talk. “You sure you’re all right about this Oliver thing?”
I shrugged. “He can say whatever he wants, so I have to be all right, don’t I?”
“He’s just doing his job.”
“And I’m just doing mine,” I told her and left the conference room for the comfort and privacy of my office. Once all the paperwork had been settled for the matchmaking agency, we’d decided I would get one of the offices inside to run both of my businesses. It was a little complicated, but it worked for us.
Working as a freelance marketing specialist wasn’t exactly a traditional job, but plenty of small businesses failed because they couldn’t reach out to more customers. With my help, they could.
“Eva, your mother is on line three.”
I sighed and nodded even though the receptionist couldn’t see me. “Thanks, Blair.” I took several deep breaths to steel myself against another call with my mama, whom I loved dearly. I really did, but she had a way of getting under my skin like no one else. “Hey, Mama. How are you?”
“I’m great. Not as good as Liz, though,” she said, in that tone that meant she was about to heap some constructive criticism my way. Mirabelle Vargas was a pro when it came to criticizing without sounding like it was a criticism, with a heaping helping of guilt tossed in for good measure. “Antonio and his wife are expecting a second child. A second, and here I am without even one grandchild to love and to spoil.”
“That’s great news! I’m happy for Antonio and his wife, Mama. You should be, too.”
“Of course I am. I love my nephew to the moon and back, I’m just saying, you two are close in age and he’s having another baby. A sweet little baby.”
“Mama, I have a business to run. Why don’t you call Sal and bug him for kids?” My older brother was a popular chef who bounced around the globe cooking for the rich and famous.
“I already did,” she admitted. “He was at some loud market and couldn’t talk.”
I smiled at my mama’s honesty. Sometimes it was a godsend, but it could occasionally be too much. “Sorry to say that I have to get my day started, too. Just got out of a meeting. I promise to call for a proper chat. Soon.”
“Love you, honey.”
“Love you, too, Mama. Have a good day.” She was a pain in my backside most days, but she was always there when we needed her. And when we didn’t.
I turned to my computer with every intention of checking my emails since Olive would show up in about twenty minutes, but the alert for Your Best Bachelor was right there on my screen. Blinking and taunting me.
I shouldn’t have done it, but I clicked on the article. Again.
Women don’t really want romance. If they did, they would take the lead on dates and vacations, special occasions. Wouldn’t they? Surely, they wouldn’t leave something as important as romance in the incompetent hands of the inferior human male? Instead, I posit that women have been conditioned to believe they want romance. Conditioned to expect it—no, to demand it.
It is up to you, my friends, to change her mind. Tune in for Wednesday’s podcast to find out how.
Goodness, the man was so damn maddening! But I’d promised the girls I would keep my cool, and I would. Oliver March was nothing to me.
Nothing at all.
Someone needed to teach him a lesson, though.
Not me, but someone.
Oliver
“Is it me, or is there something new about this place?” I looked around Plymouth Bowling, where I was enjoying my weekly night out with my friend Chris Jacobs. Chris was a mystery writer and a single dad who didn’t have much time for himself, so I always looked forward to us catching up. I frowned. “It’s weird. Right?”
Chris shrugged and raked a hand through his brown hair, sipping his lager with the other. “Got new seats about a month ago. Took you long enough to notice.” I ignored his smirk and looked around again.
The seats were dark blue instead of green, and all the parts that were previously sewn up or duct taped were gone. “Hmph, guess you’re right. Weird. “How’s Lila adjusting to third grade?”
Chris shrugged and let out an exhausted sigh. “Much better than the last few months of second grade. She has friends now, but she’s a bit more… precocious than the kids in her class.”
I took my time and lined up my shot, sending the ball right down