Mister Match (The Match Series Book 1) (16 page)

“Oh, shit.” She was about to have dinner with Mister Match. At a place that required reservations. Where they might be photographed again, because Mister Match was famous, and now she was too, by extension.

Looked like Clare’s suggestion of a little black dress had been right on the money.

How did Clare know these things, Lisa mused as she rummaged through her bag, that she, five years older, had no clue about? Clare should be here, not her. Clare should be trading witticisms and innuendos with a man she was fake-engaged to marry, and feeling entirely too intimate with him. Not Lisa. This wasn’t Lisa’s stomping grounds at all.

But maybe she could fake it. For a day or two, at least.

“Why does it take an hour for most women to get dressed?” she mused at her reflection as she reached behind her and awkwardly zipped up the dress. She tied its thin little satin belt behind her and surveyed the results in the mirror.

Not bad. The belt sat high, creating a curvy, winsome effect. The dress and the strappy heels had taken no time at all to slip on. She turned this way and that. Maybe she was supposed to do some sort of elaborate hair-removal and skin-buffing process to her legs, or slather herself with lotion, or something. But she’d shaved that morning, and when she ran a hand up her shin, it felt smooth enough to the touch. And it was humid enough outside that lotion would just make her break out in a sweat as soon as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Her hair took a little more time. She ended up just shaking it out, brushing it and then letting it tumble onto her shoulders. The one thing her heavy, dark hair did right was volume, so she might as well let it show off its main asset.

She dabbed a bit of her vetiver oil on her pulse points, and rubbed it in. Then she stood in front of the wardrobe mirror, taking in the final effect. “Good enough,” she murmured, as she smudged on some dark wine-colored lipstick and brushed on a coat of mascara. Why she was bothering with makeup, she wasn’t sure. The one thing she was sure of was that she wanted to knock Adam’s socks off.

Or, if she were being honest, his pants.

They were sharing a room. Maybe she should follow Clare’s advice and take advantage of the situation, and jump the man’s bones.

She grinned at herself in the mirror. “Someone’s getting lucky tonight,” she sang to herself, under her breath. Then she turned, grabbed her room key and headed for the door.

Chapter
18

____________________________________

A
dam waited for Lisa by the circular table near the hotel’s entrance. There was a huge vase of flowers centered on the table, and its tendrils kept reaching out and poking him in the ear, no matter where he moved or how much he swatted at the damn thing.

Probably just nerves.

He’d changed into dark slacks and a button-down shirt, and had laughed at himself for taking way longer than usual to choose which clothes to wear. He wanted to impress her, was the thing. He wanted her to be as attracted to him as he was to her. If that were even possible.

“I’m glad I brought something a little nicer to wear. I wasn’t sure I’d need it.”

He turned at the sound of her voice and actually caught his breath when he saw her, unable to speak for a moment as she approached with a little smile on her lips.

She wore a black dress that hugged her amazing curves, and heels that showed off her beautiful calves and ankles. He had to restrain himself from reaching out for her, just to touch her.

“You look lovely.” He smiled down at her, trying not to let the faint scent of her perfume—something spicy that inexplicably made him want to nibble at the place just below her earlobe—turn him into a babbling idiot. He pressed a kiss to her temple and then placed a hand at the small of her back to lead her out to the street. “The restaurant is just down at the corner.”

“Good, because I don’t think I could walk much farther in these shoes,” she joked. “I don’t usually have many chances to dress up.”

“That’s too bad. Dressed up looks amazing on you.” He held open the door for her to pass through first, and followed after her.

The air was thick with heat and humidity, and the street was filled with the noise, hustle and bustle of Friday evening traffic.

“I hope my makeup lasts to the corner,” Lisa mused as they walked.

Adam glanced at her, trying not to look down at her breasts, or her legs, all of which were just really working for him. “Why? Is it going to fall off, or something?”

She laughed, and he realized her smile was really working for him, too. “No, the heat might make my mascara run.” She shrugged. “Or something. I don’t even know. I don’t normally wear mascara. I guess I have no idea what might happen.” She laughed again.

He allowed himself to gaze at her for a moment, at her skin, smooth and olive-toned, at her big, gorgeous brown eyes. “You don’t need makeup. Your eyes are dramatic and dark without it. And your skin is beautiful. It’s so smooth and perfect.”

He was gratified to see her blush clear to her hairline, a slow tide of rose-pink. He felt his groin tighten.
Good. I’m getting to you, just like you get to me.

“Um, thanks.” Her eyebrows drew together momentarily. “I guess.”

He smiled down at her. “It’s the truth.” They had reached the restaurant. He opened the door and waited for her to enter, not even trying to stop himself from staring at her butt as she walked inside. He was coming to realize that trying to hold himself back from such little pleasures was futile.

At least he could pretend he was only doing it as part of the role he was playing, pretending to be Lisa’s fiancé. And there were starting to be so many layers of pretense, he was having trouble keeping them all straight.

But just as he’d been going on pure instinct when he’d lied to Kiki James about Lisa being his fiancée, he’d also been going on instinct when he had asked Lisa to join his Dream Date team. The need to protect his public image had been very real, but the truth he hadn’t told Dan—the truth he’d hardly even admitted to himself—was that he’d wanted to keep Lisa near him, whatever he had to do to make that happen.

It had worked. He’d gotten what he wanted. And now he was stuck with the consequences. Whether he’d be able to get through the weekend with his sanity intact remained to be seen.

He gave his name to the restaurant’s host, and they were led to a small table in a dim corner of the dining room.

The poker-faced host held Lisa’s chair for her when she sat down.

“Thank you.” She smiled up at him. He nodded, gave a slight bow and disappeared.

Adam grinned at her as he took his own chair and picked up the wine menu. “Should we order a bottle of wine?”

“A bottle?” Lisa hedged.

“Sure. Why not? This Malbec is one of my favorites,” he said, pointing to one in the middle of the list.

Lisa blinked and visibly swallowed. “Um... You’re paying, right?”

He laughed. “Depends on whether we talk business. If we do, the company pays. If not, then I’ll be paying.”

“Oh.” She glanced around at the rest of the room. She looked just a little bit cowed by their surroundings. “Sure, order whatever you like. Anything sounds good. I really don’t know much about wine.”

“Neither do I. The way I figure it, you don’t have to know anything more about wine than whether you like the way it tastes, right? And I hope you’ll like this one.”

A few minutes later, glass of wine in hand, he was marveling at the fact that with Lisa, there were never any uncomfortable silences.

Actually, there were silences, and they were slightly uncomfortable—but not in the way of social awkwardness. More in the way of raised heart rates and trying to look anywhere but into those incredible brown eyes of hers that seemed to probe right into him. When she looked at him that way, he felt as if she were asking for something from him that he wasn’t entirely certain of, but that he wanted more than anything to give.

“So,” Lisa said, “think we’re being watched this time?”

“Watched?” He’d lost track of the present moment, gazing at her. The question confused him.

She leaned in, glancing around with a little grin. “You know, photographed, or whatever. By paparazzi.”

“Oh.” He glanced around as well. “I didn’t see any on the walk over, but you never know. It seems like there’s always one or two around, these days. The Dream Dates are getting more popular, along with the site.”

“Things are really taking off for you.” Lisa lifted her wine glass and smiled at him. “Cheers to that. It must be so exciting.”

He smiled back. “Thank you. I guess it is.”

Lisa laughed, that full sound that he loved to hear in the unexpected moments when it rang out. “You’re such a reluctant hero,” she accused, teasingly. “You have all this money, fame, a successful business you built yourself. But you don’t seem like you’re reveling in it. Not as much as I would.”

“Really?” He hadn’t thought about it in that way. Was he enjoying it enough—the success?

“Well,” Lisa amended, “it does seem like you revel in the wining-and-dining aspect of it.” She grinned saucily as she took another sip of wine.

“Wining and dining,” he mused. “Is that what we’re doing?”

Watching him over the rim of her glass, she raised her eyebrows.

The way she was looking at him—he could get lost in her big, dark eyes, shining at him in the light of the candle that flickered on the table between them.

Then she said, “We need to talk about how and when we’re going to break up,” and the moment was broken.

“How we’re going to break up?” Why did she want to talk about a thing like that, at a time like this?

“Our exit strategy,” she clarified. “We are going to have to break up, right? It’s not like we can stay fake-engaged forever, or get fake-married.”

She was right, of course. They couldn’t do either of those things.

“But I didn’t notice anything about it in the contract,” she went on. “Seems like we should have a plan. It could be kind of fun! Like, should we stage a little fight right now, over dinner? That way, people will believe it in a few weeks, when you’re suddenly on your own again.”

She was grinning slyly, excitedly. It was as if the idea of breaking up—or, fake-breaking up, or whatever they were going to do—didn’t bother her at all. In fact, it seemed to delight her.

And her point made him realize he was in a pickle. He’d lied to Kiki James that he was engaged to Lisa in order to stave off accusations that Mister Match was a flop when it came to relationships. But really, all he’d done was delay the inevitable. He would be viewed as just as much of a flop in a few weeks, when this little farce he’d launched came to a close.

Lisa was right: A plan was exactly what he needed. His lie had bought him some time to figure out how he would spin things to the press, how he would field personal questions the next time he was interviewed.

But he didn’t want to think about any of that right now.

“Can’t we just figure it out when the time comes?” he asked. The question came out sounding slightly grumpy. “I just want to enjoy your company,” he explained, “without having to worry about when I won’t get to see you anymore.”

She raised her eyebrows again. He could only guess at what she might be thinking—what his reluctance to face the practical aspects of their little farce might mean.

“I’m sorry,” he said, after a moment. “My business partner, Dan, would probably say I’m avoiding reality.”

Lisa tilted her head. “Do you think he’s right?”

“Dan’s a former attorney. Now he’s the website’s money guy, and he’s all about covering potential losses, or avoiding them if possible.”

“Is that not how you approach business?”

It was a fair question. “I’ve been accused of being a pie-in-the-sky kind of guy,” he admitted. “My ex-wife used to say I was a dreamer.” He smiled wryly. “Of course, she meant it as a criticism. But, I don’t know. Being a dreamer is part of what helped me launch Mister-Match.com. I look at the big picture. I make decisions based on my gut.” He shrugged. “Most times, it works out pretty well.”

Lisa seemed to be listening and considering. Still, her next question wasn’t what he’d expected at all.

“How did things end with your ex-wife?”

He choked a little on the sip of wine he’d just taken. Swallowing and clearing his throat, he pressed his napkin to his mouth. “You want to know what happened with Ivana?”

Lisa nodded. “If you’re willing to tell me. Does it ever come up? I mean, on these gossip sites, or anything?”

“Funny you should ask that.” He leaned forward, crossing his arms and resting his elbows on the table. “It just came up last week, in my
Access Austin
interview.” He frowned. “I guess someone must have approached my ex and paid her to talk about our relationship.”

“They’re really blood-thirsty, aren’t they?” Lisa said, wonderingly. “The paparazzi, the celebrity gossip bloggers. Interviewers. All of them, out for blood, all the time.”

“I’ll say.” Adam sighed. He’d wanted to enjoy a delicious dinner with Lisa, and to keep things light between them, but it looked as if that wasn’t going to happen. “I don’t mind telling you about Ivana and our relationship and breakup, if you really want to know.”

She was watching him with dark, sober eyes. “I do. If you don’t mind.”

“All right. But just try not to judge me harshly.” He smiled amiably, as if half-joking, even though he wasn’t. “Or my mom.”

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “Your mom? This ought to be interesting. I’ll do my best.”

Adam laughed. “That’s all I can ask.” He picked up his wine glass. “Yeah, my mom. She comes into the story because she’s kind of the beginning of my Mister-Match system, in a way. Along with my relationship with Ivana, and our breakup.”

Lisa shook her head. “Okay, I’m thoroughly confused. And intrigued.”

He laughed. “All right. Well, first, my mother. She’s on marriage number six. Or maybe divorce number six, by now, I’m not sure.”

Lisa raised her brows again, and he nodded.

“Exactly. She has pretty bad taste in men. They all look good at first, on paper—money, charm, flash. But then she marries them, and then they just...”

“Turn into different people?”

He considered how best to explain it. “No, it’s more like they turn into normal people. The shine wears off. They start doing things like leaving their underwear on the bathroom floor, or getting pissed and punching the steering wheel in the middle of traffic, or forgetting to pay bills on time. And my mom starts getting resentful of them for turning out to be human, and they start arguing, and before you know it, she’s back at her lawyer’s office again, having her draw up more divorce papers.”

Lisa was just watching him. “Hmm.”

“Yeah. It’s kind of tragic, when you think about it. My sweet mom, just trying to find her perfect match, and she keeps getting tripped up by ridiculous little personality quirks.”

Lisa squinted. “Those aren’t personality quirks, they’re—they’re, like, breaches of social etiquette. Or hygiene, or something. Or maybe just breaking the rules of being a good roommate, or having a smoothly-functioning household.”

Adam had to laugh at that. “Not exactly. You get two people together who both toss their underwear face-up on the bathroom floor, chances are pretty good neither one of them’s going to care, or even notice, that the other one did it too.”