Chapter 2
TWO
SHE AND THE unicorn talked until a server appeared to say the bar was closing. Closing? They had barely even touched on—had she ever talked so long that time disappeared? Didn’t that only happen in movies?
By the time they left their nook, the bar was empty of everyone but staff.
Every other place was closing too. In their hurry to the flooded streets, they got pulled into the crush of departing end-of-the-night partiers.
She only just heard the unicorn offer to take her home.
Sweet, but there would be no happy ending.
She wouldn’t be the one to break his celibacy streak.
Two years. It had been two years since he’d slept with a woman!
A guy like him. Hot. Personable. Respectful… there had to be something she was missing. Shame she’d never delve deeper.
The unusual guy stuck with her; he flitted into her thoughts here and there.
Celibate in the twenty-first century, by choice?
It wasn’t her fault she was thinking about the unicorn.
He popped into her head when sexting with Nathaniel, because she had to wonder, did celibate people sext? Where exactly were those lines?
The questions were boundless. The guy was an alien from another planet, another reality. No wonder she couldn’t shake thoughts of him.
Forget him. Time to dazzle and shine. Be charming… Don’t say anything inappropriate.
She really needed to pull this off. It was her last chance at keeping her job.
“Perfect for each other.”
Those were her boss’s words when giving her the file.
Camden Collier. One of Brooker Agency’s more unusual clients. As a full-service management and PR company, matchmakers, headhunters, Brooker provided whatever their valued clients required.
Right now. Apparently. Camden Collier needed her.
At the end of the working day, her boss, Allan, thrust a folder at her, spouting instructions to get familiar with Camden Collier’s Brooker history.
Twelve assistants in the last year. His odds were almost as good as hers but “perfect for each other”?
That was setting her up for failure. Landmines lay all around, in every path, every—
No, don’t think that way, have a positive attitude. Focus.
According to the established schedule in his papers, Camden worked in his basement during the day and didn’t like to be disturbed. No one liked to be interrupted when on a roll. Night was the best time to get him.
Introducing herself was important. A good first impression could make or break a client/assistant relationship. Or so she’d been told.
The admin stuff, she was great at that. Background office operations, excelled there. For some incomprehensible reason, the promotion that led to her dealing with clients in person also set her on a course for failure. Strike after strike, nobody wanted her.
It wasn’t her fault that she basically had zero work history and hadn’t learned the rules and etiquette of… any workplace. She was still figuring this out. Only this time, she had to get it right. Had to. Zero margin for error. Allan’s patience was wearing thin.
The narrow three-story warehouse conversion had an impressive facade. Glazed wall, gloss black doors, pristine red brick. Broad fences stood to either side, blocking out what was behind. Probably for privacy, or he was hiding something.
This was it. Her chance to prove her worth. Her last chance.
Ascending the stairs, head held high, she knocked. It was late. Dark out. Someone had to be awake. Had to be in. Windows to her right glowed with light beyond the closed drapes.
Could be a timer. Maybe he was still working downstairs or out. He could be out.
Please don’t be out.
Make or break. Either she’d be a hit or founder. Which was more likely? That wasn’t a question she wanted to answer.
Soup kitchen addresses, yep, topped the list of what to write down before her internet got cut off. Screw this up and God only knew where her next meal would come from.
Okay, maybe things weren’t quite that dire, but they weren’t that far from catastrophe. And for someone without a safety net, that was an important situation to avoid.
The door opened with such a whoosh, it startled her. The guy on the threshold was cute, sandy brown hair, happy eyes with just a small glint of curiosity.
They both stood there. For how long? Who knows. Only when his hand dropped from the door did she snap to it.
“Right. Uh, hi,” she said. “Mr. Collier?”
“Right house, wrong dude,” he said, stepping back to sweep an arm toward the interior. “Come in.”
Good start.
Going inside, she couldn’t deny the intrigue.
A descending staircase faced the door with an ascending one parallel above it.
A single step down into the living room opened up the rear dining area and slightly raised kitchen.
A games zone spread out at the foot of the ascending staircase, pool table, dartboard, this was a bachelor pad for sure.
Big space. Massive space.
Further exploration would have to wait. Two men on stools at the huge kitchen island swung around to check her out.
“Hey, kick back to the old days,” one of them said. “This one got a name? Have you proposed yet, Ozzie?”
Was that…? Were they talking about her?
“Elle Jones,” she said, walking away from the Ozzie guy who’d answered the door. “From Brooker Agency.”
“Ah!” the guy who’d spoken before said. “Another one.”
“I appreciate it’s been difficult for Mr. Collier to find someone suitable. The right fit can take time. Getting it right is important, this is a valuable relationship.”
At least that was what she told herself.
“That’s what you say,” chatty guy said to Ozzie, now returning to the others. “Still haven’t found Princess Charming.”
“Better goal than yours. Your bed posts are toothpicks.”
All three of them laughed. Hmm, okay, close, confident, at ease.
“Would you like a drink?” Ozzie asked, maybe noticing her scrutiny.
“I suppose I am technically off the clock,” she said, wandering around the island. “What do you have?”
“There’s beer,” one of them said.
Glancing over her shoulder, each of the guys raised a bottle.
“Not a beer fan.”
“Might be scotch,” Ozzie said, putting down his bottle to scuttle around to her side of the island. “Won’t get wine. Don’t get a lot of women around here.”
“Yeah, we do,” chatty island guy said. “When we throw a party. Been a long time since we had one of those.”
He had to be Collier, didn’t he? Why hadn’t she searched for a picture?
Because she didn’t believe in it? Maybe.
Likely. People were nosy. The internet could be a vicious enemy.
Having lived through scrutiny like that, she believed in making her own decisions about a person based on nothing except experience.
It wasn’t her right to go prying into someone else’s life without permission.
Snap judgments tended to be momentously incorrect, but after making them, they were hard to shake.
“Long time,” Ozzie said and leaned closer. “Collier’s going through a dry spell.”
“Oh.” What did that mean? He threw out all the liquor? As Ozzie went to look in the fridge, her attention swung to chatty guy. “Why?”
Chatty guy smiled. “Question I ask myself every day.”
“I shouldn’t pass judgment, I know,” she said, opening cabinets looking for alcohol. “Maybe it’s good for your health. Who knows?”
Apparently this swearing off things was going around. Maybe it was some internet trend she hadn’t caught up with yet.
“I know,” Chatty Guy said. “It’s not good to keep that in.”
What in?
“Think you’re objective, Noble?” Ozzie asked, closing the fridge. “You go into withdrawal if you haven’t had pussy for twenty-four hours.”
Ah, they were talking about sex?
Ozzie spun to her, his mouth open, shocked contrition on his face. Had he forgotten she was there?
Chatty Guy laughed. Not Chatty Guy, Noble. Though the name was kind of ironic if he was a manwhore. Not that she considered that a negative term. Maybe he was going through his own wild phase. Now that trend she could get behind.
And, woo-hoo! Paydirt. Scotch!
She took the bottle from the cabinet. “Don’t worry, I’m not offended,” she said, returning to the glasses she’d spied before. “I’m the proud owner of my own pussy, why would talking about it offend me?”
Putting the glass on the island, she poured a couple of fingers.
“Are you like the perfect woman?” Ozzie asked.
“Far from it.”
“You like sex?” Noble asked.
“Hey!” Ozzie exclaimed. “You can’t ask her that.”
His offense was almost funny.
“I do like sex. He can ask. Why shouldn’t I like sex? Is there something wrong with a woman if she likes sex?”
“Yeah,” Noble said in support of her question, raising his bottle. “What are you trying to say, Oz?”
“There’s nothing wrong with a woman who likes sex, I just…” He frowned at her. “I’ve never heard a woman say it so plain.”
“Because I’m being honest rather than hitting on you?” she asked, sipping the scotch. “I can like sex without being a slut who’ll sleep with anyone. You’re all very handsome, but that wouldn’t go over well with my boss.”
“Cam’s relaxed about that stuff,” Noble said.
“Yeah, given the way he was raised,” Ozzie said. “Anything goes around him.”
Quiet guy hadn’t said a word, but from the way they were talking… Quiet Guy couldn’t be Collier… could he?
“Say hi, Dalton,” Noble said to quiet guy. “You’re freaking her out.”
“No,” she said, offering a broad smile. “I was just wondering if he was okay.”
“He’s fine. He doesn’t know how to talk to beautiful women.”
“‘Cause he’s never had to,” Ozzie said. “The women that come around here want Camden. When they figure out they can’t have him, you swoop in and comfort them.” By Noble’s grin, she would say that method was tried and true. “Dalton doesn’t have a chance.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I pick up the easy ones,” Noble said. “And you try to marry the complicated ones.”
“I don’t try to marry them,” he sneered, but his friend just laughed again.