The Perfect Christmas: The Perfect Christmas / Can This Be Christmas?

The great Dr. Simon Dodson kept her waiting a full thirty minutes. Cassie knew because she glanced at her watch every five minutes, crossed and uncrossed her legs and flipped through three magazines. By then, she’d grown impatient and irritable and had started to wonder if she’d made a mistake—or, worse, fallen for a scam. She wasn’t accustomed to being ignored. She had better things to do than sit in a waiting room on what might turn out to be a fool’s errand, a complete waste of time. She trusted that wasn’t the case; still, the longer she waited, the less hope she had.

A buzzer made her jump. Ms. Snelling got smoothly to her feet, obviously used to such a peremptory summons. “Dr. Dodson will see you now,” she said. She motioned toward the massive double doors that led into his office.

Cassie walked inside and her gaze went instantly to the man standing behind the large desk. The Internet research she’d done hadn’t included any photos, so she hadn’t been sure what to expect—but not someone relatively young with shockingly good looks. He was easily six-two and loomed above her.

“Ms. Beaumont?”

“That would be me,” she said, straining to sound cool and collected.

“Please don’t sit down.”

“Uh…” The door closed behind her.

“Walk to the far side of my office and then walk back.”

Cassie paused, which apparently he didn’t like because he gestured for her to comply.

“Do I need to say, ‘Mother, may I?’” she asked.

He didn’t so much as crack a smile. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Okay.” She did as he requested and felt his eyes burning into her with every step she took.

“You could stand to lose five pounds.”

“I beg your pardon?” What a jerk!

“You heard me and you agree with me, only I doubt you’d admit it.”

Okay, maybe she could shed a few pounds, but her figure looked fine the way it was.

He continued to study her and his frown deepened. “That color doesn’t flatter you.”

How dare he! “I happen to like navy blue.” This was her favorite suit and she’d purchased it at a closeout sale for seventy percent off.

He frowned. “Pale blue would be better.” He came out from behind his desk and walked around her. “You should let your hair grow, as well. That style is becoming but you need more length.”

“I’m glad you think there’s something attractive about me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

This man was too much! Cassie was tempted to turn around and leave. She might have, only she decided to see how many other ways he could find to insult her. It was becoming a game to her.

“Sit,” he said.

“Please?” Someone needed to teach this man some manners.

“Sit,” he repeated, more loudly this time.

“Sit, please,” she returned pointedly.

A flicker of a smile showed in his dark brown eyes. “All right, sit, please.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” she said pleasantly, taking the chair across from his desk.

After a moment he said, “I’ve read your application.” He sat down across from her, reached for the papers and leafed through them. “Tell me about your father.”

“Why are you asking about him?”

He lifted his shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “It’s my experience that most women want to marry a man just like their father.”

“Not me. Pete’s a poor excuse for a father. I want as little to do with him as possible.”

Simon immediately made a lengthy notation on a pad in front of him.

Cassie moved to the edge of the cushion. “What did you write?”

Simon looked up, a frown darkening his face. Clearly she’d offended him. She could only suppose he wasn’t accustomed to anyone questioning his actions. “What did you say?” he said frostily.

“I asked if you’d tell me what you wrote down.” She pointed at his notepad. “It was about me and my non-relationship with my father, wasn’t it?”

He flattened his hands on the desk. “These are my notes. I don’t share them with clients.”

The urge to stand and simply walk out the door was nearly overwhelming. Gritting her teeth, she said, “Has anyone ever told you you’re rude?”

He grinned as if the comment pleased him. “As a matter of fact, yes. Several people have taken delight in revealing their opinions.” He shook his head. “It has more to do with them and their hurt feelings than with me.”

“What others think doesn’t bother you?”

He gave a bored sigh. “Not particularly. Why should it? Now listen, Ms…?.” He glanced down at the application in an apparent effort to locate her name.

“Beaumont,” she supplied.

“Ms. Beaumont,” he said impatiently. “This is my office and I ask the questions here. Kindly refrain from interrupting me.”

She leaned back in the chair. “By all means, ask away.” She waved in his direction as though granting him permission to continue.

He narrowed his eyes. “In as few words as possible, explain to me why you aren’t married.”

That was easy enough to answer. She thought of what Angie had said a few days earlier. “I’ve been told my standards are too high.”

He raised his eyes from the page, his expression startled.

“I guess you could say I’m choosy,” she amended. “I’m looking for a perfect match. Someone who’s just right—for me. The perfect man, the perfect marriage…and,” she added, almost in a whisper, “the perfect Christmas.”

He didn’t respond. “You’re how old?” he asked, instead. He ran his finger down the application.

“Thirty-four. How old are you?”