Almost Matched (Almost Bad Boys) (2 page)

“Ali,” I breathe into the cell phone. The light finally changes to green, and I step down from the sidewalk and onto the crosswalk.
 

“Hey, gorgeous! Where the fuck are you, Natalie? I bet my ass you overslept.”

Yep, that’s Ali. Her signature style is to soften an accusation with a compliment.
 

“I’m a block away from the office.” I puff.
 
“Why are you up so early on your day off?”

“I was out of coffee.”

“Yeah. And the
real
reason?” I ask.

She snorts. “The loser I took home last night couldn’t even get it up. I spent two hours, luring him, and finally gave up. After he left, bearing the shield of shame, I felt so bad that I only slept for a couple of hours. Finally, I had to get out of the house.”

I can’t suppress a laugh. “Are you serious? What the hell? He was so into you, girl.”

“You think? A complete waste of time. Anyway, I will tell you over lunch. I’m in the office, by the way. And you’re not. So get your pretty ass here quick, Davenport.”

“I thought you were calling from home. Why did you come to work on your day off?” That’s not normal. We work our butts off, building Strong Connections, our little company, and she definitely needs a break. Heck, I need a break, but now is not the time to consider myself.
 

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to. The KZIX radio station people are in the conference room already. I will bullshit them for a bit before you get here. But hurry, girlfriend!”
 

I feel totally guilty. Strong Connection’s marketing is my job. Ali has enough on her plate with the Company’s operations. She’s always reliable and dependable. And here I am—late for my meeting with KZIX. I had arranged for their advertising girls to come to our office to discuss booking a block of some clever ads. I want to target our potential clientele—young, single professionals too busy, or too burned out to find dates and more.
 

“I’m around the corner, but I need to change. My blouse is soaked with sweat,” I manage to say between short breaths. I run as fast as my heels let me. Thankfully, they are only about two inches. I give myself a mental pat on the back for not wearing any of my five-inch stilettos this morning.
 

“Lovely.”
 

I know she makes a face. I can sense it in her voice. And who wouldn’t, hearing such an unappetizing announcement.
 

“Yeah, I love you too,” I counter sardonically. “Go entertain, would ya?”

“See you in a few.” She hangs up.
 

I stuff the phone back in my purse and reach for the revolving glass door to the small office building about a mile south from Bellevue Square. Strong Connections leases a space on the top floor. We’re squeezed between an architect office and a law firm. This is our third year in business, and while we had been turning a small profit for more than seventeen months straight, we still aren’t ready to move to a downtown Seattle location. But that’s our dream and our plan for—hopefully—next year.
 

I won’t risk going to our office looking like I do now. Instead, I enter the bathroom on the first floor, right next to the elevator. I correct my smeared makeup, brush and tie my hair into a neat, low ponytail, and pat my underarms, chest, and stomach with paper towels. I always carry a travel-sized deodorant, which I promptly apply in front of the mirror.
 

Now I have to tiptoe into my office and change. Both Ali and I keep a couple of dry-cleaned outfits in our closets. The conference room is at the very end of that hallway, and I pray that Ali closed the door, so nobody will see me sneaking in.
 

The elevator door opens with a whoosh, and I creep toward the glass door of our office. ‘STRONG CONNECTIONS’ is proudly displayed over it in large red letters.
 

I look at the door and think,
Please don’t squeak
, very slowly pressing the handle. But the damn door lets out a squeak, as always. The receptionist’s desk, positioned across our waiting room, is empty. Two college girls, Ellen and Molly, job-share the receptionist’s duties. Ellen is scheduled this morning, and I wonder if she’s here. She’d better be.
 

I rush toward my office door on the opposite end of the hallway from the conference room. The door to the conference room is slightly ajar, but not enough for the people inside to notice me. I’m about to enter my office, when the bathroom door opens and Ellen—a willowy Chinese girl, barely looking her nineteen years—steps into the hallway.
 

“Natalie!” she squeals, a huge smile on her round face.
 

“Shhh!” I shush her, my fingers splayed, my lips stretched in an ugly grimace, teeth clenched.
 

I must look like a maniac, because her expression immediately changes into that of a scolded child.
 

“Sorry, Ellen.” I smile apologetically, ducking into my office. “I’ll be right out. Don’t say anything.”
 

Her dark eyes open wide, and she nods slowly. I close the door and tear my sweaty top off. Only in my hot-pink bra and a mini skirt, I text Ali:
Changing in my office.
There is a tiny broom-type closet in my office where I keep spare clothes and shoes. I open the door and freeze. Two of Ali’s tops, black slacks, and a beige skirt suit hang in there, still covered in plastic bags from the drycleaner down the street. I frantically slide the hangers back and forth, as if that would reveal my clothes. They aren’t there! Argh. I’m a size four, and Ali’s a size fourteen. How can I pull this off? No way I can.
 

I look around my office, but don’t see anything even remotely close to the clothes I could wear. Panicking, I glance at the clock on the wall. Nine zero seven—I’m seven minutes late already. I think about texting Ali again, but she’s busy with the KZIX station girls. It’s better leaving her to it.
 

I tiptoe to my door, crack it open, and look to see if I can get Ellen. She could check for my stuff in Ali’s office. She brought the clothes from the cleaners yesterday. I bet she put them in the wrong offices. Ellen is nowhere to be seen. My heart beats way too fast, and I start to sweat again.
 

I stick my head out to get a better view of the reception desk and hiss, “Ellen.”

Nothing.
 

“Ellen,” I repeat a bit louder.
 

Nope. She’s not there. Ali’s office is on the other side of the reception area, closer to the conference room. If I could only get there… Yes, I can. There is nobody around, so I will run there and duck inside. Easy peasy.
 

And I do. As soon as I stretch my hand toward the handle on Ali’s door, the conference door opens, and a guy in a nice sports coat and slacks steps out. Our eyes meet, and I gulp. A slow, lazy smile stretches across his lips. His eyes slide down my face and onto my balconette-bra-cladded boobs.
 

Crap! I can’t move. I’ve never been as mortified and paralyzed by shame as I am right now. Not because there is something wrong with my body. I work out diligently a few times a week, swim and run on the weekends, and obsessively watch my diet. And I wear size D cups, which paired with my five-six frame is nothing to be unhappy about.
 

The guy unhurriedly walks in my direction, stops way too close to me, and opens Ali’s door, gesturing silently for me to enter. Great. Now I feel like an intruder in my own office.
 

“Thank you,” I mumble, feeling a hot scarlet creep over my face.
 

“Don’t mention it,” he whispers back.
 

I duck inside the room and close the door behind me. “Oh, no,” I moan very quietly. “On, no, no, no, no.” Obviously I don’t have to explain how I feel. My mouth keeps soundlessly forming one word, over and over: fuck.
 

Who the hell is that guy? Melinda and Sabrina are two advertising reps at KZIX that I work with. They were scheduled to come to the meeting this morning. Only the two of them. I know because they had confirmed. There must have been a last minute change or something.
 

I find my clothes in Ali’s closet, as I suspected. I want to strangle Ellen, but that needs to wait. I quickly pull on my cream-colored V-neck top and with a quick glance in the tiny mirror on Ali’s desk I walk to my doom. I’m sure that guy is in the conference room.
 
Hell on wheels!

I enter and apologize for being late. Both Melinda and Sabrina greet me with big smiles on their faces. Ali asks me if I want coffee, pointing to the stainless steel carafe on the table. I wish she would offer me a shot of vodka. Or two. The door opens, and
the guy
walks in.
 

“What did I miss?” One corner of his mouth lifts in a crooked smile, and his eyes find mine.
 

Gulp.
 

“Natalie, this is Colin Hampton, our boss,” Sabrina announces, gesturing to him. “Colin, meet Natalie Davenport, Allison’s business partner.”
 

He walks around the table, slowly like a predator stalking his prey. His mischievous eyes never leave mine, and he stretches his hand out to me. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Davenport.” His tone is low and polite, and his handshake firm but gentle. That paired with the humorous glint in his eyes and the little secretive smile makes me want to run out of the room, screaming. Declaring that I’m embarrassed is an understatement of massive proportion.

“Likewise,” I manage to choke out.

He holds my hand a second too long, and I jerk it back. I pour myself a glass of water and gingerly lower my butt onto a chair. Colin sits across from me, smiling slightly. Ali and the radio station girls are chatting and laughing, apparently—thank heavens—unaware of anything weird going on between Colin and me. He remarks on something that Sabrina says, and all three women burst out laughing. I have no clue what’s even said. My heart finally stops racing.
 

I steal a quick glance at Colin. He catches my eye again, and I promptly look away. But I can see in my peripheral vision that he cocks his head to one side and watches me with that lazy, crooked smile.
 

He is a handsome bastard, tall and broad-shouldered, with bright-blue eyes framed in thick, dark eyelashes. His face has this chiseled-like quality to it. Black hair and eyebrows are a perfect combination with his honey-colored skin. He sports a two-day stubble, carefully groomed into precise lines. There is a small jagged scar on his forehead close to his hairline, and I fleetingly wonder how he got it.
 

I take a sip of water. My hands are shaking, and I try not to spill. That would be the last straw, so I make an extra effort into preventing such disaster. It feels like a small victory when I manage to set down my glass on the table without creating a pool around it. I think I actually exhale with a sigh of relief. Colin raises one eyebrow at me. He watches my every move. This is getting unbearable. I take a few more mouthfuls of water, and he refills my glass from the colorful ceramic pitcher my parents brought last summer from their vacation in Sicily.
 

This time he smiles widely and winks at me. My heart does a little flip, and I almost spew the water out. He has a gorgeous smile. I bet he’s one of those guys that women are obsessed with. And I’m sure he knows it. Okay, it’s time to discuss business before my own mind spins out of control. For all I know he’s married—wait, no wedding ring—or has a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Although he doesn’t strike me as gay. For heaven’s sake, enough of that, Natalie. What the hell is happening to me?
 

Another sip of water; another small victory setting the glass down on the table. I open the folder that I left on the conference table yesterday for this meeting. The conversation immediately switches to the task at hand. We discuss a few possible options for the ads, the schedule, and finally the pricing. Strong Connections had run the ads once before but with a different radio station. KZIX is quite new but it has already gained huge popularity, especially among the audience that is Strong Connections’ target customer: young executives who prefer our tailored approach to an online dating sites or a bar scene.
 

After about an hour, we have a pretty good idea about the advertising structure. Melinda promises to get me the final contract the next morning. A few handshakes later Ali and I walk the three KZIX people to the door. Colin gestures for Melinda and Sabrina to exit, while holding the door for them. Leaving, they still chat and laugh with Ali. Colin watches me as if waiting for something. What now? Can this morning get any weirder?
 

But seriously, he totally watches me. And that little, sexy smile is back. What am I supposed to say to a guy who accidentally just saw me half-naked? So I decide to clamp my mouth shut and avoid his stare. Yes, very immature of me, but embarrassment has its rights.
 

“It was really nice to meet you,” he says very quietly so only I can hear.
 

“Uhm… same here.” Hot, prickly crimson returns to my face.
 

After they leave, I rush Ali to her office, close the doors so Ellen won’t overhear us, and tell her about my little
incident.
She laughs so hard, she actually cries, smearing her mascara into a perfect raccoon eye imitation.