him back to oblivion, where he belonged.

Stepping into the minuscule laundry room, she pulled the louvered doors closed behind her before yanking open the dryer door and pulling out her sweater and bra. They were still damp, but she put them on anyway in case she needed to make a quick escape. If Daniel was here, Worthington wouldn’t be far behind. And she didn’t want to meet Worthington now. She intended to orchestrate their first encounter very carefully. She would project the image of a bright, confident, sophisticated woman. The only kind of woman likely to attract his interest, according to her program. At the moment, she felt—and undoubtedly looked—like a frazzled refugee from a hectic day at the office.

Richard opened the front door, catching Daniel with his fist raised to pound on the door again.

“Be quiet,” Richard ordered with a quick look over his shoulder to make sure Maggie was still in the kitchen. “Pretend you don’t know me.”

“Hell, Richard, in this mood, I’m not sure I do know you.”

Richard grinned. “I’m doing some undercover work. The report from the treasurer’s office is in the study, second door on the right.” He gestured toward the room Maggie had entered. “Make a copy of it and send it by courier to Baxter at the San Francisco office. Don’t fax anything,” Richard said.

“Will do. Oh, and Wilton called. He said he’d located a man named Zylinski in Washington, D.C., who’s a wizard at tracing embezzled funds through computers. I have a call in to him. I hope to hear from him tonight, or tomorrow morning, at the latest.”

“Promise him anything, but get him here immediately to trace the movement of the money Moore embezzled. Wright’s widow might have been willing to eat the losses to avoid sending her son-in-law to jail, but I want to know if Moore had any accomplices that are still with the company. Two million dollars in just three years is a hell of a lot of money for one person to lose playing poker even if he is a compulsive gambler.”

Daniel shook his head. “It’s a damn shame. Moore was one helluva salesman. He practically revitalized that company single-handedly after Wright had his first heart attack.”

“Yeah, and then he bled it dry. I still think Mrs. Wright was wrong. Son-in-law or not, she should have pressed charges against Moore.”

Daniel looked into Richard’s hard gray eyes and shivered. He sure wouldn’t want to cross Richard. He was not a forgiving man.

“Lock the door behind you and let me know as soon as you hear from the computer expert,” Richard said.

“Will do.” Daniel hurried down the hallway to the study while Richard went back into the kitchen. A sound from behind the closed laundry-room doors told him where Maggie was.

“I got rid of him,” Richard addressed the doors. “It’s safe to come out.”

Maggie opened the door and emerged, giving him a repressive look. “I wasn’t hiding,” she lied. “I was changing my clothes. Here’s your shirt, and thank you.”

She watched regretfully as he slipped into it and his magnificent, hairy chest disappeared from view.

“You can express your thanks by helping me connect the faucet back up again.”

“If you’ll remember correctly, that’s how I got wet in the first place,” she pointed out as she followed him back to the bathroom. Somehow, she seemed unable to resist the temptation of being around him. Maybe her makeover had changed more than just her outward appearance, she considered. Maybe wearing an up-to-the-minute hairstyle and sexy clothes had changed her outlook. Maybe dressing sexy made a woman more likely to act sexy. Kind of a variation on form following function? It was an unsettling thought.

“That was an accident,” Richard said.

“I still got wet.”

“It won’t happen again. All I need you to do is hold the faucet in place while I attach it.”

She looked at him wryly.

“I’ll buy you dinner if you help me,” he coaxed when she didn’t respond.

Maggie felt anticipation surge through her at the thought of going out to dinner with Richard, of spending the evening with him. And afterward, they could go back to her place and…Her mouth began to water as images of exactly what she would like to do with him flashed through her mind.

No, she hastily clamped down on her imagination. She didn’t know him well enough to invite him back to her apartment. He might look respectable, but looks could be deceptive. Look at her. New looks aside, she was as clueless about men as it was possible to be and still lay claim to femininity. But there was no reason to stay clueless. Not with Richard around…

The thought of Worthington and her plans for him briefly crossed her mind. Going out with Richard wouldn’t jeopardize those plans, she assured herself. Richard was a plumber who happened to be doing some work in Worthington’s apartment. It was highly unlikely that the two of them would even meet, let alone exchange confidences about the women they’d dated. Besides, going out with Richard would give her a chance to practice feeling comfortable around a man. She stole a quick glance at him and a shiver of awareness slithered down her spine. Somehow, comfortable and Richard were not mutually compatible concepts.

“It’s a deal,” she accepted, hoping the eagerness she felt wasn’t apparent in her voice. “I’ll help you plumb and then we can have dinner.” Never mind the work back at the office she was completely blowing off. Another reaction that wasn’t like her.

It didn’t take long to hook up the faucet, and Maggie stepped back with a pleased smile on her face when water gushed out with no sign of leakage. “I can see where you’d like plumbing. When you’re finished, you see positive results.”

“Most jobs are like that.”

“Not always,” she said ruefully. “I like my job, but sometimes I can work for days chasing a bug and still have nothing to show for it.”

“What exactly do you do?” Richard asked, curious as to what her role was in the company.

“Mostly, I liaison with customers, helping them figure out what they want and what kind of program can best help them do it. Sam Moore, our ex-president, used to say he sold the idea and it was up to me to translate it into something practical.”

Richard felt a slight chill at the warmth in her voice as she mentioned Moore. Just how friendly was she with Moore? Obviously friendly enough to resent his no longer being there. But had she been friendly enough to know what he’d been up to? The thought jarred, and he shoved it to the back of his mind because there was no way he could answer it now. He’d have a better picture of what the situation was after the computer-fraud expert had done his work. Until then, he’d assume Maggie was exactly what she seemed to be: a gorgeous, sexy woman who found him interesting.

“And do you make it practical?” he asked.

“About ninety-nine percent of the time. I find programming fascinating, but then I’m a bit of a computer fanatic.” Maggie kept her answer brief for fear of boring him. As more than one of her girlfriends had told her, not everyone was as interested in computer applications as she was.

“What time do you want to eat?” she asked.

Richard checked the gold watch on his wrist and Maggie frowned slightly as she noticed it. It was an odd watch for a plumber to have. She would have expected him to own something in stainless steel with lots of gadgets. Instead, he was wearing a thin dress watch that didn’t appear to do anything other than tell time.

“Seven?” he suggested. “How about if I get a couple of tickets to a Broadway show for after dinner?”

“No.” Maggie hastily refused his offer. She wanted to spend the evening talking and getting to know him and she could hardly do that if they were at a performance. It would be better to keep the first date unstructured so that she could cut it short if the pressure got to be too much for her.

“You don’t like live theater?” he asked curiously.

“Yes, but it’s been a long week and I’m tired,” she improvised. “I’d probably fall asleep in a darkened theater.”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up at seven. What’s your address?”

“How about if I meet you in front of the restaurant?” Maggie remembered her earlier reservations about giving out her home address to a stranger. Even a fascinating stranger.

“Do you have a favorite?”

“There’s a good restaurant over by the Museum of Natural History that serves an excellent blackberry salmon,” Maggie said.