Chasing Perfect (2 page)

There was a big desk, two flags—U.S. and State of California—and a small conference table that seated six by the window.

Marsha sat in the small conversation group in the corner. As Charity entered, she saw that Josh was already there, lounging on a sofa, looking breathtakingly handsome and completely at home.

Marsha, an attractive, well-dressed woman in her sixties, smiled and rose to her feet. “We were just talking about you, Charity. You've had a busy morning. Congratulations. Josh here tells me you convinced Bernie to sign the letter of intent.”

Charity moved toward them, doing her best to appear friendly without actually
looking
at Josh. When she made the mistake of meeting his hazel-green eyes, she could have sworn she heard the theme from
Gone with the Wind
playing softly in the background.

Josh stood and gave her a lazy grin. One that made her toes curl inside her pumps. “We haven't been
formally introduced,” he said, holding out his hand. “I'm Josh Golden.”

She so did not want to shake his hand, given the symptoms she'd already experienced. Actual physical contact might lead to heart failure, or something even more embarrassing. She swallowed, sucked in a breath, then braced herself for it.

His large hand engulfed hers. Sparks even bigger than those that had killed her computer jumped between them. Her stomach flipped, her privates cheered and she half-expected to see fireworks shooting up by the ceiling.

“Mr. Golden,” she murmured, withdrawing quickly, then sinking into the seat behind her. She did her best not to think about the fact that, thanks to Sheryl's screen saver, she had now seen his bare butt.

“Josh, please.”

And how many women screamed that on a regular basis? she wondered, turning her attention to the much safer mayor.

“Josh is exaggerating my role in the meeting,” she said, pleased to find out she could speak in a complete sentence. “He knew about the other offer of land, which was the problem with getting the university to sign. Once that was dealt with, the other problems were easily solved.”

“I see.” Marsha looked at Josh, who shrugged modestly.

Given the fact that Josh was obviously a famous
athlete and comfortable flashing his butt for the camera, she would have expected him to jump at the chance to make himself the star of the moment. Oddly enough, he didn't.

“We have the letter of intent,” Charity continued. “I'll have Sheryl set up a meeting to move forward. With the construction bids already in place, we can streamline the process and get the research facility built quickly.”

“Excellent.” Marsha smiled at her. “Why don't you go get settled? You've had a busy first hour. We'll have lunch tomorrow so you can tell me how it's going.”

“Thanks.” Charity rose. “Nice to meet you, Josh,” she said, backing away so there was no chance for him to offer to shake hands again.

Once she was safely back in her office, her first order of business would be to give herself a stern talking-to. She had never once, in her whole life, reacted to a man this way. It was beyond embarrassing—it had the potential to interfere with her ability to do her job. She could accept that some flaw in her genetic makeup made her always pick exactly the wrong guy. She didn't like it, and she wouldn't allow herself to act like a freaked-out groupie or sex-starved crazy person when she was around Josh. Fool's Gold was small. They were bound to run into each other. She had to get a grip on herself and her hormones.

There had to be a reasonable explanation, she told herself firmly. She hadn't been sleeping that well. Or
she could be missing a B vitamin or not eating enough broccoli. Whatever the cause, she would figure it out and fix it. She refused to live her life all quivery and weak. She was strong. She was self-actualized. She was not going to let a little thing like a gorgeous man with a butt like a Greek god mess up her day.

 

“W
ELL
?” M
ARSHA ASKED
when Charity had left.

A single word with a thousand meanings, Josh thought grimly. What was it about women and language? They could make a man squirm without putting much effort into the task. A skill he both admired and feared.

“She's smart and fair,” he said.

Marsha raised her eyebrows. “You don't think she's pretty?”

He slumped back in the chair and closed his eyes. “Here we go. Why do you feel a compulsion to pair up everyone you meet? I've been married, Marsha. Remember? It didn't go well.”

“Not your fault. She was a bitch.”

He opened one eye. “I thought you liked Angelique.”

“I was concerned that if she stood in the sun, the heat would melt all the plastic she'd had put into her body.”

He laughed. “Very much a possibility.” His ex-wife had been born beautiful, but hadn't rested until she was extraordinary.

“So you like her,” Marsha asked.

He had a feeling they weren't talking about his ex anymore. “Why does my opinion matter?”

“Because it does.”

“Fine. I like her. Are you happy?”

“No, but it's a start.”

He was used to the matchmaking. It went with the not very subtle invitations. He supposed if a man had to live under a curse, his was easy to live with. Too many women all offering whatever he wanted. Too bad being with them didn't fix what was really wrong with him.

He stood. “I said I'd watch out for her and I will. I don't know what you're worried about. This is Fool's Gold. Nothing bad happens here.” Which was why he'd come home. This was a great place to escape. Or it had been. Lately it felt as if his past was catching up with him.

“I want Charity to be happy,” Marsha said. “I want her to fit in.”

“The longer you don't tell her the truth, the more pissed she's going to be.”

Marsha's mouth twisted into a frown. “I know. I'm waiting for the right time.”

He crossed to her, bent down and kissed her soft, wrinkled cheek. “There's never a good time, kid. You taught me that.”

He straightened and headed to the door.

“You could take her out to dinner,” Marsha called after him.

“I could,” he agreed as he left.

He could ask out Charity, but then what? In a matter of days she would have heard enough about him to
think she knew everything. After that, she would either be eager to find out if all the talk was true, or she would think he was scum on the pond of life. Judging by her sensible shoes and conservative dress, he would guess she would put him on the side of scum.

He crossed through the lobby, ignoring the glass case off to the side, the one containing the yellow jersey he'd won during his third Tour de France race. He stepped out into the sunny morning, then wished he hadn't when he saw Ethan Hendrix getting out of his car. Ethan who had once been his best friend in the world.

Ethan moved with ease. After all this time, the limp was nearly gone. For anyone else, it wouldn't even be worth noting. But Ethan wasn't like everyone else. He'd once been a ranked cyclist. He and Josh were supposed to take on the Tour de France together while they were still in college. They'd spent hours training together, shouting insults back and forth, each claiming he would be the one who would win. After the accident, only Josh had entered, becoming the second youngest winner in the history of the race. Henri Cornet had been younger, by all of twenty-one days, back in 1904.

Ethan looked across the street and their eyes met. Josh wanted to go to his former friend, to tell him that enough time had passed and they both needed to get over it. But despite the phone messages Josh had left, Ethan had never once called him back. Never forgiven him. Not for the accident—Ethan had been at fault. But for what had happened after.

In a way, Josh couldn't blame him. After all, Josh hadn't forgiven himself.

 

T
HE NEXT DAY
, Charity unpacked her small box of personal items, then dove into her morning. She had brainstormed several ideas to bring businesses to Fool's Gold, and wanted to run them past the mayor. After printing out her preliminary reports, she familiarized herself with the city's cranky e-mail system and was surprised to look up and see the mayor standing in her doorway.

“Is it eleven-thirty already?” Charity asked, not able to believe how quickly the time had flown by.

“You look intense,” Marsha said. “Should we delay our lunch?”

“Of course not.” Charity pulled her handbag from the bottom drawer of her desk, then stood and straightened her tailored jacket. “I'm ready.”

They walked down the wide staircase and out onto the sunny street.

City Hall was in the middle of downtown, with old-fashioned street lights lining the wide sidewalk. There were mature trees, a barber shop and a soda fountain advertising old-fashioned milkshakes. Tulips and crocuses grew in window boxes in front of the various businesses.

“The town is beautiful,” Charity said as they crossed the street and headed for the restaurant on the corner. They walked around an open manhole cover where two female city workers set up equipment.

“Quiet,” Marsha murmured. “Too quiet.”

“Part of the reason you hired me.” Charity smiled. “To bring in businesses and with them employment.”

“Exactly.”

“I've brainstormed some ideas,” Charity told her, not sure if this was a working lunch or a get-to-know-you lunch.

“How many of them are run by and employ mostly men?”

Charity paused in front of the restaurant, sure she'd misunderstood the mayor's question. “Excuse me?”

Marsha's dark blue eyes danced with amusement. “I asked about men. Oh, don't get frightened. Not for me. For the town. You haven't noticed?”

Charity slowly shook her head, wondering if the otherwise together mayor had hit her head or taken some questionable medication. “Noticed what?”

“Look around,” the mayor told her. “Show me where the men are.”

Charity had no idea what she was talking about. Men, as in men?

She slowly scanned the street around them. There were two female city workers, a woman in a postal service uniform delivering mail, a young woman painting a store window.

“I don't see any.”

“Exactly. Fool's Gold has a serious man shortage. It's part of the reason I hired you. To bring more men to our town.”

T
HE
F
OX AND
H
OUND
Restaurant was decorated the an American version of a classic English pub. Deep booths, a long wooden bar and English hunting prints on the wall. Charity was sure it was lovely, and later, when she was able to focus better, she would take it all in. Now all she could do was trail after the mayor as they were led to a quiet table by the window.

Charity took her seat across from the older woman and pressed her lips together. She wasn't going to say a word until Marsha had explained herself.

Marsha began right away. “The problem started years ago. Men left to find better jobs and never came back. That was in my day and for some reason, it's not getting better. The preliminary census numbers are a disaster. When the actual 2010 census comes out, it's going to be a disaster—both in the press and in how the town sees itself. If we don't get some men here for our young women to marry, they'll start leaving, too, and then the town will die. That's not going to happen on my watch.”

The mayor sounded fierce as she spoke. And determined.

Charity had reached for her water, mostly to buy time. A man shortage? Was this a joke? Part of a small-town initiation ritual?

“There are plenty of businesses that traditionally employ men,” she began slowly. “If you're serious about this.”

“I am.” Marsha leaned toward her. “Fool's Gold was a gold rush town, founded in the 1870s. It grew and prospered, and when the gold ran out, just after the turn of the century, it started to have problems.”

A waitress appeared with menus. She took their drink orders and left.

“Geographically, we're blessed,” Marsha continued. “That kept us from disappearing completely. The original ski resort was built in the fifties, the vineyards west of here are at least sixty years old. So far we're holding our own. There are plenty of service industries, some small businesses. Ethan Hendrix owns a construction company that has branched out into windmills, so he brings in a few men, but it's not enough.”

Marsha shrugged. “I tell myself I should be thrilled by the women he employs. Equality and all that, but I can't. Men leave here and we don't know why. Topography? A Native curse? It's getting out of hand. The young women in town are having trouble finding husbands. Worse, the few men we do have tend to find their wives elsewhere.”

Charity did her best to look both intelligent and interested. “I can see where that would be a difficult situation.” Intellectually she understood a growing population was essential for any town to survive. But a lack of men? Seriously? “You've investigated the Native curse issue?” she asked, when she couldn't think of anything else.

Marsha laughed. “The only Natives who lived in the hills weren't the curse type. My thought was if we're bringing in business anyway, how could it hurt to focus on those with traditionally male jobs? Engineering, high tech, a second hospital. Of course hospitals do employ more women, but it would give us a great job base.”

Right. Because Charity could simply go online and order a hospital. She drew in a breath. She needed a little more time to process the information. A man shortage? She'd never heard of anything like that in her life. Not that she could blame the mayor for failing to mention it during the interview process. Talk about an easy way to terrify candidates.

“Over the next couple of days, as you get to know your way around town, I want you to do a mental head count. You'll see for yourself that men are in desperately short supply. My biggest fear is that word will get out somehow. That a reporter somewhere will find out and start doing stories on the town.”

“Wouldn't the attention help?”

“This town is special to all of us. We're not inter
ested in being considered an oddity. We just need to balance our population.”

Charity thought of Josh Golden. He was shiny enough for three men. Mayor Marsha should marry him off to one of the lonely single women.

“There is a bright spot in all this,” Marsha told her with a wink. “As you're the one meeting with the business owners, you'll get first pick of any of the men.”

“Lucky me,” Charity murmured, grateful the waitress reappeared and interrupted them. Charity wasn't going to share the details of her social life, or lack thereof, with her new boss. And there was no reason to explain that she had been totally unsuccessful in the man department.

While avoiding her mother's penchant for men who were too pretty by far was a good start, it didn't guarantee a happy ending. So far Charity was practically the poster girl for romance disasters.

When they'd finished placing their orders, a curly-haired well-dressed woman walked up to the table. She was a little taller than Charity, and exuded style and sex appeal.

“So you're the new girl,” the twenty-something woman said cheerfully. “Hi. I'm Pia O'Brian, Fool's Gold's own party planner.”

Marsha shook her head. “Event coordinator. It sounds better.”

“Maybe to you. I like the party aspect of my job.” Pia grinned at Charity. “It's nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

“I don't actually plan parties,” Pia admitted. “I organize the Spring Festival, the Summer Festival, the Fourth of July fireworks.”

“And the Fall Festival?” Charity asked.

Pia laughed. “Yes, but that comes after the End of Summer Festival and focuses on books. We're a party crowd here.”

“Apparently.” The closest Charity had ever come to a town festival had been a craft show back in college. “I look forward to going to the events.”

“If only that were all that was involved,” Pia said dramatically. “You and I are going to have to talk. I'll call and set up an appointment.”

“Should I be nervous?” Charity asked with a laugh.

“No. It'll be fine. Enjoy your lunch,” she called over her shoulder as she sailed toward the door.

“She's nice,” Charity said. And close to her age. Maybe Pia was a potential friend.

“Just so you know, Pia's a lot more talk than action, at least when it comes to being bad.” Marsha shook her head. “Oh, Charity, you're being thrown in the deep end. I hope that's all right.”

“I was looking for a challenge,” Charity told her. Not to mention a job that was far away from her old one. She'd wanted a fresh start and the job in Fool's Gold had offered exactly that.

“Good. I don't want to scare you away on your first day. Maybe on your second.”

Charity laughed. “I don't scare so easy. In fact, this weekend I'm going to drive around and get to know the different neighborhoods in town.”

“Thinking of buying a house?”

“Not right away, but in a couple of months. I want to settle down.” Having a permanent address and ties to a community had always been her fantasy.

“There are some lovely homes. Although with all the men who will be moving to town, you might want to wait a bit. You did mention you were single. Maybe you'll meet Mr. Right.”

“Uh-huh,” Charity said and sipped her coffee. Mayor Marsha was very nice, but not the most subtle person.

As for Mr. Right—Charity wasn't looking for perfect. She just wanted a nice guy who loved her as much as she loved him. Oh, and a man who was single, honest and faithful. Characteristics depressingly hard to find on the dating scene—at least in her experience.

“If anyone around town catches your eye,” Marsha said as their food was delivered. “Just ask me. I know everyone.”

Once again Charity's brain flashed to Josh. Fifteen kinds of physically amazing and a thousand kinds of trouble, she thought grimly. She might not be able to ignore the weird way her body reacted when he was in the room, but she could do her best to ignore him. And she would. Even in a town as small as Fool's Gold, it couldn't be hard.

 

“Y
OU MAKE ME
crazy. You know that, right?”

Josh continued to study his computer screen and ignore his assistant. Something he was good at. It came from years of practice.

Unfortunately Eddie wasn't the type to take the hint. “I'm talking to you, Josh.”

“I knew that.” He turned his attention from the e-mail to his seventy-something assistant who stood with her hands on her hips.

Eddie Carberry wore her white hair in short curls. She liked heavy makeup and velour track suits. She had one for every day of the week. If it was Monday, she was wearing violet.

“They're getting on my nerves,” she announced. “What the hell were you thinking? I know you're not sleeping with them, so it's not about sex. Don't tell me you're being nice, either. You know how I hate that.” Eddie glared at him as she spoke.

He knew better than to take her temper seriously, just as he knew the “they” in question were the three college-aged girls that were supposed to be helping her in the office.

“You said you wanted to cut back on your responsibilities,” he hedged. “You said you wanted a staff.”

Eddie rolled her eyes. “I said I wanted to look like Demi Moore, too, but I don't see you doing anything about that. They're not staff, they're blonde and every cliché that goes with the hair color. All they want to talk about is you.” She raised her voice. “Josh is just
so handsome,” she said in a mocking squeak. “Do you think he's going to ask me out?”

She lowered her voice to its normal gravelly tone.

“I thought you'd explained everything when you hired them.”

He winced. “I did. In detail.”

“Then you're going to have to do it again.”

Apparently.

Young women had done everything from showing up in his bed naked and uninvited to claiming to be pregnant with his baby—all in a bid to get his attention. He understood the theory. If they belonged to someone the public perceived as special then they were special, as well. Telling them he wasn't worth their time didn't seem to get through. This summer he'd tried offering jobs instead, thinking the reality of working around him would allow them to see the man behind the myth. So far the plan wasn't working.

“I could get more help out of a couple of cats,” Eddie grumbled. “And you know how I feel about cats.”

He did. She resented any creature who dared to shed on one of her track suits.

“I'll talk to them,” he said.

“You'd better.” She lowered her arms to her sides, then walked toward his desk. “The storefront on Third leased out.”

He leaned back in his chair as she sat down. “Good.” It had been vacant nearly three months.

“The lease is at the attorney's. I'll pick it up later today for you to read.” She cleared her throat. “You have a request to ride in a charity race.”

“No.”

“It's for sick kids.”

“It usually is.”

“You should do this one.”

She was trying to provoke him. For some reason Eddie believed if she could get him to yell, he would give in.

“It's in Florida,” she said. “You could go to Disney World.”

“I've been to Disney World.”

“You need to get out, Josh. Ride again. You can't—”

“Next?” he asked cutting her off.

She stared at him, her eyes narrowed. He stared back.

She blinked first. “Fine. Be that way.” She sighed heavily, as if her life was nothing but pain. “I keep getting calls about a charity golf tournament. The sponsor has a connection with the ski resort and they're thinking of holding it in town.”

Golf he could do. It wasn't his sport, so excellence wasn't expected or required. He could simply be charming for the cameras, raise some money and call it a day.

“Okay on the golf.”

“At least that's something,” she grumbled. “I'll have
the sales figures for the sporting goods store later today. Preliminary numbers are good. The flyers did a nice job of bringing in business. Internet sales are up, too. Now if we could get a picture of you on some of the bikes we carry…”

He ignored her. Which meant looking away. One of the blondes walked by just then and assumed he was glancing at her rather than away from Eddie. The young woman smiled and slowed.

Damn.

Eddie turned and saw the girl. “Get back to work,” she snapped. “This isn't about you.”

The girl pouted, but did as she was told.

“Did I say they make me crazy?” Eddie asked.

“More than once.”

“You need a girlfriend. If they think you're with someone else, they'll back off.”

“No, they won't.”

“Probably not,” she agreed. “I swear, Josh, there's something about you. Women everywhere are just dying to be in your bed.”

He winced, not wanting to have this conversation with his septuagenarian assistant.

“I guess the good news is if you'd done it as much as they said, you'd be dead now.”

“A cheerful thought,” he said dryly.

Eddie stood. “I'll be back later with those numbers.”

“I'll count the hours.”

She barked a laugh as she left. Josh returned his gaze to the computer screen, but not his attention. The girls in his office were the least of his problems. What kept him up nights wasn't the young women so convinced he was the answer to every prayer they'd ever had. It was the reality of knowing he was a total fraud and no one had seemed to figure that out.

 

O
VER THE NEXT FEW
days Charity continued to learn about her job and meet the rest of the staff. She noticed that every one of them was female, with the exception of Robert Anderson, the treasurer.

“Robert's been with us five years,” Marsha said after a meeting on Wednesday, then excused herself to make a call to the county commissioner.

Robert was a nice-looking man in his early thirties. His dark eyes sparkled with amusement as he shook Charity's hand. “You look a little surprised to see me. Is it because I'm a guy? Did the Mayor tell you about our little problem?”