Match Me if You Can (15 page)

“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, Annabelle…”

“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 Powers. 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.”

Annabelle suspected Claudia didn’t want to be that far from her drug dealer.

“Do me a favor,” he said. “If Powers 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 Bodie and Sean Palmer’s mother. Don’t forget that part. If Mrs. Palmer wasn’t so afraid of him, Bodie 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.

S
ean Palmer’s mother, Arté, had salt-and-pepper dreadlocks, a tall, full-figured body, and a hearty laugh. Annabelle liked her immediately. With Bodie 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 Bodie handled all the arrangements, he stayed in the background. He was a strange guy, full of intriguing contradictions that made Annabelle 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. Annabelle 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 Arté’s son, who’d soon be playing fullback for the Bears. “Sean had agents all over him,” his mother said. “It was a happy day for me when he signed with Heath. I stopped worrying so much about people taking advantage of him. I know Heath’s going to look out for him.”

“He definitely cares about his clients,” Annabelle said.

The July sunlight flirted with the waves on the lake as the two women followed Bodie 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 Bodie, then pulled up beside him.

Annabelle and Arté fell still, both of them gazing at the man’s skintight black biker shorts. “Time to praise God for the glory of his creation,” Arté 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 blond hair, but not his Adonis profile.

“I need a plunge in the lake to cool off,” Annabelle whispered.

“If I were twenty years younger…”

Bodie gestured toward them. “Ladies, I’ve got somebody for you to meet.”

“Come to mama,” Arté murmured, which made Annabelle giggle.

Just before they reached the men, Annabelle recognized the biker. “Wow. I know who that is.”

“Mrs. Palmer, Annabelle,” Bodie said. “This is the famous Dean Robillard, the Stars’ next great quarterback.”

Although Annabelle had never met Kevin’s backup in person, she’d seen him play, and she knew him by reputation. Arté shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Dean. You tell your friends to take it easy on my boy Sean this season.”

Dean gave her his ladykiller smile.
And didn’t he know exactly the effect he had on women?
Annabelle 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.

“Annabelle is it?”

“I’d better check my driver’s license to make sure,” she said. “I’m all out of breath here.”

Bodie choked, then laughed.

Apparently Robillard 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 redhaired woman,” he said.

She slipped her sunglasses lower on her nose and gazed at him over the top. “I’ll just bet, Mr. Robillard, that you admire women in general.”

“And they admire you right back.” Arté chuckled.

Dean turned to Bodie. “Where did you find these two?”

“Cook County Jail.”

Arté snorted. “You behave yourself, Bodie.”

Dean returned his attention to Annabelle. “Something about your name rings a bell. Wait a minute. Aren’t you Heath’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.”

Dean turned to Bodie. “I don’t think she likes me.”

“She likes you,” Bodie said, “but she thinks you’re immature.”

“I’m sure you’ll grow out of it,” Annabelle said.

Bodie slapped him on the back. “I know it doesn’t happen very often, but it looks like Annabelle’s immune to your movie star face.”

“Then somebody better get her to the eye doctor,” Arté muttered, which made them all laugh.

Dean wheeled his bike off the path and leaned it against a tree while the four of them chatted. Dean asked Arté about Sean, and they talked about the Bears for a while. Then Bodie brought up Dean’s search for an agent. “I hear you’ve been meeting with Jack Riley at IMG.”

“I’m meeting with a lot of people,” Dean replied.

“You should at least hear what Heath has to say. He’s a smart guy.”

“Heath Champion is number one on my do-not-call list. I’ve got enough ways of making Phoebe unhappy.” Dean turned to Annabelle. “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.”

Annabelle burst out laughing.

“Poor Dean needs a friend, not a lover.” Bodie chuckled.

“You’re invited, too, Mrs. Palmer,” Dean said politely.

“Honey, not even a hottie like you could get me out in public wearing a bathing suit.”

“What do you think, Annabelle?” Dean 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 Heath Champion. 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 redhead’s 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 Dean Robillard. 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 Heath, 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.

O
nly two boxes of thin mint cookies this year, girls,” Annabelle said as she pulled the door open. “I’m on a diet.”

Heath pushed past her. “Do you
ever
check your phone messages?”

She gazed down at her bare feet. “Once again, you’ve caught me looking my best.”

He was in hyper mode, and he barely glanced at her, exactly as it should be. “You look beautiful. So there I am, stuck in a
Bible
study class in Indianapolis, when I hear the news that my matchmaker is sunning herself on the beach with Dean Robillard.”

“You took a phone call in the middle of Bible study?”

“I was bored.”

“And you were in the class because …? Never mind. Your client wanted you to go.” She shut the door.

“Why the hell did Robillard ask you out?”

“He’s smitten. It happens all the time. Raoul says I can’t help the effect I have on men.”

“Uh-huh. Bodie told me Dean wanted to go to the beach, and he needed a decoy.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“So I could get Raoul’s take on it.”

She grinned and padded after him into her reception room. “Your scary henchman knew about this yesterday. Why did he wait until today to tell you?”

“My question exactly. You got anything to eat?”

“Some leftover pad thai, but it’s starting to grow hair, so I can’t recommend it.”

“I’m ordering a pizza. How do you like it?”

Maybe it was because she was practically naked and didn’t like his attitude, or maybe she was just an idiot because she settled a hand on her hip, slid her eyes over him, and let the words slide off her tongue. “I like it hot …and…spicy.”

His eyelids dropped to the
V
of her robe. “Exactly what Raoul told me.”

She beat a hasty retreat for the stairs. His low chuckle accompanied her all the way to the top.

She took her time changing into her last pair of clean shorts and a vintage blue camie top with a lacy insert that nestled in what passed for her cleavage. Just because she had to be on guard didn’t mean she couldn’t look good. She dusted bronzing powder over her cheeks, dabbed on lip gloss, then ran a big-tooth comb through her hair, where a few rebellious corkscrews had already begun framing her face like Christmas curling ribbon.

When she got downstairs, Heath was in her office tilted back in her chair, his crossed ankles propped on her desk, and her receiver tucked under his chin. His eyes took in her lacy cleavage, then her bare legs, and he smiled. He was messing with her again, and she didn’t let herself make anything out of it.

“I know, Rocco, but she’s only got ten fingers. How many diamonds can she wear?” As he listened to the response at the other end of the line, he frowned. “Listen to the people who care about you. I’m not saying she isn’t for real, but give it a couple more months, okay? We’ll talk next week.” He slammed down the phone and dropped his feet to the floor. “Bloodsuckers. They see these guys coming and take them for all they’re worth.”

“These would be the same guys who stand in hotel lobbies pointing their finger at the bloodsuckers and going
you, you,
and
you
? Then ten minutes later they’re explaining all the reasons they won’t wear a condom.”

“Yeah, well, there’s definitely that.” He picked up the beer he’d swiped from her refrigerator. “But some of these women are unbelievable. The guys might be tough while they’re on the field, but once the game’s over, it’s a different story. Especially the younger ones. Suddenly all these beautiful women are coming on to them and saying they’re in love. The next thing you know, the boys are giving out sports cars and diamond rings for one-month anniversary presents. And don’t get me started on the bottom feeders who get pregnant so they can squeeze out hush money.”

“Again, nothing a condom wouldn’t take care of.” She picked up a blue plastic watering can and carried it over to Nana’s African violets.

“The guys are young. They think they’re invincible. I know in Annabelle Land everybody’s nice and sweet, but there are more avaricious women in the world than you can imagine.”

Annabelle stopped watering to gaze at him. “Did one of those avaricious women find her way into your pockets? Is that why you’re so picky?”

“By the time I’d earned enough to be a target, I’d learned how to watch out for myself.”

“Just out of curiosity …Have you ever been in love? With a woman,” she said hastily, so he didn’t start throwing the names of his clients at her.

“I was engaged in law school. It didn’t work out.”

“Why not?”

“The pain’s too fresh for me to revisit,” he drawled.

She made a face at him, and he smiled. His cell rang. As he answered, she realized he looked more at home sitting at her desk than she did. How did he manage it? Somehow, he found a way to mark whatever space he occupied. He might as well lift his leg when he walked into a room.

She finished watering the African violets and headed for the kitchen, where she unloaded Nana’s cranky dishwasher. The doorbell rang, and a few moments later Heath appeared with the pizza. She gathered up plates and napkins. He retrieved another beer for himself and one for her and carried them over to the table.

As he sat, he gazed at the blue enameled cupboards and Hello Kitty cookie jar. “I like this place. It’s homey.”

“Tactfully phrased. I know I should update, but I haven’t gotten around to it.” She could barely afford paint, let alone a major remodeling.

They began to eat, and the silence that settled over them was surprisingly comfortable. She wondered what he was doing for the Fourth tomorrow. He polished off his first slice and took another. “How is it, Annabelle, that you’ve managed to get close to the two people who are most important to me right now? What is it with you?”

“Natural charm coupled with the fact that I have a life, and you don’t.” Not much of a life. On Wednesday night, Mr. Bronicki had bullied her into attending the seniors’ potluck at the rec center. She’d only agreed after he’d promised to take Mrs. Valerio out again.

Heath swiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “What did Robillard say about me?”

She nibbled on her crust. This, she reminded herself, was the reason he’d suggested their cozy dinner party. “He said you’re numero uno on his do-not-call list. Pretty much a direct quote. But you probably already know that.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“Nothing. I was too busy drooling. God, he’s gorgeous.”

He frowned. “Dean Robillard isn’t one of those naive kids I was talking about. You watch yourself with him. He goes through women like potato chips.”

“Well, baby, he can snack on me anytime he wants.”

To her surprise, he took her seriously. “No way you’re falling for him.”

Now this was interesting. “Can I get back to you on that?”

“Look, Annabelle, Dean’s not a bad guy, but when it comes to women, all he cares about is racking up notches.”

“Like I don’t?”

“God, you’re a wiseass.”

He’d handed her a golden opportunity to delve a little deeper into the life and times of Heath Champion. “Just out of curiosity, how many notches did you rack up? When you were racking them up, that is. And how long ago was that, by the way?”

“Too many notches. I’m not proud of it, either, so no lectures.”

“You really think your notching days are behind you?”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be getting married.”

“You’re not getting married. You haven’t even gone out on a second date.”

“Only because I’ve hired two semi-incompetent matchmakers.”

She hadn’t told him about Portia’s visit, but what could she say? That Portia Powers was a bitch. He probably already knew that. Besides, she had something else she needed to tell him, and she dreaded doing it. “I got a call from Claudia Reeshman this morning. She still wants to meet you.”

“No kidding?” He kicked back in his chair, a crooked grin on his face. “Why’d she call you instead of Powers?”

“I guess we sort of connected on Thursday.”

“Amazing.”

“I thought I’d convinced her you were unworthy, but apparently not.” She picked up her pizza, even though she’d lost her appetite. “So I suppose you want me to add her to Wednesday night’s agenda?”

“No.”

A glob of cheese slid into her lap. “You don’t?”

“Didn’t you say she wasn’t right for me?”

“She’s not, but…”

“Then no.”

Something warm and sweet unfurled inside her. “Thanks.” Embarrassed, she scrubbed at her lap.

“You’re welcome.”

She took her time wiping off her fingers. “The woman I’m introducing you to on Wednesday isn’t as beautiful.”

“Not many are. Reeshman’s last
SI
cover was incredible.”

“She’s a harpist finishing up a master’s in music performance. Twenty-eight, an undergraduate degree from Vassar. You were supposed to meet her last Thursday.”

“Is she ugly?”

“Of course she’s not ugly.” She snatched up her plate and carried it to the sink.

Heath didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Finally, he picked up his own plate and brought it to her. “On the off chance Dean calls you again, be careful what you say about me.”

“What makes you think there’s only an off chance?”

He nodded toward the table. “You want another slice?”

“No.” She shoved his plate in the dishwasher. “No, I want to hear this. Why are you so sure he won’t call?”

“Calm down. I only meant that you’ve got a few years on him.”

“So?” She slammed the dishwasher closed and told herself to shut up, but the words kept coming. “Older women and younger men are all the fashion these days. Don’t you read
People
?”

“Dean only dates party girls.”

She knew what he really meant, and a streak of masochism made her push him to say it aloud. “Spit it out. You don’t think I’m hot enough for him.”

“Stop putting words in my mouth. All I’m saying is that the two of you aren’t going to make a love connection.”

“True. But we might make a sex connection.”

She’d flung the last remnants of caution to the winds, and a long, lean finger came right at her. “You’re not having sex with him. I know these guys, and you don’t. I’m trusting you about Claudia Reeshman. You need to trust me about Dean Robillard.”

She wouldn’t let him off that easily. “You’re looking for a wife. Maybe I’m just looking for a little fun.”

“If you need fun,” he shot back, “I’ll give you fun.”

She was stunned.

A car raced by in the street outside, its radio blaring. They stared at each other. He looked surprised, too. Or maybe not. Slowly, deliberately, the corner of his mouth curled, and she realized the Python was toying with her again.

“Gotta go, Tinker Bell. I have some work I need to catch up on. Thanks for dinner.”

Only after the front door closed behind him did she manage a weak “You’re welcome.”

Y
es…Yes, all right. Send him up.” Portia’s hands trembled as she set down the phone. Bodie was in the lobby.

He hadn’t called once since their date at the sports bar ten days ago, and now he’d shown up at her condo at nine o’clock on the night of the Fourth of July, expecting her to be waiting for him. She should have told the doorman to send him away, but she hadn’t.

She moved automatically toward her bedroom, stepping out of her cotton shift on the way. The Jensons had invited her out on their boat tonight to watch the fireworks, but fireworks depressed her, like most holiday rituals, and she’d declined. It had been a terrible week. First the Claudia Reeshman debacle, then the assistant she’d hired to replace SuSu Kaplan had quit, saying the job was “too stressful.” Portia desperately missed the mentoring program. She’d even tried to set up a lunch with Juanita to discuss the situation, but the director was dodging her calls.

She tried to imagine how Bodie would react to the condo she’d bought after her divorce. Because she used her home to host monthly cocktail parties for her most important clients, she’d chosen a spacious unit on the top floor of an excruciatingly expensive prewar limestone just off Lakeshore Drive. She wanted to project old-world elegance, so she’d borrowed from the color palate of the Dutch masters: rich shades of brown, antique gold, muted olive, along with subtle touches of bittersweet. In the living room, a pair of masculine, deep-seated couches and a big leather club chair bordered the tea-stained oriental rug. A similar oriental rug complemented the heavy teak dining room table with its lushly upholstered side chairs. It was important for men to feel comfortable here, so she kept the tables free of bric-a-brac and the liquor cabinet well stocked. Only in her bedroom did she indulge her passion for over-the top femininity. Her bed was a confection of ivory and ecru satin, with lace pillows and beribboned shams. Chunky silver candleholders sat on delicate chests, and a small crystal froth of a chandelier dangled in the corner near a powder puff reading chair piled with fashion magazines, several literary novels, and a self-help book that purported to help women find their inner happiness.

Maybe Bodie was drunk. Maybe that’s why he’d shown up tonight. Still, who knew what motivated a man like him? She pulled on a scoop-necked sundress printed with antique roses and slipped into a pair of rose-colored ankle-strap stilettos embellished with tiny leather butterflies. The buzzer sounded. She forced herself to walk slowly to the door.

He wore a silky long-sleeved taupe shirt and matching trousers in one of those pricey microfabrics that moved against his legs. From the shoulders down, he looked muscular, but respectable, even elegant. But from the shoulders up, all respectability vanished. His sinewy tattooed neck, ice pick blue eyes, and ominous shaved head made him appear even more dangerous than she remembered.

He gazed around the living room without speaking, then walked toward the French doors that led to her small balcony. Each summer she vowed to start a container garden there, but gardening took patience she didn’t possess, and she never followed through. A cloud of humidity blew into the climate-controlled interior as he opened one of the doors and stepped outside. She considered for a few moments then wandered over to the wet bar. She ignored the assortment of imported beers he’d prefer, choosing instead a bottle of champagne and two frail tulip goblets. She carried them over to the French doors and flicked on the exterior light before she went outside.