he said crisply, “you must stop making appointments for 9:00 a.m. and not showing up until—” with a flourish of his wrist, he checked the time “—9:38. Worse, this guy showed up fifteen minutes early, so he’s been cooling his heels in your office for almost an hour. Fortunately he has the patience of a saint, unlike that guy two weeks ago who copped a ’tude and used your Waterford bowl for an ashtray—”
“It’s those weekly Chamber of Commerce breakfast meetings,” she said on a release of breath. “People arrive late, speakers talk too long. I’m on time for all my other meetings.”
“When you’re here, not cavorting about in your Beemer, doing networking things.”
“You’re right. I’m still reacting to Great Dates opening up one of their national offices two blocks away. I keep thinking if I don’t do everything to promote Life Dates, especially as it has such a similar name, they’ll cut into our business.”
“Kimberly, what you offer is unique. No global dating agency can begin to cater to Vegas clients the way you do. They’re like Hershey’s chocolate, you’re like Francine’s Gourmet Bonbons.”
Francine, a local high-end chocolatier, had a loyal following who thought nothing of shelling out twenty-four dollars for a dozen homemade, hand-dipped bonbons.
“Thanks,” Kimberly murmured.
It offered some comfort that Life Dates was the most successful dating agency in Vegas, although she had a lot on her plate running the business as well as being its resident “success coach”—a marketing term she’d coined four years ago when she opened the doors. As a success coach, she didn’t just play the same boring connect-the-dots and match up person A with B, like Great Dates did, she personally coached her clients—from picking out their clothes to helping them practice the fine art of dating and, ultimately, seduction.
“If it makes you feel any better,” said Maurice, “I set up a meeting next week with Barnet and Owens.”
“The advertising agency?”
“Yes. They’re going to pitch a local TV campaign idea for us.”
“Great idea.” She plucked a jelly bean from the jar on his desk.
“You didn’t eat at the breakfast meeting, did you?”
“No time.”
He handed her a clipboard with a form secured underneath a silver clamp. “Here’s his application.”
She quickly scanned it. “His first name’s Nigel.”
“So Noel Coward, isn’t it? You know, I should fill that candy bowl with soy nuts instead of sugar. No wonder you’re always motoring a thousand miles an hour.”
“Nigel Durand.”
“A little English, a little French.” Maurice lowered his voice. “Shame he’s straight.”
She peeked at Maurice over the clipboard.
He raised a hand in mock protest. “I’d never flirt with any of your clientele.” He feigned a shudder. “I might be gay, but I’m no masochist.”
Kimberly offered a small smile.
“It’s good to see you smile,” he said warmly. “Someday I’ll even get you to laugh out loud.”
She returned to the application. “Wrestler?”
“Former. Plus he’s bald, thirty-four, wants the picket fence, wife, kids.”
She looked up and frowned. “Bald?”
“Retro-Yul Brynner. Very in right now.”
“Hairless heads are making a comeback?” she murmured, nudging a strand of her blond hair back into her chignon.
“Darling, you might run the chicest dating service this side of the Rockies, but you must get out more! Go see a Vin Diesel flick.”
Vin who? “No time.” She checked her reflection in the gold-veined mirror over the guest couch. Making a quick adjustment to her jacket, she murmured, “I’ll go in and meet Nigel now.”
“I’ll bring in your coffee.”
“Two—”
“I know. Black. Two packets Skinny Sweet.”
She headed to her office. “And by the way,” she whispered over her shoulder. “I laugh out loud sometimes.”
“When?”
“I Love Lucy reruns.”
Maurice tossed her a “really?” look as he sauntered back to the kitchenette.
Until he came along, she’d been through nearly a dozen office assistants. It wasn’t that Kimberly was overly demanding or intense—despite what several of them had huffed—she just wanted her business to be run right.
Which, finally, Maurice did. After almost a year working together, she didn’t know what she’d do without him. Even his nagging. The guy had her best interests at heart.
Unlike the other men she’d had in her life.
She placed her hand on the brass knob of her office door, took a calming breath, then opened it and stepped inside.
“Mr. Durand, I’m so very sorry.” Kimberly swept into the room as she had a hundred times before, shoulders back, chin high, exuding conviction. She’d learned long ago that no matter what the circumstances, people responded favorably to grand displays of confidence.
“I had an emergency meeting this morning that was impossible to break,” she continued, putting on her best I’m-so-sorry look. “I apologize for your having to wait.”
Nigel Durand rose from the guest chair. And kept rising until he’d unfolded into a towering mass of bulk that loomed over her.
A towering mass of bulk with a shiny dome on top.
She eased in a stream of air and stared heavenward, getting the giddy sense she was standing at the foot of a mountain. And for a moment, she felt small, overwhelmed. Things Kimberly Logan never felt.
“That’s all right, ma’am,” said a deep voice that reverberated like thunder from the mountaintop.
She felt like telling him she was only twenty-eight. Call her Miss or Ms., but please not ma’am.
She blinked at the mountaintop, recalling Maurice’s reference to a retro-Yul Brynner. A distant memory of the movie The King and I flitted through her mind. As the king of Siam, Yul had swaggered across his palace, oozing arrogance and testosterone out of every pore.
Maurice was right. Bald heads were sexy. She wondered how it would feel to run her fingers over Nigel’s smooth dome….
An unexpected shiver of anticipation ran down her spine.
“Please,
