Chapter 2
The wall of noise from the office Christmas party hit Colette like a punch to the face. Music, loud talking, laughter, blinking lights, and people. So many people.
She almost scurried back to her office. However, as CEO of the company throwing the holiday celebration, she couldn’t exactly hide—despite the temptation.
Colette blamed Mitchell, her secretary, for convincing her that the staff could use a holiday party as a company morale booster.
Personally, she thought bonus checks would have been enough, but then again, Colette wasn’t the social type.
If she had her way, she’d rarely speak to anyone.
And before anyone made assumptions, no, she did not own a single cat.
Colette didn’t need animals, or people for that matter, to be content. Work was what drove her.
As soon as the employees noticed Colette had arrived, they immediately converged: "…great year,” “Thanks for the bonus,” “Do you know when we’re getting the specs on the expansion?
” The bombarding comments and questions might have daunted some folks, but not Colette.
She’d not achieved her position by being shy and cowering.
A woman in a traditionally masculine role, she’d long ago learned to wear and swing her brass balls.
So, despite hating this aspect of her job, she replied, encouraged, dropped hints of future projects, all while working her way across the room.
Along the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over the city, a buffet-style table had been set up with a lavish spread: pizzas of all types, burgers, bowls of chips, dips, fruit platters, cheese and cold cuts, a tower of donuts, and even a giant bucket of fried chicken.
Alongside that, stacks of drinks from colas and water bottles to cases of beer and alcoholic seltzers.
She didn’t linger long by the clashing food scents, but quickly moved on, her plan being to do a full circuit and then leave to go home.
Or not. After all, it wasn’t as if anyone waited for her.
Maybe instead of going back to her empty penthouse she’d hit a bar on the way home. Find herself a Santa who needed his candy cane licked, then sit on his lap for her present. Don’t judge. Everyone knew Santa liked ho’s.
A strange hum and a flicker of lights caught her attention over the merry-making.
A scan of the crowd didn’t pinpoint the cause, and the odd sound ended almost as quickly as it began.
No one else seemed to have noticed, or so it seemed as she angled her way through the mass of gyrating bodies, more than a few with locked lips.
Here was to hoping the New Year wouldn’t bring sexual harassment claims and a flurry of maternity leave requests.
She couldn’t exactly ban fraternizing, seeing as how they worked for the most successful dating service in the world: Locked and Mated.
It had come far since its inception two decades ago, at a gun show.
Colette, who’d been hired for her marketing expertise, had been tasked by organizers to entice more women into coming to the event, the convention being more traditionally masculine.
It had been her mother, who’d made an offhand remark about the amount of chest-beating alpha males strutting around in jeans, that gave Colette the crazy idea to incorporate meet-and-greet events, AKA dating opportunities.
She set up contests. Fillin’ His Belly—a cooking competition, where the winning young woman, with an apparently incredible chili, ended up with four proposals of marriage.
Heart Snipers—where the best single male and female shots got a paid dinner at a fancy steakhouse.
Jack and Sue ended up married four months later.
Best Ass in a Pair of Jeans. Strong Man competition.
A bunch of gimmicky and fun games aimed at the single ladies, who ended up showing up in droves because of the catchy—and yes, crazy—slogans Colette brainstormed.
Looking for a mate who will keep you and your home safe? Someone with bullets and balls?
Ladies, the alpha male collection is waiting for you.
Admire the long and hard barrels. Stroke some solid metal hunks. Pull the trigger and leave with a home defender. Or a gun…
Corny, and yet it worked.
Worked so well that Colette ended up being in demand across the country, replicating the success, which led to her exiting the marketing field and starting her own dating agency.
Colette could, without exaggeration, claim she’d helped thousands of couples discover their perfect match, but, in an ironic twist, she couldn’t find a man of her own.
Was she too picky? Yes and no. She expected a partner to be attractive, somewhat successful, and intelligent; a pretty basic baseline, really.
Where she ran into trouble? One, she had a high sex drive, and while men often bragged they could keep up, it didn’t take long before they whined about raw dick or how she was too busy working and she only made time for them when she wanted sex.
Which led to another issue. A lot of guys couldn’t handle a boss bitch, and those that could were too submissive for her liking.
It didn’t help she hated going out and meeting people, had no real interest in settling down into a conventional relationship, and didn’t want kids, which, at her ripe age of forty-two, at least wasn’t something guys expected as much anymore.
The flip side of wanting to be childless?
Guys her age or older had progeny, and Colette really wasn’t interested in being a step-mommy.
On the outside looking in, her skill when it came to matching people made no sense. Tell that to her billion-dollar worldwide success.
A particularly obnoxious Christmas song came on, a classic, and Colette took that as her cue to leave.
As she headed for the elevator, she found her gaze drawn to a tall stranger wearing thick-rimmed glasses, a collared shirt, and khakis.
His dark hair had been parted in a perfect side comb.
His jaw appeared so clean-shaven she had to wonder if he even could grow a beard.
Handsome, despite the fact he’d chosen to stain his skin a light blue.
Had he lost a bet and been told he had to come as a Smurf?
Was there some new fashion trend she was not aware of? Perhaps a social media challenge?
Blue Dude smiled at her, and to her surprise, her body reacted.
Nipples tightened. Pussy moistened, and she actually gave a brief thought to dragging him off somewhere private for a quickie.
A thought quickly discarded. Colette never ever indulged in hanky-panky at the office, and never ever with an employee or someone related to them.
Colette continued toward the elevator, only to find the oddly blue dude suddenly standing in front of her, smiling.
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you,” he said in a deep voice that cut through the din.
Her brow arched. “Doubtful, since I don’t know you.”
“I am Cade’krinno Mer Acadu, and I am here to form a liaison with you.”
“Excuse me?” She blinked at his odd statement.
“You and I.” He pointed to her, then to himself. “Together, we will forge a path that will lead to mutual satisfaction.”
“Doubtful.”
“It has been foreordained by the Oracle.”
“The who?”
“The Oracle,” he repeated without clarifying. “She sent me to you. Told me to do whatever it took—"
She cut him off. “Is this a joke or something?” Because Colette wasn’t amused.
She might be overworked and uptight, but she didn’t require a gigolo.
One-night stands could be found in pretty much any upscale bar, and for the times when that seemed too bothersome, she had a battery-powered toy at home that could handle her needs.
“No jest. You and I will form a partnership the likes of which this world has never seen.” He flashed her a megawatt smile.
“I don’t think so,” she growled, not bothering to hide her annoyance. The nerve of someone hiring a sex worker to try to embarrass her. “You need to leave.”
“But we’ve yet to discuss the terms of our entanglement.”
“Not happening, and if you persist in pestering, I will have you forcibly removed.”
The guy’s head canted, and his eyes unfocussed, as if he were listening to someone else.
She saw no earpiece, but, with today’s technology, that was no real surprise.
When his gaze cleared, he pursed his lips.
“It would seem there is a miscommunication. We shall resume this conversation when there is less commotion.” He no sooner said that than he turned and walked away.
People moved out of his way, most not even looking in his direction, and yet somehow reacting as he got near and shifting aside.
Those who did end up glancing stared, the women especially.
To Colette’s surprise, he didn’t head for the elevator, nor the refreshment table, but rather for the door labelled stairs.
Surely he didn’t plan to descend the twenty flights on foot?
People blocked her view, and she lost sight of the blue stranger, but a nagging sense of something amiss had her briskly following.
What if he went up? She hadn’t locked down her computer and office, as she’d only planned to hit the party for a few minutes.
Best she make sure the weirdo actually left.
Opening the door to the stairwell didn’t immediately reveal him.
A glance up and down also gave no clue as to which direction he’d gone.
Her lips pursed. No point in descending the twenty flights of steps to make sure he’d departed when she had a simpler solution.
She went upwards to her office, exiting from the stairwell into the lobby that serviced upper management.
The reception desk, usually manned by Mitchell, showed no one sitting behind.
The club chairs meant for those who’d booked an appointment also sat empty.
Colette’s heels clicked as she strutted for her office, flinging open the door hard enough it hit the wall with a thud. No one there either.
The weird stranger wasn’t in any of the penthouse offices, but more confusing, she couldn’t find him on the surveillance monitors either.
Not in the stairwell. Not exiting the building.
As a matter of fact, she couldn’t find any video of the guy arriving or leaving at all.
Impossible. She appeared on the security footage from the cameras watching the staircase, but no amount of rewinding made the blue fellow appear.
It was as if he’d vanished into thin air—if he even existed at all.
“He’s real,” she muttered. He’d been at the party.
People had seen him. Tell that to the cameras taping the celebration—which might be needed if anyone made a legal claim looking for a payout.
Like in the stairwell and main door video footage, she couldn’t find even a glimpse of the blue dude.
Colette had no issue spotting herself, moving through the throng, at one point pausing to have a conversation with… No one.
No tall blue dude. Make that no dude at all.
Colette poured herself a stiff brandy, tossed it back, and poured another to down as well. It didn’t help. Given the time of year, she couldn’t stop thinking of Bill Murray and the movie Scrooged.
While Colette didn’t believe in ghosts, she had no explanation. If Blue Dude existed, then why the hell didn’t he appear on any of the security videos? Which led to her wondering, if he wasn’t a hired male prostitute, then exactly what had he meant when he spoke of them liaising?
Guess it didn’t matter because she doubted she’d see him again. After all, in Scrooged, each ghost visited only once.