Judith McWilliams - The Matchmaking Machine

He frowned as Maggie’s eyes suddenly widened in shock.

“Ugh!” she gasped and set the mug down with a thump. “What is this?” She stared into the stygian depths of the cup with disbelief.

“Just coffee,” Richard said. “I made it myself.”

“I certainly wouldn’t advertise the fact,” she shot back. “You might be held responsible for the results. This stuff could double as paint remover.”

“I can’t stand it weak.”

“And I can’t stand getting my week’s allotment of caffeine in one shot.” Maggie got up and poured half the brew down the sink. Then she added water, a large spoonful of sugar and a hefty dose of milk.

“Milk and sugar ruin the flavor of good coffee,” he said.

“This is not good coffee,” Maggie said, cautiously taking a sip of the resulting mixture. “Strong, yes. Good, no. And don’t tell me it’s a guy thing. Bad is bad.”

“Ha, you probably make instant. Your taste buds need educating.”

“If I drank much of this stuff, my taste buds would be more likely to be dissolved than educated. It…”

She tensed as she heard the chimes from the front door.

Was that Worthington? She wondered in dismay as Richard got up to answer it. But Worthington wouldn’t knock on his own apartment door, would he? Surely, he’d have a key.

She didn’t know, but she had no intention of guessing—and guessing wrong. She didn’t want to meet him yet. She wanted their first meeting to take place on ground of her choosing, not his. Hurriedly, she grabbed the envelope and rushed after Richard, catching up with him at the front door.

“Don’t open that,” she whispered to Richard.

He paused, his hand halfway to the doorknob. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to meet anyone wearing your shirt.”

“How about if I just call through the door and tell them to come back when the dryer goes off.”

“Don’t be silly,” she muttered.

“Me?!”

“I need to put this envelope on the desk the way I was told to. Stall whomever is out there while I find the study.”

The person rang the bell again.

“Wait a minute. We’re stalling,” Richard yelled through the door.

“Honestly!” Maggie gave him an exasperated look. “This is important. That could be Worthington.”

“It can’t be Worthington,” Richard said. “The guard at the front desk was specific about him not arriving until after I was finished.”

“Then if you know so much, who is it?”

“Who are you?” Richard yelled through the door.

“Daniel Romanos,” the voice called back.

“Damn!” Maggie scowled. “It’s almost as bad. That’s Worthington’s hatchet man. Stall him.”

She raced down the hall and pulled open an oak door. To her relief, it was the study. She pitched the manila envelope onto the middle of the bare desk and hurried back to the living room and Richard.

“Is the evidence hidden?” Richard asked.

“I wasn’t hiding it. I was just putting it where it belongs.” Where she should have put it the minute she arrived—and would have if she hadn’t been distracted by him.

Her eyes lingered on the firm line of his dark jaw. And it had been fatally easy to get sidetracked, too, she conceded honestly. There was something about Richard that made everything else fade into the background. It was a reaction she’d never had before, and it worried her. This was not the time for her to finally discover a man who appealed to her sexually—not when she had everything in place to launch her plan of revenge against Worthington.

“So tell me, Sherlock, what am I supposed to do about our visitor?” Richard asked.

“Why ask me?”

“Because you’re the one who told me not to open the door.”

“I didn’t mean permanently,” she said and then hastily lowered her voice, having no idea just how solid the door was. She most emphatically didn’t want Romanos to know she was here. He couldn’t report what he didn’t know to Worthington.

“Maybe if we just ignore him, he’ll go away?” she suggested hopefully.

Richard frowned as Daniel suddenly got more insistent and began to pound on the door. Normally, he appreciated his personal assistant’s dogged determination to get things done, but in this instance, it threatened to mess up his plans for Maggie.

“Impatient soul, isn’t he?” Maggie said. “You sure can tell he’s Worthington’s right-hand man.”

Richard ignored the pounding. Daniel could wait. For what he paid the man, he could wait quietly, too.

“Why do you say that?” Richard asked curiously.

“Because according to office gossip, Worthington is a real mover and shaker in the business world. That type never waits patiently, so it makes sense that he would surround himself with the same kind of people. And with Worthington due to arrive in New York tonight, it also makes sense that his assistant would want to report in as soon as possible. I’m just surprised he isn’t camped out at the airport.”

Impeccable logic, Richard thought. As smart as she was, it would be impossible to fool her for any length of time, but he hoped keeping his identity a secret from Maggie would be possible for at least one night.

Maggie winced as Daniel attacked the door again.

“He clearly has no intention of going peacefully into the night she said regretfully. “We’re going to have to let him in.”

“I could try telling him to go away and come back later,” Richard suggested. Whether Daniel would or not depended on whether or not he recognized Richard’s voice through the distorting effects of the wood.

“I think we’ve tried his patience enough,” she said with a glum look at the entrance. She could almost feel the hostility bristling through it.

“Why don’t you go see if your sweater and bra are dry while I let the guy in. I’ll give him my best ain’t-nobody-here-but-the-plumber routine.”

Only too happy not to have to face Daniel, whom she’d met Monday when he’d arrived from San Francisco and disliked at first sight, Maggie hurried back into the kitchen. This had been the most unsettling day. And meeting Richard had been the defining point. Who would have thought that she would find the most appealing man she’d ever met under a cabinet in a strange bathroom.

Not that she’d met that many men, she conceded. Mostly, she just avoided them. It was safer that way. Men were a huge complication that she hadn’t been able to afford in her life. She had been too busy, first studying and then working to establish her career. Too busy proving to herself that she wasn’t the least bit like her mother. Or her father. The acid burn of anger that thoughts of her father always engendered overwhelmed her and she briefly closed her eyes, took a deep breath and resolutely banished him back to oblivion, where he belonged.

Stepping into the minuscule laundry room, she pulled the louvered doors closed behind her before yanking open the dryer door and pulling out her sweater and bra. They were still damp, but she put them on anyway in case she needed to make a quick escape. If Daniel was here, Worthington wouldn’t be far behind. And she didn’t want to meet Worthington now. She intended to orchestrate their first encounter very carefully. She would project the image of a bright, confident, sophisticated woman. The only kind of woman likely to attract his interest, according to her program. At the moment, she felt—and undoubtedly looked—like a frazzled refugee from a hectic day at the office.

Richard opened the front door, catching Daniel with his fist raised to pound on the door again.

“Be quiet,” Richard ordered with a quick look over his shoulder to make sure Maggie was still in the kitchen. “Pretend you don’t know me.”