Romantic Interludes Part 8

"Who cares?" Heather murmured, propping her chin on her fist. "Sometimes tall, dark, and hunky outweighs compatibility."

Emily snorted. "Not in our line of work."

She couldn't help glancing at Cavanaugh again, though. Heather was right, she had to admit. Tall, with wavy black hair and broad shoulders, Cavanaugh exuded an air of confidence that was undeniably attractive. Instead of a suit, he wore a simple dark b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt and black jeans. She noticed the beginnings of a tattoo on his left arm, just peeking out beneath his rolled-up sleeve. She knew from his file that he had blue eyes, but in the dim light of the room, they appeared dark, intent . . .

And focused on her.

Emily gasped and jumped to her feet. She couldn't believe she'd been caught ogling one of her clients.

"Em?" Heather looked up at her with wide eyes.

"I've got to run to the ladies' room," she muttered. "Keep an eye on things and I'll be back in a minute."

"Are you okay?"

But Emily was out the door before the words were out of Heather's mouth.

Six deep breaths, some distracted muttering, and a splash of cold water later, Emily regained some semblance of control. She flashed an irritated look in the mirror, tucked her hair behind her ears and turned to head back to the mixer, a friendly smile firmly in place.

Nodding at Jessica, she slipped into the group to pull her aside. "Have you met everyone?" she asked.

Jessica blinked, flus.h.i.+ng a bit. "I'm not sure. I've been talking to a lot of people."

"How about Sam?"

"Sam?" Jessica looked around blankly.

Emily pushed down a surge of irritation.

If she was to do her job right, she needed to make sure Jessica did her part. Any attraction-if that was what it was, and she wasn't admitting that it was, because she was a professional, for G.o.d's sake, and didn't give in to such silly ideas. After all, attraction, l.u.s.t . . . they were all just chemical reactions resulting from years of evolution and we'd really moved beyond that, and an intelligent person didn't take those things into account when choosing a mate anymore, not if they wanted the relations.h.i.+p to last longer than- Anyway.

Any attraction she may or may not feel for one of her clients was irrelevant and needed to be put aside for the greater good-in other words, finding the proper mate for Jessica.

"Sam Cavanaugh," she said, trying not to grit her teeth as she led Jessica over to where he stood.

"Sam, I don't believe we've met." She turned her attention to the man, covering her nerves with a businesslike mask. "I'm Emily Valentine and this, as you probably know, is Jessica Samuels."

His full lips curved in a smile as he extended his hand, not to Jessica, but to her.

"Pleased to meet you," he said, voice warm and smooth like old whiskey, but without the bite.

Emily faltered for only a moment before stepping back, all but shoving Jessica toward him. "You two should chat," she said, pretending not to notice Sam politely ignoring her snub and turning to Jessica with a slight tilt of his head. Emily escaped to her table, sliding in beside Heather, who was flipping through Jessica's file and making notes on each profile.

"I need a drink," Emily muttered, taking a sip from her water as she reached for the file, fumbling a little with the pages.

"Rough night?" Heather asked, producing Sam's profile and handing it to Emily with a smirk.

Emily glared in response, but took the sheets of paper and laid them on the table for closer examination. "I just don't get it," she said, running her finger over the spreadsheet columns. "They don't seem to have anything in common, but the computer says he's a perfect match." She tapped the bottom of the page. "This is weird. There's no a.n.a.lyst noted on this file."

"Online dater?" Heather offered, referring to clients who joined only for their limited service, with no one-on-one counseling involved.

"Yes, but then there shouldn't have been enough information for an in-depth match like Jessica's."

Heather shrugged. "Regardless, it looks like they're hitting it off." She nodded toward the couple across the room.

Emily knew enough about body language to recognize the signs of attraction-the leaning toward each other, the eye contact, the smiles, the way Jessica twirled a finger in her hair.

It hadn't changed much since high school, actually.

Again, Sam's gaze lifted to catch hers and Emily turned away quickly, cheeks hot. She needed to get a handle on the rather annoying infatuation she seemed to have developed. Especially since-if Jessica's giggling was any indication-Sam Cavanaugh would soon be spoken for.

Two hours later, Emily sighed in relief as the waiter set a gla.s.s of white wine on the table before her. She'd pulled Jessica aside, gotten her input on the three prospects she'd like to see again, and the evening was finally complete. Emily took the opportunity to retire to the restaurant's patio. It had an amazing view of Puget Sound, and the sun was just slipping beyond the horizon, filling the nearly-clear sky with oranges and reds. She took a sip of her wine and examined the three profiles laid out before her.

Mark Jacobs. Yes, like the designer, but no relation. Age thirty-four. Entrepreneur who enjoys golf, tennis, travel, and-Emily had to keep from rolling her eyes at the cliche-polo. He and Jessica shared a love of animals and both contributed time and money to support local non-kill animal shelters. Jessica said he had dreamy eyes and a nice smile.

Adam Keller. Age forty-eight. Owned a chain of convenience stores. A little old for Jessica, but she said he seemed young for his age. He was in great shape-a black belt in both Tae Kwon Do and Jujitsu-and enjoyed sailing. In fact, he'd once sailed around the world, something Jessica said she found romantic.

And then, of course, there was Sam Cavanaugh. Emily stacked the pages with Sam's profile on top, examining his photograph with a frown. In the picture, he had a little more scruff-he'd been clean-shaven at the party-and his hair was a little longer, almost brus.h.i.+ng his shoulders. His eyes were the same, though, blue and intense, as if they were looking right into- "Checking up on me?"

Emily started, looking up to find Sam standing next to her table, a slight grin on his face. She blushed, fumbling with her file and tucking the papers inside. "Of course not . . . I'm just . . . doing my job."

"I was only kidding." He pulled up a chair and sat next to her. "I don't usually do this, you know."

"Sit down uninvited?" She smiled to let him know she wasn't serious.

He laughed. "Computer dating. A friend signed me up for Perfect Match. I didn't even know until your office called."

"We get that a lot," she said, taking a sip of her wine. "But it worked out, right? You and Jessica seemed to have a connection."

He shrugged. "I suppose." Sam waved down a waiter and ordered a beer.

"What do you mean?" Emily pressed, not wanting to waste Jessica's time if Sam truly wasn't interested. It had nothing to do with maybe, possibly, being interested in him herself. Really. Not at all.

He sat back in his chair, legs extended and fingers laced over his stomach. "She's a nice woman," he said. "Sweet, fun to talk to. She'd be fun to date, I guess." He glanced at her sideways.

"And the problem with that is . . ."

"I'm not looking for a date. I'm looking for a mate."

Emily smirked. "Nice. I should hire you to write my catch phrases."

"That one's on the house." He looked up, tapping his lips with the tip of his finger and Emily tried not to stare at his mouth.

She really tried.

He grinned. "Here's another one. Looking for love in all the right places."

"Meh." She shrugged, feigning indifference.

"No?" He looked surprised, but not offended. "Strike up a match?"

"Now you're getting desperate."

"So are your clients."

"Hey!" She mock-glared. "Do I need to remind you that you are one of my clients?"

"Not by choice."

Emily laughed and then caught herself. She'd almost forgotten that she was talking-flirting, if she were to be perfectly honest, which she really chose not to be-with a client. A client she'd matched with another client.

Her smile fell and she cleared her throat, toying with the stem of her wine gla.s.s as she straightened in her seat, reinforcing her business facade. "Seriously, though. If you're not interested in seeing Jessica again, I need to know now. It's important that I only match her with serious prospects."

"Serious prospects?" He snorted slightly. "You make it sound like a job interview."

"It is, pretty much."

"Not very romantic."

"Romance has very little to do with it, actually," Emily said without thinking. Her perspective might have been effective in her job, but the clients rarely wanted to hear it. They liked to think she was out to find their soul mate-their true love. The science of it usually faded to the background and they looked at the whole process with stars in their eyes.

She encouraged it, of course. It was good for business. And if everyone ended up happy in the end, she figured the end justified the means.

"How so?" he asked, sitting up and leaning toward her over the table. "You'd think a matchmaker would be all about the romance."

Emily tried not to notice the glint in his eyes from the reflected candlelight on the dimly lit patio or the light scent of his cologne, spicy and masculine. She cleared her throat again, unsure how he put her so off her game, so unsettled her that she let her professionalism slide, even for a moment. She could tell, however, that he really wanted an answer, so she took a deep breath and swallowed the last of her wine.

"A true match, a lasting match, is dependent upon compatibility," she said. "Things like romance and attraction can actually muddy the waters. People often mistake l.u.s.t for love and jump into a relations.h.i.+p, when in fact, they have very little in common."

"So you make sure they don't do that?"

"My system is based on a complex set of algorithms developed over years of research by myself and others in the field. Perfect Match isn't just a catchy name. Based on my system, we really do find the client's ideal mate."

He sat back as the waiter set a frosted gla.s.s of beer before him and frowned at it for a moment before glancing at her sideways. "And love has nothing to do with it?"

Emily s.h.i.+fted in her seat. "Of course it has something to do with it."

He stared at her for a long moment. "I don't believe you."

"Excuse me?"

"You don't think it has anything to do with it at all, do you?" His head tilted curiously as he observed her, and she tried not to squirm under his steady gaze. "I can't believe it." His eyes widened, twinkling with a touch of amus.e.m.e.nt. "A matchmaker who doesn't believe in love!"

She huffed. "Of course I believe in love."

"You just don't believe it conquers all."

"Well, it doesn't, does it?" she all but snapped. "Otherwise, why would more than half of all marriages end in divorce? People look at love through rose-colored gla.s.ses, thinking it's the be-all and end-all, but the fact of the matter is, it's not enough. A couple must have common interests and beliefs, personality traits that are compatible, common goals-"

"What about chemistry?"

She blinked, realizing they were closer than she thought, both leaning forward over the table. Sam's hand lay flat on the wooden surface, the tip of his finger almost touching hers. She sat back abruptly.

"Chemistry is irrelevant, really," she said, quickly dumping the file into her bag and reaching for her jacket. "It's all just remnants left behind by evolution, chemicals released by the brain when one encounters a potential mate. Hardly necessary in this day and age." She stood up abruptly. "I really should be going."

He reached out, snagging her by the wrist, and she fought back the knowing, stronger than usual for reasons she chose not to explore. "What happened to you?" he asked, voice soft and almost sad.

She pulled her hand free with a gasp.

"I'm sorry-" He stood, sliding his hand into his pocket.

"No, no, it's fine. This is just . . ." She floundered for a moment. It seemed like she was always floundering around him, actually. "This is inappropriate. I shouldn't be discussing this with you at all-"

"Emily-"

"It's very unprofessional, and I apologize."

"There's no need-"

"My office will be in contact after your date with Jessica . . . that is, if you still intend to go out with her?" She waited for him to say yes, ignoring the pang of hope that he'd say no.

"I said I would," he said quietly.

"All right then." She slid an arm into her jacket and he stepped up to hold it for her. She stiffened, bracing herself, but he didn't touch her skin.

He helped her into her coat and stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Thank you," she said.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"You didn't," she said quickly. Too quickly. "Goodbye, Mr. Cavanaugh."

"It's Sam."

She just nodded once before she turned and left, forcing herself to walk slowly, although her feet yearned to break into a run.

"So, how did it go?" Emily propped her elbows on her desk, tenting her fingers as she watched Jessica in the seat across from her.

She'd gone out on all three first dates and it was time for the debrief to decide if any of them warranted a second date. Usually, at least one of the first date choices was a winner, but it wasn't uncommon for a client to find he or she didn't really click with any of the matches and needed to start the process over again. In this case, Emily was relatively certain it wouldn't be necessary.

Jessica blushed slightly, toying with her earring. "Really well," she said. "Adam was amazing. So sweet and attentive, and he took me to this fantastic restaurant with a view of the Sound."

Emily smiled, picking up her pen to take some notes. "And he was a gentleman?"

"Oh, yes. He even asked before he kissed me at the end of the evening."

Emily covered her frown. She thought that was a bit wimpy, personally, but if it was what Jessica liked, then more power to her. "Are you going to see him again?"