Match Me If You Can (Chicago Stars #6)(25)

“Then why are you still trying to talk me into seeing Melanie again?”

“Hunger makes me weird.”

“You got rid of the last one in fourteen minutes. Well done. I’m rewarding you by letting you sit in on all the introductions from now on.”

She nearly choked on an ice cube. “What are you talking about?”

“Exactly what I said.”

“By all, you don’t mean—”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He drew out a big gold money clip stuffed with bills, tossed a few on the table, and pulled her from her chair. “Let’s get you fed.”

“But—I’m not—I won’t—” She sputtered her way across the bar, trying to tell him that she had no intention of hanging around with Powers’s candidates and that he’d obviously lost what was left of his mind, but he ignored her to greet the owner, a wiry terrier of a man. They conversed in Italian, which surprised her, although why anything about Heath should surprise her at this point, she had no idea.

They’d barely been seated in the dining room’s prime booth before the waiter took their drink orders and Mama greeted Heath with a breadbasket and antipasto platter. More Italian flew. Annabelle couldn’t resist the yeasty smell of the warm bread, so she tore off a chunk and dredged it through a rosemary-flavored puddle of olive oil.

Like the bar, the dining room had roughly plastered gold walls and heavy purple moldings, but the lighting was brighter here, showcasing the salmon tablecloths and grape-colored napkins. Small earthenware pots at each table held simple arrangements of country flowers and herbs. The restaurant had a homey, comfortable feel, yet still projected an air of elegance.

Heath knew more about wine that she did, and he ordered a cabernet for her, but he drank Sam Adams himself. The antipasto platter overflowed with meats, stuffed mushrooms, sprigs of fried sage, and matchstick skewers of pecorino cheese and plump red cherries. “Eat first,” he said. “Then we’ll talk.”

She was more than happy to comply, and he didn’t bother her until the entrées appeared—pale islands of sea scallops floating in a choppy sea of porcini and cremini mushrooms for her, pasta drenched in a spicy pomodoro sauce chunky with sausage and goat cheese for him.

He took a few bites, sipped his beer, then turned the same razor-sharp focus on her he’d directed at his dates all evening. “I want you around for all the introductions from now on, doing exactly what you did tonight.”

“If you ruin the best meal I’ve eaten in forever, I’ll never forgive you.”

“You’re intuitive, and you kept the conversations going. Despite your opinion about Melanie, you seem to know what’s working for me and what’s not. I’d be stupid not to make use of that, and I’m definitely not stupid.”

She loaded up her fork with a scoop of golden, garlicky polenta. “Remind me how it’s to my advantage to help Portia Powers make this match because I’ve forgotten that part.”

He picked up his knife. “We’re cutting a new deal.” With one efficient motion, he split a chunk of sausage in half. “That ten thousand dollars you wanted to charge me was nothing more than a fishing expedition, and we both know it.”

“It wasn’t a—”

“I paid you five thousand instead and promised the balance only if you made the match. As it turns out, this is your lucky day because I’ve decided to write you the full check, whether the match comes from you or from Portia. As long as I have a wife and you’ve been part of the process, you’ll get your money.” He toasted her with his beer mug. “Congratulations.”

She put down her fork. “Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s efficient.”

“Not as efficient as having Powers handle her own introductions. You’re paying her a fortune to do exactly that.”

“I’d rather have you.”

Her pulse kicked. “Why?”

He gave her the melty smile he must have been practicing since the cradle, one that made her feel as though she was the only woman in the world. “Because you’re easier to bully. Do we have a deal or not?”

“You don’t want a matchmaker. You want a lackey.”

“Semantics. My hours are erratic, and my schedule changes without warning. It’ll be your job to cope with all that. You’ll soothe ruffled feathers when I need to cancel at the last minute. You’ll keep my dates company when I’m going to be late, entertain them if I have to take a call. If things are going well, you’ll disappear. If not, you’ll make the woman disappear. I told you before. I work hard at my job. I don’t want to have to work hard at this, too.”

“Basically, you expect me to find your bride, court her, and hand her over at the altar. Or do I have to come on the honeymoon, too?”

“Definitely not.” He gave her a lazy smile. “I can take care of that all by myself.”

Something sizzled in the air between them, something that felt heady and seductive, at least in her sex-starved imagination. She took a sip of water and absorbed the dismaying realization that she was attracted to him, even though she wanted to hit him in the head with that beer bottle. Well, so what? He was a natural charmer, and she was only human. This wouldn’t be a problem unless she let it be.