The Matchmaker's Happy Ending
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Shirley Jump
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Chapter One
MARNIE FRANKLIN LEFT her thirtieth wedding of the year, with aching feet, flower petals in her hair and a satisfied smile on her face. She’d done it. Again.
From behind the wide glass and brass doors of Boston’s Park Plaza hotel, the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Corliss waved and shouted their thanks. “We owe it all to you, Marnie!” Andrew called. A geeky but lovable guy who tended toward neon colored ties that were knotted too tight around his skinny neck, Andrew had been one of her best success stories. Internet millionaire, now married to an energetic, friendly woman who loved him for his mind—and their mutual affection for difficult Sudoku puzzles.
“You’re welcome! May you have a long and happy life together.” Marnie gave them a smile, then turned to the street and waited while a valet waved up one of the half dozen waiting cabs outside the hotel. Exhaustion weighed on Marnie’s shoulders, despite the two cups of coffee she’d downed at the reception. A light rain had started, adding a chill to the late spring air. The always busy Boston traffic passed the hotel in a swoosh-swoosh of tires on damp pavement, a melody highlighted by the honking of horns, the constant music of a city. She loved this city, she really did, but there were days—like today—when she wished she lived somewhere quiet. Like the other side of the moon.
Her phone rang as she opened the taxi’s door and told the driver her address. She pressed mute, sending the call straight to voice mail. That was the trouble with being on the top of her field—there was no room for a holiday or vacation. She’d become one of Boston’s most successful matchmakers, and that meant everyone who wanted a happy ending called her, looking for true love.
Something she didn’t believe in herself.
An irony she couldn’t tell her clients. Couldn’t admit she’d never fallen in love, and had given up on the emotion after one too many failed relationships. She couldn’t tell people that the matchmaker had no faith in a match for herself. So she poured herself into her job and kept a bright smile on her face whenever she told her clients that they could have that happy ending, too.
She’d seen the fairy tale ending happen for other people, but a part of Marnie wondered if she’d missed her one big chance to have a happily-ever-after. She was almost thirty, and had yet to meet Mr. Right. Only a few heartbreaker Mr. Wrongs. At least with her job, she had some control over the outcome, which was the way Marnie preferred the things in her life. Controlled, predictable. The phone rang again, like a punctuation mark to the end of her thoughts.
In front of her, the cabbie pulled away from the curb, at the same time fiddling with the GPS on the dash. Must be a new driver, Marnie decided, and grabbed her phone to answer the call. “This is Marnie. How can I help you make a match?”
“You need to stop working, dear, and find your own Mr. Right.”
Her mother. Who meant well, but who thought Marnie’s personal life should take precedence over everything else in the universe. “Hi, Ma. What are you doing up so late on a Friday night?”
“Worrying about my single daughter. And why she’s working on a Friday night. Again.”
The GPS announced a left turn, a little late for the distracted cab driver, who jerked the wheel to the left and jerked Marnie to one side, too. She gave him a glare in the rearview mirror, but he ignored it. The noxious fumes of Boston exhaust filled the interior, or maybe that was the bad ventilation system in the cab. The car had seen better days, heck, better decades, if the duct tape on the scarred vinyl seats was any indication.
“You should be out on a date of your own,” Marnie countered to her mother.
“Oh, I’m too old for that foolishness,” Helen said. “Besides, your father hasn’t been gone that long.”
“Three years, Ma.” Marnie lowered her voice to a sympathetic tone. Dad’s heart attack had taken them all by surprise. One day he’d been there, grinning and heading out the door, the next he’d been a shell of himself, and then...gone. “It’s okay to move on.”
“So, what are you doing on Sunday?” her mother said, instead of responding to Marnie’s advice, a surefire Helen tactic. Change the topic from anything difficult. Marnie’s parents had been the type who avoided the hard stuff, swept it under the rug. To them, the world had been a perpetually sunny place, even when evidence to the contrary dropped a big gray shadow in their way.
A part of Marnie wanted to keep things that way for her mother, to protect Helen, who had been through so much.
“I wanted to have you and your sisters over for brunch after church,” Ma said. “I could serve that coffee cake you love and...”
As her mother talked about the menu, Marnie murmured agreement, and reviewed her To Do list in her head. She had three appointments with new clients early in the morning tomorrow, one afternoon bachelor meet and greet to host, then her company’s Saturday night speed date event—
“Did you hear what I said?” her mother cut in.
“Sorry, Ma. The connection faded.” Or her brain, but she didn’t say that.
The cab driver fiddled again with the GPS, pushing buttons to zoom in or out, Marnie wasn’t sure. He seemed flustered and confused. She leaned forward. “Just take a left up here,” she said to him. “Onto Boylston. Then a right on Harvard.”
The cabbie nodded.
And went straight.
“Hey, you missed the turn.” Damn it. Was the man that green? Marnie gave up the argument and sat back against the seat. After the long day she’d had, the delay was more welcome than annoying. Especially to her feet, which were already complaining about the upcoming three-flight walk upstairs to her condo. She loved the brick building she lived in, with its tree-lined street located within walking distance of the quirky neighborhood of Coolidge Corner. But there were days when living on the third floor—despite the nice view of the park across the street—was exhausting after a long day. Right this second, she’d do about anything for an elevator and a massage chair.
“I said you should wear a dress to brunch on Sunday,” her mother said, “because I’m inviting Stella Hargrove’s grandson. He’s single and—”
“Wouldn’t it be nicer just to visit with you and my sisters, Ma? That way, we can all catch up, which we never seem to get enough time to do. A guy would end up being a fifth wheel.” Marnie pressed a finger to her temple, but it did little to ward off the impending headache. A headache her sister Erica would say she brought on herself because she never confronted her mother and instead placated and deferred. Instead of saying Ma, don’t fix me up, she’d fallen back on making nice instead. Marnie was the middle sister, the peacemaker, even if sometimes that peace came with the price of a lot of aspirin. “Besides, if I want a date, I have a whole file of handsome men to go through.”
“Yet you haven’t done that at all. You keep working and working and...oh, I just worry about you, honey.”
Ever since their father had died, Helen had made her three children her top—and only—priority. No matter how many times Marnie and her sisters had encouraged their mother to take a class, pick up a hobby, go on a trip, she demurred, and refocused the conversation on her girls. What her mother needed was an outside life. Something else to focus on. Something like a...
Man.
Marnie smacked herself in the head. For goodness sake, she was a professional matchmaker. Why had she never thought to fix up her mother? Marnie had made great matches for both of her sisters. Oldest sister Kat got married to her match two years ago, and Erica was in a steady relationship with a man Marnie had introduced her to last month. Despite that, Marnie had never thought about doing the same for her widowed mother. First thing tomorrow morning, she would cull her files and find a selection of distinguished, older men. Who appreciated women with a penchant for meddling.
“I’ll be there for brunch on Sunday, Ma, I promise,” Marnie said, noting the cabbie again messing with the GPS. “Maybe next time we can invite Stella’s grandson. Okay?”
Her mother sighed. “Okay. But if you want me to give him your number or give you his...”
“I know who to call.” Marnie started to say something else when the cabbie swore, stomped on his brakes—
And rear-ended the car in front of him. Marnie jerked forward, the seatbelt cutting across her sternum but saving her from plowing into the plexiglass partition. She let out an oomph, winced at the sharp pain that erupted in her chest, while the cabbie let out a stream of curses.
“What was that sound?” Helen asked. “It sounded like a boom. Did something fall? Did you hit something?”
“It’s, uh, nothing. I gotta go, Ma,” Marnie said, and after a breath, then another, the pain in her chest eased. “See you tomorrow.” She hung up the phone, then unbuckled, and climbed out of the yellow cab. The hood had crumpled, and steam poured from the engine in angry gusts. The cabbie clambered out of the taxi. He let out another long stream of curses, a few in a language other than English, then started pacing back and forth between the driver’s side door and the impact site, holding his head and muttering.
The accordioned trunk of a silver sports car was latched onto the taxi’s hood. A tall, dark, handsome, and angry man stood beside the idling luxury car. He shouted at the cab driver, who threw up his hands and feigned non-understanding, as if he’d suddenly lost all knowledge of the English language.
Marnie grabbed her purse from the car, and walked over to the man. One of those attractive, business types, she thought, noting his dark pinstriped suit, loosened tie, white button-down with the top button undone. A five o’clock shadow dusted his strong jaw, and gave his dark hair and blue eyes a sexy air. The matchmaker in her recognized the kind of good-looking man always in demand with her clients. But the woman in her—
Well, she noticed him on an entirely different level, one that sent a shimmer of heat down her veins and sped up her pulse. Something she hadn’t felt in so long, she’d begun to wonder if she’d ever meet another man who interested her.
Either way, Mr. Suit and Tie looked like a lawyer or something. The last thing she needed was a rich, uptight man with control issues. She’d met enough of them that she could pick his type out of the thousands of people in the stands at Fenway on opening day.
“Is everyone okay?” she asked.
The cab driver nodded. Mr. Suit and Tie shot him a scowl, then turned to Marnie. His features softened. “Yeah. I’m fine,” he said. “You?”
“I’m okay. Just a little shaken up.”
“Good.” He held her gaze for a moment longer, then turned on the cabbie. “Didn’t you see that red light? Where’d you get your license? A vending machine?”
The cabbie just shook his head, as if he didn’t understand a word.
Mr. Suit and Tie let out a curse and shook his head, then pivoted back to Marnie. “What were you thinking, riding around this city with a maniacal cab driver?”
“It’s not like I get a resume and insurance record handed to me before I get in a taxi,” she said. “Now, I understand you’re frustrated, but—”
“I’m beyond frustrated. This has been a hell of a day. With one hell of a bad ending.” He shot the cab driver another glare, but the man had already skulked back to his car and climbed behind the wheel. “Wait! What are you doing?”
“I’m not doing any—” Then she heard the sound of metal groaning, and tires squealing, and realized Mr. Suit and Tie wasn’t talking to her—but to the cab driver who had just hit and run. The yellow car disappeared around the corner in a noisy, clanking cloud of smoke.
In the distance, she heard the rising sound of sirens, which meant one of the people living in the apartments lining the street must have already called 9-1-1. Not soon enough.
Mr. Suit and Tie cursed under his breath. “Great. That’s all I needed today.”
“I’m sorry about that.” Marnie stepped to the corner and put up her hand for a passing cab. “Well, good luck. Hope you get it straightened out and your night gets better.”
“Hey! You can’t leave. You’re my witness.”
“Listen, I’m exhausted and I just want to get home.” She raised her arm higher, waving her hand, hoping to see at least one available cab. Nothing. Her feet screamed in protest. Soon as she got home, she was burning these shoes. “I’ll give you my number. Call me for my statement.” She fished in her purse for a business card, and held it out.
He ignored the card. “I need you to stay.”
“And I need to get home.” She waved harder, but the lone cab that passed her didn’t stop. “This is Boston. Why aren’t there any cabs?”
“Celtics game is just getting over,” the man said. “They’re probably all over at the Garden.”
“Great.” She lowered her arm, then thought of the ten-block hike home. Not fun in high heels. Even less fun after an eighteen-hour day, the last four spent dancing and socializing. She should have drunk an entire pot of coffee.
“I’ll make you a deal,” the man said. “I’ll give you a lift if you can wait until I’ve finished making the accident report. Then you can give your statement and kill two birds with one stone.”
She hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m really tired.”
“Stay for just a bit more. After tonight, you’ll never have to see me again.” He grinned.
He had a nice smile. An echoing smile curved across her face. She glanced down the street in the direction of her condo and thought of the soft bed waiting for her there. She weighed that against walking home. Option two made her feet hurt ten times more. Stupid shoes.
She glanced back at the misshapen silver car. “You’re sure you can drive me home? In that?”
“It runs. It’s just got a little junk in the trunk.” He grinned. “Sorry. Bad joke.”
A laugh escaped her and eased some of the tension in her shoulders, the pain in her feet. “Even a bad joke sounds good right now.” No cabs appeared, and that settled the decision for her. “Okay, I’ll wait.”
Not that it was going to be a hardship to wait with a view like that. This guy could have been a cover model. Whew. Hot, hot, hot. She should get his contact information. She had at least a dozen clients who would be—
You’re always working.
Marnie could hear her mother’s voice in her head. Take some time off. Have some fun. Date a guy for yourself. Don’t be so serious and buttoned up all the time.
What no one seemed to understand was this buttoned-up approach had fueled Marnie’s success. She’d seen how a laissez-faire approach to business could destroy a company and refused to repeat those mistakes herself. A distraction like Mr. Suit and Tie would only derail her, something she couldn’t afford.
The man opened the passenger’s side door. “Have a seat. You look like you’ve had a trying day. And I know how that feels.”
She sank into the leather seat, kicked off her shoes and let the platform heels tumble to the sidewalk. The man came to stand beside her, leaning against the rear passenger door. He had the look of a man comfortable in his own skin, at ease with the world. Confident, sexy, but not overly so. A hot combination, especially with the suit and tie. Her stance toward him softened.
“You’re right. I have had a long, trying day myself.” She put out her hand. “Let’s try this again. I’m Marnie Franklin.”
“Jack Knight.”
The name rang a bell, but the connection flitted away before she could grasp it because when he took her hand in his, a delicious spark ran through her, down her arm. If she hadn’t been seated, she might have jumped back in surprise. In her business, she shook hands with dozens of men in the course of a week. None had ever sent that little...zing through her. Maybe exhaustion had lowered her defenses. Or maybe the accident had shaken her up more than she thought. She released his hand, and brushed the hair out of her eyes, if only to keep from touching him again.
The police arrived, two officers who looked like they’d rather be going for a root canal than taking another accident report in the dent and ding city of Boston. For the next ten minutes Marnie and Jack answered questions. After the police were gone, Jack turned to her. “Thanks for staying. You made a stressful day much better.”
“Glad to help.”
Jack bent down and picked up the black heels she’d kicked onto the sidewalk when she’d sat in his car. He handed them to Marnie, the twin heels dangling from his index finger by their strappy backs. In his strong, capable hands, the fancy shoes looked even more delicate. “Your shoes, Cinderella.” He gave her a wink, and that zing rushed through her a second time.
“I’m far from Cinderella.” She bent and slipped on the damnable slingbacks. Pretty, but painful. “More like the not-so-evil stepmother, trying to fix up all the stepsisters with princes.”
His smile had a dash of sexy, a glimmer of a tease. “Every woman deserves to be Cinderella at least once in her life.”
“Maybe so, if she believes in fairy tales and magic mice.”
She worked in the business of helping people fall in love, and had given up on the fairy tale herself a long time ago. Over the years, she’d become, if anything, more cautious, less willing to dip a toe in the romance pool. When she’d started matchmaking she’d been starry eyed, hopeful. But now...
Now she had a lot of years of reality beneath her and the stars had faded from her vision. She knew her business had suffered as a consequence. Somehow she needed to restore her belief in the very thing she touted to her clients—the existence of true love.
Jack shut her door and came around to the driver’s side. The car started with a soft purr. “Where to?”
She gave him her address, and he put the car in gear. She settled into the luxury seat. The dark leather hugged her body, warm and easy. Damn. She needed to step outside the basic car model box because sitting in this sedan made it pretty easy to fall for the whole Cinderella fantasy. It wasn’t a white horse, but it was a giant step closer to a royal ride. Having a good looking prince beside her helped feed that fantasy, too.
“I’m sorry for being grumpy earlier. That accident was the icing on a tough day. Thanks again for staying and talking to the cops for me,” he said. “I can’t believe you remembered all those details about the driver.”
She shrugged. “My father used to make me do that. Whenever we went someplace, he made sure I noticed the waiter’s name or the cab driver’s ID. He’d have me recite the address or license plate or some other detail. He said you never knew when doing that would come in handy, and he was right.” She could almost hear her father’s voice in her ear. Watch the details, Daisy-doo, because you never know when they’ll matter. He’d rarely called her Marnie, almost always Daisy-doo, because of her love for the flowers. Kat had been Kitty, Erica had been Chatterbug. Marnie missed hearing her father’s wisdom, the way he lovingly teased his daughters. “Besides, the cab driver had his hands on the GPS more than the steering wheel, and that made me doubly nervous. If I could have, I would have jumped in the driver’s seat and taken the wheel myself.”
He chuckled. “Nice to meet a fellow control freak.”
“Me? I’m not a control freak.” She wrinkled her nose. “Okay, maybe I am. A little. But in my house, things were a little...crazy when I was a kid and someone had to take the reins.”
“Let me guess. You’re the oldest? An only?”
“The middle kid, but only younger than the oldest by nine months.”
“Oh, so not just the driver, but the peacemaker, too?” He tossed her a grin.
He’d nailed her, in a few words. “Do you read personality trait books in your spare time or something?”
“Nah. I’m just in a business where it’s essential to be able to read people, quickly, and well.”
“Me, too. Though sometimes you don’t like what you read.”
“True.” Jack glanced over at her, his blue eyes holding her features for a long moment before he returned his attention to the road. “So, Cinderella, what has made you so jaded?”
The conversational detour jolted her. She shifted in her seat. “Not jaded...realistic.”
“Well, that makes two of us. I find, in my line of work, that realism is a must.”
The amber glow of the street lights and the soft white light coming from the dash outlined his lean, defined profile with a soft edge. Despite the easy tone of his words, something in them hinted at a past that hadn’t been easy. Maybe a bad breakup, or a bitter divorce? Either way, despite the zing, she wasn’t interested in cleaning up someone else’s baggage. Stick to impersonal topics, Marnie.
His cell phone started to ring, and the touchscreen in the center of his dash lit up with the word Dad. “Do you mind if I answer this?” Jack asked. “If I don’t, he’ll just keep calling.”
She chuckled and waved toward the screen. “Go right ahead. I totally understand.”
Jack leaned forward, pressed a button on the screen, then sat back again. “Hey, Dad, what’s up? And before you say a word, you’re on speaker, so don’t blurt out any family secrets or embarrassing stories.”
“You got someone in the car with you?” said a deep, amused voice on the other end. “Someone pretty, I hope.”
Jack glanced at Marnie. A slow smile stole across his face and a quiver ran through her. “Yes, someone very pretty. So be on your best behavior.”
His father chuckled. “That’s no fun. The only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning is the potential for bad behavior.”
Beside her, Jack rolled his eyes and grinned. Parents, he mouthed.
Seemed she wasn’t the only one with a troublesome parent. Jack handled his father with a nice degree of love and humor. That tender touch raised her esteem for him, and had her looking past the suit and tie. Intriguing man. Almost...intoxicating.
She didn’t have time, or room, in her life for being intrigued by a man, though, especially since her business took nearly every spare moment. Even one as handsome as him.
She could almost hear her mother screaming in disagreement, but Marnie knew her business and herself. If she got involved with someone right now, it would be a distraction. Maybe down the road, when her business and life were more settled...
Someday when?
She’d been saying “someday” for years. And had to find the right moment—or the right man—to make her open her heart to love.
“I called because I was wondering when you’d be home,” Jack’s father was saying. “You work more hours than the President, for God’s sake.”
Marnie bit back a laugh. It could have been her conversation with her mother a little while ago. She half expected his father to schedule a blind date brunch, too.
“I’m on my way.” Jack flicked a glance at the dashboard clock. “Give me twenty minutes. Did you eat?”
“Yeah. Sandwiches. Again. Lord knows you don’t have anything in that refrigerator of yours besides beer and moldy takeout.”
“Because I’m never there to eat.”
“Exactly.” Jack’s father cleared his throat. “I have an idea. Maybe...you should bring your pretty companion home for a—”
“Hey, no embarrassing statements, remember?”
His father chuckled. “Okay, okay. Drive safe.”
Jack told his father he’d be home soon, then said goodbye and disconnected the call. “Sorry about that,” Jack said to Marnie. “My dad is...needy sometimes. Even though it’s been a few years since he got divorced, it’s like he’s been lost.”
“My mother is the same way. She calls me every five minutes to make sure I’m eating my vegetables, wearing sunscreen and not working too much.”
He chuckled. “Sounds like we have the same parent. Ever since my dad sold his house, he’s been living with me, while he tries to figure out if he wants to stay in Boston or high-tail it for sunny Florida. He thinks that means he should comment on everything I do and every piece of furniture in my apartment.”
“And what is or isn’t in your fridge.” Marnie’s mom stopped by Marnie’s condo almost every Sunday after church, but less to visit than to do a responsible child check. You need more vegetables, her mother would say. Or you should cook for yourself more often. And the best, if you had a man in your life, you wouldn’t have to do that. Marnie loved her mother, but had realized a long time ago that a mother’s love could be...invasive. “I get the whole you should make more time for homecooked meals and a personal life lecture on a weekly basis. I think my mother forgets how many hours I work. The last thing I want to do when I get home is whip up a platter of lasagna.”
“I think they go to school for that,” Jack said. “How to Bug Your Adult Kids 101.”
She laughed. It did sound like they had the same parent. “Maybe you should get your dad involved in something else, something that keeps him too busy to focus on you. There are all kinds of singles events for people his age. Some of them are dates in disguise, get-togethers centered around hobbies, like cooking or pets,” Marnie said, unable to stop work talk from invading every second of her day. My lord, she was a compulsive matchmaker. And one who needed to take her own advice. First thing tomorrow, she was going to look into dates for Ma and someday soon, she’d nicely tell her mother to butt out.
Yeah, right. Marnie had yet to do that to anyone, especially her mother. But she could tell others what to do. That she excelled at, according to her sisters.
Jack nodded. “I tried that before, years ago, but it didn’t go so well. But you’re right—maybe if I try again, now that some time has passed since all that upheaval, my dad will be more open to doing some activities, especially ones that get him dating again.”
“And if he meets someone else—”
“He won’t have time to worry about my fridge or my hours.” Jack laughed. “Ah, such a devious plan we’ve concocted.”
“As long as it works.” She grinned.
Jack turned onto Marnie’s street. A flicker of disappointment ran through her as the ride came to an end. “It’s the fourth one on the right,” she said. “With the flowers out front.”
Invite him in? Or call it a night?
He slowed the car, then stopped at her building’s entrance. “Nice looking place. I love these brick buildings from the early 1900s. It’s always nice to see the architecture get preserved when the building gets repurposed. Not every owner appreciates history like that.”
“Me, too. Coming home is like stepping into history.” She smiled, then put out her hand. Impersonal, business-like. “Well, thank you for the ride.”
That zing ran through her again when his large hand enfolded hers. For a second, she had the crazy thought of yanking on his hand, pulling him across the car, and kissing him. His broad chest against hers, his lips dancing around her mouth, his hands—
Wow. She needed to sleep more or get extra potassium or something.
“It was the least I could do after you stayed,” Jack was saying. He released her hand. Darn. “Especially after you had a long day yourself.”
Focus on the words he’s speaking, not the fantasy. She jerked her gaze away from his mouth. “It was no trouble.”
He grinned. “You said that already.”
“Oh, well, I’m just really...tired.”
“Yeah, me, too. I had a long day, made longer by someone who dropped the ball on some important paperwork. I got everything back on track, but...what a day.” He ran a hand through his hair, displacing the dark locks. “Anyway, I’m sorry again about losing my temper back there.”
“I would have done the same thing if my trunk looked like an origami project,” she said.
He glanced in the rearview mirror and shrugged off the damaged rear. “It gives my insurance agent something to do.”
She laughed. “True. Anyway, thanks again. Have a good night.”
“You, too.” He reached for her before she got out of the car, a light, quick touch on her arm. But still enough to send heat searing along her skin. “Would you like to go get a cup of coffee or a drink? We could sit around and complain about our jobs, our meddling parents, bad cab drivers and whatever else we can think of?”
A part of her wanted to say yes, but the realistic part piped up, reminding her of the time and her To Do list, and her no-men-for-the-foreseeable-future resolve. Besides, there was something about that zing, something that told her if she caved, she’d be lost, swept in a tsunami. The mere thought terrified her. “I can’t. It’s late. And I have an early day tomorrow.”
“On Saturday?”
She raised one shoulder, let it drop. “My job is a 24/7 kind of thing.”
He chuckled. “Mine, too. And even though every year I vow to work less and play more...”
“You don’t.”
He nodded.
“Me, too.” Because work was easier than confronting the reasons why she worked too much. Because work was easier than taking a chance on love. Work she could control, depend upon. Love, not so much. But she didn’t say any of that. She released the door handle, and shifted to face him.
Despite the fear, she didn’t want to leave. Right now, with Jack looking at her like that, his eyes lit by the street light above and his strong jaw cast in a dark shadow, her resistance was at an all-time low. Desire pulsed in her veins. She wished she had dragged him across the car and kissed him silly when she’d had the chance. So she delayed leaving a bit longer.
“What do you do for work that keeps you busy late into the day and also on weekends?” She put a finger to her lip and gave him a flirty smile. “Let me guess. Lawyer?”
“Hell, no.” He glanced down. “Oh, I get it. Pinstripe suit, power tie. Screams waiting to sue to you?”
“Well, if the Brooks Brothers fits...”
His smile widened, ending with a dimple. Oh, God. Dimples. She’d always been a sucker for them.
“I’m...an investor,” Jack said. “Of sorts.”
“Of sorts?”
“I buy and sell businesses. I find ones that need a cash infusion, and if I think they’re viable, I invest. If I think they’re not, I buy them and either sell them again or break up the pieces and sell it off.”
A shiver ran down her back. The leather seemed to chafe now, not comfort. “You’re...a corporate raider?”
“I’m a little nicer than that. And I tend to work with small to medium-sized businesses, not giant Goliaths.”
The connection fused in her mind. His job. His name.
Jack Knight. Owner of Knight Enterprises. A “business investor”—a euphemism for his true identity. Jack Knight was a vulture. Feeding off the carcasses of desperate business owners.
It had to have been the exhaustion of the day that had kept her from putting the pieces together until now. How could she have misread all the clues?
And to think she’d wanted to kiss him five minutes ago. She bristled. “The size doesn’t matter to the company that gets sold off, or taken over, or destroyed in the process of that kind of ‘help.’”
“I must have given you the wrong impression. There’s more to it—”
“No, there really isn’t. You destroy people’s companies, and their lives.” The words sprang to life in her throat, fueled by exhaustion, shock, and surprised even Marnie with their vehemence. She never did this, never showed outrage, never yelled. Jack Knight had brought out this other side of her, with a roar. “Do you even think about what happens to those people after you swoop in and tear their company to shreds? They spent their lives building those companies, and in an instant, you take it all away. And for what? A bottom line? A few more dollars in your pocket? Another sports car for the collection?” She let out a gust, then grabbed the door handle. It stuck, then yielded, and fresh night air washed over her. She’d gotten distracted, by a dimple and a zing. Idiot. “Goodnight.”
“Wait. What did—”
She shut the door, cutting off his words. She’d confronted him, told him off, and told herself it felt good to finally say what she should say, exactly when she was supposed to say it. Jack idled in the space for a moment, then finally, he drove away, swallowed by the night.
Disappointment hit her first. If only she’d kissed him. If only she’d let herself get talked into that cup of coffee.
If only he’d been someone other than Jack Knight.
Then righteous indignation rose in her chest. He was the one at fault, not her. He was the one who had ruined her father’s company, not her. If she’d told him what she really wanted to say to him, if she’d really let the confrontation loose, she’d have resorted to some very unlady-like behavior, and she refused to give him that satisfaction. Jack Knight didn’t deserve it, not after what he had done to her father.
So she had said goodnight, got out of Cinderella’s carriage, and went back to the real world, where princes didn’t come along very often, and there were no mice to do the work for her.
