Making Mr. Right. Jamie Denton
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you should put your name in to remodel the halfway house.”
Cindy had always loved Flo. They thought the same way. “I did.” She grimaced. “They’d already hired a big name contractor.”
“You can come to work for me,” Parker offered for the hundredth time. He’d been trying to get her to work for him at PC, Inc., since he’d started it. Said she’d be the best personal assistant he could find.
“You know I would hate working in an office,” she gave him her standard reply, though her reasons for turning him down had just gotten stronger. I couldn’t stand seeing you every day and knowing there was never a hope of you loving me, she added to herself. And I’d never get over you.
“You know the offer’s good if you need something temporary to get you through.”
“He just wants you at his beck and call while you’re trying to perform this miracle,” Flo warned, laughing. “He tried the same thing with me. Tried to get me to move into the staff apartment.”
It was Cindy’s turn to look blank.
“Oh. You haven’t seen the whole house?”
Cindy shook her head.
“Just wait,” Flo cautioned. “You ought to see me trying to figure out when and where to serve his meals.”
“Maybe moving in would be easier,” Cindy suggested.
“I’m close enough,” Flo laughed. “I have the caretaker’s cottage out back,” Flo bragged. “I can see when his lights come on in here. I come up and serve his dinner—usually in here—then go back to my own little place, though cottage doesn’t do it justice. It’s the nicest house I’ve ever had,” she said, her eyes alight with pride. “Big enough to enjoy my kids and grandkids without sending out search parties to look for them.”
“That’s a shot at this house,” Parker explained to Cindy in case she hadn’t caught it.
“I noticed.” Cindy was enjoying the old I-cangive-as-good-as-I-get atmosphere of the old neighborhood.
“This is a warehouse,” Flo said. “Don’t let him kid you. You just don’t notice because you don’t leave this little suite of rooms.” She aimed the statement at him. She indicated his rooms with an expansive gesture. “Or he doesn’t leave the office,” she added to Cindy. “He’s becoming a workaholic.”
Workaholic, Cindy noted at the top of her pad. She was enjoying the warmth and companionship of this free-for-all way too much. It was time to get it back on track. “I’m making a list of things we need to tackle if we’re going to do this magical transformation,” she explained when Parker asked what she was doing. “Mallory’s the type who needs intensive care and attention,” she added dryly. “You can’t stay a workaholic if you expect to hold her interest. What do you think did in her first marriage?”
Parker straightened in his chair. “That’s exactly the kind of stuff I need to learn, isn’t it?”
“You’re going to have to turn yourself into Mallory’s lapdog,” Flo muttered under her breath. “Cindy’s only agreed to turn you into Prince Charming.”
Cindy laughed at Flo’s succinct summary of the whole situation and instantly felt traitorous. “Prince Charming’s enough of a challenge, don’t you think,” she managed to say brightly.
“More than enough.” Flo returned, rising to her feet and excusing herself to get back to work.
“That’s enough,” Parker echoed with a contented sigh. “Prince Charming—” he preened “—I think I can handle that.”
CHAPTER TWO
CINDY’S first step on any project was making a list. This one she titled: Parker Project.
With little input from him, Cindy’s list grew. Every item she added, she expected him to defend himself, as she would if someone decided to take her apart, piece by piece. He sat instead, looking fascinated while she squirmed. At last, the column of items she’d written seemed complete.
“Can you think of anything else?” she asked him, turning the pad so he could look her list over.
It wasn’t as long as Cindy had anticipated and some of the items would be simple.
“If I knew what I needed to change, I wouldn’t need help from you, would I,” he teased, then scowled as he looked at it.
“What?”
He pointed to the first item on the list.
Workaholic? He hadn’t gotten past the first item?
“What can I do about that?” he asked as if the problem was something he couldn’t possibly help or change.
“Quit working around the clock,” she said. “Don’t worry,” she added at his blank look. “I’ll remind you several times between now and the reunion.”
“And who, do you suggest, will do my work?”
“You. It would help, PC, if when you aren’t working, you could actually pay attention to other things. Like the person you’re with,” she added as an example. “You could occasionally think of your friends. You just can’t ignore people for months on end.” She grinned to salvage her pride for bringing it up.
His scowl deepened.
“Like me,” she tried again. “We’re supposed to be friends, but I often don’t hear from you for months. I didn’t even know your new address.” She gestured at their surroundings.
“My phone number didn’t change. You can call me any time.”
She ignored him. “Friends—and especially someone you might want to marry,” she clarified so he wouldn’t realize it was personal, “tend to want to know they’re important to you, that you think of them from time to time. They want to know what’s going on in your life.”
“You never seem to mind,” he pointed out.
Cindy bit back the words she wanted to say. Instead she took a deep breath. “I know you’ve been busy. But I don’t count in this discussion,” she said calmly. “You didn’t say you wanted to marry me. Someone you expect to marry will want your attention.” Her lips twisted on the words as if she was eating a sour pickle.
But he was still on the last subject. “I consider you my closest friend,” he said.
“But I never know on a regular basis what’s going on with you.” She let him draw her in. “Why didn’t you tell me Flo was working for you?” she asked. “Or invite me over to see your house after you moved?”
“She just started since I last saw...” He let the words trail off.
“And that’s been?”
“Maybe two months,” he said sheepishly after mulling it over.
“Six weeks,” she told him.
“You can call me anytime,” he told her again.
“I know,” she agreed. “But until you decide to call me, your head is so far in the clouds it’s a waste of time trying to find out what’s going on with you. You’re working whether you’re at work or not.”
“I’ve been there when you needed me,” he said half defensively.
“Yes,” she admitted. Since junior high, he’d listened to every problem, helped her study for tests, been there in hundreds of ways. The only thing she hadn’t been able to talk to him about was boys, probably because he’d always been the only one on her mind. Three years ago, when she’d been trying to get up the nerve to buy her first house, he’d listened for hours on end. He’d made a mathematical chart only a genius could figure out to prove she could afford to