Текст книги "Miss Match"
Автор книги: Laurelin McGee
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
One by one, girls streamed into the room. Andy had jacked this idea from a TV show, but it seemed like an awfully good one. Gather twenty girls in one location, arrange for Blake to spend a few moments with each of them. Yes, it was a cattle call, but it would save her so many interviews. At the same time, it would give her a lot more to work on, vetting multiple candidates at once, instead of the usual one-at-a-time, no-my-boss-isn’t-a-serial-killer thing.
One by one, girls walked in. Exotic girls—Mexican, Thai, a stray Scot. All-American girls, from California and Texas and Virginia. Anyone and everyone whom Blake might consider a potential spouse streamed through the doors and helped themselves to one drink or another. When he himself finally walked in, a hush fell over the girls.
It was nothing compared with the pale hush over his face. This was clearly the last thing he had expected. Andy stifled her squee. It was so fun to see him unbalanced.
“Ladies, this is Blake Donovan. Please line up quietly by the door, he’ll receive you one at a time by the drink station. You will have only two minutes apiece. I understand that’s not long, but do your best to impress him with what you have. Ready … Go!” She hopped up to sit on a folding table, whipped out her notebook, and enjoyed the show.
To his credit, he managed to resist more than one fierce side-eye in her direction as the girls crowded around him. Despite her words, the girls were neither quiet nor orderly. The ones who’d been into the wine were, predictably, shoving for a spot by the front. A frighteningly serious-looking brunette managed to land the first position. She had delivered an impressive elbow to a competitor while beaming at Blake the whole time. “I’m Kristal Gilderoy,” she announced, as though he should be impressed. Blake stared at her silently until Andy kicked him. Her perch on the tabletop put her toe just at his shin, something she planned to take advantage of to keep him on his manners.
“Blake Donovan. Tell me a bit about yourself, Kristal.” Andy smiled and started scribbling in her notebook. Feathered bangs—not fashionable, even I know that. Doesn’t read celeb/gossip rags, clearly. Possibility here.
“I’m sure you’re kidding … But I’ll play along … I’m an indie musician … Very successful, I owe it all to my fans … The only problem I have with them is that they always want more of me…”
She actually speaks in ellipses. I can actually hear the dot dot dots. And I know her music. It’s quite awful. I think Lacy called her a nemesis one time. No possibility.
“Thank you, Ms. Gilderoy. Next, please!” Andy chirped. The girl looked disgruntled and opened her mouth to protest, but the recipient of her elbow jab gave her a shove and launched into her own spiel.
“Mr. Donovan, I am so, so, so freaking excited to meet you. I’ve been following your career. I’ve noticed a few things, though, that you are doing all wrong. Don’t worry, I’m capable of handling that for you. Did I mention I’m a lawyer? I am. And I am ready to go to war for you, both professionally and—personally, if you know what I mean.”
Andy didn’t bother to write down what she was thinking, namely thick-browed pompous weirdo. She merely looked at the woman’s name tag and told Ms. Kernal they’d be in touch shortly. Luckily, those two were the worst of the bunch. By the time the numbers dwindled to four, Blake was chatting informally with all of them.
Andy already knew the raven-haired Ukrainian girl had it in the bag, but she really appreciated the way Blake was loosening up. Look at him, chatting to the Scottish girl she’d only included because she secretly hoped they could become friends.
Fiona was redheaded, intelligent, educated, and goofy. Just Andy’s type. She was glad Blake was being nice to Fiona. That way when Andy called Fiona to let her down, there’d be no hard feelings. Andy could casually invite Fiona for coffee or something. She was so busy being pleased with herself that it took a moment to notice Blake himself was dismissing the ladies.
“This has truly been an unexpected pleasure. Andrea should be contacting you all shortly. Thank you again for making time in your day for this.” He began to walk toward the door, smoothly hooking his arm through Andy’s. It pulled her off the table and propelled her toward the door before she’d even had a chance to thank the candidates herself.
“Are you going to kill me?” she hissed through a grin over her shoulder.
“You know, Andrea, I don’t believe I will.”
“Really?” Andy immediately suspected a trick. “Why not? I totally freaked you out with that. I know I did. Your face was epic.”
“It probably was, wasn’t it.” He smiled down at her as they rounded the corner and headed back into his office. “But I had a nice time. There was one girl I would certainly entertain the idea of a date with.”
“I’ll call Natasha,” she said.
At the same time Blake said, “Please call Fiona.” Andy gaped.
“But—she’s not your type. Not even by a long shot. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Maybe you don’t know my type as well as you think.” With this, the man actually winked at her, and left her openmouthed as he grabbed his notebook and headed off to another meeting.
Chapter Fifteen
As Blake rattled on about his prior evening’s date, Andy doodled on her notepad and internally debated whom to set Blake up with next. She’d stopped listening to his morning reports days ago, right around the same time that they’d started their new arrangement, which she considered purely coincidental. It was always the same thing—everything went horribly, the woman was all wrong, yada yada yada.
So instead of actually paying attention, she nodded and mentally went through her options of who to set him up with next. Who had it been last night? That Jane girl. Right. Cross her off. Blake had suggested that Fiona girl, but Andy was still certain Natasha would be better for him. And did she really want him to ruin any friendship she might be able to strike up with the redhead? No, she did not. Natasha it was.
Blake cleared his throat, the sign that he was wrapping up. “So all in all, it was a fairly decent evening.”
Andy looked up from the row of Doctor Who Daleks she’d drawn. Did Blake say he’d had a decent evening? She must have heard wrong.
Except she hadn’t heard wrong. Because then he said, “It was pleasant, even. I believe I will have you set up a second date with Ms. Osborne.” He smiled blandly across their desks, as if everything was normal. As if he said this every day. As if she wasn’t having a minor heart attack.
But then she was smiling blandly back and agreeing, as if this was just the outcome she had hoped for. And it was, wasn’t it? She wanted Blake to see a woman more than once. That was the desired outcome of her job. It was the goal.
Yet this was the first time it had happened. The first time he’d said the words second date, and something about that bothered her to no end. For God’s sake, they’d just had a naked sushi lunch the day before. Or nearly naked—they’d yet to have disposed of all their clothes while doing it, which would have given their trysts an extra layer of sensuality. As if they needed that. Andy had never in her life thought to find herself sprawled across the expanse of mahogany as her boss used his wickedly talented mouth to remove one slice of nigiri at a time from the exposed parts of her body. How on earth did someone so straitlaced bring out such naughtiness in her?
She’d never again think of sushi without recalling the sensual feel of pickled ginger on her belly button. The delicious coolness of each grain of rice she swore she could feel individually against her hypersensitive skin …
She was starting to get wet at the memory when he spoke and she came crashing down to earth. “What do you think we should do this time?”
Oh, yes. The second date. She stifled the harrumph that threatened to sound from her throat and pretended to consider. A freaking second date. Really?
She’d been okay yesterday when they’d parted after work—Blake off to meet Jane Osborne, Andy off to watch bad broadcast television on her sofa while she ate a dinner that came on a microwavable tray. It was a drab evening for her, but she’d been fine. She’d also been pretending that Blake would detest his dinner like he had every other time Andy had set him up with a new candidate. If she’d known he was actually enjoying himself, she would have been good and worked up about it last night, too.
“I think a play, perhaps, would be good. Do people still go to plays?”
She went to plays. She liked plays. She’d even considered theater as a major at one point.
She could not, though, possibly consider Blake at the theater with a woman who was a second date. No way. No how.
“No one goes to plays.” She smiled sweetly. “How about a movie?” If they can’t talk, or see each other, it’s basically a non-date.
How is this even happening right now? A second date?
There was zero reason for her to have this reaction. Just because she’d begun a sexual relationship with the guy did not mean she got to be upset about this. They’d worked toward this. Together. Blake’s being serious about dating was a good thing. An excellent thing.
But serious about Jane? Talk about a dark horse.
“A movie? Oh. Okay. Are there any, um, girl-type things out?”
Andy couldn’t hold back her laughter, though she recognized she was using it as a substitute for that icky rage going on inside. The release felt good. When she could talk again, she asked, “Do you mean like a romantic comedy, or a drama, or a period piece?”
“A period piece? I would never ask—oh, my God. Is that a thing?” He looked positively shell-shocked.
Andy was dying.
“Blake! It means a historical film!” She wiped tears of laughter away, taking some mascara along with them. Jane wouldn’t have laughs like this with him. This second date shouldn’t be happening. Should. Not.
“I trust your judgment. You’ve seen her file, talked to her. Probably more than I have.”
Which was exactly why Jane was all wrong for him. He didn’t even know her. She didn’t even know him.
Wait, that wasn’t right. Well, Blake didn’t know Jane and Jane didn’t know Blake, but that was what Andy was for. She’d narrowed down his interests, matched them with Jane’s personality. Andy had paired them because she knew they’d be excellent together.
Why the heck were you so good at your job?
Because that was the goal, remember?
Ah, the devil and angel Andys were back. Nice timing.
“Anyway,” Blake said, his shoulders relaxing in exact contrast with the knot tightening in her belly, “whatever you think. God, I’m relieved. And embarrassed. But mostly relieved. I never know about these female mysteries.”
That gave her an idea. Since the date was pointless anyway, and she had met Jane (which was what qualified her to make that judgment), she would set up a crappy date. That bland bitch would never outright tell Blake that the last thing on earth she wanted to see was an action flick set in space. And yet she would have an awful time and they wouldn’t be likely to go out again.
Andy surfed over to a ticketing site. Oh, even better, the movie she was thinking of was apparently a sequel. She’d bet the whole second-date bonus—her stomach dropped again at the thought—that neither of them had seen the first. The previews she recalled were laughable, but not in the campy kind of way. Just in the kind of way that made you wonder who exactly greenlit that project.
When she realized this particular movie theater allowed you to choose your own seats, she almost bounced in her chair. Front row—two clicks and the worst date ever was all set up. Between the subject matter and the inevitable migraine-slash-neckaches they’d get, she could kiss Jane good-bye.
As long as Blake wasn’t kissing Jane good-bye. Good God, had he already? She couldn’t think about that. He hadn’t mentioned it when they’d had their before-work bump-and-grind session that morning, but they’d only talked about no sex with the candidates, not no kissing. Dammit, she couldn’t revise the rules now. It would look suspicious.
And it would totally be counterproductive because you want him to find a match.
Well, maybe I do, devil Andy said to angel Andy, but not this one.
With a scowl, Andy shooed away both the imaginary representations of her warring thoughts and finished her online transaction. “Okay, you’re in for a seven o’clock showing of the new Austen remake. It’s opening night, so don’t be late. There won’t be any other tickets available, I can guarantee you. Austenites are rabid.” She beamed particularly brightly. “Jane will love it. Jane. Jane Austen. Did you notice?”
The only thing Andy felt guilty about was the fact that she didn’t feel guilty at all.
* * *
Blake had to admit it—he was impressed. Jane Osborne was as boring a woman as he’d ever spent an evening with, but she could certainly roll with the punches. He’d been absolutely heated when the pimply-faced kid behind the glass window had told him his tickets had gotten screwed up. He knew Andy would disapprove of him throttling the squeaky-voiced little bastard on a power trip. His most disapproving scowl and the threatening voice he used for intimidating business rivals was starting to have an effect on the kid when a cool hand settled on his arm.
“It’s fine, Blake. I don’t mind what we see.” She smiled at him, and it seemed genuine.
“The space movie? Are you certain?” She was obviously not the space type. Or was she? After all, Andrea hadn’t seemed like the Star Wars type, but since the initial reference she’d used enough of them he could tell she was a fan.
“I don’t love space, but the lead was in a rom-com I liked last year, so it will be fine. Anyways, I tend to drift off in movies.”
Ah. So not a closet space fan. He was surprised not to feel any disappointment by that. He’d made Andrea choke on her coffee last week when he’d shown her his Wookiee impression. Jane didn’t seem like the type to have reactions like that. Or passions in general. Drifting off in movies—what was she, seventy?
On the other hand, the fact that she was fine with the unexpected turn of events was nice. He’d been on enough dates in his life where someone would say a change of plans was fine and then proceed to pout all night. He understood the rarity of a woman who genuinely didn’t mind going with the flow.
So he painfully turned the scowl into a smile at the ticket kid and accepted the tickets to … he squinted. Martian Death Squad 2?
Good Lord. “Popcorn?” he offered to Jane. She shook her head. Again, he was struck by the contrast between the two women. Besides the obvious physical differences—Jane was nearly his height, where he could tuck Andrea comfortably beneath his arm; Jane was Chinese to Andrea’s—whatever. What was her ethnic background? Dawson. Sounded British, but her coloring was Irish. German?
He sighed. These mental tangents were becoming a hobby, and all of them involved his matchmaker.
The point was, the two women could not be more different, both physically and mentally. Everywhere Andrea was feisty, Jane was placid. It was like comparing a wildcat to a tabby. All they had common was their whiskers. Blake shook his head again. That didn’t even make sense. Popcorn! That’s what he was thinking about. Who went to a movie and didn’t get popcorn? His date, apparently.
He’d only decided to go on a second date with her because he was so sick to death of first dates. First dates were deplorable. Universally, in his experience.
Especially lately. Why were all the submissive women either incredibly stupid or just plain mute? He wouldn’t be the successful man he was today without being able to admit the occasional hard truth to himself, and he’d realized one about Andrea while he was on his first date with Jane.
Whatever was brewing between himself and his employee, it was infinitely more interesting than what he was experiencing with any woman she’d found for him thus far. So what was the point of continuing on with dull women? He’d tuned back in to Jane as she finished politely explaining what it was that she did. Unfortunately, he hadn’t heard a word, so he still didn’t know. Or actually care.
But she did a Thing, and she wasn’t pushy about it, whatever it was. So he made one of his famous (in his own mind) lightning decisions. While he unraveled the tangle of feelings he was having about the matchmaker, he’d continue to date Jane. He couldn’t keep doing first dates, but if he quit dating altogether, Andrea would no longer have a job to do. This was a perfect compromise. What a stroke of luck that this had occurred to him on a date with Jane, and not with Jamie, or the hyena.
So popcorn or not, it looked like he was escorting Jane Osborne to a showing of Martian Death Squad 2. From the front row. He sighed, and comforted himself with the knowledge that he had scotch at home.
* * *
Andy’s eyes narrowed, but it was the only physical indication she was showing of her internal rage. What kind of date was this Jane woman? She’d shown all the signs of a submissive puppy in her interview. Clearly that had carried over.
“I’m sorry the tickets weren’t what we’d planned. Was she mad?” Her voice was level, betraying no signs of her disappointment.
“She was a trooper. The shoot-’em-up wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be. She slept through most of it. Can you imagine?”
Andy laughed politely. No, I can’t imagine. “So you want to arrange another date, you said?” Take it back.
“Sure. She’s game, I’m game. What do you suggest?”
A euthanizing. “A fancy dinner. Since the first two dates have gone well, I assume you’ll want to spend some time getting to know her more. And girls always enjoy being pampered. Seafood, maybe?” Haha. Jane doesn’t eat fish. And I know for a fact that she has nothing to say. Game, set, match.
“Sounds good to me. It’s lobster season. We can chat over those.” Blake leaned back in his chair. “I love lobster. Lobster rolls are the best, but we’re farther down the coast from the good ones. Are you a seafood fan, Drea?”
“It’s fine. Lobster rolls are nice.” Only my favorite! She bit the inside of her lip until the metallic taste of blood rolled through her mouth. Why was she seething over a dinner the two mismatches weren’t even having? If they went out for lobster, there would be bibs. Bibs! Nothing was less sexy.
Which got her thinking—how unsexy could a date be? Now, that was a challenge she could accept.
“Since rolls in a seaside shack aren’t much of a thing here, why don’t I book you a table at a nice restaurant? You can chat over some wine and get to know each other better.” She could have sworn he’d frowned at that.
“Nice idea. A later dinner would work better for me. I have a full day Thursday. Good thing that isn’t an office day for you, eh?”
Andy had actually booked a full spa day for Thursday in anticipation of Friday shenanigans—massage, mani/pedi, bikini wax. Not anymore. She had work to do.
“Actually, Thursday will be a fairly full day for me as well. Lots of loose ends to tie up. I’m sorry I won’t see you before your big night, though.” Sorry not sorry. It’s just become a big night for me, too.
A feeling of déjà vu settled over her as she purposely forgot to confirm the reservations. And on Thursday, as she removed his wallet from the suit jacket Blake had left behind during his rigorous schedule of meetings, she had déjà vu again. Because as she settled the billfold into his desk drawer, where he would never look before his date—but not find it a strange place for the wallet to be found the next day—she again felt no guilt.
The guilt also failed to materialize on the fourth and fifth dates she sabotaged with no gluten-free menu items and another lost reservation, respectively.
Chapter Sixteen
Andy couldn’t keep from humming as she put on a final coat of mascara. Funny how getting laid on a regular basis could change a woman’s outlook on life. They’d stuck to their rules, maintaining their professional relationship. But after work hours, they’d christened every surface in the office. Without ever speaking about it, they both arrived early. And stayed late. And Andy had lost ten pounds from missed lunches—or perhaps, from the extra physical activity.
Looking at her reflection, she almost didn’t see the black circles under her eyes from losing sleep over Jane. Not that she would be a problem much longer.
Andy swept some lip gloss on and checked herself a final time in the hall mirror. She had to admit, sex looked good on her. Unlike the last time she’d readied herself to go to Blake Donovan’s house, this time she was going as herself. She also wasn’t planning any sort of seduction, though she had put on a pretty matching panty-and-bra set just in case.
“I don’t get it.” Lacy stood next to the front window, looking below for Darrin’s van to pull up to take her to a gig and drop Andy off at Blake’s on the way. “Is this a booty call or not?”
“It’s not.” Which was the truth. Technically.
Lacy sounded incredulous. “You’re going to his house on a Sunday night to—”
“To discuss possible evening activities for his dates. That’s all.” Andy walked to the coffee table to gather the files with the info she’d gathered. She really probably could have emailed them, but an in-person consult was much easier.
Lacy gave her a once-over before returning to her post at the window. “Sounds an awful lot like an excuse for a booty call, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you.” Andy wrapped a large rubber band around her files so they’d be easier to carry. “Not that I need to explain myself to you, but Blake has a date with Jane tomorrow and I want to make sure I get all the details settled tonight. You know, stuff comes up at work. He might not have time to talk to me in between his meetings and things.” Plus, she needed time to plan her next round of sabotage.
“That sounds so wrong.” Lacy turned to sit in the sill so she could face Andy. “How can you stand him dating another woman while he’s banging you?”
Andy bit her lip. There was no way she was admitting to Lacy how much she couldn’t stand Blake dating Jane. If she did, then she’d have to admit what she’d done to try to stop the dates. The awful, deceitful string of bad behavior. Lacy would string her up by her thong for that kind of nonsense.
Well. Hopefully her sabotage had proved fruitful. Though Blake had asked for another date with Jane after the last one, he’d been reluctant to discuss the evening’s agenda. Actually what he’d said was that he was too busy on Friday afternoon, but Andy couldn’t help but wonder if that was code for not that enthused. It was so obvious that Jane was all wrong for him, she knew he’d see it, too, soon enough. Why he hadn’t already was a mystery. She was merely scooting up the time line on that by making sure all their dates sucked. Going to his house tonight was an opportunity for her to gauge the prospect of that being true.
And when she’d approached him with the idea of stopping by on Sunday, he hadn’t said no. A storm of butterflies wreaked havoc in her belly at what that might mean.
Stop it, she scolded herself. She couldn’t get her hopes up. Go in with low expectations and she’d have a better chance of surviving whatever happened emotionally. Tossing her curls over her shoulder, she met her sister’s eyes and said words that she meant for herself as much as anyone. “It’s just sex, Lacy. It’s fun. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“There are some people I believe that may be true for. You are not one of them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” It was true, but Lacy didn’t have to call her on it.
“You’re going to get emotionally attached,” Lacy chided in a singsong voice.
“No. Way. Yes, he’s good.” Great, actually. Greater than great. “But he is definitely not for me.” All lies. She was totally emotionally attached. Yet she couldn’t admit that to anyone without feeling stupid with a capital S. Because though Blake was more than pleasing in the physical department, he still lacked in other areas. He’d improved socially under her tutelage, and he made fewer chauvinistic comments since her first days working with him, but he was still basically an ass-hat. The fact that he was serving her multiple O’s while still using her to find a bride was proof of that. Totally awful.
Someone just needed to explain that to her heart.
Lacy narrowed her eyes at her. “Your expression says that you aren’t so sure about that.”
Goddammit, why did Lacy have to be able to read her so well? That was Andy’s gig.
Andy forced a smile. “I’m fine. Stop worrying about me. Mom.” As if she’d have ever discussed her sex life with their mother.
Lacy ignored the crack. Or else she worked to emulate it further. “How will you get home? The train doesn’t go all the way out to Rich-ville.”
“I’ll call a cab. Or have Blake take me home.” Or not come home at all.
Immediately she scratched that thought from her mind.
But then Lacy said, “Or you’ll stay over.”
“I won’t stay over. That goes against the rules.”
Lacy rolled her eyes at the word rules. “But you might be home late?”
She was digging, and Andy knew it. Truth was, Andy wanted to be home late. Banging, as Lacy so eloquently put it, on new territory would be a definite violation of rules. It threatened to upset their carefully balanced routine. Especially when the new territory was Blake’s home. It was intimate. If they crossed that line, how could Blake deny what was happening between them?
On the other hand, Andy didn’t want to force it. It was one thing to ruin his dates, but whatever happened between her and Blake she wanted to happen organically. She had to be sure it was real. She had to be sure he knew it was real.
But what if it wasn’t as real for him as it was for her?
Maybe Lacy was right to be worried. Going to Blake’s home on a Sunday night under the pretense of work had the potential of backfiring big time. She could very well get hurt. Problem was, her heart was already involved. It was too late to worry about maybe getting hurt.
She glanced sideways at Lacy, who was still waiting for her answer. Andy didn’t give one. Instead, having spotted the ugly pea-green vehicle pulling up below, she said, “Darrin’s here.”
“Lucky you. Saved by the van.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Andy stood on the steps waiting for Blake to answer his bell. When the door opened, she was met by his housekeeper.
“Hi, Ellen. Good to see you again.” Andy tossed a good-bye wave over her shoulder to let Darrin and Lacy know she was good for them to leave and turned back to the older woman in front of her.
Ellen frowned and scrunched her forehead as if trying to recall something. “Drea!” she exclaimed after a moment.
Andy chuckled to herself, not bothering to correct her. “Is Blake here?” she asked, wondering when she’d be invited in and suddenly worried that maybe she hadn’t been already because he wasn’t there.
“Of course he is. Where are my manners? Come on in.” She stepped aside to let Andy in past her, holding the door open even after she was inside. “Is he expecting you?”
Andy tensed, fearing she was going to be kicked out without a definite invitation. “Sort of. I told him I had some things to drop off for him and he said anytime today would be fine.” She bit her lip. “Is that a problem?”
“No, not at all. He’s upstairs in his playroom.”
Playroom? Before Andy’s mind traveled too far into thoughts of red rooms filled with sex toys, she clarified. “In his office, you mean?”
“Yes. In his office.” With her hand still on the open door, Ellen said, “I’m sorry I seem rushed. I’m just on my way out. Date night with the Mister. Would you mind telling Mr. Donovan that dinner’s in the warmer whenever he’s ready?”
“Will do.” It occurred to Andy that Ellen probably always prepared Blake’s meals. “Ellen, before you go—how long have you worked for Mr. Donovan?”
“Oh, gosh.” She sighed with the thought. “Since he was just starting out with his business. Years. The man knows nothing about cooking himself. I’ve told him he needs to get himself a good wife before I retire. I planned to stay on until he married, but if he keeps dragging his feet I may have to help him find a replacement.”
“Interesting.” Blake’s requirements for a wife who knew how to cook and clean made more sense now. He thought he was being practical—replacing his housekeeper with a bride. Silly and old-fashioned, perhaps, but somewhat understandable.
With a smile she said, “Have a good date night, Ellen.”
“You as well, Drea.”
“Oh, I’m not…” Andy let her words trail off. She wasn’t there for a date, but it felt nice pretending she was. Anyway, the housekeeper was already halfway down the driveway headed to her car parked at the curb, so no use explaining otherwise.
Andy headed up the broad staircase to Blake’s office. The doors were open at the end of the hall so she went on in. Only Blake wasn’t there. With a frown she set the files she’d brought on his desk and considered what to do next.
Then she heard some strange noises coming from behind Blake’s desk. Or from the half-open door behind the desk, rather. She’d wondered about that room before, suspecting it was a safe or safe room, but her questions about it had been blown off. Now she couldn’t stop herself from looking. It was open, after all. And she did need to find Blake.
Cautiously, she paused at the open crack and called in. “Blake?” She didn’t want to surprise him in the middle of counting his money or reviewing security tape or something worse. Like, what if it was a private bathroom?
When she had no answer, she pulled the door open. “Blake, are you in here?”
Blake was in there all right. But it was what else was in the room that made her gasp in surprise. “Oh, my God!”
Blake’s head shot up at her exclamation. “Andrea!”
All trepidation lost, Andy walked the rest of the way into the room and took in her surroundings in awe. “This is … this is your playroom?”
“Um.”
Her eyes stopped their exploration and landed on his fretful expression. “It is!” Again she scanned the room. Pinball machines lined all the walls. Twenty-three in total, all of them lit up and chiming with classic pinball sounds meant to lure bystanders into playing. There were many she recognized—Attack from Mars, The Simpsons, the Star Trek Next Generation game she’d beaten in high school. There was even a vintage Captain Fantastic that must have been made in the 1940s.
