Finally, she turns the phone around and I see myself looking happy and carefree from a night we went out a year or so ago. That was a good hair day and my blonde hair fell just past my shoulders in waves. My blue-green eyes looked bright and there’s no denying that the red dress showed off my curves and long legs. When I was little, my brother used to tease me and call me Daddy Long Legs. They’re still too long, but luckily that’s a good thing.
Laurel starts tapping and swiping. “I’m going to run it through a filter and then we’re good to go. Now, what do you want to say about yourself?”
I shrug. This is really turning into a production and, honestly, I probably won’t even follow through with it. But, I told Laurel I’d do it, so what the hell. Time to be witty, charming and write a swipe-bait worthy profile. “Hold on. Gimme a sec.”
I start jotting some things down and, after a few minutes, I look up, eyes sparkling. “Okay, here’s what I have: With me, it’s the little things that make me happy. Strong, black coffee from the cafe by my place. A bouquet of daisies from the farmer’s market. Binge-watching my favorite show and that includes anything that involves organizing. I’m kind of a neat freak. My guilty pleasures are mint chocolate chip ice cream and pizza. My friends would say I’m fun, passionate, a bit of a loner and horribly addicted to ketchup. I put it on everything and I’m not even kidding. If you’re nice, maybe we can share some fries. As long as they’re drowning in ketchup.”
Laurel bursts out laughing and claps. “Perfect,” she says. “Okay, I’m uploading your picture and send me that so I can add it to your page.”
I forward the bio and take another sip of wine. A minute later, she throws me a triumphant smile. “Congratulations, Leigh. You’re now active on PerfectMatch.com.”
“Oh, great,” I say and down the rest of the wine in my glass. Nevertheless, I pull up the newly-installed app and check it out. “Um, Laurel,” I say and make a face. “This looks nothing like me!”
“What are you talking about?” She leans over and checks out my picture.
Modesty aside, I admit I’ve been blessed with good genes. My hair is thick, naturally streaked with highlights and lowlights, my brows are darker for a nice contrast, my eyes are a changeable shade of bluish-green like the sea and I’m 5’7’’ with some decent curves and legs for days.
But, I am not drop-dead, supermodel gorgeous like the picture I’m looking at right now. If Laurel had CGI’d a pair of huge wings and lacey lingerie on me, I would be that stunning Victoria’s Secret model. “You made me look ridiculously...beautiful,” I say and scoff.
“All I did was run your picture through a filter to enhance what’s already there. You are beautiful, silly.”
“This doesn’t even look like me,” I argue.
“Sure it does.”
“No, really, Laurel, it doesn’t.”
“Who even cares? No one looks exactly like their picture. Trust me, you’re going to get a ton of messages.”
I cringe. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
“Oh!” she says. “My dad has a friend over at some company and they said to have you send your resume over.”
“Are you serious?” This is amazing news. Especially since I have a stack of overdue bills on the table that I’ve been avoiding. “What’s the company?”
She thinks for a moment. “Um, Car and Company? Something like that?”
I grab my laptop and type Car and Company into the search engine. “I don’t see anything. They’re here in San Francisco?”
“Yeah. I can text my dad and ask.” She begins typing and I keep searching. Then, “Carson Industries,” she announces.
I waste no time entering the name Carson Industries and, in seconds, thousands of pages pop up. “Looks like they do M&A’s.”
“Huh?”
“Mergers and acquisitions,” I clarify. At least I can say I learned something after four years as a business major at San Francisco State University. Well-worth the $30,000 in student loans I owe, right? Go, Gators.
“Sounds exciting.” Her tone couldn’t be any more sarcastic.
“It’s business-related. It’s a paycheck.” I jump up, imagining all of my debt disappearing. “I’m going to send my resume over right now.”
Laurel laughs and googles Carson Industries. She scrolls for about twenty seconds before I hear her swift intake of breath. “Holy shit,” she swears, dark eyes wide.
“What?”
“Did you see the owner?” She enlarges a photo and turns it so I can see.
My heart gives a little kick as I look at the CEO, Drew Carson. He has black hair, dark blue eyes and a chiseled jaw that would leave any woman breathless. “He’s...attractive.”
Laurel lets out a half-laugh, half-snort. “That’s an understatement. Good lord, Ash, he’s like ten times hotter than Chris Hemsworth in Thor!”
Laurel judges every man against Chris Hemsworth, her Hollywood crush. But, I’d never heard her describe a man as ten times hotter. “I don’t know. He’s good-looking, obviously, but he probably knows it. I mean, just look at that smirk,” I say and point at his picture. “He oozes arrogance. And, he is definitely older. Late 30s maybe?”
In a minute, Laurel pulls up his bio. “He’s 45 and a self-made billionaire.” She clarifies that last part in case I didn’t hear her the first time. “Not just some lousy, second-rate millionaire. I’m talking Billionaire with a capital B.”
I blink and bite my lip. Way too intimidating. I hope to God that if they call me in for an interview, it will not be with him. I’d shit twice and die.
“Wow, this man sounds like a real shark. He has a ruthless reputation. In business and with the ladies,” she says with a wicked smirk. “You know the socialite, Tabitha Banks? They were married, but it looks like that’s over. I bet she took him for half.” She checks out article after article. “Damn, the dude’s dated everybody. Look! Remember that song we used to love by that pop star, Sabrina? He dated her.”
I roll my eyes. “Good for him,” I say. I could care less about the man’s dating history and slew of conquests. “I’m sure he’s wildly happy with his billions of dollars and endless women. But, all I want is a job.”
“Well, let’s hope Big Daddy gives you one. And, FYI, if you start working there, I’m coming to visit. Like every day,” she says.
“You’re crazy!” I can’t help but laugh.
The idea of interacting daily with a man who makes Brad Pitt look homely makes me a little uneasy. But, then again, maybe he used the same filter that Laurel used on me, I think, and can’t help but smile.
No one looks like their picture.
I have to remember that.
Chapter Four
Drew
Who the fuck took this picture? And how did I not notice?
I shake my head and shut my laptop. I can’t look at the gossip site with the image of me and James Douglas throwing punches and wrestling around on the ground like a couple of drunken frat boys in front of the Pacific Club any longer. And, thanks to him, I have quite a nice bruise on my lower jaw. Maybe if I don’t shave, the scruff will help hide it.