“So, what are you working on?” she asked.
“You.”
She spun to face him, clearly surprised.
He held up the file and read the label: “Hermia Lysander Argarapolis.”
“Oh, my God. What’s in it?”
He held it out and she plopped down beside him in her characteristic non-self-conscious manner, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin, even though his dress shirt.
Thumbing through the pages, her eyes widened. “Holy, crap. Why do you have this?”
“Well, if we’re going to pull off this fiancé business, I need to prepare, like I do for all my transactions, which means memorizing any facts I can gather about you.” That was only partially true. Yes, the information would come in useful in the upcoming ruse, and was the reason he’d requested it, but his interest in her went way beyond that, and it got more intense every minute he spent with her. He wanted to know as much as possible about her.
She skimmed her finger down a page about her education. “Well, it’s pretty freaking thorough.” She flipped to a page titled, “Relationships,” followed by another, then another. Complete with photos. “Maybe too thorough.” She closed it and set it back in his lap, fingers brushing his thigh. “You could have just asked me about my past, you know. I’m not elusive or mysterious.”
But she was mysterious. Completely unexpected. “I’m a visual learner.”
“So, have you memorized the file yet?”
“Haven’t even read it. I was distracted by your workout.”
“I’m going to be real honest with you here, Michael. Part of me is skeeved out by the fact you have that file. The other part is impressed you are going all in for this wedding.”
“I always go all in.”
She groaned and stood. “That’s the problem with you. You take things way too seriously.”
“That was actually an attempt at innuendo that clearly fell short.”
“See? You’re so serious, I can’t tell when you’re being… innuendo-ee.” She unwound the tie that held her hair and it spilled loose around her shoulders, shiny and dark, like ink. At least she wasn’t angry he’d had her researched. He was curious how she’d react, which was why he’d brought the file home in the first place—to kick the wasp nest, as it were.
“So, you run this kind of file on your clients, too?”
“Yes. Similar. Being prepared is key to success.”
She rolled her eyes. “Where do you get such a thing?”
“My brother, Will, has a friend, Jim, who compiles them for me.”
“You have brothers?” she asked with a mock expression of surprise.
“Yes.”
“I’d never have known. I suppose you have parents, too?”
He leaned back, arms across the back of the sofa. “I came from somewhere.”
“By looking around your place, I’d have thought you just spontaneously generated.”
What the hell did that mean? Ah. The answer hit him. “Because I don’t have any family photos littering the apartment. Well, that was a conscious choice. They would ruin the lines of the décor.”
“Or worse yet, they would make you look human. Give the place heart.”
“That, too.”
She headed toward the bathroom, barefooted and gorgeous. “My turn to shower.” She delivered a pointed stare to the file in his lap. “Study up.”
…
“He’s driving me crazy,” Mia said to the Queen B’s the next day, only really more to herself than anyone else. “It was better when he came home and avoided me. Now he intentionally puts himself in whatever room I’m in. Last night, he even watched me do my Pilates.”
The women exchanged looks over the table, but said nothing.
“I mean, it is his house, but still, it’s unnerving.”
“Is he a jerk?” Blanche asked, jabbing her brush in the paint.
“No. Not at all.”
“Oh, then he must smell bad,” Betty said.
Bernice looked up from her painting. “Or maybe he has a rude habit.”
“Tom used to pick his nose when he thought nobody was lookin’,” Gladys said, changing her yarn color to green.
“No, no. It’s nothing like that.”
“Then he must be sloppy or ugly,” Betty offered. “Nothing more unnerving than a slob, in my opinion.”
“Tom used to leave his beer cans all over the house,” Gladys said. “Really riled me up.”
“It’s not that. He’s highly attractive. Really, really attractive. And he is the opposite of a slob, he’s a neat freak. And he doesn’t smell bad. He smells amazing.”
“You girls owe me a quarter each,” Gladys said.
“You haven’t won the bet yet,” Betty snapped. “Saying he’s handsome, tidy, and good smelling does not mean she’s fallen for him.”
“Aw, fiddlesticks. Just look at her. She’s smitten. Completely over the moon for the man.”
Mia stood, maybe too quickly, and went to the sink to rinse her brush. “I’m no such thing. He’s not my type at all.”