A Match Made by Cupid (Harlequin Special Edition) (2 page)

“Okay, but—”

“Melanie! Stop trying to cover the real issue here.” He ran his hands over his eyes. “Do you think you’re particularly good at this job?” He waited a second, and then, “Because I don’t.”

She winced. “Ouch, Kurt. Maybe I’ve made a few mistakes, but—”

“I like you, Mel. You are
capable
of doing a good job.”

A tiny amount of optimism fizzled in. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I promise—”

“But I’ve given you a long rope, and you’ve gone and hung yourself with it. I don’t want to babysit you, and I shouldn’t have to. I need to be able to trust you.”

“I get that.”

“I told you last time I was going to fire you if this happened again.”

She mentally added the twenty-two dollars in her wallet with the less than one hundred in her bank account and somehow managed not to groan. “But…um…you’re not going to, right?”

The resounding silence was deafening. After what seemed an eternity, Kurt did sort of a half shrug. “That’s up to you. I’m willing to give you one more chance. But that chance comes with stipulations.”

“I can do stipulations! What are they?”

He gave her a hard stare. “From now on,
everything
you write is to be reviewed by someone else. If that someone says you change it, you change it. No questions asked. Got it?”

“Whatever you want,” she blurted, happy to still be employed. But then a sudden whisper of intuition made her stomach cramp. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—do that to her, could he? “Well, wait a minute. Who is the ‘someone else’ you’re referring to?”

“Jace.”

Shock coursed through her. “Jace Foster? Forget it. I’d rather be fired.”

“All righty, then. You’re fired. Clean out your desk and get out of here.”

Okay. Not a bluff.

Melanie inhaled a breath, counted to ten and then pushed it back out. The only way she handled her absurd attraction to Jace was by keeping him at a distance. This new scenario would force them together way too often for her liking. “You’re serious? You’re really going to fire me unless I let that egotistical playboy babysit me? I promise I won’t make this mistake again.”

“That’s what you said when you instructed one woman to replace the man in her life with a dog for companionship and a vibrator for pleasure.” Kurt pounded one fist against the surface of his desk, causing another stack of papers to topple. “No dice, Mel.”

She’d forgotten about that one. She still felt it was good advice. “I mean it this time.”

“What about when you blithely told a reader that if her husband was staying late at work every night, then he was most certainly cheating, and she should go talk to a good divorce attorney and take him for everything he had?”

“That could have been true! That husband hadn’t been home on time in over a year!”

Kurt’s mouth straightened into a taut line. “The problem,” he said in a monotone voice, “is that you’re giving advice based on your issues with love and your distrust of men. It can’t continue. Simple as that.”

She coughed to cover her surprise at her boss’s words. At the truth of them. “I don’t distrust
all
men. But come on, Kurt—Jace? Stick me with someone else.
Anyone
else.”

“Really, Mel? You think you’re in a position to make demands?” Kurt swept his beefy fingers through his curly mop of hair. “Besides which, it isn’t all bad. You’ve been begging me for an assignment, and I have one for you and Jace to work on together. If you decide to stay.”

She was all set to argue her case—weak as it was—when she realized what Kurt had said. “An assignment? As in an actual, honest-to-God, my-name-on-the-byline assignment?”

“I thought that would interest you.”

Yeah, well, loathe as she was to admit it, she
was
interested. The
Portland Gazette
was small, but Jace had a wide readership. Wide enough that he’d been offered positions with larger papers. But for whatever reason, he continued to stick it out here. So an assignment with him might give her a platform to build on.

“What’s the assignment?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“A Valentine’s Day feature.” Kurt grinned at her. “You might actually learn something about love that you can apply to the advice column. A win-win situation, if you ask me.”

“Are you kidding? You want me to write a fluff piece with Jace?”

“I do, and you get to keep your job to boot. You might not like the terms, but I’d say they’re worth considering. Of course, it’s your choice.” Kurt’s chin was set, his gaze firmly planted on hers. He was not going to change his mind.

She
should
be grabbing on to this with both hands. This was a chance to prove herself. She should feel excited. Instead, every part of her tensed with panic. “Why is Jace even willing to do this? Doesn’t he have more important things to take up his time?”

“Strangely, working with you was his idea. You owe him a thank-you, because if it wasn’t for him, you’d be out of a job.”

Jace’s idea? She silently counted to ten before freaking out. Maybe Jace had a heart. Maybe she was jumping to all the wrong conclusions regarding his motivation. She gave herself a few seconds to consider that. “How did this conversation take place, Kurt?”

“One word at a time,” Kurt said, completely straight-faced. “Other than that, I have no idea what you mean.”

“I mean, how did you and Jace happen to discuss the fact that you might be firing me in the first place? Isn’t that sort of a breach of confidence?”

Kurt looked at her for so long she began to wonder if he’d even heard her, but then he laughed. Loudly. “Breach of confidence. Nice one, Mel. Nah, all that happened was Jace read your column and knew you’d be up to your eyeballs in hot water. He approached me, I listened and we made the deal I offered you.”

“Right. Because he’s so friggin’ kindhearted.” She backed up and braced herself against the closed door. Knowing Jace, this
deal
was more about seducing her than helping her. He’d flirted with her relentlessly almost from the day she was hired, had asked her out repeatedly and hadn’t even tried to hide his interest. “Did you ask him what he expects to gain from this?”

“Doesn’t concern me what his reasons are. If they concern you, then you should probably ask him.”

Oh, she would. Right before she strangled him. The throbbing vein in her neck calmed while she considered how red she’d let his face turn before she allowed him to breathe again. “There is absolutely no backing out of this?”

“Consider him your other half. If you agree, the two of you will be spending large chunks of time together, so you might as well get used to the idea.” Kurt tossed her a half smile. “Though he does have some ideas about the feature you might like.”

“What? Ten surefire steps on how to entice women into his bed?” she shot back. “And what the hell does Jace know about love? I mean, has he ever been in a relationship that lasted more than three hours?”

“Have you?” Kurt asked, deadpan.

She ignored that and asked, “How am I going to have time for this along with everything else? I have at least twenty hours of work sitting on my desk and the week has barely begun.”

“Give everything to Joanne to redistribute,” Kurt said, referring to his assistant. “Does that mean you’re saying yes, Melanie?”

Well. She really didn’t have a choice, did she? “I accept your terms, even if they are lame and unnecessary. God, Kurt…I can’t believe you agreed to this.”

Kurt laughed, his pudgy cheeks swelling as he did. “Why wouldn’t I? For one, I don’t have to waste time interviewing candidates to replace you. For two, I trust Jace’s instincts.” Lifting his shoulders in a slight shrug, Kurt continued, “Somehow, I have an idea that the two of you will make an excellent team. You could learn a lot from Jace.”

Melanie nodded, swung around on her heel and escaped. She had a neck to throttle.

Chapter Two

J
ace swallowed a large gulp of coffee and propped his legs on his desk, trying to display a relaxed, laissez-faire attitude.

All a front, of course.

Indifferent
did not, in any way whatsoever, describe his feelings toward Melanie. Or his current mental state, for that matter.
Flummoxed
was more appropriate, though still not quite right. A word didn’t exist that accurately conveyed the maddening mix of confusion, attraction, yearning, irritation, hope, desire and awkwardness that even thinking about Melanie brought to the surface. So
flummoxed
would have to do well enough.

Jace figured the woman in question was set to storm into his office at any minute, likely with smoke pouring out of her ears and flames shooting from her tongue. When she did, he wanted to be ready. And that meant keeping his messy stew of emotions under wraps. Melanie needed to see him as calm. Collected.
Worthwhile.

Muttering a curse, Jace downed another gulp of his too-weak brew. For sure Melanie was going to be steamed. Not the best way to begin any collaboration, especially one which he hoped to turn into a relationship.

Whoa,
he warned himself.
Don’t get carried away.
He wasn’t prepared to commit himself to the idea of a bonafide relationship with a woman who barely gave him the time of day.

But he wanted the shot. Wanted to see if what he thought was possible actually was. No other woman had ever affected him the way Melanie did. After countless hours of consideration and many sleepless nights, the reason remained a mystery.

Jace, like many men, had a type of woman he normally went for. Melanie wasn’t only different from those women, she was a complete aberration. Stubborn instead of easygoing. Prickly and sarcastic instead of sweet and charming. And, more often than not, an utter mess instead of perfectly put-together. From shirts buttoned wrong to mismatched socks to tripping over air, the woman was a walking disaster.

Traits that shouldn’t, under any circumstance, have proved appealing. But God help him, he found every one of them endearing. Cute. At times, downright sexy.

Today was an ideal example. Singed hair—he had to wonder how she’d managed that—coffee-stained pants and, he’d noticed with some humor, one eye artfully shaded with cosmetics and the other eye bare. It took all of his willpower to keep from pulling her to him for a kiss.

He
fantasized
about her, for crying out loud. Which would be okay if all of his fantasies surrounded getting her into bed. He was a man, she was a woman. Those types of fantasies made sense, could be expected, even. But mixed in with those delicious imaginings were the mundane. Washing dishes with her, watching TV curled up on the couch together, and the most recent—going to the damn grocery store with her.

And that was only the beginning of the strange, wacko world he’d lived in since first laying eyes on Melanie Prentiss. She drove him crazy. He drove himself crazy thinking about her. And he didn’t have a damn clue what to do about it.

Jace went for another swig of coffee, only to find the mug empty. His eyes landed on the door, which he’d purposely left open, and then at his watch. It had easily been twenty minutes…so, where the hell was she?

A cramp hit his calves. He attempted to stretch his legs while retaining his laid-back, not-a-care-in-the-world pose and managed to shove his chair backward. His ass slid forward as if he’d slicked his jeans with butter, and before he could react, his body—and the mug—hit the floor with a combination
crash-bang-thud
.

He winced, more in embarrassment than in pain, and pulled himself up. Fast. And looked toward the door, half expecting to see that Melanie had shown up in the nick of time to witness his tumble. She wasn’t there. Partly a relief, partly a worry.

Jace picked up his mug, brushed off his bruised rear, ignored his bruised pride and retook his seat. This time, though, he stretched his legs under the desk. Safer that way.

Aggravated, Jace turned to his laptop and tried to focus on editing his latest article. He had plenty to do until Melanie arrived. Plenty to keep his mind occupied. He read the opening sentence and then glanced at the door. No Mel. He re-read the sentence and continued on to the second before his eyes slid from his monitor, only to see the doorway still vacant.

“Idiot,” he muttered.

He rubbed his hands over his face and returned his attention to doing his damn job. His role at the paper was rather varied. Sure, he was given assignments like any other
Gazette
employee, but Jace’s main gig was “Bachelor on the Loose,” a biweekly column on dating delivered from a single man’s point of view. In addition, he did a monthly write-up, “Man About Town,” that included Portland and the surrounding area’s hotspots, current events and anything else that caught his fancy.

This particular article wasn’t any of the former. It wasn’t a lighthearted piece. It wasn’t an interview with a local politician or a breakdown of the city’s economy.

No, the focus of this article was personal. The subject being his nephew, Cody, who’d died in a car accident a little over three years ago. Jace’s older brother, Grady—Cody’s father—had taken Cody to see Santa a few days before Christmas. On their way home, they were struck by a drunk driver. Cody had been five.

That first year, the loss had made it impossible to even consider writing about the accident, about Cody. Since then, though, the idea had swirled around in Jace’s brain until he had no choice but to act. Anger didn’t begin to describe how he felt that his sweet, loving, funny nephew had lost his life because someone hadn’t thought.

He wanted people to
think
. He wanted to do what he could to make people think.

In his efforts to tackle the project, he spoke with various organizations and compiled a boatload of statistics. He didn’t mention Cody at all in the first or second drafts, concentrating instead on laying out the facts in a clear and concise manner. Neither draft made the cut, as they were dry, lackluster and held less emotion than gravel.

He’d set the piece aside for months while his brain and his heart battled it out. Finally, he gave in to his heart and wrote about Cody. That was when the article came alive. So he interviewed other people who’d lost someone they loved because someone else had gotten behind the wheel when they shouldn’t have. And that was when Jace came to grips with what the article was really about.

The piece was truly about Cody. It was about the little girl who was the sole survivor when an intoxicated driver going the wrong way on the highway crashed into the minivan carrying her family. It was about the airline pilot who, upon driving home late one night from the airport, died instantaneously when a car filled with college-age partiers hit his vehicle head-on. It was also about the pilot’s widow, a woman who had proudly shared memories of her husband when Jace had met with her.

It was about them: the people lost and the people left behind. And damn, he wanted to do it justice. Needed to.

But he couldn’t concentrate, so he shut off the laptop. Another day, when his mind was clearer and his heart wasn’t smacking against his breastbone like an overactive puppy. When his ability to create wasn’t hampered by a woman he couldn’t make sense of.

Jace glanced at his watch again and groaned. Where was Melanie? No way should it have taken this long for Kurt to give her the specifics. Panic struck, tightened Jace’s chest and closed his throat. Maybe she’d refused the deal. Maybe she was packing up her belongings now and heading out. No. That was ludicrous. Partnering with him had to be preferable to unemployment.

He pushed his chair away from his desk, ready to stalk out of his office to find out, when she stalked in. Relief punched him solidly in the gut, because, yep—she had flames and smoke. Which meant she’d accepted the deal and he had the time he needed to figure things out.

She’d fixed her makeup and changed into jeans and a T-shirt. The building had workout facilities in the lower level, so he assumed that was why she had an extra set of clothes on hand. But he found it interesting that she’d decided to change before coming to see him.

Kicking his legs up on the desk, he winked. “There you are, darlin’. I was wondering what was taking you so long.”

“Planning your demise,” she said with a flip of her shoulder-length, caramel-colored hair. “But I decided you’re not worth going to prison for.”

“Mmm-hmm” was his only reply. He couldn’t think. Not when he was busy imagining the feel of her hair against his skin. Of having the right to touch it—her—whenever he wanted.

“Instead, I’m going to… What are you staring at?”

“Your hair,” he said instantly, without thought. “It’s—”

“Burned. Yeah, I know. You’re such a jerk.” Whipping her hand to her temple, she tousled her hair. And that little movement just about killed him. “Stop staring.”

His lips twitched, but he kept the grin from emerging. “How did you manage to burn your hair? I envision you doing acrobatics with a flaming torch or juggling lit candles.”

“That is none of your business.”

“I bet you’d look hot. With a torch. Doing cartwheels.”

The barest glint of humor sparkled in her honey-brown eyes. In a snap, she masked her amusement behind the sharp glare of annoyance. “Do you know what you are, Jace Foster?”

“Your hero?” He stretched his arms, gave a lazy yawn and tucked his hands behind his head. “Thanks aren’t necessary. I’m happy to be of service.”

She blinked those fabulous eyes in shock…anger? Hell if he knew. Maybe it spoke badly of him to purposely put her off balance, but he loved getting a reaction out of her. Mostly because those were the only times she seemed to notice him.

“Hero?” she said, her voice low and dangerously even. That surprised him. He’d be a liar if he said it also didn’t worry him. “Where in that thickheaded, egotistical skull of yours do you think I’d consider you a hero for butting into my business?”

“That would be my brain, Mel. The frontal lobe, to be specific.” He almost winked again, but feared that might be pushing his luck. “In case you are unaware, that is where reasoning takes place…along with a whole bunch of other stuff.”

“Well, I’d say your frontal lobe is severely damaged,” she snapped. Bright spots of pink colored her cheeks. “You’re a conceited, know-it-all, cocky, pushy dog of a man who uses his sex appeal and charisma to get what he wants.” She pointed her finger at him and took one long step forward. “And I’m here to tell you that your charm and…and…stupid, sexy smile don’t work on me.”

“You know,” he drawled, going for light and easy. “Somewhere in the middle there were several compliments. I’m flattered you think of me so highly.”

“Compliments?” With two taps on her forehead, she said, “Yep. Your frontal lobe is definitely out of whack. Might want to consider scheduling a doctor’s appointment before you completely lose touch with reality.”

Counting off on his fingers, Jace said, “Sex appeal. Charisma. Charm. Sexy smile. Oh, and cocky. I count that as five compliments. Though I suppose charisma and charm could count as one, but you used both so I say two.”

He watched in part humor, part dread as the pink flush darkened to a scalding red. Embarrassment, temper or both? “I’m curious,” Melanie said. “Were you always this full of yourself or is this attitude a recent change in your behavior?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said I had a sexy smile.” Then, knowing he shouldn’t, but not able to stop himself, he said, “And I did save your job, so perhaps a ‘Thank you, Jace’ might be in order after all.”

“It was my problem to deal with. Not yours.” She stepped forward another few paces. “I don’t appreciate that you took it upon yourself to speak with Kurt about me. About
my
job. I’m a big girl, Jace. My mistakes are my mistakes. I don’t need a man swooping in to clean up after me.” Her gaze fixed on him. If he hadn’t been watching her closely, he would’ve missed the way her chin trembled. “I don’t need a hero.”

There was hurt there, he realized. The gleam of it trebled in her voice, glittered in her expression. He hadn’t expected that. He didn’t know how to deal with that. “He was going to fire you, Mel. I wanted to help.”

“I don’t need a hero,” she repeated. Oh, crap. Her eyes had a definite watery glow.

Jace swung his legs off of his desk. It was time to reel this in, before she burst into tears. He couldn’t handle when a woman cried. Any woman. If Melanie cried, he was pretty sure he’d give her anything she wanted to make her stop. His car, his house, all of the money in his bank account…his still-beating heart. Whatever it took.

“Look,” he said calmly, “this wasn’t about playing hero. I was planning on talking to you today about doing that Valentine’s Day feature together. And then I read your column.”

Melanie angled her arms across her chest. “So you went to Kurt why?”

“Because I knew he’d be ticked.” Jace shrugged. “I actually like when you go all crazy-man-hater woman in your column, but Kurt doesn’t. We couldn’t do the article together if you were fired, so I stepped in.”

“I don’t hate men. I just don’t—”

“Trust them. Yeah, you’ve made that clear.”