Simply Sex. Dawn Atkins
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When her sister had sent out her S.O.S., Kylie had been busy closing down K. Falls PR, since she was due to start work in two weeks at a top agency in L.A. She hated to disappoint Garrett McGrath, a titan in the business, who’d asked her to join his firm, but it couldn’t be helped.
“What would I do without you?” Love and relief shone in Janie’s eyes and she hugged Kylie again. “At least it’s for a good cause. You’re helping me save people years of flailing around in the singles sea. Doesn’t that make you feel good?”
“It makes me feel seasick.”
“You don’t mean that. Why do you act so tough?”
“That’s just me.” And always had been. She’d been the strong one through all the moves of their childhood. Their father’s food-service company sent him all over the country and Kylie’s job at each new place was to ensure her shy, frail sister felt safe, secure and content wherever they landed—from Philadelphia to Fresno and all major cities in between. Kylie scouted the best routes to schools, scrounged up the playmates and playgrounds and planted the familiar garden.
“People make too much of romance,” she said. “If they’d just focus on living full lives, they wouldn’t need someone else to feel complete.”
“It’s not being incomplete. It’s sharing your life with someone, being part of something bigger than yourself—a couple, then a family.” Janie’s pretty eyes glowed with mission.
Kylie admired her sister’s commitment—she was dedicated to preventing others from making the romantic mistakes she’d made over the years—and her resilience. Her heart must feel like the last bruised apple in the gunnysack after her string of bad boyfriends, but she remained convinced love was worth it.
Kylie wished like hell that Janie would find a man good enough for her. Or stop wanting one so much.
“Trust me, Kylie. You are making a difference.”
“Whatever.” No sense getting all mushy. Clearheaded strategies were what they needed now. “So I’ll get the Web site fixed, pitch some feature stories, work up a promotion, place a few ads, and barter a business plan from the guy who did mine.”
“And cut costs, right?” Janie said.
“Yeah. You’d better drop the party hall lease—we can do inexpensive networking parties. What else can we lose?” She surveyed the office, lush with romance—lace curtains on the window, doilies on the fussy antiques, pink-striped wallpaper, red velvet chairs. “Stop buying those.” She pointed at the vase of fresh roses under the window. Janie changed them every week.
“Roses warm the room and offer hope.”
“Get some silk ones.” She studied the Victorian-era secretary on which they rested. “And how about eBay for that?”
“I won’t dismantle the welcome center. That’s false economy.”
“Maybe you’re right.” She was being too harsh perhaps. Maybe it was the saccharine Muzak overhead. “I Will Always Love You,” blended into “You Look Wonderful Tonight,” to be followed by “You’re the One…” “My Only You…” “It Had to Be You.”
Blech. A person could drown in that sea of syrup.
But why was she so cranky about it? She didn’t begrudge anyone the search for love or schmaltz. She knew why. Lack of sex. Months and months and months of drought. If only she had a bed-buddy for the occasional booty call. Or the chutzpah to waltz into a watering hole and snag a hottie for one sweaty night. Lately, she’d been too busy to sleep with anyone.
She sighed. “So, I’m on it.” It didn’t seem as bad as Janie had made it sound on the phone. Three weeks, maybe, and all cookbook stuff. No need for creativity, her secret Achilles’ heel. She’d zip in and zip out—a one-woman marketing SWAT team—and juggle her own plans, too. If all it took was hard work, she could handle it. She knew how to work.
There was that piercing fear that Garrett McGrath might rescind the incredible job offer or, worse, rethink his high opinion of her, but she’d deal with that. She had to. Janie was counting on her. Work over worry was the philosophy she shared with her father.
“So, that’s it, right?” she asked, just to be sure.
A pink sunrise flared in Janie’s cheeks.
Uh-oh. There was more. “What else?” she said, dread rising.
“There is one thing….” Janie reached into a drawer and handed over a sheaf of legal papers.
Kylie read over the first page of the packet and her heart sank. “You’re being sued by a client?”
Janie nodded miserably. “I found him some wonderful Potentials, but he wants women completely inappropriate for his maturity and intellect.”
“You mean he’s a comb-over who wants a bimbo? Preferably stacked? Isn’t the customer always right?”
“I find life mates, Kylie, not ego boosts. If a man wants a midlife crisis, he can buy a Mazda RX-8 or become a ski instructor. I cannot allow him to drag some poor young woman into his morale morass.”
“Yes, I know.” Janie had better standards than some of her clients, no question, and all the integrity in the world.
“I know you can fix this problem like that,” Janie said, snapping her fingers so that her gauzy sleeves flapped like butterfly wings. She looked at Kylie the way she had as a child, standing at the door to a new school, squeezing her hand, smiling up at her. I know you’ll make things right for me.
The knot in Kylie’s stomach turned into a fist. What if she couldn’t do it this time? “I’ll do my best,” she said.
A lawsuit was big. A few whiz-bang promotions wouldn’t make a dent in that expense. Unless she found the right legal help in a hurry or somehow appeased the disgruntled client, her marketing SWAT swoop couldn’t save Janie’s business. She’d need more than creativity. She’d need a miracle.
THE PLACE WAS way too pink, Cole Sullivan thought uneasily as he sat in a plush chair waiting for Jane Falls. He’d chosen Personal Touch for its pragmatic approach—fingerprint and credit checks and a computerized personality inventory—but her rose-filled, doily-decorated office made him feel foolish, instead of practical. Hiring a matchmaker was like hiring a headhunter. He was saving time, pre-screening for compatibility, just as he would in the search for a new law firm. Marriages were partnerships, after all.
Who was he kidding? This was no business decision. He was lonely. There was something of the treadmill to his life, a hollow ring to his days that he figured marriage would fix. That was practical, right? So he was practical and foolish. He guessed he belonged in this Pepto-Bismol fairyland, after all.
He sensed movement behind him and turned to find a woman walking—no, floating—his way. Glenda the Good Witch, minus the bobbing bubble, tiara and wand.
He had a fleeting fear that, in a syrupy voice, she’d command him to click his ruby wingtips together three times, except she held a no-nonsense clipboard and wore a serious expression. “Janie Falls,” she said, reaching to shake his hand, her voice direct and syrup-free. “I’m happy to meet you in person, Cole.”
“Likewise.” Her handshake was as solid as her voice. She was pretty, with wavy blond hair that hung down her back, but not his type, really, even if it were ethical to date one’s matchmaker.
She glanced at her clipboard. “I see we have your Check Mate profile already in our database.”
“Yes.” He’d appreciated the after-hours convenience of taking the inventory online. It asked him to evaluate his temperament, conformity level, career ambition, affection needs and attitudes toward religion and finances—all issues Jane claimed were predictors of compatibility. Made sense.
“So, today we do your interview and your Close-Up. Have a seat.” She gestured