Scoring a Holiday Match (Mr. Match) Read online

  Scoring a Holiday Match

  PLUS: Scoring with the Surfer

  Delancey Stewart

  Contents

  1. Nothing Says “Festive” Like Crabs

  2. Max is Still Annoying

  3. Enter the Seafaring Lumberjack

  4. On Behalf of Birds…

  5. This Tree Looks Comfy

  6. Rose is Not King Kong

  7. Lost and Found

  8. Breakfast Magic

  9. Making Deals with Fish

  Scoring with the Surfer

  10. Margaritas and Racoons

  11. Holy Mother of Penguins

  12. Blow Jobs and Waffles

  About the Author

  Also by Delancey Stewart

  Chapter 1

  Nothing Says “Festive” Like Crabs

  ROSE

  “Crabs, you say? Lu, that’s gonna be a hard pass for me.”

  “Okay, I did say crabs. But let me give you some context.”

  I sighed, settling into the deeply comfortable and very expensive office chair behind my desk. “Go on. Tell me about the man with crabs.”

  You could almost hear Tallulah gearing up for her hard sell on the other end of the line. She’d recently gotten involved with Mr. Match—the website every unmatched single person in the country was talking about, at least if they were trying to become un-single. I might have dropped a profile into the system six months or so ago, but I’d still heard nothing. Until now.

  “So, he’s from Alaska, right? And OMG, Rose, this guy’s photo. He’s all mountain man and seafaring and lumberjacky with the beard and the flannel.”

  I sighed. “I don’t really see myself with a seafaring lumberjack. That’s probably why the system didn’t match us in the first place. Because we’re not a match. And what did you say about the crab thing?”

  “Right, he captains a crab fishing boat.”

  “Like Deadliest Catch?”

  “Exactly like that.” Lu added a squeal at the end of this, as if crab fishing was just that exciting.

  I was actually guilty of binge-watching that particular show, though I couldn’t have told you why. The guys did look tough, but a lot of them also looked like hard-living, low-level criminals. “I don’t think it would work out.”

  “You haven’t even met him yet. And the system almost did match you! As Ms. Match, it’s my job to quality check the matches we offer, and I just didn’t happen to agree with yours when it popped.”

  “Wait, that stupid computer finally found an actual match for me?”

  “Yes, but it was wrong.”

  I stood up. I had been pretending not to care much, acting as if seeing every single one of my friends get engaged, married, or at least sexed up on the regular didn’t bother me, but after thirty years of singlehood, I was ready. “How about I get to meet my actual match, and then if that doesn’t work out, we’ll try your runner up?”

  “He wasn’t actually the runner up either.”

  “How far down the list did the crab man fall?”

  “Sixth.” Lu sounded sad when she said this.

  “Why are you so dead set on me meeting this guy? Why not my actual match?” I paced around the front of my desk, staring out at the harbor beyond my office windows.

  “I have a feeling,” she said. “And I’m testing a theory.”

  “So, I’m a guinea pig.”

  “Look, can you just meet him? I’ve already set it all up for you. You just have to show up. In a cocktail dress, okay?”

  “That’s kinda fancy for a first date. Can’t we just do coffee?”

  “No. It’s a ball.”

  I sighed, hanging my head. Tallulah and I had been friends for a long time, but sometimes she was just . . . Exhausting.

  “A ball?”

  “The Jingle Bell Ball. Mr. Match is putting it on with the Sharks and the Stars, and there’ll be a whole bunch of matches meeting there, and all the proceeds go to testicular cancer. Do it for the balls, Rose.”

  “Two pro soccer teams and a bunch of people who are almost but not quite good matches meeting for the first time. What could possibly go wrong?” This was how it was. Lu wore me down every time she wanted something. And I always gave in. She was cute and convincing. Like a very tenacious prairie dog.

  “So you’re in?”

  “Fine. When and where?”

  She gave me the details and we hung up, just as my office door swung open.

  “Boss?” PJ, my assistant, stumbled through the door, looking uncertain as ever. His shirt was rumpled, and I was pretty sure he’d mismatched the buttons because his collar was awkwardly lopsided.

  “What’s up, PJ?”

  “So there’s this thing . . .”

  “What kind of thing?” I should never have agreed to hire my partner’s nephew to be my assistant.

  “So, like, a guy called, right? And he says the server crashed and so their entire system is down, and he like, he thinks it was our software, and so like, there’s lawyers and stuff he’s calling, and—”

  “Can you just put me through to this guy please? I’ll figure it out.” I walked back around my desk and sat as PJ nodded his assent and disappeared. Odds were fifty-fifty he’d accidentally put me through to the place he usually ordered our sandwiches from.

  My extension beeped and I picked it up. “Putting you through now to Kenneth Ellis at Calico Solutions.”

  That was almost professional. Maybe PJ wasn’t so hopeless.

  Someone picked up on the other end: “Hello, you’ve reached the Fun Dungeon, San Diego’s hottest underground social club, this is Maddie.”

  Oh lord. “Wrong number, sorry.” I did not want to know what PJ did in his off hours.

  I hung up and then redialed Calico Solutions. Kenneth Ellis had been a pain in the ass for as long as my company had been selling security solutions to his. I almost hoped he’d try to sue us and then just go away. But that would probably be bad for business.

  “Kenneth, hello,” I said when he picked up. “It’s Rose Gonzalez, CEO of Airlock Security Solutions?”

  I listened to Kenneth whine, rocking back and forth in my chair. It was the usual stuff. His own IT team was a mess, and I often sent my guys to fix their systems so that ours could be properly integrated. As he went on at great length, my cell phone lit up on my desk with a message from Lu.

  And a photo . . .

  Of the hottest man I’d ever laid eyes on. He had a dark beard, a head of cropped dark hair, and penetrating eyes that were almost black. A tiny scar cut across one eyebrow, and the lips, which were curved up in a sexy half-smile, were full and sensuous. His nose, which had clearly been broken once or twice, was long and proud, and something about his entire expression made me feel like he was staring straight at me. I felt a blush hit my cheeks and then I blushed harder as I considered how ridiculous it was that I was actually becoming shy in front of a photograph.

  Another text popped up beneath the photo. “Crab man.”

  I realized, maybe too late, I’d agreed to meet the guy without ever getting his real name.

  Chapter 2

  Max is Still Annoying

  ASH

  Balls were not my thing.

  Or I mean, I had no gripes with my own balls. I mean, I actually kind of liked them. Not that this is something I talk about a lot. But when Max Winchell suggested I attend the Jingle Ball to benefit testicular cancer while I was in San Diego, I agreed. It was a good cause, and it would give me a chance to hang out with Max again.

  Max was kind of an odd duck. I’d known him since grade school, and he’d always been a total outlier when it came to normal school kid categorization. He was b
y far the biggest nerd in any class we were ever in. He’d eagerly raise his hand to answer whatever questions the teacher asked, and proudly demonstrate his superior intellect. But then, when guys like me decided to toss him around a little on the playground, he demonstrated a completely different set of skills—he was strong and tenacious and would fight dirty if the situation called for it.

  And that’s how we became friends. I was planning to rub his face in a little mud puddle behind the classroom bungalow at recess, and the guy ended up getting me into some kind of jujitsu headlock and then demanding that we play soccer. I liked soccer, so I gave in. But Max was better than everyone else at that, too. Which is probably how he ended up on the South Bay Sharks.

  We were still friends, but I was pretty sure at this point I could definitely get him into that mud puddle. I’d packed on some muscle since fourth grade.

  “A tux, Ash. You’ve got one, right?”

  I sighed. Unfortunately, I had a few tuxes hanging in my closet. I also had a full set of insulated fishing gear hanging next to it, along with a ton of thermal underwear and tights, which I honestly preferred. It was saying something when a guy preferred the Bering Sea to coming home to San Diego. But there you had it.

  “I’ve got a tux, Max. But dude, can’t we just like, go get a beer or something?”

  “Not this time. I’ve gotta go to this ball, and you can be my plus one. Tate had to go out of town.”

  Max’s girl was a catch, and sometimes I envied him. But my life did not lend itself to finding pretty women, unless they were the temporary kind.

  “You and my mother would get along well, you know.”

  “Well if you’d move out of her house, she and I would have less time to spend together, plotting to get you into formalwear.”

  “I’m not in town enough to get my own place.”

  “So you spend your off time at the country club and balls. Suck it up Sir Ashton.”

  “Shut it.” I laid back on the bed, closing my eyes so I didn’t have to look at the ridiculous space around me. My childhood bedroom was more of a royal suite than a kid’s room. It had always been this way—marble ensuite bathroom, sitting area with very fancy upholstered furniture, and this ridiculous four poster bed.

  “Just meet me at my place at five. We’ll head downtown together. I’ve got a car coming.”

  “See you.”

  I dropped the phone at my side. Max had a point. Living with my mother at thirty was a bit ridiculous, but my whole life had been pretty ridiculous, which might have explained why I spent my off time in school getting into fights and scrapping whenever I got the chance. And why I spent most of my time now fighting the waves on the Bering Sea with a crew of hard-living dudes who were willing to lose a hand—or their lives—just to make a buck.

  “Ashton, darling?” My mother was at the door.

  “Yep.” I said it loudly, letting her know I was here, but hopefully tersely enough that she wouldn’t step in.

  The door swung open. “Darling, we have dinner with the Pendletons tonight. Can you please get dressed?” She stepped nearer to where I was sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling and questioning all of my life’s choices.

  “Ashton, really. Can we do something about all of this facial hair? It’s very unbecoming.”

  “Keeps me warm, Mom.” It was like a sweater for my face, something I needed desperately on the deck of my boat, the Finder.

  “It’s seventy degrees out!”

  “Yeah, but in three weeks, I’ll be back in Alaska. It’s not seventy there.”

  “Won’t it grow back? Can’t we trim it just a bit? I can have Langley pop in before dinner.” Langley was Mom’s personal stylist.

  “Fine. But I’m not shaving it all the way off.”

  “Perfect. And you’ll wear a suit? You know the Pendletons’ daughter Ashley will be coming.”

  I sat up and gave my mother a skeptical look. “Even if we were a perfect match, Mom, I can’t be with someone named Ashley. Think about it.”

  “Don’t be silly, Ashton.” She waved a slim manicured hand at me and then turned. “Langley will be here shortly.”

  Langley, and everyone else at my mother’s beck and call, dropped everything when she said “jump.” That was what extreme amounts of money could do for you. And it was part of what made coming home so fucking stifling.

  And it had nothing to do with the fact that it was actually my money. I hated that part of it all. If Mom managed to blow through it all tomorrow, I wouldn’t care. But Mom would.

  I laid back down and pulled up a real estate site on my phone. Max was right. I should just buy my own place. I scanned listings for forty minutes, and completely forgot I was supposed to be showering and getting dressed until Langley knocked on my door.

  “Ready for a trim?”

  I sat up and tried to look like a guy who had a personal beard trimmer pop by on a regular basis. “Sure.”

  “Perhaps in the bathroom?”

  “Perfect.”

  I followed the guy into the bathroom and prostrated myself to the workings of his beard-trimming implements. “Not too short, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  When my beard was trimmed and I was fully dressed for my mother’s fancy dinner, I shoved my phone in my pocket and left my room. As we got into the car together, my phone dinged, and I scanned the message from Max.

  Max: By the way, I’ve set you up to meet someone at the ball.

  Shit. There want my night of drinking and catching up with my old friend. Max had demanded a year or so ago that I fill out a profile for something called Mr. Match, but I was skeptical about the likelihood of meeting anyone willing to put up with me or my lifestyle. He was weirdly devoted to seeing me hooked up. Or maybe he had some ulterior motive.

  Me: NO.

  Max:

  There were no words in his next message, only a photo.

  Of a woman who could have been pulled directly from my deepest fantasies. She had bronze skin and sparkling dark eyes framed by lashes that could not possibly be real. And though the photo was only from the waist up, there was plenty to appreciate about the curves evident beneath the polished business attire she wore. Her hair was dark and glossy, hanging over one shoulder, and there was an expression on her face that was practically a challenge. And fuck if I didn’t love a challenge.

  Me: Fine.

  Chapter 3

  Enter the Seafaring Lumberjack

  ROSE

  I was still considering whether my words to PJ had been too harsh as I pulled the red sequined sheath up my body and over the strapless corset I wore.

  There had been multiple emergencies at work the day of the ball, not the least of which was PJ’s emotional breakdown in my office first thing that morning. He’d burst through my door, practically falling down in the process, and I’d suggested he could try just opening the thing and stepping through.

  He’d looked at me, and then his little doughy face had crumpled, and my heart had dropped, both in sympathy and with the realization that whatever this was would probably eat up a significant portion of the morning.

  “I’m not good at anything,” he’d said, a tear sliding down his face as he sank into the chair across my desk.

  “That’s not true, PJ, I’m sure it’s not.” Should I call Frank to come in here? He was PJ’s uncle, after all.

  “It is,” he insisted, poking a finger down on top of my desk to make his point. “You know it, I know it. My uncle knows it.”

  This was the most convincing he’d been about anything since I’d met him.

  “Everyone has an off day, and this is your first job. Go easy on yourself.”

  He shook his head. “How will I ever be able to provide for a woman if I can’t even answer the phone right?”

  “Provide for a woman?” That got my back up, but I wasn’t sure exactly why.

  “Yeah. Settle down, take care of a family.”

  “What makes you think the s
econd adult in that family scenario wouldn’t be providing for herself?” I glanced around my office, wondering if he was getting my point. After all, I was doing a damn fine job of providing for myself. And for my 138 employees.

  He sighed. “Maybe. Maybe she will.”

  I didn’t really have time for this, but I dug deeper, ignoring the phone ringing at PJ’s desk outside and the pinging from my email. “What’s going on, PJ? Did something happen today?”

  He had been staring down at his hands, but now he looked up at me, his eyes doleful and wide, shining with unshed tears. Poor guy. “I’m just such a failure. And I’m meeting this girl tonight, and I really want to impress her, but . . .” Another sigh.

  “I’m sure you’ll impress her,” I told him. “Tell her how you talked that FedEx guy down off the ledge when he came in here so upset after the bird pooped on him outside.” Those birds were evil. I swore they usually waited out there for me, and I had been wearing purple and black that day. They probably just missed.

  “That wasn’t even part of my job.”

  “I disagree. Your job is to keep the office running smoothly so we can focus on the business we do. And that day, that’s exactly what you did.”

  “I order food and answer phones.”

  “We all start somewhere.”

  “Did you start in my job?”

  “Well no. I mean, I founded the company with your uncle. After getting a master’s degree and working for a few other companies while I was in school.”

  He dropped his head again, staring at his hands.

  “What’s your goal, PJ?”

  A sad voice said, “I don’t know.”