late last night sending out another batch of résumés. Speaking of which, she’d better check her e-mail in case someone had replied. She clicked on her in-box. There, at the top, was a new message, but not from a potential employer. This was one was from bigbrother@blinddatebrides. com with the subject header “I read your profile.”
Oh, no. She squeezed her eyes shut. Another guy who wanted to get to know her.
Her stomach churned. She hated this. Sure, she could just hit “delete”—that was par for the course on many dating sites—but Blinddatebrides.com was different. The site touted itself as a community where politeness and manners mattered. Users were requested to reply, even if the intent was to give someone a brush-off. Still, the thought of telling another guy she wasn’t interested in getting to know him better made her feel physically ill.
But what else could she do?
Leading a guy on when she was on the site under false pretenses ranked right up there with corporate spying in her book. She massaged her forehead to stop a full-on headache from erupting. Okay, one rejection wasn’t going to send some guy scampering back to his mommy in tears, but…
Why did this keep happening?
Dani had taken steps to ensure it wouldn’t. What sense of honor she had left had made her fill out the profile questionnaire truthfully so she understood when the compatibility program deemed her a match with someone. But Dani had hedged against the computer algorithms by uploading the most unattractive photo of herself she could find. She looked downright ugly. While other women uploaded more than one picture to their profile page, she hadn’t.
She’d also downplayed her interests to make herself sound…well…about as exciting as a slug inching across a driveway at dawn. She’d listed the library as her favorite place to spend a Saturday night and a collection of Jane Austen novels as her must-have item if stranded on a desert island.
No man should want to date her.
Maybe this one didn’t. Maybe he was one of those guys, the players, who only wanted to have sex. If that were the case, she wouldn’t mind telling him to get lost.
Dani opened her eyes and read the entire e-mail.
To: “Sanfrandani” <[email protected]>
From: “Bigbrother” <[email protected]>
Subject: I read your profile Who are you searching for? Mr. Darcy? Or Mr.
Knightley?
-bb
Dani reread the message. Twice.
Okay, she was impressed this guy knew the names of two Jane Austen heroes, but who did he take her for? Intelligent, impulsive Lizzy or smug, interfering Emma?
Still, his message intrigued Dani. She typed a reply and hit “send.” With a satisfied smile on her face, she leaned back in her chair. And almost fell over backward.
Uh-oh. What had she done?
She shouldn’t have replied. Dani grimaced. She wasn’t supposed to engage Bigbrother in more e-mails. She was supposed to tell him she wasn’t interested. To. Go. Away. Politely, of course.
Only she hadn’t wanted to do that.
Not when his e-mail had been unlike any of the others she’d received. He’d obviously read her profile and asked his question based on what she’d written. Not on her photo or bra size. Maybe he was genuinely interested.
Or maybe he was ugly.
Her eyes locked on the link to his profile that would transport her to a page all about him, a page with his picture.
Curiosity trickled down the length of her arm to her fingertip, hovering above the laptop’s trackpad. She wanted to know more about Bigbrother. Read what he’d written about himself. See what he looked like.
Temptation flared. She moved the cursor to the link. All she had to do was click, but she couldn’t.
The less Dani knew about Bigbrother, the better.
She wasn’t looking to meet a guy. She didn’t want to meet a guy. Especially one from Blinddatebrides.com.
Not under these circumstances.
Ignoring the twinge of regret, she closed his e-mail.
Goodbye, Bigbrother.
CHAPTER TWO
AS BRYCE sipped his coffee, hoping the caffeine would get him through the rest of the day, he stared at the four hundred unread e-mails in his in-box. No way could he get through all of them in the next fifteen minutes, but there was one reply he hoped to find.
He skimmed the list of senders and found the name he was looking for…
Sanfrandani.
That didn’t take long.
He couldn’t curb his suspicions and wanted to see what she had to say. Which would it be? A polite brush-off or a straight-to-the-point-please-don’t-contact-me-again? Curious, he opened the message.
To: “Bigbrother” <[email protected]>
From: “Sanfrandani” <[email protected]>
Subject: RE: I read your profile
Desperately seeking…Colonel Brandon.
-sfd
Bryce frowned and reread the e-mail. He called Joelle into his office. “Who is Colonel Brandon?”
“Didn’t he kill Miss Scarlet in the library with the—”
“No. That’s a game. This one is in a book. Jane Austen.”
Joelle stared blankly at him.
“Come on,” he said. “You have to know this.”
She raised a finely arched brow. “Because I’m female?”
“Because…” Oh, hell, she had him there. “Yeah.”
“I majored in Economics, not English Lit.”
Bryce had majored in Computer Science. He pressed his lips together, still staring at the screen. “Wasn’t there a movie?”
“Not that I saw. Not with a Colonel Brandon. Colin Firth, now… Yum.”
“Spare me.”
Joelle shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to Google this Colonel guy, then. Or call your sister.”
Caitlin.
Thinking of his younger sister brought a smile to Bryce’s face. Of course, Caitlin would know the answer. She was a font of movie trivia, especially chick flicks, but a call to her would lead to a lengthy discussion about wedding preparations. Bryce was happy she’d found the love she’d been
