Matched To Mr Right

How could Elise’s computer have matched her with Leo? Oh, sure, neither of them had professed an interest in a love match, which was more of a tiny white lie in her case, but to not even be friends? It was depressing.

Leo looked relieved. “I’m glad we talked, then. To answer your earlier question, you’re everything I’d hoped. I’m very happy with my choice of wife. Jenna wasn’t right at all.”

Because she’d inadvisably bucked the rule: don’t ask Leo for more than he chooses to give.

“Speaking of which,” he continued, “I’d like you to plan a dinner party for twenty guests in about two weeks. Does that give you enough time?”

“Of course.”

Two weeks?

Panic flipped her stomach inside out. How would she organize an entire party in two weeks? Well, she’d just have to.

This was why Elise matched her with Leo, and running his personal life was what she’d signed up for. She couldn’t lose sight of that. “I’d be happy to handle that for you. Can you email me the guest list?”

He nodded. “Tommy Garrett is the guest of honor. Make sure you pick a date he’s available. No point in having the party if he can’t be there. Any questions?”

A million and five. “Not right now. I’ll start on it immediately.”

That was the key to enduring a marriage that wasn’t a marriage. Jump into her job with both feet and keep so busy she didn’t have time to castigate herself. After all, if she’d begun to believe this marriage might become more than an arrangement because of a few sparks, it was her fault. Not Leo’s.

Her mother was being taken care of. Dannie was, too. Furthermore, she’d spoken her mind with as much blunt opinion as she could muster and Leo hadn’t kicked her out. What else could she possibly want? This was real life, not a fairy tale, and she had work to do.

She bid Leo good-night, her head full of party plans. It wasn’t until her cheek hit the pillow that she remembered the total discomfort on Leo’s face when he thought friendship had been code for sex.

If he expected her to get naked, get pleasured and get out, why wouldn’t he take immediate advantage of what he assumed she was offering?

* * *

Leo’s forehead thunked onto his desk, right in the middle of the clause outlining the expiration date for his proposal to finance Miles Bennett’s software company.

That woke him up in a hurry.

Why didn’t he go upstairs to bed? It was 3:00 a.m. Normal people slept at this time of night, but not him. No—Leo Reynolds had superpowers, granting him the ability to go days without sleep, because otherwise he’d get behind. John Hu had slipped through his fingers at the alumni gala and was even now working with another backer. It should have been Leo. Could have been Leo, if he’d been on his game.

And not spending a good portion of his energy recalling his wife’s soft and gorgeous smile. Or how much he enjoyed seeing her on the porch waiting for him, the way she had been tonight.

Sleep was for weaker men.

Younger men.

He banished that thought. Thirty-five—thirty-six in two months—wasn’t old. But lately he felt every day of his age. Ten years ago he could have read contracts and proposals until dawn and then inhaled a couple of espressos to face the day with enthusiasm.

Now? Not so much. And it would only get worse as he approached forty. He had to make every day count while he could. No distractions. No seductive, tantalizing friendships that would certainly turn into more than he could allow.

Maybe he should up his workout regimen from forty-five minutes a day to an hour. Eat a little better instead of shoveling takeout into his mouth while he hunched over his desk at the office.

Gentle hands on his shoulders woke him.

“Leo,” Daniella murmured as she pressed against his arm. “You fell asleep at your desk.”

He bolted upright. Blearily, he glanced up at Daniella and then at his watch. Six-thirty. Normally he was already at work by now.

“Thanks for waking me up,” he croaked and cleared his throat. “I don’t know how that happened.”

She lifted a brow. “Because you were tired?”

Her stylish dress was flowery and flirty, but clearly altered to fit perfectly, and her hair hung loose down her back. Flawlessly applied makeup accentuated her face and plumped her lips and he tore his gaze away from them.

“Besides that.” He shuffled the Miles Bennett proposal back into some semblance of order without another glance at his wife. Though he wanted to soak in the sight of her. How did she look so amazing this early in the morning?

“Let me make you a cup of coffee,” she offered and perched a hip on his desk as if she planned to stay awhile.

“I have to go. I’m late.”

She stopped him with a warm hand on his bare forearm, below his rolled-up sleeve. “It’s Saturday. Take ten minutes for coffee. I’d like to make it for you. Indulge me.”

The plea in her eyes unhitched something inside. After he’d thrown up barrier upon barrier, she still wanted to make him coffee. How could he gracefully refuse? “Thanks. Let me take a quick a shower and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

The shower cleared the mist of sleep from his mind. He dressed in freshly pressed khakis and a button-down shirt instead of a suit since it was Saturday. A concession he couldn’t recall making before. What had possessed him to do it today?

When he walked into the kitchen, the rich, roasted smell of coffee greeted him only a moment before his wife did.

She smiled and handed him a steaming mug. “Perfect timing.”

He took a seat at the inlaid bistro table off the kitchen and sipped. Liquid heaven slid down his throat. He wasn’t surprised she’d somehow mastered brewing a cup of coffee to his tastes. “You even got the half-and-half right.”

“Practice makes perfect.” She slid into the opposite seat and folded her hands into her lap serenely.

Something in her tone piqued his interest. “How long have you been practicing?”

“Since the wedding.” She shrugged, and her smile made light of the admission. “I’ve been trying to get up before you every morning so I could make you coffee. Today’s the first day I succeeded.”

The coffee didn’t go down as smoothly on the next sip. Why had she put so much effort into something so meaningless? “That wasn’t part of our agreement. You should sleep as late as you want.”

“Our agreement includes making sure your life runs fluidly, especially at home. If you want coffee in the morning, it’s my job to ensure you get it.”

My job.

Daniella was in the employee box in his head, but he’d never expected her to view herself that way. Of course, why would she view herself any differently when all he talked about was their arrangement?

The cup of coffee—and the ironed clothes, ready at a moment’s notice—took on implications of vast proportions. Everything EA International promised, he’d received. Daniella had slipped into her role as if she’d always been his wife. The staff liked her and already deferred to her judgment, which freed him from having to deal with the cook’s grocery account or the gardener’s questions about seasonal plants.

She was incredible.

If only he’d gotten the wife he really meant for EA International to match him with—one he could ignore—his life would be perfect.

It wasn’t Daniella’s fault he suffered from all-or-nothing syndrome. Intensity was the major backbone of his temperament. That’s why he didn’t draw anymore. Once he started, he could fill an entire notebook with landscapes, people’s faces—Carmen’s beautiful form—and then scout around for a blank book to begin filling that one, too.

If it hadn’t been for his calculus teacher’s timely intervention, Leo would probably be a starving artist right now, doodling in the margins of take-out menus and cursing the woman who’d been his first model. And his first lover. He’d been infatuated with capturing her shape on the paper, infatuated with her. His teacher had opened his eyes to his slipping grades, the upcoming SATs and a potentially bleak future mirroring his parents’ if he didn’t stop skipping school to draw Carmen. Fortunately, he’d listened and turned his intensity toward his education, then Reynolds Capital Management, vowing to never again let his obsessive personality loose on anything other than success.

He knew it the way he knew the sky was blue: the second he let himself taste Daniella again, that would be it. He wouldn’t stop until he’d filled them both. And once wouldn’t be enough. He’d be too weak to focus on anything except her.

“Thanks for the coffee. I should go.” Leo shoved away from the table.

Her warm almond-colored eyes sought his. “Before you do, I have a couple of questions about the party for Tommy Garrett.”

He settled back into the uncomfortable wrought-iron chair. “Sure.”

It was the only subject that could have gotten him to stay. The party was critically important since Garrett had narrowed down the field to two firms. Leo didn’t intend to lose out to the other guy.

She leaned forward on her forearms with all the attentiveness of someone about to leap into a negotiation. “What does Garrett Engineering make?”

Not What china should I use? or What hors d’oeuvres should I serve? “Why does that matter?”

“I’m curious. But also because I’d like to know more about the guest of honor. From you. I’ll call his admin but I want your opinion. It will help me plan the menu and the decorations.”

There was something hypnotic about Daniella’s voice that pulled at him. He could listen to her recite the phone book. “I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

Her mouth tipped up in a smile that was so sweet, it pulled one from him. “That’s why I’m here. Tell me.”

“Tommy’s a bit of a whiz kid.” Leo pursed his lips as he contemplated the most relevant facets of the man—and he used the term man in the loosest sense—he wanted to do business with. “One of those geniuses who wears Converse sneakers and hoodies to work. He’s just as likely to spout Xbox stats as engineering principles and no one cares because he graduated summa cum laude from Yale. He designed a modification to the way gasoline is consumed in a car that will increase gas mileage by almost double. It’s revolutionary.”

“You like him.”

“Yes.” The admission surprised him.

He hadn’t thought one way or another about whether he liked Tommy Garrett. Leo liked the instant profitability of Garrett’s design. He liked the idea of orchestrating the financing and letting Tommy be the face of the venture. Tommy had a lot of spirit, a quick wit and, despite the hoodies, he also had a work ethic Leo respected. It wasn’t unusual to have a conversation at eleven o’clock on a Saturday night to brainstorm ideas.

Impressed, he cocked his head at his wife. “How did you ferret that out from what I said?”

“Because I listened with my eyes.” Her smile widened as he snorted. “I could see it in your expression.”

Leo tried to scowl but he was enjoying the back-and-forth just as much as the sound of Daniella’s voice.

“It doesn’t matter whether I like him. We stand to make a lot of money together and that’s the key to our association. The party is paramount. He’s got another potential partner on the hook and I need to convince him to go with Reynolds.”

“What percentage stake in his company did you offer in the proposal?” He did a double take and she laughed. “I read up on how venture capital works. How can I help you land the deal if I don’t know what I’m talking about?”

Perhaps he should have had a cup of coffee with his wife long before now. “I guess I thought you’d handle the party details and I’d handle Garrett. But I’m reconsidering that plan.”

If he unleashed the formidable force of Daniella on Tommy Garrett, the poor guy probably wouldn’t even know what hit him.

“You do that. Tell me more.”

Her smile relaxed him. She had the best smile, easily given, genuine. He liked seeing it on her, but liked being the one to put it there even more. Making women smile wasn’t a skill he felt particular proficient at, though. Maybe he should take a cue from his wife and practice.

“Not only will his design fit new engines, it retrofits to existing engines so it can be sold to both consumers and automobile manufacturers. It’s almost miraculous. He might as well have designed a way to print money.”

“Sounds like you really believe in the product. I can’t imagine why Mr. Garrett would choose another venture capital firm.”

“Because it’s business. Not personal. And actually, I couldn’t care less what the product is as long as the entrepreneur comes to me with a solid business plan and proven commitment.”

“All business is personal, Leo,” she said quietly. “If you didn’t spend so much time behind the scenes, you might discover that for yourself.”

“Behind the scenes is where I function best.” Ensuring the players never had to worry about money as they took center stage—that was his comfort zone. He couldn’t afford to get truly involved or he’d bury himself.

Her expression softened, drawing him in. “But in the middle of things is where the best experiences are.”

He had the distinct impression they weren’t talking about Tommy Garrett anymore and had moved on to something he did not want to acknowledge in any way, shape or form.

“Thanks for the coffee. I’m going to head in to the office.” He glanced at his watch. Almost seven-thirty, but there was no rush hour on Saturday, so he hadn’t lost too much time. “If you have any more questions about the party, don’t hesitate to call me.”

“Have a good day.” She covered his hand with hers and squeezed. “Don’t look now, Leo, but I think we just had a friendly conversation. Are you shocked it didn’t kill you?”

No, the shock happened when he laughed.

Her return smile stayed with him as he climbed into his car. The gas gauge needle pointed to full. When was the last time he’d even glanced at it? He drove to the office and instead of thinking about whatever else should be on his mind, he thought about Daniella.

Dannie. Maybe she could be Dannie and that wouldn’t kill him, either.

No way. He couldn’t imagine allowing it to roll from his tongue.

As much as he wished he could ignore his wife, he was painfully aware she conversely wished he wouldn’t. They had an agreement, but it didn’t seem to be sticking and she was flesh and blood, not a piece of paper. Or an employee.

And agreements could be terminated.

He was getting what he hoped from this marriage. She wasn’t, not fully. If he wanted her to be happy, he had to give a little. Otherwise she might walk. A sick worm of insecurity wiggled into his stomach at the idea of losing a woman who fit into his life so well. And who, against all odds, he liked.

Friends. It didn’t sound so terrible. Surely he could handle a friendship with his wife.

Six

Dannie hummed as she drew up proposed menus. She hummed as she perused the guest list Leo emailed her and savored the little thrill she got from the short message at the bottom.

You make a great cup of coffee.

She hummed as she waited on hold to speak with Tommy Garrett’s admin and later as she checked off several more things on her to-do list. The tune was aimless. Happy. Half of it was due to finally connecting with Leo on some small level, especially after he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in developing their relationship.

The other half had to do with finding her niche. Growing up, her chief source of entertainment had been old movies and TV shows on the free channels, and she’d always wanted to have her own household like the glamorous women of the ’50s. It was everything she’d expected. Being in charge of her domain gave her a heady sense of accomplishment and purpose, which popped out of her mouth in song.

When Leo strode through the door at six o’clock that evening with a small, lopsided grin, her throat seized up and quit working entirely.

“I thought we’d have dinner together,” he said as she stared at him, wordless. “If you don’t have other plans.”

Dinner? Together? Why?

“Oh,” she squeaked and sucked in a couple of lungfuls of oxygen in hopes it might jar everything else into functioning. “No plans. I’ll let the cook know.”

Clothes, she thought as she flew to alert the staff Leo would be dining in. She should change clothes. And open a bottle of wine. Her foot tangled on the edge of the Persian runner lining the stairs to the second floor. And slow down. A broken leg wouldn’t do her any favors.

This was the first time she’d dine alone with Leo since they’d gotten married. It was practically like a date. Better than a date, because it had been his idea and totally a surprise. She wanted it to be flawless and so enjoyable he couldn’t wait to do it again.

In spite of a triple-digit pulse and feeling as though her tongue was too big for her mouth, she could get used to that kind of surprise.

Dannie opened her closet and surveyed her small but lovely wardrobe. She’d never owned such amazing clothes and shoes before and never got tired of dressing up. She slipped into a casual black cocktail dress that veed over her breasts, buckled her feet into the sexiest Louboutins she owned and curled her lip at the state of her hair. Quickly she brushed it out and twisted it up into a sleek chignon.

Done. That was as close as she could get to looking like the kind of wife a man would enjoy coming home to. She took her time descending the stairs in her five-inch heels and spent a few minutes in the wine cellar glancing at labels until she put her hand on a sauvignon blanc Wine Spectator had talked up. A perfect date-night wine.

She stuck the bottle in a bucket of ice and left it on the formal dining room sideboard to chill until dinner, which the cook informed her would be a few minutes yet. At loose ends, she tormented the place settings until the silverware was either perfectly placed or exactly where it’d been when she started. She couldn’t tell, which meant stop obsessing.

The cook announced dinner at last. She went to fetch Leo and found him in his study, of course, attention decisively on his laptop. His suit jacket hung on the back of the leather chair. His shirtsleeves were rolled up on his forearms and he’d already removed his tie. Rumpled Leo might be her favorite.

Leaning on the doorjamb, she watched him type in efficient strokes, pause and type again. Mentoring anonymously via chat again, most likely. She hated to interrupt. But not really.

“Dinner’s ready.”

He glanced up without lifting his head and the way he peeked out from under his lashes was so sexy, it sent a spiral of heat through her tummy.

“Right now?” he asked.

“Um, yeah.” She cleared the multitude of frogs camping out on her vocal cords. “We don’t want it to get cold.”

He typed for another couple of seconds and then closed the laptop’s lid with a snick as he stood. “That would be a shame.”

Boldly, she watched him approach, aware her body blocked the doorway and curious what he’d do about it. “I’m a believer in hot food, myself.”

He stopped a healthy distance away when he apparently realized she wasn’t budging. “I’m looking forward to a home-cooked meal. Thought I should start eating better. I’ve had too much takeout lately.”

Whose fault is that? “Just the food, then? The company wasn’t a draw?”

“Of course the company was a factor.” Something flickered in the depths of his blue eyes and heat climbed all over her.

Oh, that had all sorts of interesting possibilities locked inside. They gazed at each other for a long, delicious moment, and he didn’t look away. Or back up.

Then he gestured to the hall. “Shall we, Mrs. Reynolds?”

And somehow, that was far more intimate than calling her Dannie. Deliberate? Oh, goodness, she hoped so.

Leo’s capable palm settled into the small of her back as they walked and she felt the contact all the way to the soles of her feet. Something had changed. Hadn’t it? Was her coffee that good?

In the dining room, Leo drew back the heavy chair and allowed her to sit on the brocade cushion before pushing it in for her. Then he expertly poured the wine to exactly the same level in both glasses on the first try—impressive evidence of how good Leo was with both detail and his hands.

Not that she’d needed additional clues the man hid amazing things under his workaholic shell. Were they at a point where she could admit how outrageously attracted to Leo she was? Or was that going past blunt into another realm entirely?

Placing her glass on the table before her, he took the seat catercorner to hers instead of across the table. “So we can talk without shouting,” he said when she raised her eyebrows.

All small, small gestures, but so huge to her romance-starved soul. Flutters spread from her stomach to every organ in her body. Especially her heart.

For whatever reason, he was trying, really trying, to give her some of his time. But what was his intent? The friendship she’d hoped for or merely a small gesture toward crossing her path?

She’d keep her wits about her and under no circumstances would she read anything into what was essentially just dinner. As they dug into Greek salads served with crusty bread, she stuck to discussing her progress on the party. The more the wine flowed, the more relaxed they both became.

About halfway through her swordfish, she brought up the one thing she’d been dying to ask since the night of their marriage. “Do you still draw?”

Leo’s fork froze over a piece of grilled zucchini. “How did you know about that?”

“Your mother told me.”

He grimaced. “I should have guessed. She still has every piece of paper I’ve ever touched with a pencil.”

Which was no answer at all. “Is it a sensitive subject?”

“No.” Carefully, he cut a hunk of fish and chewed it in a spectacular stall tactic she recognized a mile away. He didn’t want to discuss his art, that much was clear.

“So, never mind then. It’s not important,” she lied. His reaction said there was more to the story and it was very important, but she didn’t want to alienate him. “Tell me something else instead. Why venture capital?”

His expression warmed. “If you’re good, you can make a lot of money. You just have to recognize the right opportunities.”

“Are you good?”

She already knew the answer but was curious what he thought about the empire he’d built. Most of her research into the complexities of venture capital had been conducted by reading articles about her husband’s successful company before she’d even spoken to him on the phone for the first time.

“I’m competent. But I’ve made my share of mistakes.”

As if that was something to be ashamed of. He seemed determined to downplay all his positives. “Everyone makes mistakes. You’ve recovered from yours quite well. The reputation of Reynolds Capital Management is unparalleled.”

He inclined his head with a pleased smile. “It’s a work in progress.”

Fascinated with the way his eyes turned deeper blue when he engaged, she drained her wineglass and propped her chin on a curled hand. This was exactly what she’d envisioned their friendship would look like. “So how do you recognize the right opportunity?”

The cook bustled in and cleared their empty dinner plates, replacing them with bananas Foster for dessert. She lit the rum and blew it out in an impressive culinary display, then efficiently disappeared.

Leo spooned the dessert into his mouth and murmured appreciatively before answering Dannie’s question. “Experience. Gut instinct. A large percentage of success is simply showing up. I create the remaining percentage by getting there first and staying until everyone else has gone home.”

“Do you see your job as creative?” Dannie took a small bite of banana, gratified Leo liked the dessert as much as she did, but determined to keep him engaged in conversation. A full mouth wouldn’t lend itself well to that.