Mr. Imperfect

chapter 40



August

She wasn’t calling. Tonight was Rori’s big meeting with her matchmaker’s choice of men for her, and Rori wasn’t calling.

That couldn’t be good.

The last communication Mike had from her was a text from earlier that night that simply read, Off to meet the future Mr. Townsend. Wish me luck.

And, of course, like an fool he’d done just that.

What an idiot.

It was now past 1:30 a.m. in New York and he hadn’t heard a peep from her. That had to mean things were going well… that she liked the guy. Count Anton Olivier Leseuer.

Seriously, could the guy have a worst last name than Leseuer? With a French accent his name sounded like “le sewer” and without an accent it sounded like “loser.” It was a lose-lose. No pun intended.

If Mike hadn’t googled the guy, he would have thought Rori made him up. French, rich, and quasi-royalty. He was titled, sure, but Mike still wasn’t sure if that title was totally legit. According to his Wikipedia search, “count” was one of the titles ambitious families took upon themselves, rather than necessarily having it bestowed upon them.

And really, what member of royalty with any sense would ever decree that there should be a Count Leseuer?

But whatever the case may be, it didn’t change the fact that Rori was out on a date with Count Leseuer at 1:30 in the morning. Well past bedtime. And if Rori didn’t call?

Unable to complete the thought—unable to breathe at the thought—Mike scrolled through pictures online of Count Leseuer at a recent perfume launch. The guy looked like a total tool with his greasy hair. What was it with European men and hair product?

One thing was certain, the man made a habit of surrounding himself with younger women. He clearly liked them young and slim, like Rori. The guy was practically the age of Mike’s dad and he was looking to marry a woman young enough to be his daughter. How was that not totally gross? Because he had money? Because he was a count? And even more important, how could Rori prefer some old dude to someone her own age? What was going on in her head?

Just when Mike was about to give up on waiting up for a call, his phone lit up with Rori’s name.

“Calm,” he coached himself. “Casual. Distracted would be better. Try to think of the Pledge of Allegiance in Morse Code.” Okay, that was a dumb idea, but it was in the right spirit.

“Well, someone’s up late,” he teased, picking up.

“I don’t know. This is a pretty normal for me these days,” she said back, her voice sounding a little odd.

Instinct had Mike on full alert, but again, he kept his voice calm. “How was the date?”

“It’s actually still going, but I thought it proper to stick to our bargain and let you know that I made it home safe and sound. I should go, though.”

Mike couldn’t see straight. He couldn’t think. It was 1:30 and she was back at her place with a French millionaire she was considering marrying. And while Mike wasn’t nearly so worldly wise as Rori, he was pretty sure what that meant.

“Rori,” he whispered before he could stop himself. But once he’d said her name, he didn’t know what else to say. For several moments she didn’t speak either.

“I really need to go, Mike. But sleep tight, okay?”

Sleep tight? Sleep tight? As if he’d ever sleep again with the image of Rori and a greasy French bastard tumbling into the sheets.

“Don’t sleep with him, Rori,” he said, the words falling out of his mouth. “A man who truly wants you will hold out for you. Make him suffer a bit.”

She chuckled. Not the reaction Mike was looking for.

“You are cute, Mike.” Neither was that. “We’ll speak again soon. For now, goodnight.”

She hung up. Rori actually hung up before he could say goodbye, leaving him holding his phone helplessly.