1. Eva
Chapter 1
Eva
I hated running late. It was something I took great pains to avoid, going so far as to set my clock fifteen minutes forward just to make sure I was always a little early. For everything. But the Monday morning meeting had started eight minutes ago, and I was just walking through the front doors of Time For Love. The matchmaking agency wasn’t my main gig, but one day, Sophie Worthington had come to me with an offer I couldn’t resist and, well, here I was.
Now nine minutes late.
“Sorry I’m late, ladies!” I still wore the lightweight jacket I’d grabbed to stave off the early morning chill. “I meant to be on time, but…”
I was still too angry to finish that sentence, so I took a deep breath and set the cardboard carrier filled with coffee cups and the pastry box on the conference table. “I brought goodies.”
Sophie’s light brown eyes slid to the green ones of our etiquette and styling expert, Olive Jensen. “You saw Oliver’s article,” Olive said. It wasn’t a question.
“How could I miss it?” The words came out on a huff as I handed out the coffee, surprising Kendra, the part-time receptionist who was afraid of me for some reason. “Who in the hell thinks women don’t really want romance ? The man is delusional. Absolutely delusional.” I shook my head and grabbed the black coffee with a splash of caramel syrup, taking a few big gulps to calm my nerves.
“As long as you’re not riled up about it.” I didn’t miss the sarcasm in Sophie’s voice, but I chose to ignore it because she was right. Oliver could get my blood boiling like nobody’s business.
“I’m over it.” I would be, anyway—as soon as we got on with the meeting. “Who does he think he is, speaking on behalf of women? He probably pays for it just to find all those women agreeing to his terms.” Sure, I could see Oliver’s appeal: he was tall, lean, and ripped, with wavy blond hair and laughing blue eyes. And he was witty, and a pretty decent writer. But above all else, he was infuriating.
“Why are you so upset?” Olive’s calm tone wasn’t as soothing as it usually was, which meant I was too upset.
I sucked in a deep breath and held it for ten full seconds before letting it out for a count of twenty. “Because Oliver March is encouraging men to give into their worst, commitment-phobic instincts. That is bad for our business. And while it’s great to help people find the love of their lives, it’s also nice to, I don’t know, make money.”
Sophie pursed her lips, a sign she was keeping her opinion to herself. “Okay, that is a concern. But until it actually affects our bottom line, let’s let bygones be bygones and all that ok?”
I nodded. “Agreed. Monday morning meeting?”
Sophie nodded to Olive, who stacked her papers until they were all in a straight line from all angles. She smoothed down her shoulder-length black hair and flashed an uneasy smile. “I have a full etiquette class signed up for this evening, which is good news. But I need to practice.” She was notoriously shy, but starting Time For Love Matchmaking Agency had been good for her and her confidence.
“You can practice on me after the meeting.” I hoped that the more confident she became professionally, it would spill over to her personal life and that jerk Winslow Thorpe would be nothing but a bad memory.
“Thanks. I also have had a few inquiries about date night styling. Apparently, it’s a service people want.”
Sophie nodded. “Let’s see what an acceptable rate for that kind of thing would be. If you have the time, more revenue streams are better than less.”
“Agreed,” she said softly. “That’s it from my end.”
Sophie was the CEO of the company and took care of securing new clients, running the business, and pretty much anything else we needed to make this work. “I think we should offer to sponsor the Pilgrim Police Department’s kickball team this year.” Pilgrim wasn’t your average town, and it definitely wasn’t your average Texas town. Instead of baseball or softball, our civic workers battled it out on the kickball field. “It’s good exposure for us, and shows we’re all about community spirit.”
“I’m on board, as long as it doesn’t cost too much.” Time For Love had been in the black for the past six months—an incredible feat after almost two years in business, but we’d found our foothold. I didn’t want to give it up by stretching ourselves too thin.
Sophie named a figure that was reasonable. “We’ll need to get T-shirts made up for them, so I’ll take care of that,” she said, adding it to her ever-growing to-do list. “Anything else?”
“Yes, actually. I have an interview lined up for us on Shea O’Malley’s radio show.”
“Rush Hour Romance? I am truly impressed, Eva.”
I shrugged with a satisfied smile. “Well, I am damn good at my job.”
“No arguments here. Now, if we could only do something about your Oliver obsession.”
“Not an obsession, just an observation on the enemy. We need to know how single men are thinking if we want to help our clients the best we can. Oliver is their clueless but fearless leader.”
“Then why are you so mad?” Olive’s quiet voice was the only reason I tempered the glare I sent her way.
“I already told you. He’s bad for business, but if you two feel I’m overreacting, then I’ll cool it. Promise.” I sat back in my chair and folded one hand on top of the other, in a way that would make my Aunt Elizabeth proud. “I won’t let Oliver March piss me off.”
“But you will let him goad you into talking like a sailor?”
I laughed at Sophie’s question. “You can take the girl away from the Worthingtons, but you can’t take the Worthington out of the girl.” Even though she was from an influential family, Sophie had bucked family tradition by leaving home at eighteen to make it on her own. It had taken some time without the help of her trust fund, but Sophie had found her own success.
To prove me wrong, she stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes. “I am them, but more importantly, they are me. Whether they like it or not.” There was that defiant tilt to her chin that I’d come to appreciate over our friendship. “And, with those wise words, the Monday morning meeting is adjourned.”
Thank goodness! I wasn’t sure I had the mental capacity to stay focused while I spent so much energy trying to forget Oliver March’s sexist words and his disgusting point of view. “Give me thirty minutes to catch up on emails and I’ll be ready for you, Olive.”
She nodded, leaving me alone with Sophie, who wore a look that said she wanted to talk. “You sure you’re all right about this Oliver thing?”
I shrugged. “He can say whatever he wants, so I have to be all right, don’t I?”
“He’s just doing his job.”
“And I’m just doing mine,” I told her and left the conference room for the comfort and privacy of my office. Once all the paperwork had been settled for the matchmaking agency, we’d decided I would get one of the offices inside to run both of my businesses. It was a little complicated, but it worked for us.
Working as a freelance marketing specialist wasn’t exactly a traditional job, but plenty of small businesses failed because they couldn’t reach out to more customers. With my help, they could.
“Eva, your mother is on line three.”
I sighed and nodded even though the receptionist couldn’t see me. “Thanks, Blair.” I took several deep breaths to steel myself against another call with my mama, whom I loved dearly. I really did, but she had a way of getting under my skin like no one else. “Hey, Mama. How are you?”
“I’m great. Not as good as Liz, though,” she said, in that tone that meant she was about to heap some constructive criticism my way. Mirabelle Vargas was a pro when it came to criticizing without sounding like it was a criticism, with a heaping helping of guilt tossed in for good measure. “Antonio and his wife are expecting a second child. A second, and here I am without even one grandchild to love and to spoil.”
“That’s great news! I’m happy for Antonio and his wife, Mama. You should be, too.”
“Of course I am. I love my nephew to the moon and back, I’m just saying, you two are close in age and he’s having another baby. A sweet little baby.”
“Mama, I have a business to run. Why don’t you call Sal and bug him for kids?” My older brother was a popular chef who bounced around the globe cooking for the rich and famous.
“I already did,” she admitted. “He was at some loud market and couldn’t talk.”
I smiled at my mama’s honesty. Sometimes it was a godsend, but it could occasionally be too much. “Sorry to say that I have to get my day started, too. Just got out of a meeting. I promise to call for a proper chat. Soon.”
“Love you, honey.”
“Love you, too, Mama. Have a good day.” She was a pain in my backside most days, but she was always there when we needed her. And when we didn’t.
I turned to my computer with every intention of checking my emails since Olive would show up in about twenty minutes, but the alert for Your Best Bachelor was right there on my screen. Blinking and taunting me.
I shouldn’t have done it, but I clicked on the article. Again.
Women don’t really want romance. If they did, they would take the lead on dates and vacations, special occasions. Wouldn’t they? Surely, they wouldn’t leave something as important as romance in the incompetent hands of the inferior human male? Instead, I posit that women have been conditioned to believe they want romance. Conditioned to expect it—no, to demand it.
It is up to you, my friends, to change her mind. Tune in for Wednesday’s podcast to find out how.
Goodness, the man was so damn maddening! But I’d promised the girls I would keep my cool, and I would. Oliver March was nothing to me.
Nothing at all.
Someone needed to teach him a lesson, though.
Not me, but someone.