Catch a Mate (11 page)

Brent, she realized.

She sighed and gathered her purse, clicked off her computer—thought she heard male laughter from Marcus's office and flipped off the door—then quickly exited the building. She didn't bother getting into her car; the café was just across the street. When the road cleared, she raced across, her flip-flops clacking rhythmically. The more distance she put between herself and CAM, the more relaxed she finally felt.

This late in the day, between lunch and dinner and on a Saturday, to boot, she was able to snag a large empty table in back. The café was spacious, with square wooden tables, mosaic floor tiles in a dizzying array of colors and walls painted with murals of ancient Greek gods and goddesses. Jillian had always liked it here. A place of whimsy and art, of beauty and serenity.

Georgia and the others arrived ten minutes later and all of them looked guilty.

“What's wrong?” Jillian demanded.

Without a word, Georgia kicked out a chair beside her and plopped down. She crossed her arms over her ample chest. Selene, Becky, Danielle and Amelia did the same, expressions unreadable. And that's when Jillian encountered a horrendous sight straight from her darkest nightmares.

Marcus and his henchmen had come, as well.

They were lined up, grinning wide, ridiculous grins. Even Marcus appeared happy. Had he been drinking? Jillian hopped to her feet, glaring at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I invited us,” Marcus stated unashamedly. He stalked around the table and claimed the seat on her left, careful not to touch her. “Now, I want everyone to sit boy/girl, boy/girl. This is going to be a get-to-know-your-partner lunch.”

Instantly a round of musical chairs ensued as everyone found their place. No one protested. Someone male said, “I prefer to do my getting-to-know-you horizontally.” The men laughed. The women pretended to be offended, but Jillian could tell they were amused. Grrr!

“Since this is business, the company better pay the bill,” Jillian snapped. She'd needed time away from him, damn it, time to breathe without taking in his sinful scent. Time to just…
be,
without feeling his heat. Without imagining his hands on her body. But noooo. He'd managed to ruin that, too.

“I'll pay,” he said. “Happy?”

She shrugged.
She
wasn't happy, no, but her body sure was. Being next to him again stimulated every nerve ending.

The men, she noticed, clapped and cheered and immediately ordered a round of beer. “Don't let his generosity fool you,” Jake said. “He would have had to pay no matter what. He lost our poker game.”

“Yeah, but I was going to pick up McDonald's,” he grumbled.

They'd been playing poker instead of working? So much for Marcus's strict business ethic! Jillian waved the waitress over. “I'll have a glass of Hpnotiq. No, I'll have two. As soon as possible.”

Marcus frowned at her, then held up his hand, stopping the waitress before she could flounce away. “She'll have a ginger ale.”

“I'll have Hpnotiq,” Jillian insisted.

His frown deepened. “You're on the clock, Jillian, and we have an assignment tonight. You shouldn't be drinking.”

“You drank beer before our assignment yesterday and you didn't complain about your friends ordering beer just now. I'm sure you believe in equality. If not, we can talk about a lawsuit.” She gazed pointedly at the harried waitress. “Make it three Hpnotiqs. And hurry. Please.”

The gray-haired woman raced away before Marcus could stop her. She returned a short while later with the requested drinks. The requested
alcoholic
drinks. Jillian's Hpnotiqs, and the men's beers. The women placed their orders for diet sodas, then everyone ordered their meal.

“You should like it that I'm drinking,” Jillian told Marcus. “Alcohol makes a woman easy, doesn't it?”

He only snorted.

She drained the first glass in record time, followed quickly by the second, loving the taste of the bright-blue liquid as it burned through her. Ah, sweet relief. Maybe now she could be in Marcus's presence without kissing—damn it,
killing
—him.

After a few minutes passed, she propped her elbows on the tabletop and leaned forward. Her gaze circled the unwanted guests, keeping her attention off Marcus. “So. Are any of you married?” The question escaped her out of habit. She uttered it at least once a day, it seemed.

“Hell, no,” said Adonis. She thought his name might be Kyle. “No,” said someone else. “Dear God, no,” said another. Rafe, the redhead, bellowed, “Not in this lifetime.”

Jake didn't say anything, but his expression was sad.

“No bloody way,” said Marcus.

She rolled her eyes. “A hazard of the business, I guess. None of the girls are married, either.”

“I'm considering it,” Georgia offered in a soft, hesitant voice.

“Is that a proposal?” Kyle asked, leaning toward her eagerly. “'Cause I accept.”

“Hardly.” Grinning, she shook her head. “Who knows? I might decide to eschew the institution altogether.”

He stabbed at his heart with his fist. “Just kill me, then. I no longer have a reason to live.”

Georgia chuckled behind her hand before turning to Marcus. There was an evil glint in her eyes. “Oh, hey. I'm having a Heather Rae party next Wednesday. We're going to do facials and apply makeup. Are you interested in coming?”

“No,” he said, his voice heavy with self-derision. “I'm busy.”

“Ah, but you'd look so good wearing cranberry eye shadow,” Jillian told him with an innocent smile.

“I did like you in that lipstick,” Jake said.

“Thank you, everyone. You're too good to me.” Marcus winked at Jillian, his features completely relaxed, true humor in his eyes.

The action surprised her. Feeling as if she'd been transported to another dimension, Jillian drained her last glass of Hpnotiq. Why couldn't he have been this nice, this charming, when they had first met? He could have been, but he'd chosen not to and that knowledge made her irritation grow. “So who's ready to break the ice? Anyone want to share their most recent bad kiss?” she asked, just to strike at him.

“I have one,” Marcus muttered, losing his good humor.

His friends snickered.

Oh, God. She'd forgotten for a moment that they knew, that they'd seen her lip-lock with Marcus. Her cheeks heated. The waitress returned, thankfully, gaining everyone's attention as she set down their meals. Jillian dug into her hamburger. She'd wanted a relaxing lunch; now she just wanted it to end.

Silence passed between her and Marcus for a long while. Finally he said, “You shouldn't have left the office without my permission.”

“That wasn't in your rules,” she reminded him without sparing him a glance.

“It is now.”

Of course it was. “Do I need your permission to go the bathroom?”

“I'll let you know,” he said, leaning into her. He didn't say anything else.

How could he smell so good?
Jillian wondered.

How could she look so bloody lovely?
Marcus wondered. She was driving him insane! But, he had to admit, she challenged him as no one else ever had. She excited him, too.

And wasn't that just a pain in the ass? Why couldn't she be like other women? Push him away completely or fall in love with his “aloofness” and, in turn, think that meant they were supposed to be together? He could forget her then. He could stop thinking about her at foolish times—like during a poker game with his friends, where he'd forgotten about his cards and folded with a full house.

“What are you thinking about?” Jillian asked him quietly. For once, her tone was curious rather than infuriated. “Your face is all pinched with disgust.”

“You,” he answered honestly, just as quiet as she was. “I'm thinking about you.”

“Well, that's nice.” She rolled her eyes—trying not to show just how much that hurt? “At least we feel the same way about each other.” He opened his mouth to comment, but she beat him to it. “So, what's our assignment tonight?”

“Did you not read the file I gave you?” He was annoyed by the way she spat the word
our.

“I meant to read it, but I got caught up in something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like family.”

She probably expected him to complain, to tell her not to deal with family issues on company time. But he didn't. He understood family and couldn't help but wonder what problems hers was having. Irritating that he cared. “Our case is simple. The client suspects that his wife is going to bars and flirting with other men. I'm going to test her and see if she'll pick me up.”

“Well, well. I'll finally get to see you in action. And not the Ronnie with an
ie
kind of action.” She popped a fry into her mouth. “Were you just blowing smoke in the conference room or do you really need a female partner to…I can't even remember what you said we were supposed to do.”

“Yes, I really do need a female partner.” He swiped one of her fries. “If I encounter a clinger, like Ronnie, you're going to distract her so I can do my job. Believe me, you're going to save me a lot of grief. I'm just pissed I didn't think of this sooner.”

“Oh, yeah. A clinger. I remember now.” She grinned, a true, genuine grin of amusement. “Had to deal with a lot of those, then?”

“Too many to count.” He really did like her smile. Pretty, sweet, warm. And yeah, once again it turned him on. He was beginning to realize everything about Jillian turned him on. Angry, calm, humorous, didn't matter. “It's always been the worst part of the job. Well, besides telling the spouse what happened.”

Just then, Georgia laughed and the sound of it floated across the table. He flicked her a quick glance. She was leaning into Jake, smiling up into his face as if he were her favorite brother in the whole wide world. Jake appeared highly amused, admiring, but not enslaved.

The love of Jake's life had died in a car accident a few years ago and Jake had yet to get over it. That's why Marcus had paired him with Georgia. She was a beautiful woman. Exquisite, even, like the goddess paintings on the walls. Men fell at the altar of her beauty every day—her file said as much.

He'd paired her with someone who could resist her.

Marcus, too, would have been a good choice for Georgia's partner. She did nothing for him. Once, she might have. But she lacked the intensity Jillian possessed, the…wow factor. And now that he'd encountered that intensity, that
wow,
nothing less would do for him. He focused once more on Jillian. Trying to do otherwise usually proved pointless.

“Are you dating anyone?” The stupid question slipped from him before he could stop it.

“No!” Jillian looked insulted that he'd even ask. A few of the others glanced over at them, but her dark glare had them turning away. “I wouldn't have kiss—” She cut herself off and her cheeks reddened. She whispered, “I wouldn't have let you borrow my lipstick if I were.”

He liked that about her, such integrity—until he realized she didn't plan to return the question. Did she assume he'd have kissed her even if he was seeing another woman? “I'm not, either,” he said stiffly.

She didn't respond.

“Have you ever been married?” he pressed.

“No.” She wrapped her delicate fingers around a water glass, sipped, didn't face him. “Have you?”

Finally, some interest. Except it was in a topic he didn't want to explore further. “Yes.” He loathed the subject of his marriage and rarely discussed it. Not even with Jake. Why had he even brought it up? It wasn't like Jillian's answer had mattered to him. What did he care if she'd been married?

His jaw clenched. Okay, so it did matter. He didn't like the thought of her with another man. In fact, every possessive bone in his body seemed to stretch, awakening from a lifelong slumber.
Mine,
they said.

Stop,
he commanded.
Not mine. Never mine.

As he fought with himself, she eyed him, trying to appear bored, trying to appear nonchalant, but there was a sharpness to her gaze that she couldn't hide. “Didn't work out, I take it.”

“Hardly,” he said.

“I'll never take the marriage plunge.” Her voice was strong with conviction. “It's just too risky.”

“Hear, hear.” He lifted his water glass, and she did the same. They clinked them together.

She settled back in her chair and gazed at him as if he were the only person in the room with her. Something almost—dare he say it—vulnerable clouded her eyes. In the next instant, both of them seemed to realize that they weren't shouting at each other, bickering or hurling insults. Shock blanketed her pretty face, probably a mirror of his own expression.

“Truce?” he asked. “For now?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Truce.”

He wondered how long it would last.

“Do you think people like us ever have a happy ending?” she asked softly.

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean, people like us?”

She thought about it, shrugged. “People who know exactly what the opposite sex is capable of.”

He thought about it, too, rolling the question through his mind. “No,” he finally answered. “I don't. People like us are destined to grow old alone. Wise, but alone.” Funny, the thought of being alone had never depressed him until now.

“Yeah,” she said wistfully, turning back to her lunch. “You're probably right.”

A
FTER SHE FINISHED UP
at the office, Jillian drove to Anne's. It was a thirty-minute commute and she wouldn't be able to stay long since she had to prepare for tonight's assignment. But she only had one question.

Why?

The drive proved surprisingly smooth, relaxing, with lush-green trees scattered along the sides of the road, climbing toward the darkening sky. Pink, purple and yellow flowers bloomed prettily, swaying with a slight breeze. Jillian listened to rock music pound from the speakers, tapping her foot as she drove. At least she was able to keep Marcus from her mind. Kind of. Sexy bastard.

He'd once been married. Shock. They'd shared a lunchtime truce. Shock.
You're keeping him from your mind, remember?
Oh, yeah.

Anne's house finally came into view, a spacious cabin made from both light and dark woods. White shutters adorned the windows; knowing Anne, they should have been black. The driveway was gravel and the small rocks crunched beneath her tires. Overall, it was a place of tranquility. She'd been here before, but was always surprised that the serene home belonged to no-nonsense Anne.

Jillian parked. Outside, warm air enveloped her. A fragrant bouquet of roses and crisp lake water filled her nose. Having heard her approach, Anne waited in the open doorway. She was puffing a cigarette. “I know I told you to visit, Greene, but damn, girl. Not even I expected it this quickly.”

“Maybe I missed you,” Jillian said, stopping just in front of her former boss.
Just say it. Get it over with.
“I would have bought CAM from you, Anne.” There. “You knew that, didn't you?”

“Yes, I knew.” Anne's tone was unrepentant.

She tried not to show any emotion. “Why didn't you offer it to me?”

Anne remained silent for a long while, returning Jillian's searching gaze with one of her own. Then she turned, smoke wafting around her. “Come in. We'll talk.”

She didn't want to; she wanted to go home and curl up and hit something and maybe cry. But she followed Anne. The doorway opened into a clean, breezy room where white drapes swayed from gaping windows. Stiff but pretty furniture in dark browns and off-whites formed a circle in the center.

“Sit,” Anne said, motioning to a barely padded chair.

She sat. Anne claimed the couch across from her. For the first time, Jillian noticed her appearance. She wore a black silk robe and her gray hair was brushed to a shine. Expecting company?

“You want to know why.” Anne took a drag of her cigarette, then smashed it into an ashtray. “Nasty habit,” she said. “I'm trying to stop.”

“Yes. I want to know.”

“What if I told you that you weren't right for the job?”

Jillian's eyes narrowed. “I'd know you were lying.”

Anne's lips twitched with humor. “Fine. I'd be lying.”

“Why?” Jillian insisted. “I deserve the truth.”

“You want the truth? I'll give it to you, but you're not going to like it.” Anne settled deep into the couch and with a sigh, peered up at the slatted ceiling. “You would have ended up like me and I didn't want that for you.”

She blinked in surprise. She didn't know what she'd expected to hear, but that wasn't it. “So what?” she said, incredulous. “That's not for you to decide.”

“Your bitterness toward men grows daily, Jillian. If you don't do something about it while you're still young, you are going to end up alone and miserable, more so than you are now. You'd always have wondered what could have been. You'd always have wondered where the years had gone.”

To mask the fury in her eyes, Jillian gazed down at her hands. “Is that what you do?”

“Not anymore. I'm living now. Finally living. You should try it.”

“My future isn't your concern, Anne.” Her lashes swept up of their own accord, and she pinned her former boss with a fierce frown. “At the very least, you owed me a chance. I helped make CAM what it is, getting us ads in all the local papers, placing fliers around town, expanding our client base. You owed me a chance,” she repeated. Her chin trembled. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't fucking cry.

“Maybe I gave you one,” Anne said softly.

“What? When?” she demanded. She would have remembered; she would have pounced on it. “Every time I tried to talk to you, you told me we'd discuss it later.”

Anne rolled her eyes. “Obviously, we're not talking about the same kind of chance. But I don't feel like explaining myself at the moment. You're not ready to hear me yet. Hopefully, you'll come to understand on your own.” Her voice was dry, a little scolding. “The other girls, well, they aren't as closed off as you. They, at least, take chances.”

I take chances,
Jillian thought, hurt. Sure, she couldn't think of one at the moment, but that didn't mean anything.

A knock sounded at the door, saving Anne from further explanation. She straightened and smoothed the crinkles from her robe. “My date is here.”

Jillian's eyes widened. Her date?
Anne's?
Anne, who hated men more than anyone Jillian knew? “You're seeing someone?”

“Seeing…debauching…whatever you want to call it.”

O-kay. She shook her head. God, had she ever really known her boss? Anne had sold the business to Marcus when she could have sold it to a woman, someone she knew and trusted. Why not have a lover, too, even though she'd often claimed there was no better partner than a vibrator (it couldn't talk and would never betray).

“Come in,” Anne called.

The door creaked open and a young, lean and very handsome man—a boy, really, when compared to Anne—strolled inside. He appeared eager, happy to be there. How old was he? He didn't even have a shadow beard to prove he'd hit puberty. He saw Anne and gave her a sexy, come-hither grin. “Hey, baby.”

Ew.
My cue to leave.

But Jillian found herself looking at Anne, trying to see what the man-child saw. Pretty hazel eyes that were a perfect blend of green and brown. Intelligence in every line of her face. Gray hair that appeared soft and thick. A compact body. And…zest. It radiated from her. She fairly pulsed with life and vitality.

Had she always looked that way and Jillian just hadn't noticed?

The man-child slid his arm around Anne's waist and kissed her neck. “This is Hugh,” Anne said. “Hugh, Jillian.”

“Hey,” he said, barely able to tear his gaze from Anne long enough to greet Jillian.

“Hey.” Oddly jealous of the pair, Jillian pushed to her feet. She didn't have the answers she craved, but she was done here. The diabolical woman and her cryptic “I gave you a chance” would probably haunt her for days. Weeks. Hell, the rest of her life.

How? Damn it, how had she given Jillian a chance?

“I have an assignment tonight. I'd better go.” She strode to the front door, giving the couple a pondering look over her shoulder. Maybe she needed to take a lover, too. Maybe that would finally get Marcus out of her head. The idea of getting naked with anyone else was abhorrent to her, though.

“Jillian,” Anne called, stopping her.

She didn't turn, just stood where she was and waited.

“You'll thank me one day. I promise you.”

“No, I won't.” Nothing good would come of her time with Marcus. How could it? They might have called a truce, but they were bad for each other. “Goodbye, Anne. Have a nice life.”

“Oh, I will. It's you I'm worried about.”

 

It's you I'm worried about.

As Jillian dressed for the night's assignment, Anne's parting shot echoed through her mind. There was no reason to worry about her; she'd be just fine, her life would be just fine. All she had to do was get her hormones under control.

Desperate to at last shove Marcus out of her mind, she flipped through the mental file she'd compiled about their case. A thirty-three-year-old male, married for less than a year, had found several handwritten phone numbers in his wife's purse—not in his wife's writing, either. He feared she was flirting with men to get them.

Tonight, the wife supposedly planned to sing karaoke at Mary's Bad Idea, a bar a few miles from Jillian's house. Sometimes—okay, a
lot
of times—a client's spouse wasn't where he claimed to be, so CAM usually tried to run into him at his office building. A lost and lonely woman in need of a strong man to help her find her way. But lately, people were so blatant with their cheating. So…unconcerned. Was there something in the air? Was getting caught the new black?

Jillian was simply supposed to show up tonight at the bar and observe, not speak with anyone at any time or leave Marcus's sight, even to go to the bathroom. The only time she was to approach him was if he signaled her over and then she was to extract him from a clinger.

Marcus had told her all of this on a Post-it note he'd attached to the inside of the folder. She'd been oddly pleased that he'd written such a chauvinistic message. It had helped wipe away the memory of the truce they'd shared at lunch. A truce that, she admitted, scared her. It made him irresistible. Almost likeable.

But she did not want to like that man. She couldn't. To do so even for a moment was to remember their passionate kiss. To think about their passionate kiss was to desire him. To desire him was to make a complete fool of herself. Again.

Sighing, she withdrew a tight black dress from her closet. It had thin silver straps and a choker collar. Perfect. Not too flashy, but just sexy enough that she would blend in with the crowd. Blend…it was odd. She usually had to dress to stand out.

She quickly shimmied into the material, anchored her curls haphazardly atop her head, letting several tendrils escape, and tugged on her knee-high boots. She pinned a silver flower to her right strap; the camera hidden inside its center would capture the night's escapades and catch anything Marcus's didn't.

Finished, she glanced in the mirror. Not bad. But as she studied her appearance, she couldn't help but wonder what Marcus's wife had looked like. Blonde? A redhead like Georgia? Beautiful, no doubt. A man like Marcus would want a stunner by his side. Had he loved her?

From there, Jillian's thoughts spiraled, spreading poisonous branches. What had the wifey-poo been like personality-wise? Why had they divorced? Infidelity? Most likely. If so, the wife's? Or his? Definitely the wife's, judging from the tone of Marcus's voice when he'd spoken of the marriage. What kind of woman would cheat on a guy as magnetic as Marcus? A
smart woman,
she forced herself to answer. He was a pig. Had he cheated, too?

Her wall clock chimed the hour, saving her mind from having to produce an answer she knew she wouldn't like. If he hadn't, he was a better man than she wanted to give him credit for being. As Jillian gathered her purse and keys, her phone rang. Groaning, she rushed to her nightstand and glanced at the unit. There was a flashing red light because her dad had left a message the other day.
Call me, please. I miss you.
And she hadn't erased it yet.

Caller ID showed this call was from Greene, Evelyn. Guess it was finally Jillian's turn to hear firsthand about her mom's (mis)adventures in the dating world. She was glad, she'd always wanted honesty from her mother, but she didn't have time for this. Still, she answered. If she didn't, her mom would call her cell all damn night, maybe even sink into a major depression that Brittany and Brent would have to deal with.

Jillian picked up the phone and tried to sound happy. “Hello, Mom. How are you?”

“Hi, sugar. I'm good. I started missing you and decided to call so I could hear my baby's sweet voice. How are you?”

Okay, no mention of dating. She wasn't surprised; in fact, she didn't know why she'd expected her mom to spill. Mom cried and moaned to Brent and Brittany, but only ever showed Jillian her happy side. She and her siblings had spent countless hours with a therapist, learning how to deal with their mother's depressed personality. They'd been told to expect denial, but Jillian hated the happy facade.

“I'm good, too,” she said, being dishonest herself.
Hypocrite.
In her defense, her mom couldn't even deal with her own problems. No way she could deal with Jillian's.

But she loved the woman, she really did, and even understood where the depression and mood swings had originated: her dad's affair. “I hear you're dating again.”

“Yes,” her mom said hesitantly.

“You want to talk about it?” Jillian eased onto her mattress and rested her elbow on her knee.

“Nothing to tell, really.” She laughed, and there was a nervous edge to the sound. “No one has responded to my profile, but I'm totally okay with that.”

No, she wasn't. She'd cried to both Brittany and Brent. Wanted to cry again now, Jillian was sure. “Men are pigs, Mom, you know that. But sooner or later someone will recognize how special you are.”

“Yes, men are pigs. Except your brother, of course. He's actually a decent human being. Almost a woman,” she added as an afterthought.

“I'm sure he'd love to hear that,” Jillian said dryly. Brent was actually total man. A little chauvinistic, a lot wild, but he was the one male Jillian loved and could always count on. He never lied, never let her down. He'd kick Marcus's ass if she asked him to.

Hmm…Food for thought.

“Brent told me I was too emotional,” her mom suddenly burst out. “You don't think that, do you, baby? You love me, right? You think I'm perfect just the way I am, right?”

Lord, how was she supposed to answer that? Jillian gulped. “I do love you.”

“Brittany told you about the man I e-mailed on that dating Web site, didn't she?” Her mom tried to laugh. “He was my perfect match, you know, because we liked the same things. Golfing, sailing, Cajun food.”