Simply Sex (2 page)

He sensed movement behind him and turned to find a woman walking—no, floating—his way. Glenda the Good Witch, minus the bobbing bubble, tiara and wand.

He had a fleeting fear that, in a syrupy voice, she’d command him to click his ruby wingtips together three times, except she held a no-nonsense clipboard and wore a serious expression. “Janie Falls,” she said, reaching to shake his hand, her voice direct and syrup-free. “I’m happy to meet you in person, Cole.”

“Likewise.” Her handshake was as solid as her voice. She was pretty, with wavy blond hair that hung down her back, but not his type, really, even if it were ethical to date one’s matchmaker.

She glanced at her clipboard. “I see we have your Check Mate profile already in our database.”

“Yes.” He’d appreciated the after-hours convenience of taking the inventory online. It asked him to evaluate his temperament, conformity level, career ambition, affection needs and attitudes toward religion and finances—all issues Jane claimed were predictors of compatibility. Made sense.

“So, today we do your interview and your Close-Up. Have a seat.” She gestured at the red velvet chair where he’d been sitting, then went to sit behind her desk.

The video he dreaded. He patted his pocket to be sure his prepared remarks were there. He was short on time, so maybe he could skip the interview. “The profile was pretty comprehensive. Could we just do the video?”

“The face-to-face provides subtle details, Cole, so that my intuition kicks in. I find that’s how I make the best matches.”

“I never argue with success.” She claimed over a thousand clients and something like an eighty-percent match-up rate, convincing him to choose her service over several others. If more personal information brought the right woman into his life, he’d read his childhood diary to her. If he had one.

“So, tell me about your most recent relationship.”

“It’s been a while,” he said, feeling himself go red.

“Was it serious?”

“No. Casual.” Sheila had been irritated that they spent most of their brief hours together in bed. She liked the bed part, but wanted more time. Which he didn’t have. “Because of my schedule.” He’d hated disappointing her. And Cathy before her, who’d pick a fight if he didn’t call her every day. In the end, he’d given up dating altogether. He couldn’t stand the pressure.

“Have you ever been serious with a woman?”

“Not until now. In college everyone was casual. And I worked a lot. To help my parents and pay my way through law school.”

“Tell me about your parents’ relationship.”

“They’ve always been very close.”

“And is that what you want? What your parents have?”

“Absolutely. They’re devoted to each other. To their careers, too. They’re both high school teachers.”

“But you went into law?”

“Yes. I enjoy the law. The puzzles, the complexity.” He’d chosen challenging work. His parents had pounded into him the need to use his intellect in whatever career he chose. “I enjoy helping clients. Meeting their needs.”

“You work very hard.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, I do.”
Be the best, never quit.
His life blood.

“Tell me more about why that is.”

He fiddled with the crease of his slacks, feeling sweat trickle inside his shirt. He wasn’t much into self-analysis. But he babbled on about the prestige of his job, the satisfaction of hard work well done.

“And the money?” she prodded.

“Money matters, sure.” He’d worked all his life—through high school, college and night law school. Those low-skill jobs had showed him how easy it was to lose economic ground and end up living hand-to-mouth like many of his co-workers were forced to. He had a way out and he vowed to make the most of it. He appreciated his good fortune more than his trust-funded colleagues, who’d gone straight from college to law school and never felt the pinch of poverty.

Even his parents, with master’s degrees and thirty years of teaching experience, struggled to make ends meet. He never wanted that. In fact, he intended to make their lives easier as soon as he was in a stronger position at the firm.

Janie listened closely, writing an occasional note, honing in on him with her gaze, working him over with her intuition. God, he wanted this finished. He ran his finger under his collar.

“What about outside interests? What are your passions?”

Hell. He couldn’t say
work
again. “I used to play baseball for a parks and rec league. I rode with a bicycle club. Also, photography. I won some prizes.”

“But that’s not recent?”

“I’m on a partner track.”

“Sure,” she said, but she pursed her lips in mild disapproval.

“I went skiing two weeks ago,” he blurted, though it was for the firm and he’d mostly schmoozed with clients or worked in his room. He’d only managed one ski run.

“What leisure activities will you share with the woman in your life?”

“I thought we’d eat out, go to movies, plays, all that.” That sounded lame. “Maybe hike?”

“Relationships take time, Cole,” she said gently. “If you’re not in a good place with your career…”

“I’m prepared to budget the time.” Benjamin, Langford and Tuttleman could spare a few of the sixty hours a week he gave them so that he could advance the greater good—their mutual future.

“Dates are not billable hours.”

“I realize that.” Not billable, but an investment in his career, all the same. A settled life with an appropriate wife would edge him into the partner slot over his competitors—two notorious womanizers. Which was why he was subjecting himself to a critique from this steel-eyed fairy.

That and the empty echo in his life.

“And I’m shifting my priorities. In fact, I’ll be taking care of my neighbor’s dog for a few weeks. I see it as practice in accommodating another being into my life.”

“That’s something,” she said. He felt her rooting for him, like a dear friend or a sister, and that touched him.

“I’ll make it work, Jane. I promise.”

“Tell me what you hope for in a relationship.”

“A partner. Someone to share my life.” He pictured Sunday mornings in bed reading interesting tidbits to each other from the
New York Times
before he headed to the office to put in a few hours.

She’d be okay with him leaving, of course, since she’d have her own plans. He’d bring home takeout or she’d cook. He would cook, too, when time allowed. The best marriages were egalitarian.

Janie asked more questions. Did he want children—he did. What were his goals beyond making partner—to grow with the firm, to make his mark, perhaps open his own firm, make a good life for his family. Finally she closed the folder and regarded him critically.

Now what? He felt like he’d been through therapy.

“Did you bring something to change into for your Close-Up?”

He looked down at his gray suit, red tie and starched white shirt. “Why?”

“You’re a tad formal. We want to emphasize the whole you.”

He just looked at her.

“Yes, I know. That is the whole you.” She sighed. “At least take off your jacket and tie and roll up your sleeves.” She gentled the command with a weary smile.

He stood and shrugged out of his jacket, then dug at the knot of his tie. “How long will this take?”

“Not long, but, as I said earlier—”

“I know, I know. I’ll make the time.”

“Let’s go, then.” She led the way and he followed, rolling his sleeves as he went, to a small room with a video camera on a tripod pointed at a stool.

She motioned for him to sit, then drew down a photographic backdrop of a forest, the trees grainy and blurred from too much enlargement. He sat, managing a smile, despite how goofy he knew he looked in his dress clothes—like an SUV ad of Mr. Corporate escaping civilization into the woods.

She looked at him through the viewfinder. “Lean a little forward, Cole…that’s it. Give me a relaxed smile…more…too much…okay, that’ll do.”

He adjusted himself on her command, tension mounting.

“Now, imagine the camera is the love of your life.”

Great. He tried to feel warmly toward the device, but he was too literal-minded and it was cold glass surrounded by black metal.

“You have five minutes before fate separates you,” she continued cheerily. “Tell her what she must know about you.”

“No pressure there.” He tried to laugh, but it turned into a rasp over his dry throat. He patted his pants pocket for his notes, then remembered he’d left them in his jacket. “My speech is in the other room.”

“Spontaneous is better, Cole.”

“Spontaneous?” Sweat dribbled down his temples. This was way more nerve-racking than he’d expected.

“Just relax, be yourself, and speak from the heart. Go!”

Oookay.
“Yes. Well. I’m Cole. I’m an attorney—business law, specializing in mergers and acquisitions. Benjamin, Langford and Tuttleman, or ‘BLT, hold the mayo,’ we like to say.” He laughed—which came out in a snort—and felt like an idiot. His cell phone chimed from his breast pocket. He lifted a hand. “One sec.”

Janie shot him a look, but when he heard Rob Tuttleman’s voice, he was glad he’d taken the call. Tuttleman wanted to meet with Cole and Trevor McKay, one of his competitors for partner, about an important case that had fallen through the cracks. A crucial break for Cole. “Terrific…looking forward to it,” he said into the phone. “We can meet as soon as I get back in about…” He glanced at his watch, then at Jane, who looked stern.
Dates aren’t billable hours.
“I’ll buzz you when I get back.”

He hung up, determined to hurry this along. “Sorry. Where was I?”

“Holding the mayo. Let’s talk about you as a person, not a lawyer. Go.”

“Let’s see. I’m dependable…loyal…faithful. Hell, I sound like a St. Bernard. What else? I’m looking for a woman who wants to join her life with mine.” That sounded hopelessly drippy.

The clink of jewelry signaled the arrival of the receptionist—Gail was her name, he thought—and he was relieved by the interruption.

“Sorry, but I have Harold Rheingold from
Inside Phoenix
on the line, Janie. It’s about the article.”

“Oh. I should take this.” She looked apologetically at him.

“I can do the Close-Up,” Gail said, bustling to the camera, her large bosom jostling for air behind a tight purple blazer.

Jane looked uncertainly at him.

“We’ll be fine,” he said, figuring the woman couldn’t possibly have Jane Fall’s intensity, sense of mission or intuition. He’d get Gail to cut it short.

Once Jane was gone, Gail pushed a pencil into her piled-up red hair and looked at him over half-glasses trimmed in rhinestones. “You’re one lucky man to have Janie Falls on the case. She found my husband for me, you know.”

“You were a client?”

“Nope. I was interviewing for the receptionist job and Wayne, the light of my life, was installing phones. Before he could say ‘Can you hear me now?’ Janie had matched us. And Wayne is the song in my heart, let me tell you. She’ll find you yours.”

“I hope so.” He did. He craved a bond with one special person. Yeah, getting married would help his career, but what he really wanted was someone to grow old with. Someone to stand side by side with, facing life’s challenges, enjoying its triumphs. A soul mate, corny as that sounded, though he’d never say that out loud to anyone.

Gail bent to study him through the viewfinder, making him feel like a bug under a microscope.

“I think I should explain what I’m looking for in a mate,” he said to hurry her along. If they knew what he wanted, the women could self-select. He didn’t want to disappoint anyone.

Gail tapped a finger to her lip. “Not sure that’s compelling, but we can always edit it out. Okay…action!”

Action? They were in Hollywood now? “I’m hoping for someone comfortable enough in her career that she can be flexible about mine. There are social events and charity projects related to the firm, so she should enjoy that. She should also be an independent thinker, a self-starter and a team player.”

“Hon, do you want her to marry you or work for you?”

“Oh. Sounded like a job description?” On the other hand, too many couples got caught up in chemistry and learned later their lives didn’t mesh.

“You’re not putting in an order at the Wife Factory. Try selling
her
on
you.
”

“So I should explain that I’m—”

“Not the ‘self-starter, team player’ bit. Give me something tender and sensitive.”

“Yes, but—”

“Even independent, self-starting team players want roses and poetry. I’ll walk you through it, don’t worry.”

Gail swung into action, directing every aspect of his performance, from his body angle, facial expression and vocal quality to the words he used. She yelled “cut” and “action” until he had a headache, before finally declaring it a “wrap,” and offering to show him the “rough cut.”