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In the faint light of the bedroom, Chris’s expression looked sheepish. “Uh, we need to stop. In my rush to get here, I didn’t have a chance to take care of things.”
He wanted to stop? What for…? Oh.
“It’s okay,” Rei assured him. “I have protection in my purse.”
Chris grinned at her. “You really did think I was a sure thing, didn’t you?”
She shrugged while returning his smile. “I was feeling unusually confident when I called you, so…”
“So hurry up and get that condom.”
Rei rolled off the bed and scrambled for her handbag. Within seconds she’d returned to the bed and tossed several strips of foil packages onto the comforter. Chris looked at her, then at the dozen condoms and back at her.
“Your confidence is going to kill me for sure.”
Responding to the humor in his voice, she laughed. “Maybe. But what a way to go, huh?”
Dear Reader,
The original title of this story was You’ve Got Male because I wanted to explore the phenomenon of e-mail communication and online dating. But, as often happens to me, the lighthearted romp I had in mind segued into an exploration of how to find and accept love.
Neither Rei Davis nor Chris London believes in love. They don’t trust that it will last, and think “happily ever after” is only for other people. At least, until they find each other. With the help of instant messages, a fantasy brought to life and a few leaps of faith, both of their wishes will come true, because love and forgiveness have the power to heal.
I wish you happy reading and I wish you joy,
Mia
P.S. You can contact me via my Web site,
www.miazachary.com. I’d love to hear from you.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
A portion of my royalties from sales of this book will be donated to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation.
Afternoon Delight
Mia Zachary
www.millsandboon.co.uk
To Wayne
Heartfelt gratitude goes to my creative writing partner, Melissa James. Thank you for helping me open the door to the past and for holding my hand while I walked through it.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
1
TO: Rei Davis
FR: Phoebe J. Hollinger
RE: Are you busy?
If you don’t already have plans with Darren tonight, do you want to get together?
P.J.
Hollinger/Hansen: San Francisco, Tokyo, London, New York
Diversified Financial Services, Individual Client Commitment
TO: Phoebe J. Hollinger
FR: Rei Davis
RE: Tonight
I don’t have any plans. Derek took me to The Top of the Mark last night. (Keep your I-told-you-so to yourself, though. The irony that was not lost on me.)
I finally broke up with him. (Keep your I-never-liked-him-anyway to yourself, too.)
Rei
Unified Family Court, 400 McAllister Street, San Francisco
All kids need is a little help, a little hope and somebody who believes in them. —Earvin “Magic” Johnson
RE: Single again
I told you The Mark was a weird choice for a date. That’s where sailors had their last drink before shipping out to the Pacific in WWII.
Well, I’m sorry it’s over but, hell, I never liked Derek anyway. Like the other men you’ve chosen, he was opinionated, self-righteous and argumentative. You shouldn’t date lawyers.
When are you going to admit that I’m always right?
P.J.
RE: Already over it
Nice ego there, honey. You should have that checked.
And I told you not to say I told you!
I’m not as sorry as maybe I should be. Then again, it’s not like we were serious.
Rei
RE: You can’t be serious
Never had sex with him, huh?
I think one of our Break Away Nights is in order. I heard about this new place, Divas. Thursday night is Ladies Night so there’s bound to be great people (by that I mean men-who-are-not-lawyers) for you to meet. I’ll pick you up at your house at nine.
P.J.
RE: Break Away Night
Is that my nine or your nine? Because my nine is actually nine, whereas your nine usually means ten. So why don’t we say eight? That way we’ll both be on time.
Recess is almost over. See you later.
Rei
SUPERIOR COURT Commissioner Rei Davis clicked the button to send the message to her best friend then signed out of her e-mail program. Turning her chair, she gazed out the small grimy window to the French Renaissance facade of the War Memorial Opera House across Van Ness Avenue. She’d never actually been to an opera or even listened to one to find out if she liked it. Something else to add to her Life List.
Life. The word had a wonderful feel, one that spread through her like bright rays of sunlight through cloud. She’d just gone for her checkup with Dr. Solís this past Monday, April seventh, one year to the day…. She was blessed to still be alive and she knew it.
As she heard the outer door to her chambers open, she turned to see Mary Alice, her court services clerk. The petite older woman held an armful of case files, a harried expression on her kind face. “They’re ready for you, Commissioner. Five walk-ins were just added to the docket, including a case that was transferred from Judge Shuford.”
She schooled her expression, repressing a sigh. She’d already handled thirteen cases before calling a recess for lunch. Now the afternoon caseload would either run late or have to be rescheduled.
“All right, thanks. I’ll be right in.”
Once upon a time, she really had been quick-tempered and over-ambitious, an impatient and obsessively ambitious corporate law attorney who treated everything in her life like a merger or acquisition. Then she’d discovered a lump in her right breast that irrevocably changed her life…
Despite a partnership being well within reach, she had quit her lucrative position with the law firm. Instead she’d accepted a position as a referee, a Family Court officer appointed by the presiding judge to hear cases that involved juveniles. She’d been given a second chance and wanted to make a difference in the lives of others. She’d thrown herself into the job and three months later applied for one of the vacant Court Commissioner slots.
Family was the thread that wove together the fabric of society, the backbone of civilization. On a good day, she was proud to help maintain the family structure by approving adoptions, resolving custody disputes and returning kids in foster care to their homes.
Lately, however, she felt tired and disillusioned. The docket before her made it easy to believe the backbone of civilization was twisted and crumbling beneath the weight of crime, abuse and neglect. There were too many days when she felt like all she could do was shovel sand against the surge. But life was precious, especially the life of a child who had so much ahead if only someone gave them a chance.
Rei pushed away from the desk and stood up, brushing a hand over her chignon, and reached for the black robe hanging on her coat rack. Squaring her shoulders, she mentally prepared herself to tilt at some windmills and try to turn a few tides.
“VISITATION IS HEREBY revoked pending the Defendant’s completion of both anger management and substance abuse programs. Mrs. Landis will continue to have full custody of the children.”
“You can’t do this! You can’t take my kids away from me!”
“I just did, Mr. Landis.” Rei spoke sharply and frowned at the alcoholic who thought it was okay to strike his sons with a beer bottle. “We’ll reexamine this matter in three months. But for now, we’re done here.”
“I’m their father and I can damn well discipline my boys when they need it. You’re not taking my kids!”
Gathering the case files off the bench, Rei briefly glanced at Landis while a bailiff forcibly removed him from the courtroom. He didn’t deserve those kids. Or more to the point, those kids didn’t deserve him. Ignoring the empty threats echoing from the hall, she called the next case, Cannon v. Ogilvy.
“Mr. Willette, am I reading this file correctly?” Rei shot a baleful look at the young attorney standing before her. “You’re bringing charges of stalking and harassment?”
“That’s right, Your Honor. My client, Cindy Cannon, told her parents that James Ogilvy has been following her around and won’t leave her alone.”
“Your client is six years old, Mr. Willette, and so is the Defendant.” She scowled at the child’s mother. “I can’t believe you’re wasting the Court’s time with this.”
Mrs. Cannon, a prissy brunette with rigid features, stood up and wrung her hands. “Cindy talks about this boy all the time. She says he trails after her on the playground, tries to sit next to her at lunch and hides notes in her book bag.”
“That would be exhibits one through five, Your Honor.”
Rei held up the multi-colored sheets of construction paper. “You mean these crayon drawings of hearts and smiley faces, Mr. Willette?”
Defense counsel stood as well, but Rei held up one palm before she could speak. “Don’t bother, Ms. Schaefer. I’m on it.
She slid the “love letters” back into the file and shut it with a snap. “What we have here, people, is a case of very innocent, very normal, puppy love between elementary school children. Nothing more. Mrs. Cannon, I’m sure there are plenty of women at St. Francis Hospital who could clue you in about what stalking really is. I suggest you get a grip on reality. Case dismissed. What’s next?”
“Good afternoon, Commissioner Davis. Frank Dowd, Assistant State’s Attorney.” He smoothed his tie. “Bruce Grayson is accused of viciously beating an elderly storeowner during the course of an attempted robbery.”
Rei glanced over at the child slouched in a chair beside his lawyer. Bruce still had the chubby-faced appearance of a young boy, but his sullen expression and ancient eyes told another, too familiar story. Did happy childhoods only exist in movies and wishful thinking anymore?
“Jeffrey Bates for the Defense, Your Honor. Bruce is only twelve years old. He comes from a broken home, has been in and out of foster care—”
Dowd interrupted. “Yeah, yeah, we all know the heart-breaking story.”
Rei tapped her gavel. “Watch it, counselor.”
“Sorry, Your Honor. But due to the severity of Mr. Patterson’s injuries, as well as Mr. Grayson’s priors, the State feels he should be tried as an adult.”
“Incarceration in an adult facility will only turn Bruce into a hardened criminal.” Bates held up a file. “Our psych eval—”
This time Rei interrupted him. “Hold it, gentlemen. This is going to take longer than we have.” Thursday was one of the two days reserved for short cause matters—the cases had to be heard in less than twenty minutes—and Fridays were reserved for adoptions. She looked over at her clerk. “We’ll reconvene…”
“Monday at nine thirty,” Mary Alice interjected.
“Monday at nine thirty. Thank you, until then.”
Rei felt a tug in her gut as she watched the boy swagger out of the courtroom, shoulders squared and expression unrepentant. The postponement meant a few more nights in juvenile hall, but she had to have time to study his record and evaluations and hear all the facts surrounding the case.
At best he’d spend the next six years in a California Youth Authority camp. At worst he would only be in CYA until he turned sixteen then be sent to the Department of Corrections. She hoped she could find a spark of redemption in Bruce Grayson before it was too late. She hated putting children behind bars, no matter what they’d done.
Shuffling the Grayson case aside, Rei called the next matter. Break Away Night couldn’t start soon enough.
“WELCOME TO Lunch Meetings,” Christopher London warmly greeted his fourth potential client of the morning. He held out a hand but kept his voice low to protect her privacy. “Thank you for choosing us to help enhance your love life.”
Tina Farrell, a conventionally attractive redhead, shook his hand and glanced about. “I bet you hear it all the time, but really, I never did anything like this before.”
“We realize it’s a big step. Most people meet via their family, friends or jobs and, if it doesn’t work out, there may be some guilt or pressure as a result. Here at Lunch Meetings, we try to make dating a fun, friendly and stress-free experience.”
She visibly relaxed and sent him a grateful smile. “Glad to hear it.”
“Why don’t I take your coat and show you around?” Chris hung her jacket in the cloakroom then offered the tumbler of spring water the hostess handed him. “Behind this smoked glass wall is the main dining room, which is open from ten a.m. until three in the afternoon.”
Tina’s blue eyes widened. “Wow. The place is packed. Is everybody in there on dates?”
“No, the food itself has actually garnered some nice reviews, so a lot of people come just for lunch. That’s why we have tables for four as well as for two.” He gently took her elbow and guided her along the passageway. “This smaller dining room was designed with all booths for more personal encounters.”
“So you’re only open during the day?” Tina took a sip of water as she followed beside him.
“We have special events one night a week for our clients, usually just a casual mixer, and we hold formal parties on Valentine’s and New Year’s Eve.”
Tina set her glass down on a side table, challenging him with a look. “What about having to pay extra to be included in events and expensive trips.”
“You don’t have to worry about that here. I’ll give you a membership breakdown that explains exactly what we do and how much it’ll cost.” Chris gestured toward the inviting area as they walked through. “This is where we hold the parties.”
“It’s really beautiful. And you’ve got a stage for live music.” She ran a finger along the aged mahogany bar. “Can I come to this week’s mixer?”
“Sorry, you missed it already. But, if you decide to sign up for our services, I’ll add you to the guest list for next time.”
“Oh, I’ve mostly decided,” Tina informed him with laugh. “One of my coworkers went on seven dates with the same man in the past month. She highly recommended you.”
“Great. A big percentage of our business comes by word of mouth.” Chris smiled and pointed to the framed photographs on the walls. “We’ve had a lot of success in the two years since we opened. At last count I’ve been invited to about thirty-five weddings.”
“It might be thirty-six soon. My coworker and her boyfriend seem pretty serious already.”
He nodded, not surprised. “We put a lot of time, effort and research into our matchmaking program. The key is finding compatible core traits and vital attributes. This enables us to create a portrait of who you are at a deeper level, unlike other services that match people based on photographs and a fictional paragraph.”
She clapped her hands together once. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“Then let’s get started on the paperwork.” Chris widened his smile and swept an arm toward his office across the hall. “To your left is the computer café where clients fill out the personality profile and check their LM e-mail accounts. I’ll take you inside when we’re done.”
He waited for Tina to precede him into the office and held the guest chair for her before rounding his desk. After filling a new water glass from the pitcher on the credenza, he reached into one of the file drawers for a new client packet.
“Here are the brochures about the company, about the best ways to present yourself in person and protect yourself online, and some testimonials from former clients. Also in that folder are the application, payment options and an inquiry consent form.”
Tina’s brow furrowed. “You’re going to investigate me?”
“As a precaution, we look into all of our applicants’ pasts, searching for criminal records. We wouldn’t want to accidentally put a client into a dangerous situation.” Chris leaned forward to point to a particular paper. “This sheet is the confidentiality statement, basically stating that none of your personal information will ever be revealed or sold to advertisers.”
He settled back in his chair, allowing Tina a few minutes to examine the brochures. There was no need to continue his sales pitch—he had good instincts. He recognized the signs of excitement and anticipation that love might be only a few dates away.
Tina looked up from reading. “Are you one of the ‘intelligent, dynamic people who are ready to find the love of their life’?”
Chris forced a chuckle. “I’m flattered, but unfortunately not available.”
She smiled shyly. “Too bad. You seem like a really nice guy and I like your honesty. She’s lucky, your lady.”
Honesty was a tightrope he carefully balanced on every day. He hadn’t lied—he never dated clients—but he sure as hell hadn’t told the whole truth either. He couldn’t afford to.
Tina stacked the brochures and closed the folder. “Sounds too good to be true, Chris, but sign me up anyway!”
“Once you fill out all of the forms, I’ll take you into the café and show you how to start the questionnaires.”
Twenty minutes later, he was back in his office with a capocollo and Swiss on sourdough. He pushed aside the mail his office manager, Lara, had left for him to make room for the sandwich, chips and soda. Lunch Meetings had become known for entrées like spinach, mushroom and chicken quesadilla but Chris was a ham and cheese kind of guy.
He stripped off his suit jacket and loosened his tie before diving into the food. He’d had a busy morning and this afternoon would be dedicated to his private seminars, so he had to eat fast if he wanted to get some of the administrative tasks out of the way. After popping open the can of cola, he pushed the speaker button on his phone to listen to his voicemail.
Hi, Chris. It’s Andrea. Give me or Diana a call when you get a chance, will you? Mom is acting really strange. Wait until you see her hair! She’s being very secretive and won’t tell us what’s going on. If anyone can get something out of her, it’s you. Talk later. Bye.
He jotted a note to drive over and see his mother. As the only male in the house with a single mother and two older sisters, he’d quickly learned how far charm would get him—Mom had rarely denied him anything. He’d been meaning to do some yard work for her, anyway, and that would give him a chance to find out what had Drea and Di so worried. He pushed the button for the next message.
Hi, Mr. London. My name is Amy Wong and I write for the San Francisco Inquirer. I’d like to make arrangements for an interview—
He erased the voicemail without bothering to hear the rest. The tabloid had been after his story for months, trying to get the inside scoop—or more likely the dirt—on the business, anything to explain the LM phenomenon. He’d never granted them an interview and he never would to protect himself and his clients from exposure.
Christopher, I’d like my mystery novels back and I have your DVDs. Let me know when it would be convenient to make the exchange. The call disconnected with an audible click.
He and Rachel had broken up after he overheard her tell a friend that he was “the guy you have sex with, not the one you stay with.” When he confronted her, Rachel had accused him of investing more energy into other people’s relationships rather than into his own.
She was probably right. Though he’d liked her, he hadn’t loved her. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever really been in love. Lust, infatuation, but never love. He’d mail Rachel the books; she could keep the movies.
He played the last message. Mr. London, this is Andrew Johnston from Hollinger/Hansen. I have good news. Our principal investor is interested in your expansion project. However, before the Board commits any venture capital, we’d like to see a more detailed business plan. Call me at 555-4642, extension 201.
Chris dropped the last of his sandwich and played the message again. Another investment firm had turned him down two weeks ago. A wide grin spread across his face as he listened. Hot damn! It looked like he might be able to open locations in Oakland and San Jose after all.
He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head, and gazed through the two-way mirror at the dining room and café. He’d done it!
In high school and college, fixing up his friends had been just a game. During his years at UCLA he’d parlayed his knack for matchmaking into free meals and Bruins football tickets. Eventually he’d turned a psychology major with a minor in statistics into a flourishing business. He’d taken a gamble and made it pay off not only for himself but also for his many happy clients.
It was ironic, actually, because love had nothing to do with his success. Despite his track record for others, Chris couldn’t seem to make a relationship last more than a month or so, a fact he was very careful to keep to himself. Who’d want to use a dating service run by a guy who was frequently single, a guy who didn’t believe in the idea of true love he so convincingly sold?
It all came down to science, namely mathematics and chemistry. If you presented people with a potential mate who mirrored the traits they wanted to see in themselves, the probability was high that these two people would experience infatuation. After infatuation, respect and commitment would hopefully follow.
Not that he hadn’t experienced a number of failures. His matchmaking skills hadn’t worked at all on his parents.
Chris had been eleven when his father had dumped the family, walking out on him, his mother and sisters. He’d never seen it coming. His parents had never fought, always discussing everything quietly and rationally, and his father swore there wasn’t another woman. Just some half-assed need to figure out what he wanted from life.
Chris had listened to the calmly delivered speech about things sometimes not working out the way you hope, nodding his head while his whole world imploded. He’d felt like his chest was on fire from the pressure of holding back sobs of anguish. Don’t go, Daddy. Don’t leave me. As his father turned away, the pressure bubble inside him had popped and the tears flowed freely.
It was the last time Chris ever cried.
He’d seen his father regularly, during awkward visits and strained outings, but it felt like there was a hollow space inside him. His mother had wanted her husband back, though, so Chris had done what he could—getting in trouble at school so his parents would have to meet in the principal’s office. But then later his more mature attempts also met with failure…
The intercom buzzed, shaking him off that line of thought. He listened to Lara’s voice. “Hi, Chris. Frank Lanvale is here for his one o’clock.”
He thanked her, silently reminding himself to focus on the positive. Things were looking up business-wise. Just as long as nobody found out the truth about him or the secret of Lunch Meetings’ success.
2
“YOU’RE NOT GOING out like that, are you?”