“Mildred, darlin’,” he drawled, letting a hurt look cross his face. “Can’t you give me the benefit of the doubt? Have you ever thought that maybe I’ve just been searching for the right woman?”
She eyed him skeptically. “My foot.” Putting her right leg out, she shook it. “Here, pull the other leg.”
“Won’t you please tell me more about her?” He leaned closer and used the wheedling smile, which never failed to bring a blush to the old tartar’s cheeks.
“I love that child like she was one of my own. If you cause her so much as a single tear, you’ll answer to me,” she said sternly.
He let his face grow solemn and held his right hand in the air, three fingers raised as he promised, “Scout’s Honor. I mean no harm.”
Mildred’s face softened as she relented. “Rachel doesn’t have any family left, you know, unless you count Genie, the little redhead you just met. Her parents had her late in life and died shortly after she finished college. She has a heart the size of Texas, but the social ability of a skunk. Not that she has body odor—she simply doesn’t have a clue how to attract a man. Sometimes, I don’t think she even notices y’all even exist. Bless her heart. She’s one tough cookie in the boardroom, but I’d lay odds she doesn’t have a life in the bedroom.”
Jesse’s eyebrows rose in mild shock at her blunt response, then he chuckled. These were not the words he would have expected out of his mother’s dear old friend, but they were the words he wanted to hear.
So, Rachel was unattached...for now. He perched on the edge of Mildred’s desk and raised his hand to his chin, rubbing the stubble, which always began to show about this time of the day. Thoughtfully, he considered why he was still cooling his heels in the office of a woman who’d sooner kiss a horse as give him the time of day. She was prickly, but he felt drawn to her—and it wasn’t just the sway of her classy little behind. In fact, he doubted seriously that she was even aware of her physical appeal. He sure would love to be the man to show her just how sexy she was.
“Mildred, what kind of man do you think would appeal to her?”
She gave another of her signature snorts. “I haven’t a clue. That woman takes life much too seriously. But I suppose she’d want someone...safe...someone she could pencil into her planner. You know, someone reliable. Although what she really needs is someone who can show her how to let loose.”
As he pondered that thought, he heard the sound of Rachel’s door opening softly and straightened. It was Genie returning.
“She’s still on the phone with a client.” She wrinkled her nose, “I’d much rather wait with a gorgeous model than listen to a one-sided conversation about market penetration for spray disinfectants. Blah.”
“So, where do women go man-hunting these days?” Jesse asked with the smile his mother told him could charm the snakes out of the trees.
“I usually hang out at the fitness center, but tonight, Rachel and I are going to O’Malley’s Bar and Grill.”
“You’re going to pick up men at a bar? Isn’t that kind of risky?”
“No, not really.” She glanced back towards Rachel’s closed door, before eyeing him speculatively, her voice dropping to a whisper, “You see, Rachel advertised for a man. Tonight, she’ll be interviewing the ones who responded.”
“What do you mean by advertised?” he asked mildly shocked.
“You know, like putting an ad in the singles column of the newspaper.”
Jesse shook his head. “I can’t see Rachel doing that. She’s a beautiful woman. Why would she need to advertise? I’d think she would have to beat them off with a stick.”
Mildred snorted, again. Jesse glared at her. She hadn’t heard his whispers earlier, but her ears seemed to be working just fine now.
“Rachel doesn’t have time to do things the normal way,” Genie explained. “She works twenty-four/seven.”
“I see your point.” Jesse rose from the edge of the desk.
Never one to question the whim of inspiration, he made a quick decision, ticking through a mental list of errands he still needed to finish. “I have some things to take care of. I’ll talk to you soon, Mildred. Say hello to Fred.” Dropping a peck on her check, he turned to glance at Genie. “It was nice to meet you. I hope to see you—soon.”
With that, he left.
3
“Rachel, you’re hopeless. You look like you’re going into a board room instead of on a date,” Genie said.
That afternoon, Rachel had spent a considerable amount of time choosing the outfit from her wardrobe, not wanting to appear too easy or too old. She’d thought she’d settled on just the right look for the evening’s purpose. She raised a questioning gaze to her friend in the glass above the sink in the ladies’ room of O’Malley’s Bar and Grill. “Genie, I’m conducting interviews. These are not dates.”
“Yeah, but these are prospective dates. You want to attract them, not intimidate the hell out of ’em.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you look so...stuffy. Remember, they’re interviewing you as well.”
“Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing?” Rachel asked, checking her appearance in the mirror. The cut of her navy jacket was a little severe, but tailored to conform to her shape, and the matching skirt was an inch or two shorter than she was normally comfortable wearing. The white silk blouse with the attached ascot, gathered at her neck, was a nice flamboyant touch. She raised her eyebrows in question to her friend once more.
Genie rolled her eyes. “What do guys look for in a woman? Skin. Cleavage. What are you wearing under that blouse?”
“A camisole. Why?”
“Take off the blouse. Hurry. We haven’t much time left.”
When Rachel resisted, Genie added, “Humor me. Take off the blouse.”
Rachel removed the jacket then the blouse.
Genie snatched the blouse away from her. “Now, put your jacket back on.”
Rachel complied.
Genie took a step back from her, her head to one side, her eyes narrowing. She stepped up to Rachel and unbuttoned the top two buttons of the jacket, spreading the lapels wider. “Mmmm...that’s better.”
Rachel stared at herself in the mirror. The lace of her camisole was visible between the lapels, and the broad expanse of her upper chest was bare. “I’m not going out there like this—I’m not dressed.”
“There’s no time to argue now. Get to your table, and I’ll get to mine,” Genie said, as she crammed the silk blouse into her oversized shoulder bag and headed to the door. Rachel dragged behind her, surreptitiously rebuttoning one of the buttons on her jacket.
Glancing around the bar, Rachel ensured the table she had chosen provided her the best vantage to observe customers as they entered. She had selected a booth against the wall, opposite the entryway. Genie would sit in the booth behind her once the interviews began. For now, Genie was being Genie, conducting a non-stop commentary effectively calming Rachel’s nerves. Her mind wandered back to the conversation.