Working With Cupid, page 4
part #1 of Chicago Sapphics Series
Damnit. Her words hit their mark. I was being unfair, and I knew it before she put me in my place. I need to make this right.
I dip my chin in acknowledgement before rounding the desk to stand in front of her. I hold out my hand, a gesture that I can only hope she returns. "I understand, Nicolette. If you would allow me the courtesy to correct my mistake, I'd like it if you could stay late with me tonight. I think there's a project I could use your help with."
"Yes, ma'am," she says as her warm fingers wrap around my palm.
"Good," I breathe. It takes a moment for me to notice that neither of us has pulled our hand away from the other. Smirking, I jerk my head towards my desk. "Now, please join me for lunch. I assume that extra salad belongs to you, anyway."
Chapter seven
After running my mouth like I had, eating lunch with Anastasia was far less awkward than I anticipated. Even if her touch still tingled on my hand as I ate the pleasantly crafted salad. Closing the lid over my container, I ask, "Who is your meeting with this afternoon?"
"Shit," she gasps as she drops a piece of ranch-coated kale over her dark suit jacket. "One of my higher-profile clients, Cameron Sullivan."
I'm on my feet before my brain has time to process whom the meeting is with. Rushing to the door, I grab the navy pantsuit off the hook and pull it free from the plastic cover, noting that it matches Anastasia's dark, smokey eyeshadow and compliments her silver jewelry. "Here, this one will do."
"Thank you," she sighs as she shrugs the soiled jacket off.
I approach her quickly and offer the clean jacket in exchange for the dirty one. Having lived in a house full of women my whole life, I've grown used to the constant need for a wardrobe change. "I'll get this cleaned up for you. Also, did you say Cameron Sullivan?"
Her laugh dances past my ear, sounding far more delicate than I imagined, like being kissed for the first time. It raises the hairs on my arms and lifts me weightless. "I was wondering if you caught that. Yes, Cameron is one of our clients here at Cupid, and she is finally ready to take the plunge with my expertise."
"I imagine it's hard to date privately when you're charting on billboard ten months out of the year," I say.
"Exactly." She nods before threading her arms through the clean jacket. "I want you to sit in on this meeting with me. It'll be good for you two to build a rapport in case I am ever unavailable."
The dry-cleaning tag peeks out from her collar. "You have something." I brush her midnight tresses to the side, reveling in the light scent of jasmine and citrus before yanking the tag free.
A spark tingles between us as her gray eyes meet mine, appearing more like a pool of mercury I would happily drown in. "Thank you. I always forget about the tags," she rasps, refusing to break our stare.
"No problem." I suck in a stuttered breath as I beg my heart to return to its normal rhythm. "I'll get your jacket cleaned off. Give me ten minutes."
Clicking her fingers over her keyboard, she nods toward the closed door across the room. "You can use my private bathroom if that's easier."
Slowly, I step away from her desk before pivoting on my heel toward her private bathroom. Turning the handle, I open the door and flick the light switch up, revealing a pristine, vanity equipped restroom. Between the line of luxury perfumes and modern decor that matches the theme of the company, this space screams Anastasia Graves.
God, it smells just like her in here. All flowery and citrus; like sunshine in the summer.
Sunshine. I snort. If there's anything Anastasia isn't, it's that. I turn on the cold water before sinking the stained fabric into the cold stream. I rub my finger over any remaining dressing before dabbing the wet area with a company monogrammed hand towel.
Satisfied with what I could do, I turn the faucet off and step out of the bathroom. "I couldn't do much, but I think the stain won't set. You should be able to take a Tide pen to it once you get home," I say.
"I appreciate your effort." Her perfectly painted mouth quirks upward, and I'd be a liar if I said her smirk didn't give me butterflies in all the wrong places. "Dawn messaged me while you were in there. Cameron is on her way over to the office," she says.
"Perfect timing." I laugh. "Where do you want me to put this while it dries?" I hold out her suit jacket.
"That is a good question." She hums as she taps her chin with a ruby-painted nail. Glancing at the door she brings her steel-like stare back to me. "Would it be too much to ask if you could drape it over your desk to avoid wrinkling?"
I shake my head, resisting the urge to call her ma'am again. I have no idea why I want to say it—it just comes out naturally around her.
Maybe I shouldn't have read that new romance book Josie was talking about last night.
My feet move quickly to her door, creaking it open enough to slip through. Fanning the jacket open, I stretch the fabric out to not cause further wrinkling before laying it over the end of my desk. It may not be the best, but it'll have to do for now.
"Excuse me," a soft voice with a heavy Southern twang says, startling me from my task. "I'm looking for Anastasia Graves."
I raise my chin to see a sea of lilac curls belonging to the country star Anastasia has been waiting for. The tabloids haven't done her justice if this is how she looks in person. As far as celebrity crushes go, having one on Cameron Sullivan never felt better than it does now.
Clearing my throat, I mentally check my tone before speaking to the idol. "Ms. Graves is expecting you. If you could follow me, her office is right here." I step through Anastasia's doorway, directing my arm for Cameron to step through before closing it behind her.
"Cameron." Anastasia smiles as she stands from her chair. Her smile is different—more restrained than the teasing ones she has given me all day. The fact that I can tell a difference between them sends a lick of heat through me. "How was your flight in?" she asks.
"Long." She sighs. "I didn't sleep a wink after my show last night. I just hopped on the plane and headed straight for Chicago."
Anastasia's eyes narrow at the woman while still holding their friendly intent. "Cameron Sullivan. If you needed to reschedule, you could have called."
"You know I'm on a strict deadline. I need Cupid to work its magic on me this year," Cameron pleads with a crack in her voice that breaks my heart.
I've always admired someone who wants a genuine, no-holds-barred, forever type of love, and isn't afraid to ask for it. Slumping into one of the available chairs, Cameron continues to pour her soul out to Anastasia, who keeps her tender gaze locked on the pastel haired woman. It's impressive to see her in action—someone who is so work-oriented care about her clients' needs. A part of me wonders how she can do it. How does she play matchmaker without falling in love?
"Miss Richter," Anastasia calls, ripping me from my wandering thoughts.
"Hm–yes?" I meet her teasing stare, noticing that the office has grown darker from the disappearing shadows on the walls.
She subtly jerks her head toward her computer, inviting me closer. "Cameron was curious about your opinion. I believe I found two perfect potential matches. What would you say?"
I accept the invitation to join her behind the desk with a twitch of the corners of my mouth. Leaning over her shoulder, the screen is a mess of charts, graphs, and the two supposed candidates' surveys. "The candidates have answered everything identically. Sure, the wording is different, but the result is still the same," I breathe in awe.
"You have a good eye," Anastasia whispers. Her breath tickles the exposed flesh on my neck while I chance a look at Cameron. Besides appearing exhausted, she seems excited to find out who her mystery matches are. "I was quite surprised when I realized it. Jax and Knox Noble, ages thirty-five, from Madison, Wisconsin. They are both in the music industry; Knox a composer and Jax is an independent folk-country artist."
Cameron's eyes brighten, intrigue swirling in her crystal blues. "Huh. Twin musicians. That's gonna be a hard choice for me, isn't it?"
Anastasia winks, and the image of it alters my brain chemistry in real time.
No one should look that hot while winking.
"I've already done the legwork for you. These boys are—how do I say it? Untraditional," she explains.
I flit my eyes between both women as she drags out the last word, curious to hear Cameron's response. Raking her fingers through her hair, she sighs. "You're gonna have to spell it out for me, Ana."
Clearing my throat, I offer Cameron a smile. "I believe Ms. Graves means Jax and Knox are both interested in getting to know you together."
"Together?" Her brows furrow and I can tell the pieces haven't connected yet.
Anastasia releases a soft laugh. "They're looking to find love with one woman, to share," she addresses as she holds up a finger, pausing Cameron from speaking. "Before you decline, I ran a few probabilities on my own. Cameron, I can confidently say those men would be it for you."
"I-I," Cameron stammers, her face flushing far beyond red. "I couldn't, no—we shouldn't. My career, their careers. Anastasia, there's too much at stake. What would people think?"
"Ms. Sullivan," I speak softly. "You came to Cupid, to Anastasia, because she's the best at her job, right?" Pursing her lips, she nods. "And you're looking for the kind of love that you'll write every future top-ten about—a romance that will never burn out or fade away," I say as I catch a glimpse of Anastasia's heated stare from my peripheral. "Who cares what everyone else thinks? If you want this, you have to take the leap." The words spill from my mouth before I can stop them. It's unconventional, but everyone deserves a chance at happiness.
Relaxing in her seat, Anastasia folds her hands over the desk. "Miss Richter is correct. As much as I love saying I meet my bottom line every month, I care more about the success my clients find together. A life of regret is not one I hope for you."
"When you put it like that," Cameron huffs quietly. My lips curve into a small smile as her resolve caves. "Would it be too much to arrange a meeting with them this week?"
"Not at all," Anastasia soothes.
"Thank you, both of you. I apologize for keeping y'all so late," she says as she stands. I walk her to the door, hoping that Anastasia doesn't mind if I see her out. Opening the door, I'm greeted by a nearly empty floor. What time is it? "Time flies when you're playing Cupid, doesn't it?" Cameron jokes, walking through the threshold.
"Apparently so," I huff a laugh. "Do you need me to walk you to the front desk? It's a bit of a maze over here."
"You're sweet to offer, but I think I can manage it." Softening her gaze, she says, "I just wanted to let you know that if it weren't for your speech in there, I wouldn't consider this offer."
She walks away, leaving me to gape like a fish fresh out of water.
Damn.
Chapter eight
I don't know whether I should be offended or impressed that Nicolette managed to be the selling point of this matchup. Her impromptu speech was unexpected, yet I found myself riveted by her words when they spilled out with a sense of longing. One that I could feel in the marrow of my bones—that I could relate to in a sense.
"Nicolette." Looking over her shoulder, she gives me her attention. "You did well today," I admit, decidedly impressed instead of offended. I meant what I said to Cameron. My clients' success together means more to me than filling my pocket. It is simply good business to have positive outcomes overall. "I believe this match will take flight. She just needed that push over the edge."
"Oh," she breathes. "Thank you. I apologize if I overstepped. I don't know what came over me."
"No apology is needed. You trusted your instincts. I'd be a very pleased CEO if you continued to do that," I say as I look back to my screen.
If I stare at her any longer, that spark from earlier will burn this entire building to the ground and leave me standing in the ashes.
Checking the clock, I blow a tired breath. I didn't realize Cameron's meeting had gone on for so long. "Grab your belongings and my jacket. The janitorial staff should make their rounds once the main office is empty. You can set yourself up at my desk while we review a few projects."
"I'll be right back."
She shuffles out of the room. With careful hands, she drapes my jacket over her arm before grabbing her necessities and returning to my office.
As she sets herself up at my desk, I scroll through the delivery options on my phone. "Do you have a preference for takeout?"
If I'm going to keep her late, I may as well feed her.
"Pizza works for me."
Of course she would be a woman after my own heart. If only I used the damn thing.
The clicking of her laptop keys fills the silence while I order food for the night. "Pizza from Anthony's it is," I mumble as I select my usual order from the delivery app. Margherita pizza. "I hope you don't mind; I picked my usual order."
Glancing up from her screen, her eyes light playfully. "That works for me. Unless you put something weird on your pizza."
"Like what?" I tease. "Pineapple?"
She mockingly gasps in horror, pulling a smirk from the corner of her mouth. "I happen to enjoy pineapple on mine."
"That may be grounds for termination." I snort a laugh. That should be considered blasphemy. Who the hell is putting pineapple on pizza these days? "Pineapple on pizza, in Chicago of all places."
The cutest laugh I have ever heard slips from between her lips. "Was that a joke?"
"I suppose we'll find out, won't we?" I wink, enjoying the blush that creeps over her cheeks again. I didn't miss the way her gorgeous eyes glazed over when I winked at Cameron. Though, I can't say that I'm disappointed—I am actually thrilled to know I'm not the only one who gets carried away while staring at what I want.
"While we wait, should we start on this project?" she asks.
I sigh. "That would be ideal. If we're lucky, we won't be here until midnight." I don't enjoy keeping my employees that late. But when work calls. "I need your help sorting through client survey responses. Cupid tracks everything, from favorite foods to intimate preferences."
Shifting in her seat, she clears her throat. "So, what are we sorting out tonight?"
I debate between all the subject matter. There's a lot to choose from, but I'm too damn curious for my own good. I want to push that spark from earlier. "Intimate preferences."
"I-I," she stammers.
It seems my bunny has returned and isn't quite interested in meeting my challenge. Shame.
"If it's too much—" I shrug. I'm curious, not a bitch. I wouldn't force her to do something she's uncomfortable with.
"No," she interrupts. "I can handle it. Just walk me through what I'm sorting."
Well then.
A smirk pulls at the corner of my mouth, happy she decided to meet me head-on. Scrolling through the program, I download the raw data files and send them to her. "Perfect. I want all of these profiles separated into categories by intimate interest," I say.
"Like a kink chart?" she asks softly, so softly that I swear I imagined it.
I choke on my spit, surprised by her use of the term. Granted, I know she is older than me, but there's an air of innocence that surrounds her—and that was enough to convince me of her inexperience.
"Just like a kink chart, if you will. Our clients want to ensure their partner, or partners, in Cameron's instance, are compatible in all areas. Importantly, intimacy," I explain.
"Understandable," she says as she zones back to her screen. "Intimate incompatibility would be a full dealbreaker for me. I'd expect others to feel the same way when looking for relationships."
I know I shouldn't want to ask. I'm her boss. It would be unprofessional, but I am too damn curious for my own good. "Pray tell, what do you look for in a partner?"
"Generally speaking? Tall, dark hair, and someone who shares a similar work ethic as me," she rambles, unbothered by the question. "I appreciate someone with a good sense of humor, too."
"Tall, dark hair, and handsome." I sigh at the cliché. I should have guessed that about her. "The world is your oyster with that one."
She peeks at me over her laptop with a playful glint in her eye. "Try feminine, though handsome is certainly a valid compliment for women."
"I apologize," I cough, masking my embarrassment. "I shouldn't have assumed you were—"
"Straight?" She laughs freely, and fuck if I don't love the way it sounds. "I am not. I've loved women and have since I was old enough to learn what sexuality meant," she continues.
I recline in my chair, kicking my heels off in the process. "I'll be honest, I typically hit the mark when I read people, but you have been a challenge."
A challenge I had not prepared for, seemingly fitting my theme for the week, though I have never been one to back down from such things.
"Is that a compliment or an insult?" she teases.
Smiling, I lick my bottom lip. "I like challenges."
Chapter nine
Clearing my throat, I take her lead on the conversation. "What about you, Ms. Graves? What do you look for in a partner?"
"Generally speaking?" She laughs, poking fun at my earlier response. "Someone who is not afraid to give up control, but knows when to be firm. Oh, and feminine."
Her stormy eyes roam over my face slowly, causing my heart to thump against my chest. "Seems we have quite a bit in common," I breathe.
She raises her dark brow. "You don't sound surprised that I'm gay."
"I trusted my instincts." I shrug. More like wishful—very wishful thinking. That, and I figured something was up between her and Britney. "Plus, you looked quite comfortable with Ms. Marshall earlier. She is certainly not shy about her interest in you."
"Britney and I—"
I raise my hand to stop her. "It's not my business. You don't have to explain yourself."
