It took all her might to refrain from rolling her eyes. “I don’t date clients.”
“I haven’t signed anything, so I’m not your client.”
Nor would he be. She barely kept her head above water financially, but she had her standards. She didn’t need the man’s business that badly. Even if he was the most enticing piece of eye candy she’d ever met.
Shelby gathered her things and stood. When he stood as well, she held out her hand. “I’m sorry my little online service isn’t what you’re looking for. I wish you well, Mr. Caldwell. Goodbye.”
He took her hand but didn’t shake it. Instead, he gently held it as he gazed deeply into her eyes. Something in his expression changed from impudence to . . . respect? It sent an odd flutter to her stomach.
His mouth tilted into a slow grin. “No, I think you’re just what I’m looking for, Shelby Marx. I’ll fill out the questionnaire on your website tonight, and I’ll even pay for the full package. It might be fun to hear your gravelly, sexy voice whispering in my ear.” He gave her hand a soft squeeze, then turned to leave.
Shelby stared at his broad back draped in fine Italian silk as he shoved open the double glass doors and slapped on a pair of designer sunglasses. Why did a good-looking guy like him need her help?
What was he up to?
***
Nick started his Porsche and slipped out of his parking space. He could sense that Shelby had suspected his intentions weren’t on the up-and-up, but he hadn’t lied to her. He hadn’t told a lie since his father walked out on their family, because of him, twenty years ago. Being in business, he’d learned to hold his cards to his chest, withhold certain facts, but to always tell the truth when asked a direct question. Doing otherwise could ruin people’s lives. Like his mother’s.
He’d filled out his real information on Shelby’s interview sheet, so his charade wouldn’t last forever, but spying on her might turn out to be the most fun he’d had in a long while.
Shelby’s image tugged a smile from his lips as he merged into traffic. A sexy blonde pixie with a surprisingly deep, smoky voice, a pert nose, and the prettiest green eyes he’d ever seen. Even better, the woman had a backbone of steel. He admired that. She was half his size and yet didn’t put up with any of the crap he’d thrown out to test her. She’d passed with flying colors.
Shelby Marx, of the obscenely wealthy Marx clan who’d amassed their fortune in Denver real estate, was one interesting woman. It didn’t hurt that he’d enjoyed her company more than he’d had any other woman’s in a very long time.
After asking one of Shelby’s cousins about her and perusing the Net, he’d learned her aunt and uncle had raised her. No one seemed to know what happened to her parents. Or, no one was talking. Strange that a wealthy heiress like Shelby’s mother could simply vanish off the face of the earth. Probably a lot more to that story, and it made Shelby an even greater mystery. One he’d enjoy solving.
He pulled into the underground parking lot at his office building and glided into his assigned spot. Now he just had to figure out what it was that made Shelby’s business so successful. Shelby was his sister Lori’s biggest competitor. He’d find out Shelby’s business secrets the legal way, by becoming her client, and then make sure his sister’s business became just as successful. Lori, recently widowed and too stubborn to ask for help, ran her online matchmaking service with her heart—the business part wasn’t her priority, but it needed to be.
He’d promised his grandmother the night she died that he’d help Lori’s business thrive, thereby keeping the long line of matchmakers on their mother’s side of the family alive. Grams said Lori’s daughter, his niece, Emily, had the “gift” too, so it was his job to be sure there was a business to pass down. How Grams could tell that a six-year-old had the “gift” seemed a little nuts, but a promise was a promise, so he’d keep it. And what his sister didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, so he’d had to resort to fixing her business behind her back.
Fixing things is what he did best.
As he exited his car and headed for the tenth floor, a familiar Disney ringtone sounded from his suit coat. He reached for his cell and answered with “Hello, your highness.”
Emily, who had recently declared she’d planned to be a princess when she grew up, giggled. “Hi, Uncle Nick. Mommy said to remind you how hard it is for single mommies to be in two places at the same time before I ask you something.”
“Put your mother, the blackmailer, on the phone, Em.”