Perfect Match Read online

  Jacob hung his head a moment and then smiled at her. “Perhaps if you say that enough times I’ll start to believe you.”

  “Good, because I won’t stop.”

  “So I still don’t have a chance?”

  “I’m going now.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Because you already know my answer, and it’s not going to change. Thanks for the flowers.”

  “I’d give you a whole lot more if you’d let me.”

  “Goodbye, Jacob,” Hannah said and then closed the door. She set the bouquet on the side table in the foyer and then collapsed on her couch. It had been a hectic day, and she didn’t want to end it thinking about how her life may have been different if she’d married Jacob as everyone had expected her to.

  She would have lived a life of privilege. Jacob Omole’s family was very politically connected in Nigeria and enjoyed state dinners and mingling with the upper crust of society both in Nigeria and among the diplomatic core in Raleigh and D.C., where his parents frequently visited. She’d started dating him in high school. Their families were close. Marriage seemed inevitable to everyone but her. When she’d completed her undergraduate degree she had opted to study abroad in Tanzania, where she worked in a microloan office helping provide needed counseling to women hoping to start a business. Upon returning to the United States she worked as a paralegal for a legal aid program in a poor town in Georgia, where she saw the law work to impact lives. She had had an opportunity to see a bigger world and had larger dreams for her life than the one others had prescribed for her. She chose to follow her heart. Now she just wished she didn’t feel so guilty because of it.

  Hannah put her phone away, also dismissing the memories of Jacob. She then stumbled over to a park bench and sank into it, feeling as if she was being crushed by the weight of the world. Pain, raw and primitive in its intensity, spread through her, overwhelming her until her throat felt dry and her eyes were blinded by tears. She covered her face and sobbed.

  “Hey! I didn’t expect to see you here,” an exuberant deep voice said from above her.

  Her head snapped up and she saw a large, blurry dark figure. She quickly wiped her tears away so she could see him better. The light behind him put him in shadow. She squinted up at him. “I’m sorry?”

  “It’s good to see you again.” He took a seat beside her.

  As she brought his face into focus, she realized it was very good to see him, as well. She found herself staring into the caring brown eyes of a handsome man: the man of her dreams.

  Chapter 2

  He smiled. “How have you been?”

  Hannah frowned, wondering why this stranger was smiling so warmly at her. “I’m afraid you’ve got me confused with someone else,” she said, hating to admit it but needing to be honest.

  He shook his head. “Impossible. I never forget a pretty face.”

  Hannah’s frown deepened. She was certain she didn’t look pretty now with her eyes and nose red from crying. Was he crazy? He didn’t look it. He wore a casual pair of khakis, a dark red polo shirt and a gray wool coat draped over one shoulder.

  Hannah held up her hand. “How many fingers do you see?”

  “Five.”

  “Strange. I thought you were blind.”

  Instead of being offended, the man only smiled more broadly. “A rose with a little dew on its petals doesn’t make it any less beautiful.”

  “You’re a poet?”

  The man studied her for a moment. “Are you sure you don’t remember me?” he asked, sounding disappointed.

  “Yes,” she said. “I doubt you’re the kind of man anyone would forget.” She wasn’t flattering him. It was a certifiable fact. He was definitely the type of man people noticed. The type who walked into a room and commanded attention. Not because he was the tallest, although he was tall with broad shoulders that exhibited a sleek, taut strength; or the most handsome, although he was that, too. He had a square jaw, dazzlingly brown eyes, warm mocha-brown skin and a bright smile. He had charisma. The kind that exuded from politicians, con men, magicians and playboys. But strangely he didn’t seem to be any of those. His interest appeared sincere and genuine, and Hannah found herself falling under his spell even though she didn’t want to.

  He snapped his fingers. “I know what would jog your memory.” He glanced up and saw an ice cream cart. He nodded toward it. “Let me treat you to something sweet.” He stood and took her hand, giving her no chance to protest. “Come on.”

  “But—” Hannah began in a weak voice, shocked not just by his action but also by how comfortable her hand felt in his.

  He stopped in front of the vendor and took out his wallet. “Order whatever you want.”

  She wouldn’t say no to free ice cream, even if the man had confused her for someone else. Hannah ordered an ice cream sandwich and he ordered a cone.

  His cell phone rang. He glanced at the number.

  “You should get that.”

  “No, it’s okay,” he said, handing her the sandwich.

  “I don’t want to keep you.”

  “You’re not. Isn’t it a great day?” he said, leaving the vendor a generous tip and walking in the opposite direction.

  Hannah fell in line with him. “For some.”

  “Who’s pissing on your parade?”

  She laughed. “My sister.”

  “Older, right?”

  Hannah blinked, surprised. “Yes.”

  He frowned. “That’s hard. Any way to get around her?”

  “She blames me for everything. My parents might lose their house, and the stress of it put my father in the hospital.” Tears welled in her eyes. She sniffed and quickly blinked them away. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, since I don’t know you.” However, even as she said the words they no longer seemed true. She felt as if she’d known him her whole life. There was an affinity. She trusted him and it felt good to talk to him, to be with him. Suddenly, she was happy that the sun was shining and she could hear the laughter of children in the distance. She noticed the bright white of the spatter of clouds as they slowly drifted across a blue sky that showed no threat of rain.

  His phone rang again and he absently turned off its ringer and put it on vibrate.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, eager to learn more about him.

  “Take a guess.”

  Hannah stroked her chin as if in deep thought. “I know.”

  “What?”

  “Rumpelstiltskin.”

  He laughed. “That’s right. People rarely guess that on the first try.”

  “Right now I could really use a man who could spin straw into gold,” she said, feeling her good mood fading.

  The man playfully nudged her with his elbow. “I’m a man of many talents. What do you need?”

  “Not me. My parents.” Soon she was telling him all about her parents’ housing trouble.

  “Did you get a second opinion?”

  “No.”

  He wrote down a number. “Call this guy. He’s trustworthy. He might be able to give you a lower estimate.”

  “Thanks. Whom should I say referred him?”

  He winked. “Rumpelstiltskin. Call me Rum for short.”

  Hannah shook her head. “You’re impossible.” She paused. “Wait. What do you think my name is?”

  He hesitated and then suddenly looked sheepish. “I don’t remember your name, just your face.”

  Hannah laughed. “Perhaps I have a twin somewhere.” She glanced down at his hand. “Your ice cream is melting.”

  He looked down and saw the vanilla ice cream leaking from the bottom of his cone onto his hand. He sucked the bottom of the cone until all the ice cream was finished. “There, that’s better.”


  “There’s still ice cream on your hand.”

  “I don’t have any napkins.”

  “Just lick it off.”

  “Sure.” He raised a sly brow. “Want to help me?”

  Definitely. She felt her face grow warm. She could imagine licking, sucking, teasing and anything else he asked of her. She bet he tasted sweet, too. She remembered watching the sight of his pink tongue against the chocolate-covered vanilla cone, and just for one wild moment she imagined that chocolate was her skin melting under the warm assault of his tongue. She brushed the thought aside, the day suddenly feeling hotter than it really was. “I still don’t know your real name.”

  “You’ll remember it soon.”

  “Even though you don’t remember mine?” she countered.

  “At least I remember your face. Your name will come back to me eventually. Of course, you could give me a hint.”

  Hannah shook her head. “You first. Where did we meet?”

  His phone buzzed insistently, as if the caller demanded a response.

  “Saved by the bell,” she teased, and then she saw an expression of frustration and guilt cross his face. “You really should answer that,” Hannah said, seeing his jaw twitch in annoyance. “I’m fine now...really. Thanks for everything.”

  He glanced at the number and then put the phone away. “I didn’t do anything.” He lifted her chin with his forefinger. “Keep your chin up.” He smiled and then started to walk away.

  “Wait. At least tell me your name. What is it?”

  He bent down and plucked a buttercup and handed it to her. “You already know it. Just say my name four times and I’ll come.”

  “That’s not how the story goes.”

  “That’s how our story will.” His mouth spread into a smile that was as intimate as a kiss, and then he turned and walked away.

  Hannah watched him go, holding the flower close to her chest, wishing she could hold on to him instead.

  * * *

  “And you didn’t get his name?” Hannah’s assistant, Bonnie Li, said in disbelief. They sat in Hannah’s new office, which was still not completely furnished but serviceable. At least the front receptionist’s area looked impressive. She’d had a stroke of luck because one of the tenants in the building where their office was located had just been evicted. They had left behind several pieces of furniture and lamps, which she and Bonnie had eagerly snatched.

  The two women had met in college and become fast friends. Like Hannah, Bonnie hadn’t lived up to her parents’ expectations, either. Small and lithe, she’d trained to be a dancer until a torn ligament ended that dream. Bonnie had a mind to go into sports medicine, which was a profession frowned upon in her Chinese family of three doctors and two university professors. But she’d jumped on board with Hannah despite the low pay, discovering a love for organization and helping people. She looked young for her age of thirty, but she dressed up to appear older. After reading several books on how to make over oneself, she had cut her waist-length black hair short and colored it a striking reddish-brown. She had lovely almond-shaped brown eyes and an attractive slender figure. But there was nothing delicate about her—she liked dirty jokes and the occasional Jack Daniel’s. Bonnie pointed at her friend. “What is wrong with you?”

  Hannah threw up her hands, helpless. “At first I thought he was crazy. I mean, I looked a mess and he was going on as if he was so happy to see me.”

  “Tell me how good-looking he was again.”

  “I’ve already told you twice.”

  “Tell me again.”

  “No, there’s no point. I’ll probably never see him again.”

  “Maybe he’ll call you.”

  “He couldn’t remember my name, either.”

  “Maybe he was teasing you.”

  “Perhaps,” Hannah said, doubtful. “But he definitely made my day brighter, especially after my call from Abigail.”

  Bonnie feigned a shiver of fear. “So, how is the queen of horror?”

  Hannah laughed at her friend’s description. “She’s not that bad.”

  “No, she’s worse. In a horror film she’d be the monster.”

  “Well, right now she’s preparing to be homeless.”

  “And it’s all your fault,” Bonnie said, mimicking Abigail’s tone.

  Hannah nodded, her spirit dimming. “Yes.”

  “Does she have a reason to really worry this time?”

  Hannah sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. It’s really looking bad, but I have another option I’m going to try. The guy I met in the park gave me the phone number for another contractor to try. Maybe he can give us a lower estimate.”

  “It’s a start. I hope you get to see him again,” Bonnie said, returning to what she was doing.

  “Me, too,” Hannah said in a soft tone.

  * * *

  “Where have you been?” Hector Ramirez demanded when Amal stepped into his office. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  Amal walked past him. “I was busy.”

  Hector followed him and then paused and studied him with a knowing look. “You met a woman, didn’t you?”

  Amal shook his head and sat. “It wasn’t like that.” Hector was a man of thirty-seven with dark eyes and prematurely gray hair that gave him a distinguished look despite his boyish features. Amal liked him, trusted him and rarely kept anything from him. But this time was different.

  “I knew it would be a woman.”

  Amal didn’t care what he thought. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss it with him. Hector was his trusted friend, but somehow the meeting in the park was something Amal wanted to keep to himself. There was something special about it. He just wasn’t sure what yet.

  “What line did you use with her?” Hector asked with a smug grin. “How pretty is she? Wait, don’t answer—with you they’re always gorgeous. Was she a model? An actress? A nurse?”

  “No.”

  “Did you just get her name and phone number, or did you get her address, too?”

  “What did you want to tell me?”

  Hector paused, flabbergasted that his questions had been ignored. That wasn’t typical of Amal. “What? You’re not going to tell me about your latest conquest?”

  Amal sat back in his chair, keeping his expression neutral. “I told you it wasn’t like that.” He held up his hand before Hector could speak. “What’s the news?”

  Hector sighed. “You’re serious? You’re not going to tell me anything about this woman?”

  Amal slowly blinked and waited.

  Hector loosened his tie. Amal was a fun and easygoing guy when he wanted to be, but he could also be a hard SOB when the mood struck him—such as at this moment. He sat and bounced his leg up and down, trying to control his pent-up anxiety and gather the courage to tell him what he knew Amal didn’t want to hear. “It’s bad.”

  Amal blinked again, his gaze narrowing slightly.

  Hector cleared his throat. His tie was loose, but it still felt as though it threatened to strangle him. “The thing is I—”

  “Just tell it to me straight,” Amal said, his tone too quiet to be natural.

  “The Brenton Law Firm said no.”

  “I see.”

  Hector stared at him for a long moment. “That’s it? ‘I see’? What’s wrong with you? It’s not like you to be this calm. Are you still thinking about that woman? At least tell me her name in case she calls.”

  “She’s not going to call. Who else is there we can hire?”

  “No one.”

  Amal began to tap a beat on his desk, holding on to his temper. “What do you mean ‘no one’?” He wasn’t going to let them win. He couldn’t. The Walkers wanted to take away everything he’d built with Jade Walker, his former girlfriend. Th
eir business, The Eye of Jade, an art import/export business, had been a success, but unfortunately their relationship had not. He hadn’t realized how unstable she was in the beginning. He’d taken her mood swings as part of her vibrant personality and quick mind, although soon her addiction to painkillers following a series of surgeries for a back injury she’d suffered while skiing got out of control. He’d stood by her as she tried rehab after rehab, but nothing helped.

  Finally, he had to break free, but it had been hard to leave her. Amal remembered the day they met. He had attended a local fund-raiser for the Raleigh Philharmonic Orchestra’s mentoring program that provided musical scholarships to underserved youth in North Carolina. As part of his philanthropic work, Amal donated to several causes and was used to attending these types of functions. On this particular afternoon, he was struck by the striking woman who caught his eye. Now she was dead from an overdose, sixteen months after their breakup. He’d read about it in the papers. It was ruled a suicide, and the Walkers blamed him and wanted him to pay for their loss. But he wasn’t going to let them steal away their business. They claimed that the collection of art found in Jade’s private storage unit was hers and did not belong to the business. Unfortunately, the last shipment of art she had purchased abroad had been sent to her private storage instead of the company’s warehouse, where they usually stored items. This arrangement had been an exception to their normal protocol because Jade had wanted to have pictures taken of the items prior to having them shipped off to the gallery where they were to be displayed.

  Unfortunately for Amal, nothing had been put in writing to explain this arrangement, and the Walkers had taken legal action banning him from taking what he believed was his. The gallery owner in New Mexico, where the show was to be held, and the artist, an up-and-coming sculptor, were both threatening to sue. He needed to go to court to refute the Walkers’ claim if he didn’t want to lose everything.

  Hector shifted, uneasy with Amal’s silence. “We’ve gone through twenty law firms and no one will take your case.”

  Amal started tapping two fingers. “Someone will. Keep digging.”

  “You want someone ethical, right?”