Dara Girard - Perfect Match

The waiter glanced at Evie, concerned. “Is everything all right?”

“My life is over,” Evie whined.

Amal gritted his teeth. “The food was so delicious, it made her cry. Now, I’d like my bill, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re angry with me,” Evie said.

Amal drummed his fingers on his thigh. “No, I’m not.”

“I can always tell when you’re angry. Your eyes narrow and your jaw twitches.”

Amal counted to ten.

“I hate when you’re angry with me,” she said and then burst into tears.

Amal silently swore, wishing he’d gotten a private booth instead of just a table. He moved his chair closer and pulled her near his side to hold her. He didn’t care what those around him were thinking. Let everyone stare. Most already were. “It’s okay.” He hated to see a woman cry. And that’s when his mind floated to the woman who’d been crying alone, sitting on the park bench. For some reason her tears and misery bothered him more than Evie’s. Maybe because with Evie, he was relieved at finally letting her know there was no chance of them being together, or the fact that he knew she’d get over him quickly.

The woman in the park smelled sweet and there was a heaviness he understood. She didn’t seem like the type to normally cry in public, although he could be wrong. But he’d felt helpless and had come up with the story that he knew her just to make her feel better. He was happy he’d been able to make her smile. He wondered how she was doing and if she’d been able to save her parents’ house.

“Amal?”

He blinked and glanced down. He’d totally forgotten about Evie even though she was wetting his shirt with tears. “Huh?”

“Did you even hear a word I said? Don’t you care about me at all?”

“Of course I do. But this is for the best.” He glanced at his watch. It was time to go. Besides, he was hoping to drop her off before the evening news started. And he’d make sure to never come to this restaurant again.

* * *

“How did it go?” his mother, Doreen Harper, asked the moment he walked through the door. She sat on the couch holding a glass. A plate of cookies sat on the coffee table. She noticed his pointed look and smiled. “Relax. It’s just water, dear.”

“Mixed with what?”

“Nothing.”

“Hmm.”

“And I’m not using it to wash anything down, either.”

Amal was relieved but didn’t say so. His mother lived with him because he didn’t trust her on her own. She’d overcome an addiction to prescription pills, but was still susceptible to drinking more than she could handle and men attracted only to her money. She even looked like an easy target, with wide brown eyes, a petite build, easy smile and expensive clothing and jewelry. “I don’t wear paste,” she claimed when he’d once scolded her for wearing a ten-thousand-dollar necklace on a Manhattan subway. She’d been pampered and sheltered all her life until her husband decided to leave her with a small son. She always had money, but never had to manage it on her own.

At age ten, Amal became in charge of the household finances, stopping anyone, from the gardener to the chef, from robbing his mother blind. She’d gotten into prescription pills to deal with the stress of her divorce. Thankfully, she’d conquered it by the time he was in college. But four years ago when a pool maintenance guy had convinced her to marry him, which did not happen thanks to Amal’s swift intervention, she had gone back to drinking. Amal had to step in again to keep an eye on her. Luckily, his then-girlfriend, Jade, hadn’t minded. He knew he couldn’t have her close by forever, but Amal had the space and didn’t mind the company, especially when everything else seemed to be going against him.

Doreen took a sip of her water and then set it down. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“How do you think it went?”

“From the look on your face, not well.”

Amal sat on the couch in front of her and then took a cookie from her plate. “She thought we were going to get married.”

“And of course you’re never going to get married.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“You don’t have to. If she’d had half a brain, she would have seen it written all over your face. Didn’t I tell you that you should have married Jade when you had the chance? Then you wouldn’t be in this mess. Marriage makes things legal.”

Amal rested his head back and gazed up at the ceiling. “Thirty-two.”

“What?”

He sat up and stared at her. “That’s the number of times you’ve said ‘I told you so’ over the past year.”

Doreen set her glass down with regret. “I’m sorry. I just hate seeing you keep making these mistakes. I told you Evie was no good.”

“Yes.”

“And that she was desperate.”

Amal drummed his fingers on his thigh. “I know.”

“And that pathetic woman before her. I said she was only after your money.”

He sighed and drummed faster. “I know.”

“Since Jade, your taste in women has taken a dive.”

Amal stopped drumming and shook his head. “No, not my taste. Just my luck. Don’t worry. I’m not interested in another relationship. I’m through with women for now.”

Doreen started to laugh.

“You think that’s funny?”

“I think that’s impossible. The moment you started nursing I knew you were straight.”

Amal squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassed. “Mom!”

“It’s true. You’ve always loved women and everything about them.”

“From now on I promise I’ll enjoy them from afar.” He pointed at her. “Stop laughing. I’m serious.”

“You’re trying to be, but it’s not working.”

“I mean it. My only focus is winning this case against the Walkers. Until it’s through I’m off the market.”

“Unless she has the right dimensions,” Doreen said, cupping the air.

“Don’t be crass. You’re my mother.”

“Grow up. I’m also a woman who knows how men think,” Doreen said with a smirk. “Especially you, my dear boy. I know all your weak spots.”

Yes, he had weak spots, and one of them had been Jade. He’d made mistakes, but he wouldn’t let the Walkers exploit them. What his mother hadn’t realized was how much winning meant to him, and no woman would stand in his way. “I’m not going to let the Walkers take away everything Jade and I built together. She wouldn’t want that.”

“So you’ve finally found a lawyer?”

“I will.”

Doreen picked her up her glass and finished its contents as if it were a lot stronger than water. “I’ve asked around and no one is interested. I’m not sure you can win this with your inventory tied up. The Walkers are going to play hardball. It’s going to cost you a lot of money. I can take care of you until you get back on your feet.”

“No way. I’m not having you bail me out of this. I’m going to win. I’m offering a lot of money. I’ll find someone who will bite.”

* * *

Hannah looked at the prices on the menu and winced. The only things within her budget were the water and breadsticks. She knew the price didn’t cover just the cost of the food, but also the ambience and the waterfront view. She glanced up at her two friends, glad that they were focused on their orders so she had more time to decide what to do. Dana Wentworth had a name that hinted at white Anglo-Saxon Protestant breeding and generations of wealth, but she was born in Queens to a Jewish deli owner and his Catholic Italian wife. She had olive-toned skin, dark green eyes and a full figure that she always dressed well. She’d worked her way from New York City into the suburbs of North Carolina, although none of her family could understand her interest in living in the South. She’d made a nice life as a corporate lawyer in a prestigious firm. Natasha Petrov was a Russian immigrant whose poor parents had sent her to live with wealthy relatives in Missouri, who had adopted her as their own. Blonde and slender, she’d married a wealthy man, so price was never an issue. Although she didn’t need the money, she worked part-time in family law. They’d remained friends after law school, although their lives had taken divergent paths. Hannah wondered if she’d be able to meet with them anymore.