True Love, Inc.

Young or not, that’s precisely what he planned—until just recently. Guilt nipped him again. “Let me guess. You think you can help me find the perfect woman.”

“That is my business.” One finely arched eyebrow lifted, tugging that intriguing little mole along with it. “Care to let me try?”

“No.”

“Why not? If you don’t believe in my service, what do you have to worry about?”

It wasn’t quite a dare, but it seemed awfully close. He narrowed his eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing, really. I’ll even waive my usual fee. Call it a goodwill gesture.”

Good will, my butt, Cam thought. But two could play her game, and he was curious just how far she would go with her little matchmaking scheme. Make the stakes high enough, and she would back down.

“All right,” he said slowly, stalling so he could think. “But let’s sweeten the pot with a deadline. Forget true love, I’ll give you until...Valentine’s Day to find me a woman worth a second date. If you succeed, I’ll pay you twice your normal fee. Heck, I’ll even do a testimonial if you want.”

“And if I fail?”

She wasn’t backing down, he realized. Time to tighten the screws. Cam leaned forward, offered his most carnivorous smile. “If you fail, you’ll take out a full-page ad in the Traverse City Record-Eagle admitting you’re a lousy matchmaker, admitting, Miss Daniels, that you are a fraud.”

That should do it, he thought, as he watched her eyelids flicker in shock.

“That would destroy my business.”

“If you believe in your service, what do you have to worry about?” he said, parroting her earlier comment.

Her lips thinned, settling into a tight line. He knew he had her. She wouldn’t agree, which suited him fine. He had no desire to be fixed up with strange and probably desperate women. Feeling magnanimous, he decided a heartfelt apology on her part would suffice. As well as a solemn promise to take his name off her business’s mailing list.

But then she stuck out her scarred right hand.

“You have a deal, Mr. Foley.”

Maddie rather liked the way her announcement caused Cameron Foley’s mouth to slacken in surprise. Opened or closed, it was a nice mouth, the bottom lip slightly fuller than the top one. But there was nothing soft about his features, nothing that could be called feminine. Cameron Foley was all man, from the slight stubble that shaded his strong jaw to the clearly defined muscles of his forearms. He reminded her a little of the actor Dennis Quaid, ruggedly masculine, cocky, just a bit reckless. And incredibly sexy. The unexpected direction of her thoughts shocked Maddie. In her line of work, of course she noticed such details about men. But this wasn’t some mere clinical observation—the little tug of attraction was as unmistakable as it was unwelcome and pointless. She lowered the hand that he had yet to shake and fiddled with a paper clip while she waited for him to find his voice.

Finally, he said hoarsely, “I do?”

To lighten her own mood she quipped, “Practicing for the wedding already?”

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he bit out, his face darkening like a thundercloud. “I’m not looking for another wife. No one can replace Angela.”

“Please forgive me. I was only teasing, but it was in extremely poor taste. You’re right. No one will ever hold that same place in your heart.” Her tone earnest, she continued, “But perhaps I can introduce you to someone whose company you’ll enjoy. Someone you’ll want to take out on that second date. So, do we still have a deal?”

Maddie wasn’t sure why she felt so compelled to help him. She had far more to lose than he did. But something about Cameron Foley tugged at her, making her want to reach out. Perhaps it was because despite all of his angry denials, he seemed so lonely.

He hesitated a moment, looking torn, before giving a jerky nod. And Maddie got the feeling that even though he’d been the one to set the terms, his participation in their wager would be begrudging at best. Well, the race went to the swift, so Maddie pulled her chair closer to the desk and booted up the computer.

“Terrific. I’ll need to gather some background information. Standard stuff like date of birth, height, weight, health history, that kind of thing. If you’ll take a seat we can get started.”

He backed up a step. “I don’t have time for that today. Driving into the city for this little discussion has put me behind schedule as it is. Some of us have real work to do.”

Ignoring the insult, she said, “Tomorrow, then?”

“Busy. Sorry.” He tucked his hands in the front pockets of a pair of well-worn jeans, looking not the least bit contrite.

The chair’s upholstery creaked as Maddie leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk. “Do you plan to win this bet by default, Mr. Foley? I realize Valentine’s Day is nearly eight months away, but that’s not a lot of time. It will be a few weeks before I even have your video and background ready.”

“No video.”

“No video,” she repeated, and blew out a sigh of frustration. “So, you want to see them, but they can’t see you, is that the idea?”

“I don’t need to see them.” He inclined his head, smiled mockingly. “If you’re as good as you say you are, Miss Daniels, I’d be a fool not to trust your expert judgment. Besides, this way you can’t claim afterward that I only picked women I knew wouldn’t suit me.”

“Oh, I’m good,” she assured him, and had to quash the urge to blush when one of his eyebrows inched up in unmistakable male speculation. It didn’t seem to matter that she knew he was deliberately baiting her.

“Of course, I’ll have to do a more thorough screening than usual, which means taking up more of your time,” she said as sweetly as possible. “I’ll need to know everything about you, Mr. Foley, your likes, dislikes—all the telling little quirks and habits that often come through in my clients’ videos. So, when do we start?”

A muscle jumped in his jaw as he pulled his hands from his pockets and settled them on his hips. He glanced away, and she thought he might be ready to renege on the hasty bargain they’d struck. But then his gaze drifted back to hers and his lips twitched with a smirk.

“When you buy that ad in the Record-Eagle, I want it to be in color. It’ll attract more attention that way—and it will be more expensive.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Such a reaction would be neither professional nor, as her mother would point out if present, ladylike. Still, she made a mental note to write in Cameron Foley’s file that the man could be insufferable when he thought he was on the winning side of an argument.

“Fine, but it won’t come to that.” An idea occurred to her then. “I have a little stipulation of my own.”

“And that is?”

“The second date, you’ll bring roses—a dozen, long-stemmed and red. And you’ll take her to the Trillium,” Maddie added, naming one of the area’s nicest and priciest restaurants. “You do own a suit, I hope, because you’ll have to wear one.”

She pretended not to hear him mutter something obscene about neckties.

“So, when do we get started?” she asked again.

“Thursday is the best I can do, say noon, and you’ll have to come to me.” He nodded toward the wrinkled paper on her desk. “You know where I live.”

He walked to the door and opened it, but hesitated at the threshold. Turning, he smiled, losing all semblance of the outraged man whose grief had propelled him to stomp into her office fifteen minutes earlier, demanding an explanation, expecting an apology. But, if possible, his calm demeanor and that devilishly sexy grin on his face made Maddie even more determined.

“I’m going to win,” he said with conviction.

“Yes, Mr. Foley, you are.” She allowed herself a moment to enjoy his startled expression, before adding, “Just not the way you think.”

It was dark when Maddie arrived at her apartment, the converted upstairs of a souvenir shop in Traverse City’s quaint downtown. The shop had long since closed for the day, but several nearby restaurants and bars were open, so the streets were cluttered with tourists—“fudgies” as the locals liked to call them. The term was both derogatory and affectionate. The area’s economy—including its fudge shops—largely depended on downstaters, but no one particularly cared for the staggering crush of humanity that invaded the northern Michigan town almost as soon as the ice melted on the bay.

Maddie had no view of Lake Michigan’s lovely aqua water from her tiny living room window, and a closet might have been more spacious than the place’s only bedroom. It was a definite step down from the comfortable house she’d grown up in, and a huge tumble from the large Grosse Pointe estate she’d last called home. Its main selling points were cheap rent and a central location. She could walk to work—a definite plus since she didn’t care to drive even though she had a car, and the exercise was good physical therapy.

She toed off her flats, leaving them on the mat by the front door. A lamp burned cheerfully in her living room thanks to a timer, but other than that the place was dark and quiet. Lonely quiet, which was why she preferred to work late. No reason to rush home to an empty apartment. An empty life.

As she crossed the room to draw the blinds, she glanced hopefully at the answering machine. No messages. She picked up the phone, dialed the familiar number and waited. Her mother answered on the fourth ring, the South thick in Eliza Daniels’s honeyed tone.

“Hello, Mother. It’s Maddie.”