AN: Sorry for the delay but here is the next chapter!
Chapter Seven
Dimitri was furious. He didn't like looking foolish under any circumstances, but especially not in front of Mia Rinaldi. Yet here he was, completely out of his element. If the party had involved teenagers, he'd have been fine. He liked teenagers. He knew how to talk to them. But little kids—little female kids—were a mystery to him.
His anger against Rose grew. She thought putting one over on him was funny, but nothing involving Mia amused him. Where business was concerned, he didn't play games. Rose knew that, but she'd decided to test him, and he'd had to cut her off at the knees. He wouldn't let it bother him, either. Sentiment and second-guessing were for losers.
He focused on the Calebows' backyard with its swimming pool, climbing trees, and open stretch of well-used yard, all of it designed for a large family. This afternoon, pink filmy crap hung from the trees, around the flagstone patio, and over the jungle gym. It also festooned tiny tables where pink balloons bobbed in the breeze above the back of each small chair. Glittery dresses like the one Pippi Ozera wore spilled from pink cardboard cartons, and a battered pink wagon held a pile of plastic slippers. Fake pink jewels decorated a throne-shaped chair sitting in the middle of the patio. Only the green dragon piñata dangling from the branch of a maple tree had escaped the pink plague.
He'd always been comfortable in his body, but now he felt awkward and out of place. He glanced toward the swimming pool and experienced a flicker of hope. In a pool, he'd be right at home. Unfortunately, the iron gate was padlocked. Apparently Lissa and Mia had decided supervising so many little kids around water was too dangerous, but he'd have supervised the damn kids. He liked danger. If he'd gotten lucky, one of the little buggers would have gone under for a while, and he could have saved her from drowning. That would have caught Mia's attention.
The Stars' owner stood behind the farthest of the little tables, setting out some kind of cardboard whoogees. Like everybody else, she had one of those frickin' pink crowns on her head, and he regarded her with a profound sense of personal insult. Team owners should wear Stetsons or go bareheaded. No other options.
Mia chose that moment to look up. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she dropped one of the cardboard whoogees. "Dimitri?"
"Hey, Mia."
"Well. And isn't this special?" She snatched up the— whatever-the-hell they were. "As much as I'd love to climb into the trenches with you for another round of mud wrestling, I'm a little busy now."
"Rose thought you could use some help."
"And you're it? I don't think so."
He arranged his mouth in his most disarming smile. "I'll admit I'm a little out of my element, but if you point me in the right direction, I'll give it my best."
Instead of charming her, he'd made her suspicious, and her face assumed its customary distrustful expression. Before she could interrogate him, however, an army of little girls charged around the corner. Some of them held hands, others walked by themselves. They came in different shapes, different colors, and one of them was crying.
"New places can be scary," he heard Hannah say, "but everybody here is very, very nice. And if you get really scared, come and tell me. I'll take you for a walk. Also, if you need to go to the potty, I'll show you where it is. Our doggie is all locked up so she can't jump on anybody. And if you see a bee, tell one of the grown-ups."
This must be what Lissa had meant when she'd said that Hannah got emotionally involved.
Lissa stepped toward the pink cardboard boxes. "Every princess needs a beautiful gown, and here are yours." A few of the bolder girls rushed forward.
Mia thrust the whoogees in his hand. "Put one of these at each place. And you'd better not charge me for it." She hurried away to help.
Rose was nowhere to be seen. He'd come down on her hard, and he wasn't surprised that she needed time to recover. He ignored an unpleasant twinge in his gut. She'd brought this on herself when she'd crossed the line. He studied the whoogees, pink cardboard starbursts glued to the ends of wooden dowels. His mood grew gloomier. They must be magic wands. What the hell did magic wands have to do with helping girls learn math and science? He'd been good at both. He could have helped them with math and science. Weren't these girls supposed to be building skills? Screw magic wands. He'd have handed out some fucking calculators.
He tossed the wands on the table and looked around for Rose, but she still hadn't appeared, which was starting to bother him. Even though he'd needed to sack her, he didn't want to destroy her. High-pitched screams emerged from the gown boxes. Although the girls looked like an army, there were only fifteen or so of them. Something brushed his leg, and he gazed down into the face of Pippi Ozera. The theme from Jaws raced through his head.
The three-year-old's gown was the color of Pepto-Bismol, her eyes green gumballs of innocence. Only the rakish tilt of the pink tiara in her blond curls hinted at a desperado's heart. She held out a tiara she was clutching in her grubby little fist. "You gotta wear a crown."
"Not in this lifetime." He gave her a ministare, enough to get his point across without making her scream for her mother.
Her small, pale eyebrows shot together just like her father's when he spotted a safety blitz.
"Dimitri!" Lissa's voice emerged from a pool of gowns, sequins, and little girls. "Keep your eye on Pippi till we get everybody dressed, will you?"
"My pleasure." He looked down at the kid.
The kid looked up at him.
He studied her gumball eyes and pink tiara.
She scratched her arm.
He searched his brain and finally came up with something. "Anybody ever teach you how to use a calculator?"
The squeals emanating from the direction of the gown box grew louder. Pippi tipped her chin to get a better view of him, and her tiara scooted farther back on her head. "You got some bubbles?"
"What?"
"I like bubbles."
"Uh-huh."
Her eyes darted to his pockets. "Where's your phone?"
"Let's go see how your mother's doing."
"I wanna see your phone."
"Give me back my old one first, and then we'll talk."
She grinned. "I luvvvv phones."
"Tell me about it."
Last month when he'd dropped by the Ozera house, he'd been left alone with their little adorable for a few minutes. She'd demanded to see his cell. It was a brand-new state-of-the-art Blackberry equipped with enough peripherals so he could basically run his business from it, but he hadn't seen the harm. Just as he'd handed it over, however, Chris had called from the other room asking Dimitri to look at a piece of game film, and that was the last he'd seen of it.
He'd managed to get her alone before he'd left and tried to cross-examine her, but all of a sudden the kid no hablo-ed the ingles. As a result, he'd lost a couple of dozen important e-mails and the final notes on a new contract. Later, Ivan had said Dimitri should have just told Chris what had happened, but Chris and Lissa were starry-eyed when it came to their kids, and Dimitri couldn't imagine saying anything they could interpret as criticism of their little darling.
She stomped a foot in the grass. "Wanna see phone now."
"Forget it."
She screwed up her face. Oh, shit, she was going to cry. He knew from past experience that the tiniest sound of dismay coming from her moppet's mouth sent Lissa's head spinning. Where the hell was Rose? He whipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his newest cell. I'll hold it while you look." He knelt at her side.
She made a grab. "I wanna hold it."
Dimitri would never for a moment have let it go—he wasn't that stupid—but Rose chose that particular instant to make her appearance, and he was so surprised by what he saw that he lost track.
A queen of England—size crown nestled in her wild tumble of curls, and she wore a long silvery gown. Shimmering rhinestones sprinkled the fluffy skirt, and a wisp of silver netting framed her bare shoulders. As she walked onto the grass, the sun struck her from every direction, setting her hair on fire and striking sparks in the rhinestones. No wonder the shrieking little girls fell silent. He was fairly awestruck himself.
For a moment, he forgot how pissed he was with her. Although the gown was a costume and the tiara fake, she seemed almost magical, and something inside him didn't want to look away. Most of the girls were dressed by now, their tiny pink gowns pulled on over shorts and T-shirts. As Rose approached them, he spotted her flip-flops peeking from under the hem of her gown. For some weird reason, they seemed just right.
"Greetings, my little beauties," she trilled, sounding like the good witch in The Wizard of Oz. "I'm Rosemarie, your fairy godmother. I'm going to ask each of you your name and then cast a magic spell that will turn you into an official princess. Are you ready?"
Their shrill squeals seemed to indicate they were.
"After I do that," she went on, "I'll help you make your own magic wand to take home."
Dimitri snatched up the wands he'd dumped in a heap and began tossing them among the pots of pink glitter and plastic jewels on the tables. Rose moved along the row of little girls, leaned down to ask each child her name, then waved her own wand over the child's head. "I dub thee Princess Kee-sha… I dub thee Princess Anna… I dub thee Princess Dominga… I dub thee Princess Phoebe."
Damn it! Dimitri whirled around, remembering too late that the kid had his phone. He searched the grass where they'd been standing and checked his pockets, but his cell was nowhere to be seen. He turned toward the girls, and there she stood, a pint-size phone felon with empty hands and a crooked pink tiara on her head.
The kid was only three, and hardly any time had passed. How far could she have gone with it? As he considered his next move, Mia popped up at his side with a Polaroid camera. "We want a picture of each of the girls sitting on the throne in her costume. Will you take them for free," she cooed, "or are you going to put a lien on their tooth fairy money?"
"Mia, I'm wounded."
"Not to worry. I doubt you'll bleed." She plopped the camera in his hand, and off she went, pink tiara aglitter, ill will oozing from every pore. Great. So far, he'd managed to fire his matchmaker and lose another cell without getting one step closer to repairing his relationship with the Stars' owner. And the party was just getting started.
Rose finished the naming ceremony, then she and Lissa guided some of the girls to the tables to decorate their wands while Mia and Hannah led the others toward a tray of lipsticks and eye shadows. He had a few minutes before he needed to set up his photo shop, enough time to figure out where a three-year-old could have hidden a phone.
A trill of laughter coming from Glinda the Good Witch drifted his way, but he refused to be distracted. Unfortunately, Pippi had hunkered down with her mother. Her hands were occupied, one with a glue stick, the other attached to the thumb she'd popped in her mouth, so she must have stashed it somewhere. Maybe she'd slipped it into her shorts pocket under her gown. He remembered he'd programmed it to vibrate, and he set the camera down, then cut around the house to grab his BlackBerry with its built-in phone from his car. When he returned, he entered the number of the lost cell and stood off to the side to see if she'd react.
She didn't. Not in her pockets then.
Damn. He needed Rose. Except he'd cut her out of his life.
All of the little girls were clamoring for her attention, but instead of being rattled, she seemed to like it. He made himself turn away. So what if she looked as innocent as a Disney cartoon? He didn't forgive and he didn't forget.
He slipped deeper into the shade of the patio. None of the girls were ready for their photos, and he had time to make a few calls, but as sure as anything, she'd catch him at it and make some withering remark. Once again, the theme from Jaws blared in his head. He looked down.
Pippi wore bright blue eye shadow and sported a rosebud mouth slick with red lipstick. He quickly shoved his Black-Berry in his pocket.
"See my wand?"
"Hey, that's a wand, all right." He crouched, pretending to check out her artwork, but really getting down to business. "Pippi, show Uncle Dimitri where you put his phone."
She gave him a killer smile, front teeth the tiniest bit crooked, probably from that thumb. "Want phone," she said.
"That's great. Me, too. Let's go find it together."
She pointed to his pocket. "Want that phone!"
"Oh, no, you don't." He shot to his feet and strode away so that, if Pippi started to cry, he wasn't anywhere in the vicinity. "Who's ready for a picture?" he called out, hearty as all hell.
"Princess Anna, you're ready," Lissa said. "Go sit on the throne and let Prince Dimitri take your picture."
A snort came from the general direction of Glinda the Good Witch.
"I'm scared," the little girl whispered to Lissa.
"As well you should be," Glinda muttered.
Her comment should have aggravated him, but he hadn't wanted to crush her spirit, just to teach her a lesson about business that was ultimately for her own good. "Do you want me to go with you?" Lissa asked the child. But the little girl was gazing adoringly at Rose.
"I want my picture with her," she said.
Lissa grinned at Rose. "Fairy Godmother, you seem to have a photo call."
"Sure." Rose took the child's hand and headed toward the throne. As she reached his side, she stuck her nose in the air and swept past him. The nose, he couldn't help but notice, had a pink glitter smudge at the tip.
After that, it seemed as though every princess in the land wanted her photo taken with the good fairy godmother, who, not coincidentally, acted as if the royal photographer didn't exist. He knew how to play that game, and he confined his comments to the girls. "Give me a smile, princess. That's good."
Rose might be ignoring him, but she giggled with the children, cast magic spells, arbitrated disputes, and let Princess Pilar see what fairy godmothers wore under their gowns. He was more than a little interested himself. Unfortunately, this particular fairy godmother wore gray drawstring shorts instead of the bright red thong that would have been his choice. But, hey, that was just him.
Before long, he forgot about the phone calls he needed to make and concentrated on getting good pictures of the girls. He had to admit they were cute. Some of them were shy and needed encouragement. Others were big talkers. A couple of the four-year-olds wanted Rose to sit on the throne so they could perch in her lap. A few had her stand next to them. She made them laugh—made him smile—and by the time they'd gotten to the end of the photos, he'd decided to forgive her. What the hell. Everybody deserved a second chance. First he'd give her the lecture of her life, then he'd take her back on probation.
Photos done, she set off to help Hannah, who was supervising a game of pin the kiss on the frog. Since Hannah wasn't making anyone wear a blindfold, it didn't look like much of a game to him, but maybe he was missing something. Mia and Lissa, in the meantime, had started a treasure hunt.
Pippi popped up at his side and tried to frisk him for his backup phone, but he distracted her with an open pot of green eye shadow.
"Pippi! How did you get into that?" Lissa shrieked a few minutes later.
He busied himself with the camera and pretended not to see the hard, suspicious look Mia shot at him.
Lissa gathered the girls under a shady tree and entertained them with a story she seemed to be making up on the spot called Daphne and the Princess Party. She incorporated all the girls' names and even added a frog named Prince Dimitri who specialized in taking magical pictures. Now that he'd decided to forgive Rose, he relaxed enough to enjoy watching her. She sat cross-legged in the grass, her billowing skirts enveloping the children around her. She laughed when they did, clapped her hands, and, in general, acted pretty much like a kid herself.
While the tables were set up for refreshments, he was put in charge of the dragon pinata. "Don't make them wear blindfolds," Hannah whispered. "It scares them."
So he didn't. He let them whack away to their hearts' content, and when the pinata refused to break, took a swing at the sucker himself and finished it off. Goodies flew. He supervised the distribution and did a damn good job of it, too. Nobody got hurt, nobody cried, so maybe he wasn't entirely clueless about kids.
The refreshments arrived in a sea of pink. Pink punch. Sandwiches made with pink bread, a castle cake complete with pink-frosted ice-cream-cone turrets and a chunk conspicuously missing from the pink drawbridge, undoubtedly the work of young Andrew Calebow. Lissa slipped him a beer.
"You're an angel of mercy," he said.
"I don't know what we'd have done without you."
"It was fun." Well, the last twenty minutes anyway, when there'd been some action with the pinata and at least a faint potential for bloodshed.
"Princesses!" Mia called from the cake table. "I know we all want to thank our fairy godmother for taking time out of her busy schedule to be with us today. Princess Lissa, we loved your story so much, and Princess Hannah, everyone appreciated all the hugs you gave out." Her voice dropped to that coo he'd come to dread. "As for Prince Dimitri… We're so glad he could help us with the pinata. Who knew his talent for battering things would come in so handy?"
"Brother…" Lissa muttered. "She really does hate your guts."
Half an hour later, a group of tired princesses headed home with giant goody bags stuffed full of treats for themselves, as well as for their brothers and sisters.
"It was a very nice party," Hannah said from the front step as the bus disappeared. "I was worried."
Mia looped her arm around her daughter's shoulders and kissed the top of her head, just behind her tiara. "You made everybody feel right at home."
And what about me? Dimitri wanted to say. He couldn't see that he'd gained an inch of ground with her, even though he'd cleared tables, taken photos, and dealt with the pinata, all without making a single phone call or catching one lousy inning of the Sox game.
Rose braced her hand on the porch railing and wiggled out of her fairy godmother dress. "I'm afraid it has some grass stains and a punch spill, so I don't know if you'll be able to use it again."
"One Halloween was enough," Lissa replied.
"Thanks so much, Rose." Mia gave her the genuine smile she didn't offer him. "You were a perfect fairy godmother."
"I loved every minute. How are the twins feeling?"
"Sulky. I checked on them half an hour ago. They're upset about missing the party."
"I don't blame them. It was quite a party."
A cell rang. He automatically reached into his pocket, forgetting for an instant that he'd turned off his phone. He came up empty. What… ?
"Hey, babe…" Lissa spoke into her own cell. "Yes, we survived, no thanks to you and Dan. Luckily, your valiant agent came to our rescue… Yes, really."
He slapped his pockets. Where the hell was his BlackBerry?
"Wanna talk to Daddy!" Pippi squealed, reaching for Lissa's phone.
"Hold on a minute. Pip wants to say hi."
Lissa lowered the phone to her daughter's ear. Dimitri headed for the backyard. Damn it! She couldn't possibly have stolen two of them in one afternoon. It must have fallen out of his pocket when he was running around with the piniata.
He looked under the tree, in the grass, everywhere he could think of, and came up empty. She'd picked his pocket when he'd crouched down to talk to her.
"Are you missing something?" Mia cooed, coming up behind him. "A heart, perhaps?"
"My BlackBerry."
"I haven't seen it. But if I find it, I'll be sure to let you know right away." She spoke with all kinds of sincerity, but he suspected if she found it she'd toss it in her swimming pool.
"Much appreciated," he said.
Rose and Lissa had returned to the backyard, but Pippi seemed to have gone off with Hannah. "I'm exhausted," Lissa said, "and I'm used to being around kids. Poor Rose."
"I wouldn't have missed it for the world." Studiously ignoring him, Rose began gathering up the paper plates.
Mia waved her off. "Leave everything. My cleaning service is coming by soon. While they work, I'm going to put my feet up and recover. I haven't started the new book for the book club, and I have to make up for not finishing the last one."
"That book was a stinker," Rose said. "I don't know what Sonia was thinking of when she chose it."
Dimitri's ears pricked up. Rose and Mia were in a book club together? What other interesting secrets was she hiding from him?
Lissa yawned and stretched. "I like Angeline's idea of giving the guys a book of their own to read when we go on our retreat. Last year, whenever they weren't in the lake or with us, they were rehashing old games. I don't care what they say. That's just got to get boring after a while."
Every cell in Dimitri's body went on full alert.
"Don't let Trey choose," Mia said. "He's hung up on Marquez now, and I can't see the rest of the men getting too excited about One Hundred Years of Solitude."
There was only one Trey they could be talking about, and that was Trey Juarez, the Stars' All Pro former offensive tackle. Dimitri's mind raced. What kind of book club had Rose gotten herself involved in?
Even more important… Exactly how was he going to use this to his advantage?
Rose collected a few more paper plates, even though Mia had told her not to bother. She dreaded the idea of being closed up in the car with Dimitri for the ride home. Mia scooped a dab of pink icing from the mangled castle cake and popped it in her mouth. "Dan and I are both looking forward to the retreat at the campground. We love any excuse to go to Wind Lake. Lissa definitely lucked out when she married a man with his own resort."
"With training camp coming up, it'll be the last break any of us have for a long time." Lissa turned to Rose. "I almost forgot. We had a cancellation on one of the cottages. You and Janine can share it, since you're both singles, or would you rather keep your room at the B&B?"
Rose thought it over. Although she'd never been to the Wind Lake Campground, she knew it had both a Victorian bed-and-breakfast and a number of small cottages. "I guess I'd—"
"The cottage for sure," Dimitri said. "Apparently Rose hasn't gotten around to mentioning that she ordered me to go with her."
Rose turned to stare at him.
Mia's finger froze in the cake icing. "You're coming on the retreat?"
Rose spotted a small pulse beating at the base of his neck. He loved this. She could expose him with only a few words, but he was an adrenaline junky, and he'd thrown the dice. "I've never been able to turn down a bet," he said. "She thinks I can't go an entire weekend without my cell."
"You can barely make it through dinner," Lissa muttered.
"I'll expect an apology from both of you after I've proved exactly how wrong you are."
Lissa's and Mia's expressions were equally quizzical as they turned to Rose. Her wounded pride demanded she punish him. Right now. She deserved her pound of flesh for the cold-blooded way he'd fired her.
An awkward pause fell. He watched her, waited, the pulse at the base of his neck marking the passing seconds.
"He'll fold." She forced a smile. "Everybody knows it but him."
"Interesting." Lissa refrained from saying more, although Rose knew she wanted to.
Twenty minutes later, she and Dimitri were heading back toward the city, the silence in the car as thick as the castle cake's pink frosting, but not nearly as sweet. He'd done better than she'd expected with the girls. He'd listened respectfully to Hannah's concerns, and Pippi adored him. Rose had been surprised how many times she'd looked over to see him crouched down talking to her.
Dimitri finally broke the silence. "I'd already made up my mind to rehire you before I heard about the retreat."
"Oh, I believe you," she said, using sarcasm to hide her hurt.
"I mean it."
"Whatever lets you sleep at night."
"Okay, Rose. Unload. Get it all out. Everything you've been saving up all afternoon."
"Unloading is the prerogative of equals. Lowly employees like myself pucker their lips and kiss the sweet spot."
"You were out of line, and you know it. This thing with Mia never gets any better. I thought I might be able to change that."
"Whatever."
He shot into the left lane. "Do you want me to bow out? I can call Lissa in the morning and tell her that something's come up. Is that what you want me to do?"
"Like I have any choice if I want to keep you as a client."
"Okay, let me make it easy for you. Regardless of what you decide, you're rehired. One way or another, our contract still holds."
She let him see she wasn't impressed with his offer. "And I can just imagine how cooperative you'd be if I refused to take you on the retreat."
"What do you want from me?"
"I want you to be honest. Look me in the eye and admit that you didn't have the slightest intention of rehiring me until you heard about the retreat."
"Yeah, you're right." He didn't look her in the eye, but at least he was being honest. "I wasn't going to forgive you. And you know why? Because I'm a ruthless son of a bitch."
"Fine. You can come with me."
Rose spent the next few days feeling pissy. She tried to chalk her mood up to getting her period, but she wasn't as good at self-deception as she used to be. Dimitri's cold-blooded behavior had left her feeling bruised, betrayed, and just plain mad. One mistake, and he'd written her off. If it weren't for the Wind Lake retreat, she'd never have seen him again. She was totally expendable, another one of his worker bees.
On Tuesday he left a terse voice message. "Tasha has someone she wants me to meet at eight-thirty on Thursday evening. Set me up with one of your introductions at eight so we can kill two birds with one stone."
Finally, she put the anger where it belonged, on her own shoulders. He wasn't to blame for those sexual images that wanted to burn themselves into her brain when her guard was down. To him, this was business. She was the one who'd let it become personal, and if she forgot that again, she deserved the consequences.
On Thursday evening before she headed to Probka's for the next round of introductions, she met her newest client at Ear-wax. Ray Fiedler had been referred by a relative of one of Nana's oldest friends, and Rose had sent him on his first date the night before with a Loyola faculty member she'd met during her campus cruising. "We had a nice time and everything," Ray said after they'd settled around one of Earwax's wooden tables, which was painted like the wheel of a circus wagon, "but Carole's not really my physical type."
"How do you mean?" Rose drew her eyes away from the ominous beginnings of his comb-over. She knew the answer, but she wanted to make him say it.
"She's… I mean, she's a really nice woman. A lot of people don't get my jokes. It's just that I like women who are… more fit."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"Carole's a little overweight."
She took a sip of her cappuccino and studied the red-and-gold wooden dragon on the wall rather than the extra twenty pounds that hung around what used to be Ray Fiedler's waistline.
He wasn't stupid. "I know I'm not exactly Mr. Buff myself, but I work out."
Rose fought the urge to reach across the table and smack him in the head. Still, this type of challenge was part of what she liked about being a matchmaker. "You usually date thin women, then?"
"They don't have to be beauty queens, but the women I've dated have been pretty nice looking."
Rose pretended to look thoughtful. "I'm a little confused. When we first talked, you gave me the impression that you hadn't dated in a long time."
"Well, I haven't, but…"
She let him squirm for a few moments. A kid with multiple piercings passed their table followed by a pair of soccer moms. "So this weight thing is really important to you? More important than personality or intelligence?"
He looked as if she'd asked a trick question. "I just had somebody a little… different in mind."
And don't we all? Rose thought. The Fourth of July weekend was coming up, and she had no date, no prospects for a date, and no plans beyond starting her exercise program again and trying not to brood about the Wind Lake book club retreat. Ray fiddled with his spoon, and her annoyance with him faded. He was a decent guy, just clueless.
"Maybe you're not a love match," she said, "but I'll tell you the same thing I told Carole last night when she expressed a few misgivings. You have a common background, and you enjoyed each other's company. I think that justifies another date, regardless of your current lack of physical attraction. If nothing else, you could end up with a friend."
A few beats passed before he got it. "What do you mean misgivings? She doesn't want to see me again?"
"She has a few doubts, just like you do."
His hand flew to his head. "It's because of my hair, isn't it? That's all women care about. They see a guy who's losing his hair, and they don't want to give him the time of day."
"Women are less influenced by a receding hairline or a few extra pounds than men assume. Do you know what's most important to women as far as male physical appearance goes?"
"Height? Hey, I'm almost five-ten."
"Not height. Studies show that good grooming is most important to women. They value cleanliness and neatness more than anything else." She paused. "And good haircuts are very important to women."
"She didn't like my haircut?"
Rose gave him a wide smile. "Isn't that cool? A haircut can be fixed so easily. Here's the name of a stylist who gives great men's cuts." She slid the business card across the table. "You've got everything else together, so this will be easy."
It hadn't occurred to him that he might be the one getting rejected, and his competitive instincts came into play. By the time they left the coffee shop, he'd begrudgingly agreed to both the haircut and to meeting Carole again. Rose told herself she was getting good at this, and she shouldn't let her mother or her troubles with Dimitri Belikov plant all those seeds of doubt.
She entered Probka's in a better mood, but things went to hell quickly. Dimitri hadn't arrived, and the De Paul harpist she'd arranged for him to meet called to say she'd cut her leg and was heading for the emergency room. She'd barely hung up before Dimitri called. "The plane's late," he said. "I'm on the ground at O'Hare, but we're waiting for a gate to open up."
She told him about the harpist and then, because he sounded tired, suggested he postpone his Power Matches date.
"Tempting, but I'd better not," he said. "Tasha's really high on this one. A gate's opening up now, so I shouldn't be too late. Hold the fort till I get there."
"All right."
Rose chatted with the bartender until Tasha's candidate arrived. Her eyes widened. No wonder Tasha had been enthusiastic. She was the most beautiful woman Rose had ever seen…
The next morning Rose returned from her semiannual morning run to see Tasha Ozera standing on her porch. They'd never met, but Rose recognized her from her Web site photograph. Only as she came closer, however, did she realize this was the same woman she'd seen standing in front of Probka's the night she'd introduced Dimitri to Barrie. Tasha wore a silky black blouse crisscrossed at her small waist, shocking pink slacks, and retro black patent leather heels. Her inky hair was beautifully cut, the kind of hair that moved with the slightest toss of the head, and her skin flawless. As for her body… She obviously only ate on government holidays.
"Don't you dare pull another trick like you did last night," Tasha said the minute Rose's running shoes hit the porch steps. She oozed the brittle sort of beauty that always made Rose feel dumpy, but especially this morning in her baggy shorts and a sweaty orange T-shirt that said bill's heating and cooling.
"Good morning to you, too." Rose pulled the key from her shorts pocket, unlocked the door, and stepped aside to let Tasha enter.
Tasha took in the reception area and Rose's office with a single disdainful glance. "Do not ever… ever… take it upon yourself to get rid of one of my candidates before Dimitri has had a chance to meet her."
Rose closed the door. "You sent a bad candidate."
Tasha pointed one manicured finger in the direction of Rose's sweat-beaded forehead. "That was for him to decide, not you."
Rose ignored the fingernail pistol. "I'm sure you know how he feels about wasting time."
Tasha threw up her hand. "Can you really be this incompetent? Claudia Reeshman is the top model in Chicago. She's beautiful. She's intelligent. There are a million men who'd like a shot at her."
"That may be true, but she seems to have some serious emotional problems." A fairly obvious drug habit topped the list, although Rose wouldn't make any accusations she couldn't prove. "She started crying before her first drink arrived."
"Everyone has a bad day now and then." Tasha draped a hand on her hip, a feminine pose, but she made it look as aggressive as a karate chop. "I've worked all month trying to talk her into meeting Dimitri. I finally get her to agree, and what do you do? You decide he's not going to like her, and you send her home."
"Claudia was going through more than a bad day," Rose countered. "She's an emotional train wreck."
"I don't care if she was rolling on the floor barking like a dog. What you did was stupid and underhanded."
Rose had dealt with strong personalities all her life, and she wasn't going to back down from this one, even with sweat dripping in her eyes and bill's heating and cooling sticking to her chest. "Dimitri's been clear about what he expects."
"I'd say the sexiest, most sought after woman in Chicago exceeds his expectations."
"He wants more than beauty in a wife."
"Oh, please. When it comes to men like Dimitri, cup size wins over IQ any time."
They were getting nowhere, so Rose did her best to sound professional instead of pissed off. "This whole process would be easier for both of us if we could work together."
Tasha looked as if Rose had offered her a big bag of fatty junk food. "I have strict qualifications for my trainees, Ms. Mazur. You don't fit any of them."
"Now that's just bitchy." Rose stalked to the door. "From now on, take your grievances right to Dimitri."
"Oh, believe me, I will. And I can't wait to hear what he has to say about this one."
What the hell were you thinking?" Dimitri bellowed into the phone a few hours later, not exactly yelling, but coming close. "I just found out you blew off Claudia Reeshman?"
"And?" Rose took a vicious jab at the notepad next to her kitchen phone with a lollipop pen.
"I obviously gave you way too much power."
"When I called you back last night and told you I'd canceled the introduction because she wasn't what you wanted, you thanked me."
"You neglected to mention her name. I've never had a thing for models, but Claudia Reeshman… Jesus, Rose…"
"Maybe you'd like to fire me again."
"Will you let it go?"
"How's this going to work?" She took another stab at the notepad. "Do you trust me or not?"
Through the phone, she heard a car horn, followed by a long silence. "I trust you," he finally said.
She almost choked. "Really?"
"Really."
Just like that, she got a lump in her throat the size of the Sears Tower. She cleared it away and tried to sound as though this was exactly what she'd expected him to say. "Good. I hear horns. Are you on the road?"
"I told you I was driving to Indianapolis."
"That's right. It's Friday." For the next two nights, he'd be in Indiana with a client who played for the Colts. He'd originally planned the trip for the following weekend, but he'd rescheduled because of the book club retreat she didn't want to think about. "The way you keep going out of town on weekends makes scheduling these introductions challenging."
"Business comes first. You sure did piss off Tasha. She wants your head on a platter."
"Along with a knife and some fat-free sour cream to help wash it down."
"I didn't know Reeshman was still in Chicago. I thought she'd gone to New York for good."
Rose suspected Claudia didn't want to be that far from her drug dealer.
"Do me a favor," he said. "If Tasha sets up a date for me with anybody else who's posed for SI's swimsuit edition, at least tell me her name before you get rid of her."
"All right."
"And thanks for agreeing to help me out tomorrow."
She drew a daisy on her notepad. "What's not to like about spending the day running around town with your credit card and no spending limit?"
"Plus Ivan and Ryan Aylesworth's mother. Don't forget that part. If Mrs. Aylesworth wasn't so afraid of him, Ivan could have done this by himself."
"She's not the only one who's afraid of him. You're sure we'll be safe?"
"As long as you don't mention politics, Taco Bell, or the color red."
"Thanks for the warning."
"And don't let him get too close to anybody wearing a hat."
"I'm going now."
As she hung up, she realized she was smiling, which wasn't a good idea at all. Pythons could strike at will, and they seldom gave any warning.
Ryan Aylesworth's mother, Arte, had salt-and-pepper dreadlocks, a tall, full-figured body, and a hearty laugh. Rose liked her immediately. With Ivan as their travel guide, they saw the sights, beginning with an early morning architectural boat tour followed by a sweep through the Impressionists collection at the Art Institute. Although Ivan handled all the arrangements, he stayed in the background. He was a strange guy, full of intriguing contradictions that made Rose want to know more about him.
After a late lunch, they headed for Millennium Park, the glorious new lakefront park Chicagoans believed finally put them ahead of San Francisco as America's most beautiful city. Rose had visited the park many times, and she enjoyed showing off the terraced gardens, the fifty-foot-high Crown Fountain with its changing video images, and the shiny, mirrorlike Cloud Gate sculpture affectionately known as The Bean.
As they walked through the futuristic music pavilion, where the bandshell's curling stainless-steel ribbons blended so exquisitely with the skyscrapers behind it, their conversation returned to Arte's son, who'd soon be playing fullback for the Bears. "Ryan had agents all over him," his mother said. "It was a happy day for me when he signed with Dimitri. I stopped worrying so much about people taking advantage of him. I know Dimitri's going to look out for him."
"He definitely cares about his clients," Rose said.
The July sunlight flirted with the waves on the lake as the two women followed Ivan over the snaking steel pedestrian bridge that meandered above the traffic on Columbus Drive. When they reached the other side, they wandered toward the jogging trail. As they stopped to admire the view, a biker called out to Ivan, then pulled up beside him.
Rose and Arte fell still, both of them gazing at the man's skintight black biker shorts. "Time to praise God for the glory of his creation," Arte said.
"Amen."
They moved closer, checking out the biker's sweat-slicked calves and the blue-and-white mesh T-shirt clinging to his perfectly developed chest. He was in his mid-to-late twenties, and he wore a high-tech red helmet that hid the top of his damp hair, but not his Adonis profile.
"I need a plunge in the lake to cool off," Rose whispered.
"If I were twenty years younger…"
Ivan gestured toward them. "Ladies, I've got somebody for you to meet."
"Come to mama," Arte murmured, which made Rose giggle.
Just before they reached the men, Rose recognized the biker. "Wow. I know who that is."
"Mrs. Aylesworth, Rose," Ivan said. "This is the famous Adrian Ivashkov, the Stars' next great quarterback."
Although Rose had never met Chris' backup in person, she'd seen him play, and she knew him by reputation. Arte shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Adrian. You tell your friends to take it easy on my boy Ryan this season."
Adrian gave her his ladykiller smile. And didn't he know exactly the effect he had on women? Rose thought.
"We'll do just that for you, ma'am." Oozing sex appeal like an oil slick, he turned his charm on her. His openly assessing eyes slid down her body with a confidence that said he could have her—or any woman he wanted—whenever and however he liked. Oh, no, you can't, you naughty, sexy little boy.
"Rose is it?"
"I'd better check my driver's license to make sure," she said. "I'm all out of breath here."
Ivan choked, then laughed.
Apparently Ivashkov wasn't used to women calling his visual bluffs because he looked momentarily taken aback. Then he ratcheted up the old charm-o-meter. "Maybe it's the heat."
"Oh, it's hot all right." Normally, gorgeous men intimidated her, but he was so full of himself she was merely amused.
He laughed, this time genuinely, and she found herself liking him in spite of his cockiness. "I do admire a feisty woman," he said.
She slipped her sunglasses lower on her nose and gazed at him over the top. "I'll just bet, Mr. Ivashkov, that you admire women in general."
"And they admire you right back." Arte chuckled.
Adrian turned to Ivan. "Where did you find these two?"
"Cook County Jail."
Arte snorted. "You behave yourself, Ivan."
Adrian returned his attention to Rose. "Something about your name rings a bell. Wait a minute. Aren't you Dimitri's matchmaker?"
"How did you know about that?"
"Word gets around." A Rollerblader whizzed by, brunette hair flying. He took his time enjoying the view. "I never met a matchmaker," he finally said. "Maybe I should hire you?"
"You do know my business doesn't have anything to do with lighting campfires, right?"
He folded his arms over his chest. "Hey, everybody wants to meet somebody special."
She smiled. "Not when they're having so much fun meeting all those un-specials."
Adrian turned to Ivan. "I don't think she likes me."
"She likes you," Ivan said, "but she thinks you're immature."
"I'm sure you'll grow out of it," Rose said.
Ivan slapped him on the back. "I know it doesn't happen very often, but it looks like Rose's immune to your movie star face."
"Then somebody better get her to the eye doctor," Arte muttered, which made them all laugh.
Adrian wheeled his bike off the path and leaned it against a tree while the four of them chatted. Adrian asked Arte about Ryan, and they talked about the Bears for a while. Then Ivan brought up Adrian's search for an agent. "I hear you've been meeting with Jack Riley at IMG."
"I'm meeting with a lot of people," Adrian replied.
"You should at least hear what Dimitri has to say. He's a smart guy."
"Dimitri Belikov is number one on my do-not-call list. I've got enough ways of making Mia unhappy." Adrian turned to Rose. "How'd you like to come to the beach with me tomorrow?"
She hadn't seen this coming, and she was stunned. Also suspicious. "Why?"
"Can I be honest?"
"I don't know. Can you?"
"I need protection."
"From overtanning?"
"Nope." He flashed his glamour boy smile. "I love the beach, but so many people recognize me that it's hard to chill. Usually, if I'm with a woman, people give me a little more space."
"And I'm the only woman you can find to go with you? I doubt that."
His eyes twinkled. "Don't take this the wrong way, but it'll be more relaxing if I invite somebody I'm not planning to sleep with."
Rose burst out laughing.
"Poor Adrian needs a friend, not a lover." Ivan chuckled.
"You're invited, too, Mrs. Aylesworth," Adrian said politely.
"Honey, not even a hottie like you could get me out in public wearing a bathing suit."
"What do you think, Rose?" Adrian cocked his head toward the lakefront. "We'll go to the Oak Street Beach. I'll bring a cooler. We can hang out, swim, listen to music. It'll be fun. You can lower your standards for a couple of hours, can't you?"
Her life had gotten so weird since she'd met Dimitri Belikov. Chicago's hottest young jock had just asked her to spend Sunday afternoon lying on the beach with him when, only two days ago, she'd been feeling sorry for herself because she didn't have any plans for the Fourth of July weekend. "As long as you promise not to ogle younger women while I'm with you."
"I'd never do that!" he declared, apparently forgetting the brunette Rollerblader.
"Just so we're clear."
And he didn't.
He didn't talk on his cell, either, or whip out a BlackBerry. It was a hot, cloudless day, and he even provided a beach umbrella to protect her skin. They lay on towels listening to music, talking when they felt like it, and gazing out at the water when they didn't. She wore her two-piece white suit, which was cut high enough at the thigh to make her legs look longer, but not so high that she needed a Brazilian wax. Some of his fans interrupted, but not too many. Still, everyone seemed to want a piece of Adrian Ivashkov. Maybe that was why she sensed an odd sort of loneliness beneath his oversize ego. He dodged questions about his family, and she didn't press him.
She had four voice mails waiting when she got home, all from Dimitri, demanding she call him right away. Instead, she took a shower. She was toweling her hair dry when she heard the doorbell ring. She fastened her yellow terry robe at the waist and headed downstairs, running one hand through her mop as she padded to the door.
A tall hunk of a man gazed back at her through the wavy glass. The Python was paying his second house call.
