Scoring a Holiday Match (Mr. Match) by Delancey Stewart (feel good novels .txt) 📕

And it had nothing to do with the fact that it was actually my money. I hated that part of it all. If Mom managed to blow through it all tomorrow, I wouldn’t care. But Mom would.

I laid back down and pulled up a real estate site on my phone. Max was right. I should just buy my own place. I scanned listings for forty minutes, and completely forgot I was supposed to be showering and getting dressed until Langley knocked on my door.

“Ready for a trim?”

I sat up and tried to look like a guy who had a personal beard trimmer pop by on a regular basis. “Sure.”

“Perhaps in the bathroom?”

“Perfect.”

I followed the guy into the bathroom and prostrated myself to the workings of his beard-trimming implements. “Not too short, okay?”

“Of course.”

When my beard was trimmed and I was fully dressed for my mother’s fancy dinner, I shoved my phone in my pocket and left my room. As we got into the car together, my phone dinged, and I scanned the message from Max.

Max: By the way, I’ve set you up to meet someone at the ball.

Shit. There want my night of drinking and catching up with my old friend. Max had demanded a year or so ago that I fill out a profile for something called Mr. Match, but I was skeptical about the likelihood of meeting anyone willing to put up with me or my lifestyle. He was weirdly devoted to seeing me hooked up. Or maybe he had some ulterior motive.

Me: NO.

Max:

There were no words in his next message, only a photo.

Of a woman who could have been pulled directly from my deepest fantasies. She had bronze skin and sparkling dark eyes framed by lashes that could not possibly be real. And though the photo was only from the waist up, there was plenty to appreciate about the curves evident beneath the polished business attire she wore. Her hair was dark and glossy, hanging over one shoulder, and there was an expression on her face that was practically a challenge. And fuck if I didn’t love a challenge.

Me: Fine.

Chapter 3

Enter the Seafaring Lumberjack

ROSE

I was still considering whether my words to PJ had been too harsh as I pulled the red sequined sheath up my body and over the strapless corset I wore.

There had been multiple emergencies at work the day of the ball, not the least of which was PJ’s emotional breakdown in my office first thing that morning. He’d burst through my door, practically falling down in the process, and I’d suggested he could try just opening the thing and stepping through.

He’d looked at me, and then his little doughy face had crumpled, and my heart had dropped, both in sympathy and with the realization that whatever this was would probably eat up a significant portion of the morning.

“I’m not good at anything,” he’d said, a tear sliding down his face as he sank into the chair across my desk.

“That’s not true, PJ, I’m sure it’s not.” Should I call Frank to come in here? He was PJ’s uncle, after all.

“It is,” he insisted, poking a finger down on top of my desk to make his point. “You know it, I know it. My uncle knows it.”

This was the most convincing he’d been about anything since I’d met him.

“Everyone has an off day, and this is your first job. Go easy on yourself.”

He shook his head. “How will I ever be able to provide for a woman if I can’t even answer the phone right?”

“Provide for a woman?” That got my back up, but I wasn’t sure exactly why.

“Yeah. Settle down, take care of a family.”

“What makes you think the second adult in that family scenario wouldn’t be providing for herself?” I glanced around my office, wondering if he was getting my point. After all, I was doing a damn fine job of providing for myself. And for my 138 employees.

He sighed. “Maybe. Maybe she will.”

I didn’t really have time for this, but I dug deeper, ignoring the phone ringing at PJ’s desk outside and the pinging from my email. “What’s going on, PJ? Did something happen today?”

He had been staring down at his hands, but now he looked up at me, his eyes doleful and wide, shining with unshed tears. Poor guy. “I’m just such a failure. And I’m meeting this girl tonight, and I really want to impress her, but . . .” Another sigh.

“I’m sure you’ll impress her,” I told him. “Tell her how you talked that FedEx guy down off the ledge when he came in here so upset after the bird pooped on him outside.” Those birds were evil. I swore they usually waited out there for me, and I had been wearing purple and black that day. They probably just missed.

“That wasn’t even part of my job.”

“I disagree. Your job is to keep the office running smoothly so we can focus on the business we do. And that day, that’s exactly what you did.”

“I order food and answer phones.”

“We all start somewhere.”

“Did you start in my job?”

“Well no. I mean, I founded the company with your uncle. After getting a master’s degree and working for a few other companies while I was in school.”

He dropped his head again, staring at his hands.

“What’s your goal, PJ?”

A sad voice said, “I don’t know.”

“Well, why don’t you spend today going over some online course offerings, and see what hits a note with you? And here—” I handed him my paperback copy of Clifton StrengthsFinder. There’s a code in here for a test you can take online.”

“I suck at tests,” he moaned.

“Take this one. It will tell you all the things about you that rock. And we can figure out how to apply your strengths after that. But I’ve gotta get out of here today at five.”

His face cleared and he looked at me with interest. “You never leave at five.”

“I have a . . .” I did