Thompson,” she said as she started down a hallway.
He followed beside her. “So you keep telling me.”
“Our marriage failed,” she said. “But our friendship didn’t. And I owe him.”
Owe?
Growing up in his world meant divorced parents who talked about each other with animosity and refused to speak to one another. Which had left a five-year-old Cutter carrying messages between them … because they couldn’t get along for the two minutes it took to discuss his visitations. By all reports, his parents had been head-over-heels in love until his mom had got knocked up with Cutter and they’d had to tie the knot. According to his mother, for the entire four years of her marriage, bliss had been a distant memory.
Who needed that kind of misery?
He hiked an eyebrow dryly. “What’s with the sense of obligation toward your ex? Did you treat him like crap during your marriage?”
She shot him a cutting look. “I owe him because he helped me start my online dating service after our divorce.”
Cutter came to a halt and watched her continue down the hall. “So your ex-husband helped you start a business finding love for other people?” It was hard enough comprehending how a woman so thoroughly indoctrinated in the happily-ever-after club could have joined the till-divorce-do-us-part league. But the irony of her profession was comical. “Shouldn’t a failed marriage disqualify you from the job?”
She stopped and turned to face him, a frown on her face, her voice firm. “A divorce doesn’t disqualify you from anything.”
He moved closer to her, puzzlement pulling his eyebrows higher. “Ruining your own life wasn’t good enough, you feel the need to make others miserable, too?”
She actually bit her lower lip. Cutter was sure it was to cut off a sharp retort, and he was amazed she managed to sound so civil. “When two people are compatible, marriage isn’t miserable.” She turned into an office clearly decorated for a woman, done in soft mauves and creams. “And despite my divorce, I still believe in romantic relationships.”
Cutter followed her inside, letting out an amused scoff. “I’m not divorced, and even I know they’re a crock.”
She rounded her leather-topped desk adorned with a vase of cheerful yellow lilies and took a seat at her computer, eyeing him warily. Her tone held more than a trace of concern. “Mr. Thompson,” she said. “Let’s try not to bring up your jaded views while discussing your ideal date online.” It seemed she’d concluded he was a hopeless cause.
Hell yeah. Count him up as one who had seen the light a long time ago.
“My views aren’t jaded,” he said. “They’re realistic.” And the sooner the two of them got started, the sooner he could be done with this fake flirt fest. “Okay. How do we start?”
“With a question for the contestants. Something to get the conversation going.”
“About dating, right?” He crossed to stop behind her chair and frowned at the waiting computer, feeling foolish for getting involved. Cutter hoped the sullen teenage Emmanuel wound up a friggin’ Supreme Court Justice. Nothing less would justify caving in to this absurd unreality show. “How about asking their favorite date destination?”
Jessica folded her arms across her chest. “You need something more open-ended. All someone has to say is the beach or a restaurant and the conversation dies.”
“At least I’d be done for the evening. And you’d have time for a pre-dinner drink.”
Jessica looked up at him with a determined pair of brown Bambi eyes that said she’d miss the dinner before she’d do less than her best.
Her ex must be one hell of a guy.
With a resigned sigh, Cutter sat on her desk. “Okay, what if I ask them about their worst dating experiences?”
“Same problem. Those require individual responses and you’re looking for an interactive debate.” A small grimace filled her face. “Not to mention it’s a negative way to start.”
He stared at her. “You mean, not only do I have to have this debate, I have to be upbeat about it?” He didn’t know how, not since he was a kid when his dad had left for good and his mother had blamed Cutter.
Not a lot to be upbeat about there.
“Number-one rule of first dates,” Jessica said with a soothing smile, but he had the feeling she was faking it. Somehow, that made it all the more intriguing. “No one likes a whiner.”
He wasn’t sure why, but he found her amusing. “I thought it was don’t eat anything with garlic and wear comfortable clothes.”
For a brief moment, she almost looked horrified. “Your clothes should make a statement. They are a reflection of you.”
“True,” he said matter-of-factly. “You can tell a lot about a woman by the underwear she wears.”
With a sigh, she raised an eyebrow dryly, her tone carefully patient. “By the time you get to her underwear, you should know quite a bit about her already.”
He shook his head. “You go for pastel colors. Lace. No thongs. Nothing see-through. Practical, yet pretty. And not too racy.”
A hint of color appeared on her cheeks, but her tone was defiant. “Have you thought of a question for your contestants yet?”
Cutter rubbed his jaw, enjoying her flushed face. “I take it favorite lingerie choices are out?”
Her answer was a slight narrowing of her eyes and an expression of forbearance that was downright adorable, and Cutter realized his foul mood was long gone. Damn, when had he started enjoying himself? And how could someone so ridiculously optimistic about relationships pull him out of his funk with her militant views on dating? He pulled his gaze from her caramel eyes and tried to concentrate on the task at hand, staring at the blank screen.
Cupid’s longest-running gag was torturing mankind with the opposites-attract rule.
The thought inspired him. “How about—What creates a spark between two people?”
He knew he’d succeeded when the light in her eyes flickered brighter. And the admiration on her face was worth waiting for. “Perfect,” she said, her bone-melting smile of approval skewering his insides.
Jessica turned to the computer and typed. A few moments later, she looked up, her dark, exotic gaze on him. “Love Potion Number Nine’s reply: chemistry. What do you want to say in response?”
Caught in her spell, and captivated by her sooty lashes, he had no idea. “What happened to love potions number one through eight?”
“You can’t mock her user name.”
“Is that first-date rule number two?”
“No,” she said dryly. “It’s just assumed under the one about negative whiners.”
His lips twitched, itching to
