But he wasn’t one of them.
Michael enjoyed his bachelor status as much as he enjoyed fine scotch. At thirty-three years old, he knew what he didn’t want and what he did.
Fun. Freedom. Sex.
He’d never had problems with finding women—between the size of his bank account and the size of his dick, his dates always left with a smile on their faces. He could have any woman he wanted and there was no way in hell he was going to tie himself down to just one.
He wasn’t looking for long-term. Not again. Having been burned by the one woman he had wanted to have a family with, the one woman he had ever loved, he was old enough to know better. He didn’t want a relationship. Ever.
Besides, what woman would put up with his eighty-hour work week? Work would always come first, which was why he was successful.
All he needed right now was a date. And he couldn’t believe how difficult it was to drum someone up. Why weren’t there ever women at his church he could pick up for casual, no sex, fill-in dates? Nice, normal women that could be considered friends?
The Denver Art Foundation held their annual gala on Valentine’s Day. Each year, they invited Michael because he was one of their biggest donors and because his company headquarters was located next to their administrative offices. His parents had served on the board of the Foundation, in one way or another, for as long as he could remember.
The previous years’ funding provided major improvements to the Art Center where all the workshops and classes were held. The building was not fully functional yet, but his continued support, along with others, still provided art classes for children and adults as well as supplies, et cetera. Low income children benefited immensely from the donations, not only for the improvements on their skill, but because it offered a safe haven of sorts by keeping them off the streets and otherwise engaged in something productive. The Center had been open for three years now, and it was gaining more and more prestige every day.
This was Michael’s largest charitable donation each year and they expected him to be there.
As a regular donor, he should have the gala noted on his calendar, and know that every year on Valentine’s Day, he was going to need a date for the charitable event. He picked up the landline phone on his desk and rang Regina, his secretary.
“Yes, Mr. Vilander?”
Michael smiled. “You don’t have to call me that. I know you mean well, but it still sounds weird coming from you.”
“I know, sir. But this is a place of business—”
“And we must have formalities. I got it.” He cut her off. When he had offered to hire his grandmother, she had agreed only on the condition of professionalism—down to her calling him Mr. Vilander and he calling her Regina. It didn’t make it any less weird, still. He let it go. “Have you found anyone for me yet?” Entrusting his grandmother to find him a date was risky to say the least. Who knew what she might find? There were two reasons he was willing to allow her to help him: the gala was in two days and the candidate she had found for him last year had worked well. His date had been a bit talkative, but nothing he couldn’t handle for four hours. Tonight would be the same thing: dinner, the awards ceremony and then it would be over. Unless their attraction was off the charts, well, then four hours could easily turn into eight.
“No, sir. I called Maryanne, but she’s engaged now.”
“Who’s Maryanne?”
“The young lady you took to the event last year,” she said. She left out the word duh, but Michael could hear the duh tone in her voice.
Maryanne. “Oh. Right. Who else is there?” Michael thrummed his fingertips on his sleek marble desktop, trying to come up with a plan. He could attend alone but that wouldn’t do. He was one of Denver’s most sought after bachelors. He owned one of the top ten websites in the world. He was right behind Facebook, for fuck’s sake! It was all about appearances, and he had to appear like he actually dated. Like he actually went out. Like he actually had a social life that went beyond work and his group of guy friends.
“Mr. Vilander, why can’t you—”
“No, Regina. I’m not going alone. We’ve been through this. Maybe I should fire you for not having a date lined up for me already. You knew this was coming,” he teased her affectionately.
Regina snorted. “You can’t fire me. I’d sue you for wrongful termination.”
“Right, I don’t doubt you would. It’s easier for me to keep you on as an employee. Especially because you make a wonderful secretary. But this bickering doesn’t solve my problem. I still need a date.”
“Why don’t you go online and fill out one of your own questionnaires? You know that little comment box you have at the end? You could specify that you only need a date for one night.”
Intrigued at the thought, he leaned back in his chair. Raking his hand through his chestnut locks, he caught his reflection in the windows. The lights from down below blinked and brightened. He could hear sirens in the distance, and he had the most outrageous thought he’d ever had in his entire life. Why couldn’t he do what she’d suggested? He could do what countless men and women did all the time.
“Regina, I might have a plan.”
He hung up quickly, knowing full well she was going to want to know what he was thinking and knowing her, she’d burst through his door without knocking. He glanced at his Breitling, four, three, two… and on cue, she burst though the double
