Page 6 of Imperfect Match (Imperfect Match 1)
Groaning, I get in next to her and shut the door. “This is not going to end well for you.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
I give the driver the address of our building and sit back, giving Willow a pained look. “You’ve told me a million times that you’re terrible at this. That your mom only hired you because her previous assistant quit unexpectedly and you’d just gotten fired.”
“I didn’t get fired, asshole,” she says huffily, poking me in the leg. “I was let go because I refused to massage the data like the V.P wanted me to. I lost my job because I was honest.”
“I know, I’m just giving you a hard time.” Honestly, I’m glad she doesn’t work for that finance company anymore. I met that dickhead V.P. a few times, and I’m positive the data wasn’t the only thing he wanted her to massage. “You know I think you could be great at anything, including this romantic shit. I just don’t need or want it.”
“Methinks you doth protest too much, my friend. Maybe my mother is right about you, and behind all those walls you put up beats a heart that’s longing to find its mate.” She links her fingers beneath her chin and leans toward me, batting her lashes.
I put my hand over her face and push her away. “Quit it, you lunatic. You don’t believe in that stuff any more than I do.”
She laughs and straightens up. “It’s not that I don’t believe in it. I just don’t have good romantic luck myself because all the guys I’ve dated have turned out to be dipshits.”
“You can say that again,” I mutter. Willow’s taste in guys is beyond horrible.
“But this isn’t about me. It’s about you. And I know you well enough to find you the perfect girl.” She nods slowly. “You know, the more I think about it, this is totally win-win for me. I prove myself to my mother and I get to have complete control over who you date for the next six months.”
“Six months?” I gape at her.
“Duh, it takes time to find perfection,” she says, like I’m a first grader. Then she toughens up her tone, pointing a finger at me. “And you better play nice. No fair sabotaging these dates or refusing to go.”
I groan as my life starts to pass me by in a haze of terrible dates with desperate girls who have what my brother Leo calls an FFR—Face For Radio. “And what do I get in return for going through with this ridiculousness?”
“Everlasting love, of course.” She flicks my shoulder.
“Not good enough. I want something from you.”
“Like what?”
I think for a moment. “If I take this seriously, you have to promise me you’re not going to let some jerk-off from the spank bank knock you up.”
She sighs heavily and rolls her eyes. “One has nothing to do with the other, Reid.”
“Doesn’t matter. I think you’re rushing into it and I want you to reconsider. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you made an appointment.” The cab pulls up in front of our building, and I swipe my card in the reader.
“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d throw a tantrum about it,” she says as we get out of the car. “You’ve been weird ever since I told you about my plan.”
I shut the door behind her. “It’s the plan that’s weird, not me. How can you think this is a good idea? You’re completely rational about every other thing in life.” We walk together toward the entrance, and I pull open the heavy glass door to the lobby.
“This is absolutely a rational, not an emotional, decision,” she says, giving me a pointed look over her shoulder. “You’re the one getting emotional about it.”
I try to think up an argument as we head for the elevators, but I can’t. “You know that stuff about a window is bullshit,” I finally say as she punches the up butto
n. “Women are having babies later and later in life.”
“It’s not bullshit, actually. Age thirty-five is considered advanced maternal age, and a lot of women are having to resort to expensive fertility treatments to get pregnant. IVF with egg donors and all that. An IUI is a much more budget-friendly way to go.” The elevator doors open, and after a few people exit, we step in.
The doors close and I turn to her. “What the fuck’s an IUI?”
“An intrauterine insemination. It’s the thing I told you about before.”
“Where they let some creep who wanked into a cup knock you up with a turkey baster?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“I’m serious, Wills. You think Olympic athletes and rocket scientists are in there flogging the dolphin? Use your head. It’s deadbeats and weirdos. Why am I the only one who cares about your baby’s genetic makeup?”
