The Matchmaker's Happy Ending

Her mother sighed. “Okay. But if you want me to give him your number or give you his…”

“I know who to call.” Marnie started to say something else when the cabbie swore, stomped on his brakes—

And rear-ended the car in front of him. Marnie jerked forward, the seatbelt cutting across her sternum but saving her from plowing into the plexiglass partition. She let out an oomph, winced at the sharp pain that erupted in her chest, while the cabbie let out a stream of curses.

“What was that sound?” Helen asked. “It sounded like a boom. Did something fall? Did you hit something?”

“It’s, uh, nothing. I gotta go, Ma,” Marnie said, and after a breath, then another, the pain in her chest eased. “See you tomorrow.” She hung up the phone, then unbuckled, and climbed out of the yellow cab. The hood had crumpled, and steam poured from the engine in angry gusts. The cabbie clambered out of the taxi. He let out another long stream of curses, a few in a language other than English, then started pacing back and forth between the driver’s side door and the impact site, holding his head and muttering.

The accordioned trunk of a silver sports car was latched onto the taxi’s hood. A tall, dark, handsome, and angry man stood beside the idling luxury car. He shouted at the cab driver, who threw up his hands and feigned non-understanding, as if he’d suddenly lost all knowledge of the English language.

Marnie grabbed her purse from the car, and walked over to the man. One of those attractive, business types, she thought, noting his dark pinstriped suit, loosened tie, white button-down with the top button undone. A five o’clock shadow dusted his strong jaw, and gave his dark hair and blue eyes a sexy air. The matchmaker in her recognized the kind of good-looking man always in demand with her clients. But the woman in her—

Well, she noticed him on an entirely different level, one that sent a shimmer of heat down her veins and sped up her pulse. Something she hadn’t felt in so long, she’d begun to wonder if she’d ever meet another man who interested her.

Either way, Mr. Suit and Tie looked like a lawyer or something. The last thing she needed was a rich, uptight man with control issues. She’d met enough of them that she could pick his type out of the thousands of people in the stands at Fenway on opening day.

“Is everyone okay?” she asked.

The cab driver nodded. Mr. Suit and Tie shot him a scowl, then turned to Marnie. His features softened. “Yeah. I’m fine,” he said. “You?”

“I’m okay. Just a little shaken up.”

“Good.” He held her gaze for a moment longer, then turned on the cabbie. “Didn’t you see that red light? Where’d you get your license? A vending machine?”

The cabbie just shook his head, as if he didn’t understand a word.

Mr. Suit and Tie let out a curse and shook his head, then pivoted back to Marnie. “What were you thinking, riding around this city with a maniacal cab driver?”

“It’s not like I get a resume and insurance record handed to me before I get in a taxi,” she said. “Now, I understand you’re frustrated, but—”

“I’m beyond frustrated. This has been a hell of a day. With one hell of a bad ending.” He shot the cab driver another glare, but The man had already skulked back to his car and climbed behind the wheel. “Wait! What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing any—” Then she heard the sound of metal groaning, and tires squealing, and realized Mr. Suit and Tie wasn’t talking to her—but to the cab driver who had just hit and run. The yellow car disappeared around the corner in a noisy, clanking cloud of smoke.

In the distance, she heard the rising sound of sirens, which meant one of the people living in the apartments lining the street must have already called 9-1-1. Not soon enough.

Mr. Suit and Tie cursed under his breath. “Great. That’s all I needed today.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Marnie stepped to the corner and put up her hand for a passing cab. “Well, good luck. Hope you get it straightened out and your night gets better.”

“Hey! You can’t leave. You’re my witness.”

“Listen, I’m exhausted and I just want to get home.” She raised her arm higher, waving her hand, hoping to see at least one available cab. Nothing. Her feet screamed in protest. Soon as she got home, she was burning these shoes. “I’ll give you my number. Call me for my statement.” She fished in her purse for a business card, and held it out.

He ignored the card. “I need you to stay.”

“And I need to get home.” She waved harder, but the lone cab that passed her didn’t stop. “This is Boston. Why aren’t there any cabs?”

“Celtics game is just getting over,” the man said. “They’re probably all over at the Garden.”

“Great.” She lowered her arm, then thought of the ten-block hike home. Not fun in high heels. Even less fun after an eighteen-hour day, the last four spent dancing and socializing. She should have drunk an entire pot of coffee.

“I’ll make you a deal,” the man said. “I’ll give you a lift if you can wait until I’ve finished making the accident report. Then you can give your statement and kill two birds with one stone.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m really tired.”

“Stay for just a bit more. After tonight, you’ll never have to see me again.” He grinned.

He had a nice smile. An echoing smile curved across her face. She glanced down the street in the direction of her condo and thought of the soft bed waiting for her there. She weighed that against walking home. Option two made her feet hurt ten times more. Stupid shoes.

She glanced back at the misshapen silver car. “You’re sure you can drive me home? In that?”

“It runs. It’s just got a little junk in the trunk.” He grinned. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

A laugh escaped her and eased some of the tension in her shoulders, the pain in her feet. “Even a bad joke sounds good right now.” No cabs appeared, and that settled the decision for her. “Okay, I’ll wait.”

Not that it was going to be a hardship to wait with a view like that. This guy could have been a cover model. Whew. Hot, hot, hot. She should get his contact information. She had at least a dozen clients who would be—

You’re always working.

Marnie could hear her mother’s voice in her head. Take some time off. Have some fun. Date a guy for yourself. Don’t be so serious and buttoned up all the time.

What no one seemed to understand was this buttoned-up approach had fueled Marnie’s success. She’d seen how a laissez-faire approach to business could destroy a company and refused to repeat those mistakes herself. A distraction like Mr. Suit and Tie would only derail her, something she couldn’t afford.

The man opened the passenger’s side door. “Have a seat. You look like you’ve had a trying day. And I know how that feels.”

She sank into the leather seat, kicked off her shoes and let the platform heels tumble to the sidewalk. The man came to stand beside her, leaning against the rear passenger door. He had the look of a man comfortable in his own skin, at ease with the world. Confident, sexy, but not overly so. A hot combination, especially with the suit and tie. Her stance toward him softened.

“You’re right. I have had a long, trying day myself.” She put out her hand. “Let’s try this again. I’m Marnie Franklin.”

“Jack Knight.”

The name rang a bell, but the connection flitted away before she could grasp it because when he took her hand in his, a delicious spark ran through her, down her arm. If she hadn’t been seated, she might have jumped back in surprise. In her business, she shook hands with dozens of men in the course of a week. None had ever sent that little…zing through her. Maybe exhaustion had lowered her defenses. Or maybe the accident had shaken her up more than she thought. She released his hand, and brushed the hair out of her eyes, if only to keep from touching him again.

The police arrived, two officers who looked like they’d rather be going for a root canal than taking an other accident report in the dent and ding city of Boston. For the next ten minutes Marnie and Jack answered questions. After the police were gone, Jack turned to her. “Thanks for staying. You made a stressful day much better.”

“Glad to help.”

Jack bent down and picked up the black heels she’d kicked onto the sidewalk when she’d sat in his car. He handed them to Marnie, the twin heels dangling from his index finger by their strappy backs. In his strong, capable hands, the fancy shoes looked even more delicate. “Your shoes, Cinderella.” He gave her a wink, and that zing rushed through her a second time.

“I’m far from Cinderella.” She bent and slipped on the damnable slingbacks. Pretty, but painful. “More like the not-so-evil stepmother, trying to fix up all the stepsisters with princes.”

His smile had a dash of sexy, a glimmer of a tease. “Every woman deserves to be Cinderella at least once in her life.”

“Maybe so, if she believes in fairy tales and magic mice.”

She worked in the business of helping people fall in love, and had given up on the fairy tale herself a long time ago. Over the years, she’d become, if anything, more cautious, less willing to dip a toe in the romance pool. When she’d started matchmaking she’d been starry eyed, hopeful. But now…