Page 24 of Match Me If You Can (Chicago Stars 6)

He studied her openly. His mouth was finely chiseled, almost delicate, which made the rest of his features seem all the more sinister. “I’ll let you know when I decide.”

“Forget it. I’m not going to allow you to string me along.” She tried to stare him down, but he refused to play. Instead, his mouth quirked in a gangster’s cocky grin.

“Are you sure? If you are, I can always talk to Mr. Champion tonight.”

She gritted her teeth. “Fine. Next Friday.” She slid off the stool and pulled open her purse. “Here’s my card. Don’t try to screw me, or you’ll regret it.”

“Probably.” His eyes slid over her like hot caramel on ice cream. “Still, it might be interesting.”

Something heady and unexpected shot through her. She snapped her purse shut and left the bar to the sound of a wicked chuckle.

The next Power Matches candidate proved to be beautiful but self-centered, and Annabelle led the conversation to showcase her flaws. She needn’t have bothered. Heath had the woman’s number from the start. At the same time, he treated her with the utmost respect, and Annabelle realized that Heath wasn’t quite the egomaniac she’d first thought. He seemed to find the human condition in all its forms interesting. Knowing that made it tough for her to hold on to her dislike. Not that she’d been holding on to it very hard.

“Entertaining,” he said after she left, “but not in a good way. This evening’s been a time sink.”

“Your next match won’t be. I’ve got someone special lined up.” Nana’s senior client base was turning out to be a rich source of referrals. Rachel Gorny, the granddaughter of one of Nana’s oldest friends, didn’t have Barrie’s extravagant beauty, but she was intelligent, accomplished, and strong-minded enough to hold her own against him. She also had the social polish Heath seemed to require. Annabelle had considered introducing them tonight, but she’d wanted to see how he’d react to Barrie first.

She toyed with her swizzle stick to keep herself from studying Heath’s profile and made a mental note to look for a sweet, hunky, not-too-bright guy who’d treat Barrie well.

“You’ll need to do a better job, Annabelle. No more dates like the first one tonight.”

“Agreed. And no more making me sit through your Power Matches introductions, either. As you so wisely pointed out, helping Portia Powers isn’t in my best interests.”

“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—”

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