Turn Up the Heat. Isabel Sharpe
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“I went through the exact same thing after my marriage broke up and I was looking to date again. I had to force myself the first few times. Then it got easier.”
“But you never found anyone.”
“No. But looking did me a lot of good, made me realize that Grant not wanting me anymore didn’t mean no one did. And besides.” Her smile turned wicked. “I didn’t have Milwaukeedates, and you do.”
Candy laughed. “Of course.”
“So.” Marie uncapped her pen again and poised it over the pad. “Let’s call the fourth one Sexy Glamour Girl.”
“Okay.” Candy finished her tea, stronger already. Marie was really good at her job. “So that’s me. How do I put all that together in a couple of paragraphs?”
Marie sat, eyes narrowed in contemplation, tapping her chin with a professionally manicured fingertip. “I have an idea. Kind of a wild idea, but …”
“I’m all ears.”
“Why don’t you make four profiles?”
Candy let out a startled laugh. “Four?”
“I know, crazy, right? I’m thinking of it as an experiment to see which part of you men respond to the most. See which part you enjoy bringing to the foreground the most. It would actually be fascinating from a psychological standpoint.”
“I’m … I … I’m …” She made herself breathe. “I’m stammering apparently.”
“Take your time.”
“Would that be fair to the guys I was seeing? If I’m not really being me?”
“But you are being you.” Marie pushed herself off the desk, headed behind it and opened a file drawer. “It’s not like you’re changing any part of yourself, just emphasizing one in each case. If the guy’s got half a brain he won’t think he knows you entirely because of how you present yourself on the site.”
“I don’t know, Marie.” Candy was getting excited even as her sensible self told her there had to be disastrous aspects to this plan that she couldn’t see yet.
“This will give you a chance to explore certain parts of yourself that might have been …” Marie circled her hand, coaxing out her next word. “Underappreciated.”
Candy put her hands to her temples, ignoring the second unreasonable jab at Chuck. “I need to think this through.”
“Of course.” Marie pulled out several sheets from a folder. “I have four sets of profile sheets here, one for each of you. You’ll probably fill them out in half an hour this time.”
“I haven’t said I’d do it.” She was turning the idea over and over. Instinct was telling her she was going to say yes, but common sense wouldn’t let her yet. Four different women?
“Filling these out doesn’t commit you.” Marie held the papers across the desk. “You’ll have a blast, especially given your talent for performing.”
“I haven’t been on stage in years.” Candy heard the laugh beginning in her voice. She never would have considered doing anything this impulsive and stupid if Chuck were around. He’d be here to tell her she was going off half-cocked again, not thinking through the pros and cons, not making a list and approaching the problem calmly and logically.
But Chuck wasn’t here.
“Maybe not on stage, but whenever you manage your events you’re performing in a way.” Marie shook the papers insistently toward Candy, who gave in and took them. “Plus, even though this is hardly scientific, I’d be curious about the results. Who knows, you might help me help other people decide how to present themselves, too. Oh, and you’d only have to pay regular fees. The three extras would be on the house.”
Candy slid the papers absently into her briefcase. “What if a guy recognized the other three of me when he’s looking through profiles?”
Marie smiled. “Pardon me, but my experience has been that while men are visual creatures when it comes to the opposite sex, they’re more likely to take in an impression of a woman than focus on her features. You probably haven’t spent much time browsing other sites, but I’m constantly having to tell men on ours not to submit long-distance pictures of themselves in sunglasses.”
“Why not?”
“Women want to see eyes, read faces. Men are okay with the bigger picture, shall we say.” She gave Candy a critical once-over. “We can do your hair and makeup differently for each, glasses for one profile, your contacts for another. And since most clients view primarily the profiles I suggest to them, it probably won’t even be an issue. If it is, who cares? We’ll explain. Not like we’re breaking a law.”
“True …” Candy shut her briefcase, excitement still bubbling away inside her. It did sound fun. More than that, appearing as a caricature of one part of herself felt more like a game and less like a risk, more like a dare than a date. Most importantly, this didn’t make it seem as if she was finally giving up hope that Chuck would come to his senses and want her back.
“Well? You’re grinning, that has to be a good sign.”
“I’ll do it.” She finished her tea and stood, feeling giddy and fizzy, better than she had in a long time. “I’ll really do it.”
Marie broke into a wide triumphant grin. “Candy, honey, get ready for some serious dating fun.”
2
JUSTIN PULLED ON his thermal jacket, thrust his hands into puffy black gloves and stepped into boots that promised to keep his feet warm and dry through whatever winter could offer. So far it had offered a lot. Very generous was winter here in Wisconsin. Not much in common with the last thirty winters of his life spent in San Diego. When he’d announced his plans to move to Milwaukee, his friends all got the same bewildered look in their eyes. Dude, what are you smoking? They’d predicted he’d last through January then come shivering back to sunny California.
So far he was holding strong, but days like this …
He peered through the back window at the outdoor thermometer the previous owners left with the house, which he could barely see. Five-thirty and nearly dark. And this was better than it had been in December, when it had started to get dark an hour earlier.
The temperature registered … eighteen? Sorry, but that wasn’t enough degrees for him. Who was responsible? Who could come to the state and fix it? Shouldn’t spring have started by now? Near the end of January? He was certainly ready.
He braced himself and opened the door, cringing at the blast of air that attacked him as if he were naked. The day before had been miraculously warmer, enough to melt the snow on his roof, which meant that as temperatures dropped again, his gutters became icicle hangers and his driveway a skating rink.
Yes, he had moved here on purpose.
He closed his eyes, briefly picturing palm trees, sunshine—he’d seen the sun maybe ten times during the three months he’d been here—sandy beaches, waves made for surfing.
No point torturing himself. He started on the perilous journey toward his garage for a bag of salt, reminding himself that he owned this spacious two-thousand-square-foot house with full basement, instead of the cramped two-bedroom he’d sold in Solana Beach, his hometown on the California coast. Point in Wisconsin’s favor, they were practically giving houses away here. He’d jumped on this one, a typically midwestern brick bungalow on a quiet street in Shorewood, just north of the city of Milwaukee, and made enough profit on the sale of his old house not only to buy the place with cash, but to allow himself time to settle in and write the first book in what could turn out to be a very profitable series with Troy, his closest friend from college.
Justin hadn’t been planning to move, but the coauthoring book