Yet for all his protests, Parker accepted the Bud Light that Dean handed him. Truth was, DreamMakers was no uptight Fortune-500-type company, and that was probably why their clients loved them. They were three former soldiers who liked cold beers and warm female bodies. They’d made their company easy to find on Google, and they catered to the average man—the guy who forgot to buy his lady flowers on her birthday and wanted to make up for it with a whirlwind date, the poor sucker who didn’t know the difference between roses and peonies, the football-loving husband who mistakenly scheduled his fantasy draft on the same day as his twentieth anniversary.
And, apparently, the junior VP of advertising who knew diddly-squat about his prospective fiancée, as the two men confirmed twenty minutes after Phil the Douche finally finished the paperwork and left the building.
They stood by their receptionist’s desk, studying the questionnaire Shotelle had hurriedly filled out, unable to believe the results.
“Sweet baby Jesus,” Dean grumbled, his head bent over the paper. “He wrote ‘not applicable’ on the line asking for her birthday!”
Parker peered closer, a groan of disbelief escaping him. “For favorite flower he wrote ‘red ones, or maybe yellow’.” He paused. “Huh. At least he knows her middle name—Elizabeth.”
A long red fingernail tapped the bottom of the page. “Check out what he wrote for favorite animal,” Didi Lorge said, an unrestrained grin stretching her lips.
Parker read the answer aloud. “‘One time she said something about whales’. Oh, for the love of…”
Their receptionist laughed in delight and spun her computer chair, far more amused by the situation than Parker. Didi had been working for them since they’d first opened DreamMakers, and she was the bubbliest, most flamboyant fifty-year-old he’d ever met in his life. Her husband Teddy was a veteran who was friends with Parker’s father, and when he’d heard his best bud’s son was starting a business, he’d all but pleaded with Parker to hire his wife to “give her something to do so she quits dragging my ass to the mall”.
Parker’s doubts about the sassy, big-haired blonde had long since faded, and he couldn’t deny Didi was fun to have around. Besides, not only did she work hard, but all their clients adored her.
“We can’t work with any of this,” Dean declared. “This guy wouldn’t be able to pick his girlfriend out of a fucking lineup.”
“Language, Mr. Colter,” Didi said sternly.
Dean was instantly shame-faced. “Sorry, D.”
“Good boy.”
Parker, who wholeheartedly agreed with Dean’s assessment, reached for the sheet of paper beneath the questionnaire and gave it a quick read. “Shit, he’s willing to pay the asshole fee. And he said he’ll pay extra if we can arrange the date for this weekend.”
“That’s four days away, man. We can’t do it.”
Parker rubbed the perpetual stubble coating his jaw. “We might be able to swing it.”
“How?” Dean countered. “Gee, I know, let’s set up a romantic dinner and serve—wait, what’s her favorite food?—” he glanced at Phil’s answers, “—and serve bread, load the table with red or maybe yellow flowers then top it off with a visit to an aquarium so she can see a whale. She’ll be putty in his fucking hands.”
“Language!” Didi snapped.
“You didn’t reprimand Parker when he said shit,” Dean grumbled. “See? I knew you played favorites, and don’t bother denying it, D.”
She batted her lashes. “I love you all equally, only Parker signs my checks.”
Parker chewed on the inside of his cheek as he considered. “We can make this date happen. It means we have to do a little sleuthing.”
Dean’s eyes twinkled. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Recon,” they said in unison.
Didi laughed again. “You boys are too easily amused.”
“We’ll go tonight,” Parker decided. “Didi, call our guy at the precinct and tell him to get us an address for the girlfriend. And we’ll need some gear.”
Dean started to walk off, but Didi’s stern warning stopped him. “Oh no, you don’t. No running off until we go over the rules.”
Both men sighed. “Must we do this every time?” Parker grumbled.
“If we want to avoid a lawsuit, then yesiree.”
Dean dropped into the chair opposite her, threw his feet up on the desk and began reciting in a singsong tone like a student repeating the times table. “One. No recording devices. Two, all interactions must take place in public. Three, there—”
“Parker’s turn,” Didi cut in.
God. It was like they were back in preschool. “Aren’t you going to give Dean his gold star first?” Parker taunted.
His receptionist’s gaze turned icy cold.
Okay, then. “Three. There will be no discussion of personal details of clients except as it pertains to arranging the date.”
“Which is total bullshit,” Dean interrupted. “Not that we’re about to go blabbing information, but face it—if we find out shit, it’s because someone said it in public. You know the kind of crap people talk about these days? Hell, this asshole in the restaurant waiting line yesterday—he gave his girlfriend’s address, phone number and measurements out loud while talking on the phone.”
Didi swatted Dean’s feet off the desk. “Yes, people are stupid, but that doesn’t mean you boys have to be. DreamMakers will rise above the stupid and stay on the straight and narrow. Set a good example for the world.”