One Perfect Man

Chapter Two

The meeting had gone well. Erica smiled to herself as she organized her notes. Creating a statewide cultural arts festival out of thin air and big dreams was a monstrous undertaking, but luckily the artisans she’d brought on board were not only talented but creative and enthusiastic, as well. The firm had a full team of event planners working on the festival, but the art included was the most important part, and Erica was in charge of finding appropriate artisans. She felt good about it.

If the sculptor from Albuquerque could pull off his idea, if he got the scale right—and certainly he would—the whole festival would feel as if it were taking place outside, beneath New Mexico’s blue skies and a rainbow of hot-air balloons. The undertaking was so huge, so fresh, it bordered on arrogant. She loved it. They’d make history…not to mention national news, which suited her five-year plan perfectly. She’d take all the help she could get making a name for herself in this competitive business. That out-of-the-box creativity was exactly what Erica had hoped for when she called this final planning meeting. Now that all the decisions had been made, they could all focus on pulling this beast together.

A knock sounded on the conference-room door, yanking Erica out of her thoughts. She glanced up and frowned, then checked her watch as she crossed the room, certain that she had another half hour at least before she needed to vacate the meeting space.

At the door, she hesitated, her mother’s grave warnings bubbling up from somewhere in her subconscious. She smiled at the absurdity, but nonetheless asked, “Who is it?” before opening the door. She hoped the effort would win her a few respect-your-mother points in heaven.

“Tomás Garza,” came the deep but gentle voice from the other side of the door.

The piñatero? Her heart revved, remembering her surprise when she first saw him at the meeting. When she’d sent a letter requesting his participation in the festival, she had expected him to be an old, paunchy man. How wrong her preconceived notions had been.

He was a quiet, watchful man, but certainly not old. And not even close to paunchy. She’d guess him to be in his early thirties, with long dark hair he wore pulled back into an utilitarian ponytail. It managed to look ultramasculine and enticingly rebellious at the same time.

She’d found him attractive, sure. But he’d stuck in her mind mostly because he’d been so…still. Utterly still, like an animal. Alert, aware, taking it all in, and ready to bolt at any moment. She found it disconcerting. Maybe she was crazy, but she’d gotten the feeling that Tomás had watched her every move during the meeting. His body motionless, deceptively casual. Those unusual brown eyes tracking her like prey.

She shivered, then pushed the ridiculous emotions aside and pulled open the door. “Mr. Garza,” she said, by way of a greeting. “Did you forget something?” His eyes glowed almost, and she suddenly realized they reminded her of those polished tiger’s eye stones sold in a lot of the tourist shops.

“Please call me Tomás.”

“Tomás, then.” She splayed a hand on her chest. “And I’m Erica.”

He nodded. “I didn’t forget anything. I wondered if you might have a few minutes to talk.”

“I have a little less than thirty minutes before the hotel kicks me out of the room, but come on in.” She stepped back, motioning for him to enter. “Is this about the festival?”

He smoothed his palms together, a vaguely hungry look in his eyes. “Actually, I came to speak to you about a different matter. A more…personal matter.”

Personal? All of a sudden, Erica recalled the wink he’d so casually tossed her during the meeting. At the time, she prayed no one else had seen it. Now, she stiffened, imagining just what this personal matter of his involved. Why did this crap seem to happen to her on almost every job? She dressed professionally, didn’t exude flirtatious vibes, as far as she knew. She simply wanted to be taken seriously in her career, not treated like fresh meat everywhere she went. Was that too much to ask? She hated to admit to herself how disappointed she was to learn that the quiet piñatero was just another in a long line of men who viewed the work arena as one big singles bar.

Her chin lifted. “Mr. Garza—”

He cocked his head, friendly curiosity in his eyes. “I thought we’d moved on to first names?”

She sighed. “Tomás, then. Before you say anything further, I’d like to make it perfectly clear that I don’t date business associates. Ever.”

His eyes widened, then crinkled with amusement. “You think I’m hitting on you?” He paused a moment, then added, mostly to himself, “Of course you do. Why wouldn’t you, the way I phrased it.” His apologetic gaze met hers. “Ah…I’m almost flattered, Erica. But it’s not that kind of personal matter.” He held up his hands, palms forward, in a gesture of surrender. “I would never be so presumptuous. Sorry if I gave you that impression.”

Oh, God. Mortification oozed from her brain through her body like hot lava, miring her in its fiery thickness. The words were out there. She couldn’t snatch them back. She had to simply save face as best she could. “I, uh, owe you an apology, then. Clearly. It’s just that sometimes—”

“Don’t worry,” he said, holding up a hand. “I understand. I’m sure men come on to you all the time.”

“Not…all the time.” Ugh, she could perish.

“Well.” His eyes smiled, but his mouth managed to remain serious and sincere. “Rest assured, me hitting on you is one thing you’ll never have to worry about, Erica. Promise.”

Never? Realization cut through her mind, and with it came a deeper gouge of humiliation. God, it just kept getting better, didn’t it? Why hadn’t she paid closer attention? She’d been too damn busy noticing how unexpectedly young and attractive the piñatero was to realize—

How uncharacteristically narrow-minded of her.

She worked with people in the arts community all the time, she should know better than to assume. Clearly, Tomás Garza was gay, and here she’d accused him of—oh, Lord. She really did want to shrivel up and die. She knew no other way to recover from this social gaffe other than just…sucking it up and admitting she’d acted like an ass.

“I’ve come to request your help. Or your services, to be more specific,” Tomás continued, clearly not as bothered by what had transpired as she. “A business proposition.”

“Ah. Business.” She pushed out a humorless, self-deprecating laugh, wishing she’d fall through the floor, the earth, and all the way to China. “Okay. Well, give me a minute to regain my composure. I’m thoroughly embarrassed.” She twisted her mouth to the side and met his gaze directly. “Please accept my apology for the unfair assumption, Tomás. You must think I’m terribly arrogant.”

“Absolutely not.” Tomás laughed, but the sound was kind. He didn’t seem the type to derive pleasure from other people’s humiliation. “I think you’re a woman who probably puts up with men’s unwanted attentions all the time. I understand.”

Her humiliation waned, thanks to his kindness. “Still, to automatically assume…well. I just hope this won’t affect our working relationship. Believe me—” she laid a palm on his forearm, then lowered her tone to an intimate level hoping he’d recognize her sincerity “—I work with a lot of gay men, and consider many of them my closest friends. This is completely not an issue for me.”

Startled confusion clouded his eyes for a moment, then he smiled widely. She hadn’t noticed that dimple before.

Don’t notice it now, dummy. He plays for the other team!

“Look, ah…don’t worry about it.” Laughter laced his words. “I should’ve made myself more clear. Obviously. But, what’s done is done.” He clapped his palms together. “What do you say we start over from scratch?”

“Sounds like a fabulous idea.” She gestured behind her, relieved to have made it through the flaming hoop relatively unscathed. “I hope you don’t mind if I pack up while we talk.”

“Not at all. In fact, I’ll help.”

“Thanks.” He set about stacking chairs while Erica disconnected her computer and placed the components in the leather carrying case. “Tell me more about this proposition.”

He glanced up, then held her gaze. “I’d like to hire you for a special project. I need your expertise.”

Erica cocked her head to the side. “What’s up?”

“My daughter, Hope—she’s fourteen. Fifteen in—” he checked his watch “—just about six months.”

Daughter? Erica blinked, trying to grasp this newest bit of information and assimilate it into Tomás’s swiftly metamorphosing profile in her brain. From paunchy old man to sexy young man to gay man to father of a teenager—all in the span of a couple minutes. How much was one woman expected to take?

“I’d like to celebrate it during the summer, though, which means I have about five months to plan one heck of an extravaganza to celebrate her quince años,” he went on. “One perfect night for a very special girl turning fifteen. It’s been a dream of mine ever since she was born to make it extra special for her. There’s only one problem.”

She forced her vocal cords to form words. “W-what’s that?”

“I have no clue how to plan a quinceañera, and my little bundle of teenage hormones isn’t giving me much direction.” His mouth took on a rueful quirk.

Erica stared at him for a moment while her mind tried to catch up. She ran both hands through her hair. She needed more information, needed to pull herself together, needed…a drink.

“Well? What do you say?”

He wanted an answer now? She laughed, a small nervous sound. “Hold on. To be frank, I’m still trying to get over my shock that you have a daughter. And one that old. Fifteen?”

“Almost.”

She shook her head, marveling. “And here I thought you were about my age.”

His body stilled. He stood motionless before her, looking as he had during the meeting…wary, watchful. “I’m thirty-one,” he said, the words devoid of emotion.

“Ah. So you are about my age. Three years older, in any case.” Erica did the math. Interesting. “Your daughter was—”

“Not a mistake,” he said, his warning tone putting her on instant alert. His tiger’s-eye gaze hardened.

She blinked in surprise. “No, I…I wasn’t going to—I didn’t mean it that way.” Although she couldn’t imagine a seventeen-year-old boy planning to father a child. What else could it have been but a mistake?

Almost as if he’d read her thoughts, he added, “I had her too young. True. That’s my fault, not hers.”

“Of course not. I never…” She stepped closer, hating this awkward turn in what should’ve been an innocuous business conversation. She’d felt off-kilter since the moment he walked in, and things kept spiraling ever downward. She used to think her communication skills were a strong asset. Ha. “If I’ve offended you, I’m sorry.”

He studied her a moment, then his shoulders loosened. It seemed it was his turn to experience some embarrassment. “No. My fault. I’m…a little defensive where Hope is concerned. Undeservedly so in this instance, I fear. I’m sorry.”

Erica shook her head and released a little huff. “We seem to be apologizing a lot here.”

“Yes.”

“Let’s just stop then. Clearly neither of us intends to offend the other.”

“Agreed.”

“So, Hope.” Erica brushed her hair off her shoulder and went back to packing up her materials. “That’s her name?”

“Yes. Hope Genavieve Garza.”

“Lovely.”

He grinned. “Thank you. Picked it myself.”

She returned his smile, but knew she needed to get the conversation back to its core. “About Hope’s quinceañera.” She sighed, reluctant to take the job, but equally hesitant to turn him down flat. He seemed like such a nice man, a concerned father. She admired him for that. “I don’t accept that kind of assignment, I’m afraid. Weddings, sure. Parties, meetings, festivals. But quinceañeras involve all kinds of traditions I know nothing about.” She shrugged. “My family has been in this part of the country for generations. We don’t celebrate any Mexican holidays or traditions.”

“My grandmother can help you. She lives with us.”

“Maybe she should be the one to plan it.”

He shook his head. “She’s in her late seventies, Erica, and she has multiple sclerosis. With the fatigue and pain, it’s all she can do to make it through some days.”

Erica didn’t know what to say, so she simply nodded. Tomás Garza certainly had a full plate. She studied him, chewing on her bottom lip. Something told her to tread lightly with her next question. She knew it would come off sounding like one of those lame, thinly veiled come-ons if she wasn’t careful. “Doesn’t Hope’s mother want to plan the event?”

A tension-buzzed pause stretched between them. “No.” Something in his shuttered expression warned her not to probe any deeper. Erica sighed. “Listen, I appreciate the offer. But I am up to my ears with the festival, not to mention several weddings over the next few months. Plus…the truth is, I’ve never planned a children’s event.”

Undeterred. “Doesn’t mean you couldn’t.”

“No, but—”

“Besides, she’s a young woman, not a child anymore, much to my chagrin.” Tomás cringed and raised his eyes heavenward.

Erica laughed softly at his morose tone. “I’m sure she’s an amazing young lady. That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t plan young people’s events, or that I’m overbooked.”

He moved closer, body taut, gaze intent. “I’ve seen you in action, Erica. Busy or not, I know you could pull this off, or I wouldn’t have asked.” He paused, watching her.

She pressed her lips together, saying nothing.

“I can pay you.”

Doubtful. “I’m expensive, Tomás.” She cocked her head apologetically. “Far too pricey for a girl’s party, anyway.”

“Try me. Name your price.”

Aha, so this was her out. The man was an artist, a single parent who also cared for an elderly grandmother with health concerns. Once she quoted him her exorbitant fee schedule, he’d swiftly realize she wasn’t worth it, and she’d be off the hook. Calculating her usual charges for planning a large wedding, and throwing in a mental surcharge because she’d be forced to work with teenagers, she arrived at a sum.

Erica crossed her arms and leveled him with a cool, all-business stare. “I would have to work Hope in between my other responsibilities. Evenings, weekends. Sporadically. You might even have to bring her to Santa Fe a few times.”

“No problem.”

“Five thousand dollars.” She let that sink in. “Plus all expenses, including my travel.”

He blinked once but didn’t balk. She watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall slowly. “Done.”

She frowned, arms dropping to her sides. “Excuse me?”

“I said, that’s fine. Five thou plus expenses. You’re hired.” He offered his hand for her to shake.

Instead, she clasped her own together and implored him to be reasonable. “Tomás, do you realize how much this party is going to end up costing you? For one evening’s entertainment? What about…her college tuition? What about—?”

“Let me worry about that.”

She felt trapped, panicked by the thought of what she might have gotten herself into. She couldn’t afford to take on another responsibility, and she didn’t want to spend the next four months dealing with adolescent angst. Her heart raced as she struggled to come up with alternatives. “But…you don’t need someone with my qualifications to plan this. This is a family event.”

“So’s a wedding. You plan those.”

“B-but…I’m a stranger.”

“An event planner,” he corrected. “Which is why I’ve come to you.”

“What about asking family? An aunt, or—?”

“No aunts.”

“Or…or a friend, or—”

“Erica—” he took her hand between both of his “—all I have wanted for the past fourteen years is to make my daughter feel special. Cherished. Can you understand that?”

“Sure, but—”

“I want memories of this night to resonate in her soul for the rest of her life.” His eyes searched her face. “You’re a professional. From you, I’ll get perfection. As close as possible, at least.”

She couldn’t argue that. In fact, he’d managed to shoot down her arguments almost quicker than she could launch them. She bit her bottom lip.

“I said I’d pay your five-thousand-dollar fee. What’s the problem?”

Cornered. Erica hung her head and thought about it logically. What was the problem? She’d gambled naming that fee, and he’d called her bluff. The only stand-up response was to accept the assignment, especially considering the man hadn’t a single qualm about paying. Five thousand dollars would be a great boost to her savings. She’d be several steps closer to striking out on her own. How hard could it be, after all, to plan a quinceañera? She peered at the man standing before her, so still, anticipating agreement, she could tell. She had to give him credit for sticking to his goals.

What the hell, it was his money, and if he wanted to hand it over, she should be willing to take it. She could easily earn five thousand dollars planning a wedding, so she shouldn’t suffer a moment of guilt for demanding the same for this job. A quinceañera was nearly as elaborate, and her time was at a premium. Feeling better about it, she took his hand. “Okay, Tomás. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

He released a breath and clasped her hand between his. “Thank you. So much. You won’t regret this, Erica.”

She laughed. “Remind me of that when I’m going nuts trying to plan this festival, all the weddings, and Hope’s party.”

“Can I…” he swallowed “…do you need the money up front?”

“No. I generally take payment the night of the event.” She didn’t miss his look of relief. The guilt tried to resurface, but she pushed it away. The man had agreed to pay. “I’ll need your approval for expenses, though. Those I’ll bill as they occur.”

“No problem. And listen.” His tone lowered to a gentle, almost conspiratorial purr. “Go wild. If I have to assume a little debt for this thing, I’m okay with that. Just make it—”

“Perfect?”

He smiled. “Too much to ask?”

“Well, it’s a tall order.” She wish he’d keep those off-limits dimples to himself. Gay man or not, they made her stomach flop. “But I’ll do my best for your daughter, Tomás.”

“That’s all I’ve ever tried to do. I wouldn’t ask more from you,” he said, his words soft and…slightly troubled?

They spent the next few moments exchanging phone and fax numbers, addresses and e-mail information—conduits to modern business function.

Feeling calmer, or at least more resigned, Erica extracted her PalmPilot from her briefcase. “I’d like to meet Hope as soon as possible.” She consulted her planning calendar. “I’ll be heading to Santa Fe tomorrow morning, but I’ll be back next week. Monday. I’ve actually rented a place here just until the festival is over.”

“You’ll be spending that much time here?”

“I’ll be back and forth, but I do want to keep a close eye on the site.” She shrugged. “Short-term rental was cheaper than a hotel, and more convenient.”

“Well, that’s great. It will be nice having you close.”

Her stomach tightened, and she chose to ignore the comment. “What works for you, dinnerwise?”

He seemed to take her lead, turning all business. “Monday?”

She shook her head. “Actually, that’s my moving day, so probably not. Tuesday?”

“Hope has a softball game that evening. Wednesday?” he offered. “Dinner. At our house, so Ruby can meet you, too.”

Erica glanced up sharply. “Ruby?”

“My grandmother.” He grinned. “She says it makes her feel younger to be called by her first name, so we humor her.”

“Sounds like my kind of woman.” Erica looked forward to meeting her. “Wednesday looks clear.” She glanced at the business card he’d given her, which listed an address in Rociada, AKA out in the boonies.

He seemed to read her mind. Again. “If you’d like, I can pick you up.”

Not good. She always preferred to have her own transportation at hand, her own escape hatch, if you will. “Thanks, but I’ll drive. Just give me good, clear directions.”

“No problem. Six too early? We’re more than happy to work our dinner hour around you.”

She smiled genuinely at his consideration, thinking how nice it would be to know someone in town. And now that she knew his preferences, it would be easier to kick this unexpected and futile attraction she felt. “Six it is. Thank you.”

“Bueno. Come hungry. I’m a whiz in the kitchen.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

Tomás headed for the door but stopped with his hand on the knob. He turned. “Erica? There is, ah, one other thing you should probably know.”

Uh-oh. His words put her on instant alert. “Yes?”

His mouth spread into a slow smile, almost as though he knew the effect it had on her stomach, almost as though he liked knowing it. “You misunderstood me earlier,” he drawled, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Oh? How so?”

“I’m…not gay. Not even a little bit.”

Chapter Three

Tomás’s grandmother, Ruby, kept him company, sipping her nightly cup of green tea, while he washed up the dinner dishes and filled her in on his day just the way she expected him to—starting at the beginning and going straight through until the end. He’d just gotten around to explaining about the business arrangement he’d reached with Erica.

Lamplight mellowed the mango-colored walls to a peachy gold, and the air remained redolent with the smells of chicken and green chile. His daughter was, as usual, cloistered in front of the computer in her room, working on homework—he hoped. She had finals in a few weeks and was a conscientious student. In any case, he had every parental control known to man on the computers in this house, so he didn’t harbor many chat-room nightmares about Hope. He still wished he knew a little more about how she spent her time on that darn thing sometimes.

“So, anyway, she thought I was gay,” Tomás told Ruby, with a rueful smile.

“The event planner?”

“Yup.”

For a moment, his grandmother just grinned. “Well, did she mean happy or homosexual?” She knew full well which.

Tomás snorted.

Ruby sipped, swallowed, then shook her head. “I don’t know what possessed people to change the meaning of a perfectly acceptable word,” she mused, mostly to herself. “It’s confusing for everyone, and homosexual is as serviceable a term as any.”

“You’re missing the point, Rube. A good-looking, single, twenty-eight-year-old woman thought I was—”

“You don’t date. What’s she supposed to think? And I didn’t miss the point, I was just thinking aloud.”

“How would she know I don’t date? Today was the first time I’ve ever seen her in person.”

“It’s the vibe, sonny.” She grouped the fingertips on one hand together and shook them. “You give off a vibe.”

He pondered his reflection in the window over the sink. “Maybe I need a new style. Or a tattoo. Something manly, like a power tool.”