THE DATING GAME Read online

  “Ms. Grant, I do not have to resort to an agency. I have many women friends, plenty of companionship and I don’t need my life enriched any further.” Especially since he’d been introduced into the modeling world through a business associate. The experience offered him a rich and varied selection of dates and, though enjoyable, his social life was complicated enough without tossing another load of strange women into the equation. Dating gorgeous women without commitment suited his busy lifestyle. But who knew what would be served up through a dating agency? He shuddered to think.

  “I’m sure you think you’re leading a fulfilled life,” said Fenella in a low, soothing voice. “But on your membership form you’ve stated you haven’t had any long term, stable relationships in almost two decades.”

  Fenella’s tone irritated James. It reminded him of his mother and his sister, or any woman, when they wished him to do something he really, really didn’t want to. Once upon a time it was employed to cajole him to eat his brussel sprouts—just one more, Jamie, because they’re really good for you. Or used when told to partner a friend of the family’s social pariah daughter to a debutant function so no one felt sorry for her. They’d never thought of his own tender teenage feelings. Those sort of reasonable, modulated, we-know-best-for-you tones gave him the heebie-jeebies. They were downright dangerous and he wasn’t going to be sucked in by them this time round.

  The Dating Game

  by

  Stephanie-Anne Street

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  The Dating Game

  COPYRIGHT Ó 2008 by Sarah Evans

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Angela Anderson

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Sweetheart Rose Edition, 2008

  Print ISBN 1-60154-376-X

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  My Family

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  Candid Camera, Irving Brecher

  Cats, composed by Andrew Lloyd Webber, lyrics by T.S. Eliot and Trevor Nunn

  Garfield, United Feature Syndicate

  Good King Wenceslas, Jacques Salzedo

  Jensen, Jensen Motors Ltd

  Lycra, Invista North America S.A.R.L. Corporation

  Swan Lake, Peter Ilytich Tchaikovsky

  Winnie The Pooh, Walt Disney Company

  Praise for Stephanie-Anne Street

  ,

  on Bachelor Bid

  "Stephanie-Anne Street

  writes a pure love story."

  (Tina of TwoLips Reviews)

  "Stephanie-Anne Street

  treats readers to a laugh out loud romping good time."

  (Chrissy Dionne of Romance Junkies)

  "This was a great read."

  (Viscara of The Long and the Short of It)

  "Fantastic, entertainingly sweet story! Bachelor Bid is great. Stephanie-Anne Street

  wrote a fantastic story, one I know romance lovers will enjoy."

  (Ley of Joyfully Reviewed)

  Chapter One

  The pealing of the phone pierced the darkened office as James McAllister unlocked the door. He sourly regarded the deserted fifth floor of McAllister Electronics, his breath making frozen clouds in the sub-zero temperature of the high-rise. He thumped down his briefcase and overnight bag and glanced at his watch, grimacing when he read the dial. Four o’clock in the afternoon, but his body told him it was the middle of the night.

  The sound of freezing sleet hitting the window reached his ears. Typical December weather. James rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. He was jetlagged and chilled to the core. All he wanted to do was go home to the peaceful sanctuary of his comfortable apartment. There it would be warm and silent and far from the madding pre-Christmas crowds that had made traveling so darn difficult. But however much he wanted to shut out the world under a scalding shower, ridding himself of travel grime and tiredness, it wasn’t an option. He had a date.

  He also had to answer the wretched phone, which still rang with strident persistence and aggravated his throbbing head with a vengeance.

  He hit the light switch. Nothing. Well, the lack of power didn’t affect the phone, more’s the pity. In the gloom, James made for the phone but tripped over an unsuspecting chair and hit his shin on its black metal leg. Sharp pain gave an added, instant dimension to the duller ache in his head and made James mutter a dark curse against the unknown caller causing all his grief. He hopped about, holding his smarting shin. The phone continued ringing. He snatched at the receiver but missed and knocked over the desk light, which caused a neat pile of papers to rustle to the carpet like a snowdrift of windswept flakes.

  James growled and finally grabbed the receiver. “Yes?” He rubbed his shin through the fine wool of his expensive tailored trousers. He wished he were a thousand miles away from this icy, unforgiving environment. Though he was proud of the success of his computer software company, there were times like these he could happily forgo its responsibilities. If he’d had a conventional nine-to-five job, he’d probably have been married by now and would be thinking of heading home to the cozy warmth of his family rather than standing here in the glacial dark and addressing a faceless, nameless client.

  “James McAllister?” The voice on the other end of the line was soft and melodic but James only lent it half an ear as he tried to straighten the mayhem on the desk in the minimal glow offered by the fire exit sign.

  “Speaking.” He righted the desk light and flipped its switch. That didn’t work either. Blanket power failure? Brilliant. He’d have been better off staying in New York. At least it hadn’t been snowing there.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. McAllister, I’m calling from Discreet Liaisons. I wanted to touch base with you, check a few details and request an up-to-date photo for our files.”

  “Discreet who?”

  “Liaisons.”

  “Never heard of you. You must have the wrong number.” Where was Valerie? She was employed to screen crank calls.

  “We’re a dating agency,” said the woman.

  She sounded young and detached which didn’t improve James’ temper. He didn’t have the patience for a sales pitch by someone too young and inexperienced to care about whatever she was promoting. In fact, he didn’t have the patience for a sales pitch, period. He wanted to go home and sleep.

  “Definitely a wrong number,” he clipped out, preparing to hang-up.

  “You have a year’s membership with us.”

  James hesitated. “Is this some sort of joke or selling scam?” he said, his voice wary. “I have no need to join a dating agency. I don’t have to pay to get dates.” What was she on? He’d had people try to sell him time-share apartments and insurance, but dates? He preferred to find his own, thank you very much. Just how did she think she was going to hook him? Offer him a special deal for two? Or maybe a group? Kinky. Perhaps he should find out for the devilment of it, though really he didn’t have time. He was going to the theatre and there were numerous things to do before he went out.

  “No need to sound so defensive, Mr. McAllister. There’s no shame in be
ing lonely and wanting to be pro-active about meeting women. A dating agency is a marvelous way of finding companionship. You meet lots of new people who can enrich your life.”

  Though usually an even-tempered person, the woman’s inane spiel about dating agencies irritated him. “Ms. Whoever-you-are…?”

  “Grant. Fenella Grant.”

  “Ms. Grant, I do not have to resort to an agency. I have many women friends, plenty of companionship and I don’t need my life enriched any further.” Especially since he’d been introduced into the modeling world through a business associate. The experience offered him a rich and varied selection of dates and, though enjoyable, his social life was complicated enough without tossing another load of strange women into the equation. Dating gorgeous women without commitment suited his busy lifestyle. But who knew what would be served up through a dating agency? He shuddered to think.

  “I’m sure you think you’re leading a fulfilled life,” said Fenella in a low, soothing voice. “But on your membership form you’ve stated you haven’t had any long term, stable relationships in almost two decades.”

  Fenella’s tone irritated James. It reminded him of his mother and his sister, or any woman, when they wished him to do something he really, really didn’t want to. Once upon a time it was employed to cajole him to eat his brussel sprouts—just one more, Jamie, because they’re really good for you. Or used when told to partner a friend of the family’s social pariah daughter to a debutant function so no one felt sorry for her. They’d never thought of his own tender teenage feelings. Those sort of reasonable, modulated, we-know-best-for-you tones gave him the heebie-jeebies. They were downright dangerous and he wasn’t going to be sucked in by them this time round.

  “What? Who told you? This is ridiculous! I haven’t filled in any membership forms. I’d never even heard of your sad little agency until two minutes ago.”

  She tripped on, ignoring him. “Lack of commitment can be due to low self-esteem.

  James swore and was about to break the connection when he thought he heard a giggle. Hah, so she thought this was funny did she?

  “Though of course,” continued Fenella. “Using that sort of language when talking to women explains why you’ve had to resort to using our agency.”

  “There is nothing wrong in the way I treat women. I’ve had no complaints so far.” James’ blood pressure rose. Ms. Grant was proving an exception to the rule. He wanted to throttle her!

  “Bombastic, boorish behavior doesn’t go down well in our enlightened and empowered feminist society,” said Fenella.

  The woman had to be kidding. James loosened his tie and shirt collar. His jetlag must be worse than he’d thought. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb and squeezed shut his scratchy, dry eyes. Perhaps he was hallucinating due to exhaustion? Women usually found him attractive. He was successful, personally wealthy, and generous to those he cared about. He’d never been accused of being bombastic and boorish.

  “One has to be sensitive to a woman’s needs if one wants to gain her respect,” Fenella carried on. “I tell you what, how about I book you into some self-improvement classes so you can work on your communication skills? You might then be able to form proper relationships.”

  “Enough!” James grappled to keep a lid on his temper by clenching his jaw and taking a long, slow breath. He didn’t want to give Ms. Grant the satisfaction of a bout of bombastic, boorish behavior. “You’ve gone too far. I’m perfectly able to communicate with any normal, reasonable person.”

  “Really, these courses are extremely beneficial for those who suffer from short temper. They can be tremendous fun and liberate you from all that extra personal baggage you’ve been carting about for years which has prevented you from forming long lasting attachments.”

  “You speak from experience, I suppose,” said James, goaded by her patronizing tone. He was tempted to end the call, but he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of thinking she was right.

  “You’re being defensive again, Mr. McAllister.”

  “Let’s get this straight. I have not joined your agency. I want nothing to do with your pathetic little feel-good courses. And I don’t want to hear from you again. Clear?”

  “Okay.”

  She sounded too perky for James’ liking. What was going on? She should be back-pedaling by now.

  “I’ll concede that you didn’t pay for the membership.”

  “Good.”

  “But someone did, so you might as well take advantage of our services.”

  James knuckles whitened their hold on the receiver as he grappled with his temper. “Never,” he said shortly.

  “May I just check some facts?” Fen didn’t wait for his consent. She read out his birth date.

  James swore again. The woman just didn’t get it, did she? He wanted nothing to do with the agency.

  “There’s no need to be shy about your age. We have a big demand for the more mature man. And forty is—”

  James was sure her hesitation was a deliberate attempt to stifle her laughter.

  “—quite a prime age, really, you know, for some people.”

  “I have no problem with being forty,” he said with a snap that threatened to shatter his jawbone.

  “I’m so glad, Mr. McAllister. A lot of middle-aged men feel extremely sensitive about their passing years and forty is, let’s face it, such a significant landmark.”

  James heard the giggle again, and his temper flared hotter. He had better things to do than sit in a freezing, blacked-out office on a late Friday afternoon talking to this nutty woman. “Delete my name and details from your files and do not contact me again.”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late to cancel your first date. It’s already scheduled.”

  “That’s your problem. I’m not in the market for sex-starved singletons.”

  “Lucinda is thirty-six, divorced, with no children. She’s has her own travel agency in the city, and she’ll be contacting you very shortly.”

  “Ms. Grant!”

  “Your form states you can be the ultimate gentleman. I’m relying on you to live up to that statement. Even in these enlightened times, a woman needs courage to ask out a man. Lucinda is vulnerable. Be nice to her.”

  “Don’t bank on it!”

  “Oh, and Mr. McAllister. Happy birthday.”

  James heard the beginnings of a chuckle, followed by an abrupt click, terminating the call. He ran his hand through his hair. That woman was a menace. He glared at the phone. How had she got his name and number? Obviously someone who knew him well, which begged the question: which one of his family and friends had set him up? He was determined to find out as soon as possible. In the meantime, what was he doing about this date?

  ****

  Fen replaced the telephone receiver and burst out laughing. James McAllister hadn’t heard the last of her, not by any stretch of the imagination. His sister, Belle, who paid for the birthday membership, made it clear she wanted Fen to set him up with a good selection of women. She felt James needed lightening up. In Belle’s opinion, he was too serious, too hard working and had the dreadful habit of serial dating unsuitable women. Belle wanted to shake him up, maybe get him thinking of settling down and having a family with a nice, suitable girl.

  Fen typed Lucinda’s details into the computer and watched the information come up on the screen and giggled again. Lucinda was a lovely lady, but vulnerable she was not. Fen doubted if she knew the meaning of the word. When Lucinda had first signed up, she’d actually asked for an alphabetic listing of all the available men on Fen’s files. Lucinda was also a dab hand at asking out men. James McAllister may find that he was the vulnerable one when he came face to face with Lucinda Burton.

  Fen had lied about the scheduled date too. She hadn’t set up anything. Yet. But she would and straight away before commonsense kicked in. She e-mailed Lucinda James’ details, embellishing where appropriate, and then e-mailed Belle to say they were on
track.

  That done, she stared at her computer screen for a good five minutes, debating with herself. James McAllister piqued her interest. She remained detached from most of her clients, but he was something a little different. Correction, a lot different. He wasn’t the usual lonely male looking for a little loving company. If he and his sister were to be believed, he had an over-supply of girlfriends. More importantly, he’d made her laugh. Not something that happened much these days. So would it hurt to have a little look again at his records?

  Her hand hovered over the mouse. She shouldn’t really. Strictly no involvement with clients was Discreet Liaisons’ number one rule. But as she had written the rules herself, she was well within her rights to bend or break them. She could research anyone she liked, when she liked.

  Fen pulled up his file on the computer screen and scrolled down the information. On the face of it, the profile was impressive. But his sister must have exaggerated. No man could be this good. Belle had said he ran his own computer software business which involved overseas travel. He was also sporty, easy going and generous.

  Fen shook her head and grimaced. He hadn’t sounded terribly easy going on the phone. Downright grouchy in fact, what with all the growling and bluster.

  She read Belle’s physical description of her brother and took it with a healthy dollop of salt. He was apparently a shade under six feet, brown haired and gray eyed. The description was too generic. A photo would have been much nicer because then she could have studied it. Not because she was interested. Of course not. She didn’t want a relationship at all. But her curiosity had definitely been piqued.

  A few clicks and she closed down her computer, and then grimaced at the open curtains. Outside the night was pitch black and forbidding. Sleet pelted the window. Fen shivered. What a miserable Friday evening and not only because she had nothing to do tonight except lie on the floor and run through her exercises, vegetate in the armchair in front of the television and then bed, to hopefully sleep, if the pain allowed.