Breaking the Bachelor (Entangled Lovestruck) (Smart Cupid) (6 page)

“I still think we need to enter chemistry into the algorithm.”

“No, we don’t. Trust me, okay? Let’s just enter all his criteria into the application matrix in case we need a second date to take him from confirmed bachelor to man in love.”

Marianne’s uncertain gaze pinned her to the chair. “Man in love—exactly.”

“And double-check his basic statistics,” she said, tapping on her soda can. “Dark hair, gray eyes, killer smile. Athletic build, six lean feet of impressive muscle, and an ass to die for.”

Especially in a pair of low-slung denim jeans.

Not to mention form-fitting athletic pants.

Or flannel pajama bottoms.

“Boss?”

Jane dragged her mind back from the border of Sintown. “Sorry, where was I?”

The recruiter looked down at the computer tablet. “An ass to die for.”

She bit hard on her bottom lip. “Better not type that into the profile. Besides, tonight’s date will hit the mark, and we won’t need the personal details.”

Details like how he knew exactly where to touch her, whether to use a feather-light caress or a bold stroke, how he rocked her endlessly until an explosion of sensation filled her body, making her pretty much worthless for any other man. Except, of course, her Ultimate List Man.

“Definitely better limit the personal details. Keep it straightforward and safe.”

Marianne nodded and got up to leave. “Right. Straightforward and safe.”

Like her UML. Predictable. Reliable. Safe.

“Jane, can I ask you a question?” Marianne stood in the doorway a few steps shy of an actual exit, all spit shined and sweet in her tortoiseshells and cornflower blue cardi. “Ever run your relationship with Charlie through the matrix?”

She sighed and rubbed her fingers across her temple in an effort to beat back the inevitable migraine. “Actually, yes, and according to the algorithm’s analysis, the statistical probability of my having a successful relationship with Charlie is…well…there is no statistical probability.”

“But that’s impossible.”

“Tell that to the matrix. Ours was the lowest score ever recorded.” The result had screamed: Break it off or your pathetic little heart will be in shreds by noon.

In shreds. By noon.

An epic failure.

“Maybe the matrix doesn’t always get it right.” Marianne’s words exploded from the doorway like a bomb.

Jane fought the rising tide of panic in her throat. “Of course the matrix always gets it right. Without logical criteria, the heart is vulnerable, at risk for all kinds of bad choices.”

“But what if a heart’s randomness is the part of the equation that makes love work?”

“No.” She shook her head in firm denial. “Random romantic impulses fast-track a heart straight to Painsville. Long-term love requires compatibility and commitment.”

“But—”

“Marianne, you built the matrix.”

“Yes, that’s true, but—”

“Designed the whole thing. Wrote all the code.”

“I realize that, of course, but love’s chemical properties—”

“This isn’t about chemical properties,” she said, her voice full of the certainty that comes from experience. “The matrix works.”

Marianne was a wonderful friend, a true partner in the business of love, but she knew nothing about risk or intuition, and even less about being a gambler’s daughter. Playing unpredictable odds was natural for Jane. Thanks to her father, risk flowed through the blood in her veins, and if her recent behavior at the Fluff ’N Fold proved anything, it proved how hard she needed to work to control the part of her that loved a gamble.

“Maybe the heart is a wild card, but there’s no sense gambling on love. True, long-term love needs logic and focus.” An uncertain look creased her friend’s face, but Jane kept her tone confidant. M.A. wasn’t ending up at the unemployment office. Not on her watch. “We’re going to win this bet. Charlie may not realize it yet, but his bachelor days are numbered. Not only will I find his true love, but I intend to prove to him and to every other single guy in Manhattan that smart love works.”

And yet despite her words, Jane wondered if her own list of criteria would result in a happily-ever after, or if maybe, in spite of all her careful planning, and all the energy spent managing the small time gambler in her, she’d be the one who ended up with a broken heart.

Because the truth was—sometimes Cupid’s aim really sucked.

Chapter Six

@Goodman The NY Rangers are killing me. And they’re not the only ones.

@KathieLeeandHoda Our Bachelor went on his first date tonight…was it love? #offthemarket?

Temptation bustled with the small crowd of weeknight regulars, plus a passel of women setting their spiked heels in the bar for the first time, newcomers courtesy of NY Single’s photoblog. At the back of the bar, Charlie took aim at the red, white, and blue board on the far wall. He tossed his last dart and missed the damn thing completely. He missed. He never missed.

Nick Wright chuckled. “You need to take a better look before you toss the darts. You’re aiming for the bull’s-eye—you know, the circle in the middle.”

He stared at his friend. “Funny, Nick.”

“Tonight’s date not a keeper?”

Charlie shot him a look that said “shut the hell up”, and raised his bottle in a short toast. “One down, two to go.”

Nick clapped him on the shoulder. “That bad, huh?”

“Not bad, just…”
Not the one he wanted to seduce into a blind frenzy
.

He threw off his thoughts and strode over to the board to pull his darts. “When was the last time I missed the board? Huh? That’s right. Never.” He came back and handed Nick a set. “It’s your sister. She’s driving me crazy.”

Nick took aim and hit the center of the board. “So, what’s new?”

Ignoring the comment, he said, “She bolts from the Caymans without a backward glance.”

His friend winced. “Yeah, that wasn’t good.”

“Now, all of a sudden, she’s on my doorstep dragging me out of bed, talking about her bet and my bachelor status. Driving me freaking crazy.”

Nick sipped his beer, whether in solidarity or to hide his laughter, Charlie wasn’t sure. “Hang in there, Bachelor Number One.”

Yeah, right.
Jane’s kiss-off napkin had fucked him up so bad that for months he’d wanted nothing to do with dating, or hooking up, or playing the stupid head games people played under the guise of looking for love.
Now I’m Bachelor Number One.

Nick nodded toward the board. “Jumpers? Winner buys the next round.”

“You’re on.” He pushed back a stab of guilt.

Nick knew about the bet, but not about the plan to show his sister what she could do with her compatibility matrix. If he did, he’d kick his ass. Settling his six-month-old score could cost him. He ran his fingers across his jaw. “Maybe it’s time to bail.”

“On Jane’s bet? Don’t be an asshole.” Nick threw his next dart and missed. “Roll with it. Or better yet, be honest, and tell her you love her.”

The line of his body tensed like an over-tightened guitar string. Charlie hadn’t spoken the words “I love you” since the day his mom took a wrong turn down a one-way street. He wasn’t starting now. Nick could think whatever the hell he wanted, but love? No. Love was not part of the current plan.

He tilted his bottle at Nick. “I never said I loved her. I said, ‘she drives me crazy.’”

“There’s a difference?” Nick unloaded the rest of his darts into the board before flashing a brash, you-can’t-hide-from-me grin. “If that’s how you want to play it. We both know you’re not capable of the whole emotional honesty thing.”

“You did not seriously just say
emotional honesty
.”

Nick tilted a beer in his direction. “Prove me wrong. Tell her you own Temptation. Tell her you found the place, restored every piece by hand, and let me buy into the deal for fun. Tell her about the organization you run for kids in the old neighborhood.” He aced his last shot and walked the length of the bar to retrieve the darts. “Let somebody besides me know you’re a good guy, and not just the hottest catch in the city. Not my words, by the way.
New York Magazine
.”

“I read the article, Nick.”

Nick started quoting from the article. “Heir to the Goodman fortune, our pick for this year’s hot bartender keeps busy mixing top shelf martinis in Tribeca.” He pulled the darts off the board and turned around. “Women love that kind of a mystery.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Not a mystery. Just a bartender.”

“An Ivy League bartender with an Upper West Side address.”

He shrugged off the comment. “Maybe that checks a couple of boxes on a few eligibility lists, but it’s all bullshit.”

“Bullshit that lands you on the cover of
New York Magazine
,” Nick pointed out with a smile on his face. “I sent Jake a copy of the magazine, by the way.”

“Great. Wasn’t he the one who invited Jane and me to the island? Yeah, he was. Your brother landed me in this whole mess.” Not technically, since they’d skipped Jake’s small retreat and went to the Caymans, but still… “He’s probably loving this whole bachelor deal.”

Nick shrugged. “Maybe you should call him…”

“No thanks. I have enough trouble dealing with you.”

“Another round, boss?” Joe asked from the far side of the bar.

Joe was a twenty-two-year-old kid from Brooklyn Heights where Charlie ran his charitable foundation for at-risk families. Not much of a bartender, honestly, but he was eager—a good kid, and “at-risk” failed to describe his situation.

“Two Sam Adams Winter Lager,” he said, raising two fingers. “Thanks.”

Charlie understood difficult family relationships. His father never accepted the bar or the foundation as his life’s work. He’d walked away from his family’s financial empire and his father believed he’d taken that road because it was easy.
Always the easy way
, he’d say.

Like life was so easy after his mom’s accident, when his absentee dad was more interested in money than in his young son. So, he’d ended up in Brooklyn, surrounded by Jane’s broken family, knowing he’d never live up to his father’s expectations.
Sure, everything came so fucking easy.

Nick walked back over and handed him a set of darts. “Listen, dude, you want to keep the best parts of yourself on the down-low to avoid getting hurt, fine, I get it, but you can’t do that forever. One of these days, you’ll be ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“You know what.” Nick choked back some of his beer, but failed to hide his amusement. “Until then, you don’t need my advice.”

He took aim at the board and hit the first set of numbers in sequence. “I don’t?”

“No, you don’t,” he said. “I’m your lawyer, not your therapist, so romantic advice is not included in my retainer. Secondly, she’s my sister, so talking about sex and romance is out of bounds.” Nick paused as a pretty redhead approached, right on cue.

The woman smiled and zeroed in on her bachelor of choice. “Hi, Charlie.”

He gave her a short nod. The attention from Jane’s jaw-dropping bet was looking great for his financials, but collecting all the single women in Manhattan wasn’t part of his plan. All he wanted was a little payback before he swore off dating for another six months.

After a quick glance over her shoulder, the redhead held out a dog-eared copy of
New York
. “My friends dared me to ask if you’re as confirmed as the magazine says.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. Red was definitely attractive, all hazel-eyed and strawberry-blonde, but for the life of him, Charlie couldn’t shake a certain tiger-eyed brunette from his thoughts. The realization pissed him the hell off. There he was, standing in the back of his bar, a super-hottie flirting with him, and all he could see was his matchmaker’s face. Exactly why he needed to knuckle down and stick to the plan to kick her the hell out of his system.

Nick clapped him on the shoulder. “He’s under contract right now to a certain Cupid.”

She smiled, folded the right corner of the magazine, and handed it to Charlie. “Well, if you change your mind, I’d be happy to take you off Cupid’s hands. My number’s in the back.”

Nick put a hand over his heart and let out a low whistle. “Hot damn, this is gonna be good.”

“Maybe
you
need to consider a little matchmaking,” Charlie said.

“Thanks, but no thanks. Love doesn’t suit me.” Nick threw his darts and hit the outer edge of the board. “Besides, you need to worry about yourself.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Brother, you just let that sweet hottie walk away without buying her a drink—and you own the bar.” He jerked his head toward Red and Company and took a sip of his beer. “You got it bad, friend, no matter what you say, and if the object of your affection wasn’t my little sister, I’d be obliged to take you to a stag party or plan a guy’s weekend of poker and highlight reels.”

“Now there is some real emotional honesty.”

Nick clapped him on the shoulder a second time. “I love you, bro.”

He shrugged him off with a laugh. “Get out of here.”

“You want my honest advice?”

Most of his life, Nick’s honest advice had gotten him into a whole lot of trouble. He took a pull from his beer, and said, “No.”

Nick made a mocking sound in the back of his throat. “Save it for someone who doesn’t know you so well. Get it together and go for it. Before one of you totally fucks it up.”

Because six full months of no contact wasn’t fucked up enough? Okay, sure Nick had kept him up to date, and he’d followed Jane on Twitter and Facebook—not stalker style, just browsing enough to keep current. He liked to think there was a reason neither of them had unfriended the other, or completely severed all connection. “Sounds like you’re spouting advice on romance.”

“Hey, don’t give me any shit,” Nick said. “It’s totally magnanimous of me to offer my blessing. Even Jake is okay with it, despite being like a romance terrorist since his divorce.”

“What happened to me being a good guy and a good catch?”

Nick only arched a brow. Right. It was his sister.

Charlie nodded dutifully, despite the guilt taking residence in his gut. “Not fucking it up.”

“Yeah, well, here’s your chance to prove it.” Nick jerked his head toward the front of the bar, but Charlie didn’t need the warning. His Janey-sense tingled loud and clear.

“Don’t worry. I can handle your sister.”

At least, he sure as hell hoped so.

“If you say so.” Nick picked up his suede jacket, dragged it across his shoulders and headed toward the door. “By the way, you owe me another round.”

“Double or nothing,” he called to his friend’s retreating back.

Nick offered a short wave over his shoulder, stopped to kiss his sister on the cheek, and took off through the front door.
Coward
.

Charlie stood at the back of the bar and took in the sight of her standing in the threshold of the front door, looking sexier in a white button-down than any woman had a right to look. He gave her a short smile and a nod.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you, angel?” he murmured to himself. Exactly what he’d been counting on. This was going to be all too easy.
Like taking candy from a Janey.

She swiped off her black beret, shoved it in her coat pocket, and swayed in the general direction of the bar, casually checking out the clientele, her eyes shining with curiosity and interest. Snooping.

He watched her take a seat at the other end of the bar, and order her usual, a Vintage Rye 21 Manhattan in a short glass, on the rocks, two cherries. Another covert glance over her shoulder confirmed what he already suspected. She was definitely snooping.

A grin slid across his face like a sloe gin fizz. Time to find out if her little green-eyed monster wanted to come out and play. He turned to take aim at the center circle and sent the next three darts flying into the middle.

One. Two. Three.

Bull’s-eye.