Jackie Braun - True Love, Inc.

“Foley, Cameron Foley,” he answered. Her voice was slow and smoky and made him think of the South. Wherever she hailed from originally, it wasn’t the Great Lakes state. “And I’ll pass on the coffee.”

“Very well. Hold my calls, please,” she told Lisa, dismissing her. The receptionist sent Cam one last squinty-eyed glare before closing the door on her way out.

Madison Daniels walked to the high-backed chair behind her desk, her movements stiff, awkward. She sank slowly onto the upholstered seat and folded her hands on the leather blotter. For the first time, Cam noticed the raised scars that ran along the back of her right hand and disappeared beneath the cuff of the long-sleeved blouse. He realized he must have been staring when she discreetly lowered her hands to her lap, away from his prying view.

“Are you interested in signing up for our services, Mr. Foley? We haven’t been in business long, but True Love, Incorporated has enjoyed quite a bit of success so far.” She plucked a square of ivory vellum from the desk blotter. “In fact, I’ve just been invited to a wedding.”

The woman’s fragility momentarily had taken the edge off his anger, but it throbbed back to life now and made him lash out.

“I’m here because of this.” He tossed the wadded letter onto her desktop and folded his arms over his chest. “I want to know what gives you the right to mail out solicitations like this one.”

She smoothed the wrinkles from the paper, eyebrows tugging together as she read it. Then she glanced up.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mr. Foley. This is a simple promotion. Hundreds of other businesses use such mailings. It’s all on the up and up, I assure you. We get the names, addresses and marital status from the Secretary of State’s office in Lansing. The people who are interested can respond. Those who aren’t can toss it in the garbage.”

“No harm, no foul,” he scoffed. “Did it ever occur to you that not everyone is single by choice?”

She eyed him warily but nodded in agreement. “That’s precisely why we’re in business, to help people who don’t want to be single find someone to spend time with—perhaps even a lifetime.”

Cam snorted, irritated anew by her calm demeanor and the slightly sanctimonious edge to her tone.

“Lady, don’t pretend your motives are so pure. You’re not as interested in helping lonely people find one another as you are in drawing a paycheck.”

She shrugged off the barb, although he thought he saw temper spark briefly in the otherwise calm blue of her eyes.

“Are you lonely, Mr. Foley?”

The way she said it, she reminded Cam of the therapist he’d seen briefly a few summers earlier just after his wife died. He glanced down at the ring on his left hand, the feel of it comforting and familiar. Safe. Just that morning he’d taken it off and tucked it away in the back of his bureau drawer. It was the first time the ring had left his finger in ten years. Everyone kept telling him it was time to move on with his life. They all offered the pathetically clichéd reason that it was what Angela would have wanted—for him and for the daughter they’d made together. It didn’t matter that it was true, and that before her death Angela had made him promise to keep his heart open to love and the possibility of remarriage.

Even Angela’s own sister, whose grief came the closest to matching his own, was urging him to start dating again. For the past few weeks, he’d actually begun to consider it. Maybe they were right. Maybe it was time to dip his toe in the water again, enjoy some adult company. There were times when he felt so lonely. But then the mail had come that morning, and with it True Love, Incorporated’s galling solicitation. How dare they call him single? His hand, wedding ring securely back in place, curled into a fist as outrage returned, fueled by something he refused to admit might be guilt.

“I’m not lonely,” he replied between gritted teeth, even though he knew it was a lie.

“But you are single, correct?” She waved a hand toward the solicitation on her desk.

He didn’t answer. To say yes seemed a betrayal of Angela, and yet no wasn’t quite accurate, either. She apparently took his silence for an affirmation.

“Well, if you’re single, I fail to see what the problem is. If you’re not interested in our services, fine. Throw the solicitation away. But True Love, Incorporated is doing nothing wrong—morally or legally—by seeking your business. You, Mr. Foley, are the single man living at 4255 Mockingbird Lane to whom this correspondence is addressed.”

“No, Miss Daniels, I’m not.” He laid the palms of his hands on the highly polished wood of her desktop and leaned forward, pinning her with an icy glare that he was gratified to see had her shifting back in her seat.

“What I am is the widowed man living at 4255 Mockingbird Lane who watched his wife die a slow and agonizing death from cancer. What I am, Miss Daniels, is a man who wants to be left the hell alone by people like you who have the audacity to try to put a price tag on something that’s beyond monetary value.

“True Love, Incorporated.” He sneered. “You ought to be arrested for fraud. You don’t know the first thing about true love. If you did, you’d realize it can’t be packaged and sold like cereal in some grocery store.”

Her face bleached of what little color it had. In a shaky whisper, she replied, “I’m so sorry. H-how long ago did you lose your wife?”

He backed up a step, crossed his arms again. “It was three years in May.”

“That’s a long time.”

“It’s an eternity.”

“Have...have you dated at all since then?”

He glared at her and said with a certainty he did not feel, “I have no reason to date. There’s no one I’d be interested in meeting.”

“How can you be so sure?”

How? He twirled the band that encircled the third finger with the thumb of his left hand. The gesture was comforting, familiar, affirming.

“I’ve already had my ‘true love,’ Miss Daniels. There’s not another one out there.”

Despite his intentionally surly tone, the woman faced him calmly, reminding him again of that loathe-some therapist his sister-in-law had badgered him into seeing.

“I’ve read that those who love deeply once are more likely to love deeply again. Who’s to say there’s not someone else who could make you happy? You’re a young man, Mr. Foley. Surely you don’t plan to spend the rest of your life alone?”

Young or not, that’s precisely what he planned—until just recently. Guilt nipped him again. “Let me guess. You think you can help me find the perfect woman.”

“That is my business.” One finely arched eyebrow lifted, tugging that intriguing little mole along with it. “Care to let me try?”

“No.”

“Why not? If you don’t believe in my service, what do you have to worry about?”

It wasn’t quite a dare, but it seemed awfully close. He narrowed his eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing, really. I’ll even waive my usual fee. Call it a goodwill gesture.”

Good will, my butt, Cam thought. But two could play her game, and he was curious just how far she would go with her little matchmaking scheme. Make the stakes high enough, and she would back down.

“All right,” he said slowly, stalling so he could think. “But let’s sweeten the pot with a deadline. Forget true love, I’ll give you until...Valentine’s Day to find me a woman worth a second date. If you succeed, I’ll pay you twice your normal fee. Heck, I’ll even do a testimonial if you want.”

“And if I fail?”

She wasn’t backing down, he realized. Time to tighten the screws. Cam leaned forward, offered his most carnivorous smile. “If you fail, you’ll take out a full-page ad in the Traverse City Record-Eagle admitting you’re a lousy matchmaker, admitting, Miss Daniels, that you are a fraud.”