Psychic Games (Linked Inc. #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Grace bounced her crossed leg as she flipped impatiently through a magazine in the dating agency office.

Why was she here? As a favor, of course.

Why else would anyone wait thirty minutes beyond an appointment time just to be matched with some losers?

She had a job she loved, a family that loved her back, and she could get any man she set her mind on.

She needed a dating agency service much like she needed to rub honey all over her body and stand atop an anthill.

Neither promised a good time. And yet, here she sat with a room full of women looking for love.

They’d have better chances by calling Linked Inc.

At least the psychics that worked for her would be more accurate.

Maybe she should leave some business cards near the magazines.

The clock ticking on the wall grated on her nerves and taunted the precious time she’d never get back.

The unease in the room was thick and choking.

The only person speaking was the receptionist, who was on a personal call.

Unprofessional, check, check. And this company claimed to have a ninety-eight percent success rate in the first match. What a load of…

The door across the room opened, cutting off Grace’s thought. A woman in her sixties wearing a polyester suit, and her hair up in a tight bun, gave Grace a pinched smile. “Ms. Thatcher?”

Finally. Grace tossed the magazine aside and grabbed her purse.

If she’d been forced to wait another ten minutes she’d have to go back to her best friend, Chloe, without any answers.

Grace followed behind the lady while fighting the nerves in her stomach to keep it from flipping.

She could do this. She was undercover. A female version of James Bond.

Maybe she should have brought her Taser.

That might have made the wait more entertaining.

The woman stopped and gestured to an office. “If you’ll take a seat, Mr. Stone will be in shortly. He’s just finishing up his meeting.”

Grace walked into the room and turned to thank the lady, only to find that the door was already closed and the woman had vanished ninja-style, leaving Grace alone in the big corner office.

If that woman worked for Grace, she’d buy her a pair of squeaky shoes and a bell for Christmas, and probably be reported to HR for targeting seniors.

Expensive cologne teased her nose. The dark cherry wood and leather furnishings made the room feel like her father’s home office. She should have sat as she’d been instructed. She never did follow instructions.

Grace walked around the room, running her finger over the polished bookshelf.

Not a dust speck in sight. She moved to the pictures on the wall.

Several diplomas and awards were displayed for the infamous Sam Stone.

The guy was book smart to her street smart.

They were going to get along like peanut butter and spinach.

She walked to the desk. Neat and tidy. Nothing for her to even snoop through.

This guy was boring, but the view was fantastic.

Grace stood in front of the window and glanced over at Linked Inc.

’s building. Her office sat directly facing his.

Her blinds were open; the room was dark.

This would be the perfect place to spy on her sisters. If she still did that kind of thing.

“Do you like the view?”

She swiveled around to find tall, dark, and yummy in a black Armani suit standing in the room. The enemy. A smile split her lips as she let her gaze travel down his body and back up, making him feel as ridiculous as she did for even agreeing to this cockamamie scheme. “I do now.”

His lips twitched as he closed the door behind him. “One of the Thatcher five. I never thought I’d see the day.”

Ohh. He’d heard of her. Score one point for him. She was totally keeping tally.

“I see you’ve done your research, Mr. Stone.”

“I like to know my neighbors.”

“Tell me, what else do you know?” she asked, moving back around the desk to sit in one of the chairs, crossing her legs seductively.

A total Sharon Stone move. His gaze followed the movement.

So, he wasn’t gay like Chloe had heard through the grape vine.

Score one for Grace. She could work with that.

“I take my job seriously, Ms. Thatcher, and I must admit you checked all the right boxes on the application, although you’ll have to forgive me for not taking you at your word. Successful, beautiful, you’re not in a relationship, and you’re a medium. I think that sums it up.”

“Sharp-tongued, smartass, hates animals. Which part bothers you most?”

“We aren’t here to discuss me.” He cleared his throat and took his seat.

He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight, and steepled his fingers.

His gaze never left hers. The move was one she’d expect from a principal or therapist. If her principal had been as good looking as this enemy, she might have skipped more and been one of the perpetual problem kids.

She wouldn’t have minded sitting in his office all day.

“What I’d like to know is, why are you here? ”

“To find Mr. Right.” She smiled brightly. The answer came as quickly as she’d rehearsed. “Isn’t that why everyone comes here?”

“You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who needs my services.

We serve three categories of women. The shy ones who have a hard time meeting someone.

The kind that is tired of falling for the wrong men, and the ones looking for a rebound without putting in the effort of finding a match for themselves.

You don’t fit into one of those boxes. So, let’s be honest here.

I can’t help you unless I know what I’m up against. Why is it you can’t find Mr. Right? ”

His arrogance floated around the room in a cloud of haze, much like the pot haze in her college apartment when her friends came over to have a good time.

She hadn’t inhaled then, but she would now.

He had a right to be arrogant. She didn’t fit neatly into any of his bland brown boxes, as he’d suggested, because she was a 100 percent fraud, much like the politicians running for office.

Make something up. Chloe’s voice echoed in Grace’s head, reminding her why she’d come. What would be the one reason that would push Mr. Arrogance’s buttons? “He doesn’t exist.”

Stew on that. Grace rose from her chair, walked over to his window, and pointed down to the street below at the people walking by.

“I’ve met my share of men. Some were nice, cordial, and some even made me feel special, but I want more than that.

I want something that I haven’t found on my own.

Something that I’ve searched long and hard for.

” She glanced at him to find he’d risen from his seat.

“The kind of man I want simply doesn’t exist.”

“What was missing?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he moved to stand beside her.

“The pitter-patter of my heart when he enters the room. Butterflies doing somersaults in my stomach. The heat from his gaze. The longing for his touch. I crave desire, love, and honesty.”

Even now her body trembled just saying the words out loud, as though it was therapeutic. Heat scoured her cheeks. One look at her and he’d believe her words. She’d meant them. “Do you have anyone in your databank that would fit my needs?”

She was good. He’d give her that. But he knew her game.

It was a challenge. Giving him a list of qualities that he’d never be able to fill.

What she didn’t know about was the private investigation that went into each applicant.

He was aware that she was beautiful and smart and her best friend was his competition.

Heck, he even knew how she liked her coffee.

What she was asking for was chemistry, and not something he could find in one of his client's profiles.

Time to make her squirm. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

“Do you have anything against sex?”

She turned to look at him and smiled. “I like sex just fine.”

“If we take you as a client, you’ll be asked to abstain on your dates for the time being.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” She turned and crossed her arms beneath her breasts, pushing them up in the little sheer camisole she was wearing.

That was a classic move, much like the way she’d seductively crossed her legs.

He kept his gaze on hers, ignoring the baser need to check her rack.

“I don’t need a man’s touch to find release. ”

She’d said the comment with barely a blush. What he wouldn’t do to see exactly what it would take to make her turn the color of a ripe tomato.

“What about bondage? Anything we should know? There’s no sense on pairing you with a vanilla lover if you’re more the experimental type. We like to nail our matches right out of the gate. We make them last that way.”

Her mouth parted before she quickly snapped it shut and licked her lips. The idea intrigued her. He could read it in her eyes.

“I’d like to think I’m pretty adventurous in bed. I’ll try anything once.”

Damn her. He’d expected her to gawk and get flustered. Yet she held his gaze, challenging him to produce someone who would fit the bill.

“Tall, dark hair, successful. Secure enough within himself to date an attractive, successful woman. Good in bed, passionate, romantic, muscular body, and smart. He’d have to be able to keep up with you. Does that about describe the type of guy you’re looking for?”

“You left out adventurous and open-minded. He’d have to be able to put up with my career choice.”

He moistened his lips as he took in the desire shining in her eyes. That was exactly what she wanted. No wonder no man had given her what she needed. They’d never taken the time to read her eyes. They told him everything without her even opening her red, kissable lips.

“And if I find you a guy who fits every one of those aspects, you’ll agree to the three-date clause in your contract?”

“Are you saying you can find me someone?”

“I’m saying I’ll try my best, but only after I really get to know you can I know what type of guy is going to make you tick.”

“I thought we just went over that.”

“We did. But I need the big picture of how you are around men that are interested in you. Your body language, the attitude you give off, everything, if I’m going to find Mr. Right and not just Mr. Right now.

” He sat back down in his chair, pulled out her file, and flipped it open.

“We need a week of your time. Can you take time off?”

“A full week?”

“Yes.” He signed his name on the contract, turned it to face her, and held out his pen. “An entire week should give us more of an idea of who you are and what type of man would make you happy.”

Hesitation flickered in her eyes.

“Those are my terms.”

She slipped the pen out of his hand and nibbled her bottom lip between her teeth as she signed. Tossing the pen onto his desk, she picked up her purse and headed for the door. “You’ve got one full week to get me figured out.”

“I’ll send the limo to pick you up at seven. Pack a bag with a few casual outfits and a nice dress or two.”

“Wait.” She spun around. “You didn’t say anything about leaving town.”

“There’s no need to worry, Ms. Thatcher. You’ll be accompanying me, so you’ll be completely safe and never in a compromising situation.”

“I’m spending the week with you? That doesn’t seem very professional. Are you sure you aren’t using your dating company for your own hook-ups?” She teased.

“Do I look like a man that needs to use my company to find women? You’re asking me to perform the impossible.

I have to go out of town, and I’d like to get started with you right away.

I have a feeling I’ve got my work cut out for me.

A week with me is small in comparison to the potential prize. Don’t you agree?”