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“Why?” Olive believed the best in people, which was why her loser boyfriend was still around. It was probably why she was still friends with me, too.
“Because Oliver has made it more than clear that he is happy being a bachelor and has no plans to change that anytime soon. So far, I haven’t uncovered any deep, dark trauma or great heartbreak, so I have to take him at his word.” I shook my head, knowing I was doing a terrible job of explaining myself. “It’s not just that he enjoys being unattached, he is pathological about it.” I told them his reaction to other matchmaking types and they were as shocked as I was.
“It’s like he’s a wounded hero,” Olive sighed, the romantic in her unwilling to acknowledge or accept any other option. “There’s some big scar on his heart that requires the love of the right woman. Only you have to stay in the game if you want to be the one to heal him.”
Sophie and I both groaned and rolled our eyes. “Great, look what you’ve done now, Soph.” My phone vibrated across the desk, but Sophie got her hot-pink-tipped nails on it before I could.
Her blond brows dipped in confusion. “Oliver says you never stopped by to check out his shoe collection, and he wants to look his best when all the numbers come his way.” Her frown deepened when she looked up at me. “He does understand how this works, doesn’t he?”
“If I say no, will you take over this particular client?”
“Nope.”
Didn’t think so. “Of course, he understands. He’s not stupid, he’s an idiot. And he gets a kick out of winding me up.”
“Hmph,” was all Sophie said as her all-too-knowing gaze stared a hole into my forehead. “Interesting.”
Nope, I ignored that. I refused to take the bait. I held up my hand for the phone but Sophie was already holding it up in front of her face, thumbs flying across the screen. “I can respond to my own messages.”
“No problem, I’ve got this. That’s what friends are for.” She smiled and finished typing, reread the message, and seconds later the telltale ding sounded. The message was sent. “You’ll be there in twenty minutes. And you’re bringing lunch.”
“Can’t. I have an appointment in fifteen minutes because, you know, it’s a work day.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Sophie said easily. “This is, like you said in the beginning, the beauty of having partners.”
“If she needs backup, I’m it,” Olive added eagerly, tales of happily ever after clearly already dancing in her head.
“I hate you both,” I said, knowing damn well I was beat. They laughed and joked while I plugged Oliver’s address into my map app, grabbed my Surf & Turf gift certificate, and headed toward my car.
To look at Oliver March’s shoe collection.
It sounded so much more sordid than it actually was.
Twenty-five minutes later, I stood on the doorstep of a cute bungalow with dark blue shutters and a cherry-stained veranda. Inside, rock music blared so loud I wondered if he’d even hear the bell, which I hoped worked. Oliver didn’t strike me as a man who was handy, but maybe he could get by with tightening a few leaky faucets and rickety cabinets.
He opened the door with an alluring smile and a tight black T-shirt tugged across his chest. “Eva, hey. I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”
“Why not? I said I would.”
He frowned. “Did you read those messages? I know you didn’t write them.”
I folded my arms and hiked my chin up in the air. “How do you know that?”
“Because,” he said and pulled his phone from his back pocket, “you would never say you looked forward to seeing me.”
I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t. “Okay, I didn’t write it. Sophie did.” I was about to apologize for lunch and explain about the endless line at Surf & Turf, but the smell of bacon or pancetta cut through the air. “You cooked.”
“I did,” he said and stepped back, inviting me inside. “Good thing you didn’t waste your gift certificate on me.” There was another of those smiles—the kind that relaxed you, made you feel at ease until you forgot you were inside the lion’s den. “Have a seat while I clear the table.”
“Do you always work at the kitchen table?” His laptop was perched precariously on the edge of the tabletop, with papers scattered everywhere. It was absolute chaos.
“Not always, but I was cooking and then inspiration struck. Didn’t want the food to burn, so I’m multi-tasking. That’s a hot quality, isn’t it?” He wiggled his blond brows playfully.
“Juggling women isn’t multi-tasking. Technically.” His laugh echoed in the kitchen, twice as loud now that he’d cut out the music. “If you’re busy, we can do this another time.”
“Nah, now is good. I’ve got a good outline going and I need to collaborate with my producer later. Food has about ten minutes, if you want to do the shoes before we eat?”
