My hand shakes a little when I pick up my cell. We don’t work in the office on Saturdays. Any follow up calls after dates are made from home. I log my hours and get paid for it, so I don’t actually mind. Anyway, the only thing I have going on is a hot date with my cactus, which, excitedly enough, has decided to flower. Hey, being single isn’t so bad, despite what all my clients tell me and what I tell all my clients. I know. I’m probably the world’s biggest hypocrite, but it’s not that I don’t date. Sometimes I do. I just happen to find myself single at the moment, and for the time being, I’m enjoying it. I also may have just gotten myself out of a pretty possessive relationship six months ago, and yeah, I’m not in any hurry to get myself back into the dating arena.
I find that when I’m single, I have time for long baths with cheap candles sitting on the decrepit vanity. I get to watch my cactus grow a little more each day (you know you are seriously single when you detail all the life stages of your plants). I don’t mind drinking the occasional glass of wine by myself or doing some cooking that only I eat.
So, I’m not a walking, breathing, living billboard for what I do for a living. So. Freaking. What.
I force myself to focus on what I’m doing. Talking to Cliff Marshall is going to take every ounce of my concentration. I’ve thought about the guy, in technicolor detail, for the past three days. Oh right. That wouldn’t be because I’m using him as the inspiration for touchy-feely me time. Seriously. Nope. I am using him as inspiration for I can’t get my ass fired because I’m barely making all my bill payments as it is.
I punch in Cliff’s number and prepare myself to get blasted. I’d say get chewed out, but that sounds strangely intimate, and I don’t do intimate, especially not when it comes to clients. The phone rings three times, and then there’s a crisp, clear voice on the other end.
“Hello, Cliff speaking.”
Right. So, he answers his phone like this is a business call. I guess it is kind of a business call. But still. I half expect him to tack on, what can I help you with today?
Seeing as that’s my question, I force cheerfulness into my voice. I’m at my small kitchen table, which is a retro set, of course, because my love of all things vintage doesn’t just stop at clothes. I set my one hand flat on the bright red tabletop and study the small window right across from me. My cactus—since the months are getting warmer and there’s more sunlight now—has been relocated to a small table in front of said window, so I cast a quick glance at it before studying the window again.
I think I’m a nurturer by nature, and that makes what I do for a living perfect for me. Despite how rude Cliff was to me, which I guess was to be expected since he’s basically being forced into this by his mom—which is kind of sad, weird, and maybe even a little bit creepy if you think about it—I actually care about how his date went. And not just because if this goes sideways, I’m out of a job. God. With a client like Cliff Marshall, I should already be on my laptop searching for different job options.
I quell my self-doubt and put on my professional face even though Cliff can’t see me. I think professional faces are like smiles. If you force one, they can make you feel it too.
“Hi, this is Rowan. Just checking in to see how your date went last night.”
“Well…” Cliff hedges and I hold my breath because his tone is anything but hopeful.
Really. Why did I expect that it would be? He’s clearly not on board with any of this, and he’s going to do his level best to sabotage this. It doesn’t matter that his date was a thirty-year-old professional who has a heart of gold. I actually felt bad about matching her with him because I thought it would be doing her a disservice, but I thought if he were going to come around and warm up to anyone, it would be Amanda. She’s basically the best human on the planet. She’s had a string of bad relationships in the past, and now her job doesn’t leave her much time for conventional dating. She’s lonely, and that’s why she came to us for help. She wants a good match—someone who isn’t going to screw her over and break her heart again.
She’s perfect for Cliff in every way. She’s confident. Outgoing. She’s a professional who makes quite a bit of money every single year, so she’s not looking for someone to take care of her. She doesn’t care about how much money a guy makes. He’s also a working professional, educated, obviously has some humor and wit stored away, which means he’s probably quite intelligent. I thought they’d make a good match, and Cliff would, despite his best efforts, come around and see the light.
Apparently, he’s still stuck in the dark because he grunts into the phone like a caveman. I can practically feel myself deflating at the table, and I’m glad there’s a chair underneath me to hold me up.
“It didn’t.”
“It didn’t what?” I barely manage to keep my voice level.
“Go.”
“What are you talking about?” If Cliff stood Amanda up, I know she would have called me.
“It started out well enough,” he admits reluctantly. If I’m pulling teeth with this guy to get a confession of enjoyment out
