Dater's Handbook. Cara Lockwood

      I threw myself into work on Monday, hoping to avoid thinking about what Nadia and Mom had been trying to tell me, which was that I had horrible taste in men and was single-handedly sabotaging any chance I had at happiness. The harder I tried not to think about it, the more I thought about it. I’d always figured that going for the fun guys, the no-label guys, made me fun and spontaneous. I prided myself on not being one of those plan-everything women, the ones who dated strategically only to snag a husband and obsessively clip bridal magazines (ahem, like Nadia at twenty-five). I wanted to have fun, to enjoy life, because, after all, a single car crash could change everything—like it had for my dad.

      Anyway, all married people wanted to spawn more married people. I had a suspicion that married people were largely miserable and wanted everyone to be the same. Look at Michael and Nadia. The last time they’d been on a serious romantic date was… Well, nearly a year ago on their anniversary when I babysat for them. Still, the fact that both Mom and Nadia agreed I might be messing up my life gave me pause. Was I?

      I wondered about this, even as I remembered Robert, the only other grown-up at Table Five. He’d said everyone wanted a happily-ever-aaaaaaah-fter. Did I? That was the million-dollar question. Did I want the happily-ever-after? It seemed like I was fighting it. Hard.

      Soon, I’d have no time at all to think about this because I got a frantic email from one of my staff. An order for one of our most loyal clients, Peak Insurance, failed to arrive as scheduled. Worse, the owner of the company, George Kazminski, called to tell us he’d be stopping by the office to figure out what had happened. I’d barely gotten through the email when Phil, the new guy, a just-out-of-college hire that had started last week, burst into my office.

      “George is here,” he declared, a little out of breath.

      “Where?” I asked, poking my head around the doorframe.

      “I…I told him to wait outside.”

      I glared at Phil. “Outside the office?”

      “I panicked,” he admitted. I inwardly smacked my forehead.

      “Go get him and bring him in,” I admonished. If his dad hadn’t been one of my most important clients when I was just starting out, I might never have hired Phil. His dad owned one of the largest grocery chains in the area, and he’d made me the single supplier of all their grocery bags, both disposable and recyclable. That account had launched my business.

      I met George outside my office with a quick handshake and an apology. “I am so very sorry about this, George,” I said, my face flaming with embarrassment as I felt my blood pressure rise. I hated disappointing clients, and George was as steady and loyal as they came. He wore one of his trademark three-piece suits. I’d never seen the man not wear a vest. Thankfully, his blue eyes showed no hint of anger.

      “Don’t worry, Cassandra,” he said, shaking my hand warmly. “You and your staff have always come through for me.”

      “Just give me a second to find out what happened to your order.”

      Dana had put it in weeks before she’d left on her honeymoon. Or at least, I thought she had. What if all her dreaming about getting married had somehow distracted her from her job?

      I scrubbed the unkind thought from my mind. Dana wouldn’t let her work responsibilities slide, wedding or no. Since I hadn’t been able to find the confirmation email in my inbox, I went to Dana’s desk and began searching for a paper receipt. George stood nearby, admiring the view out the glass wall of the offices, the majestic Rocky Mountains behind us.

      Hurriedly, I pawed through Dana’s messy desk. Honestly, how could she find anything in there? I hoped I could block the cubical disaster from George. The last thing he needed was to see how things really were done around here—sometimes by the seat of our pants. I quickly searched, trying not to be distracted by the gleaming picture of her new groom, Jim Schmointz, staring out of a large 8x10 frame. I pulled open a drawer only to see two old copies of Bridal Magazine and a hard copy of The Dater’s Handbook by Dr. Susie.

      What? Did Dana believe in this, too? Maybe Dr. Susie helped her find the man of her dreams. Maybe Dr. Susie could take the credit for their blissful happiness. I shelved the thought for the time being so I could focus on finding the lost invoice.

      “I remember we placed the order,” I told George as I tried to make sense of Dana’s lack of a filing system. “It was a thousand umbrellas and a thousand stress balls, all with your logo.”

      Just when I was about to give up, I found the file tucked beneath the latest edition of Blushing Bride magazine. I held up the folder, triumphant, and swung around in Dana’s swivel chair.

      “Well, you know how stressed-out insurance adjusters get,” George said.

      “And, apparently, you get wet, too,” I murmured as I pored over the receipts. Dana put through the orders, so where were the products?

      “That’s funny,” George said as he watched me, though he didn’t laugh at my joke, treating me instead like a specimen under a microscope. “No, the umbrellas symbolize the coverage…”

      “I don’t know why the order didn’t arrive at your office yet,” I said, still studying the invoice in problem-solving mode. “It said it shipped. How about this? I’ll double-check with the manufacturer, and I promise I will make this up to you.”

      “I know you will, Cassandra. You’ve always done a great job, and I have complete confidence in your company.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and smiled at me, an earnest