How To Be the Perfect Girlfriend. Heather Macallister
understandable,” Hayden agreed. “Go on.”
“I—” Sara thought of Bradley from Friday night. Why had she thought he was attractive? “Classy. Someone who enjoys dining occasionally, rather than just hitting all the fast food places in town. A man who might like to cook, even, or at least take a class with me. Someone who knows how to use all the silverware and doesn’t make jokes about the spork being the perfect utensil.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Hayden said. “What else?”
“Cultured. Refined. Elegant.” Now she was thinking of Ryan, her last boyfriend, who had been none of those things. She was describing the anti-Ryan. Well? Wasn’t that the idea? “A man who’d appreciate seeing a play, or going to the symphony, or…an art gallery. And money. I don’t want to have to lend him money. And his car should be nice. It doesn’t have to be expensive, it just has to work. And he should be the type of man who’d walk me to the door and pull out my chair and buy my mother a corsage for Mother’s Day because he’s just so damn happy she had me.”
Missy had stopped typing. Sara was aware that she and Hayden were staring at her. “What?”
“Anything else?” Hayden asked.
“He should dress well. You know, somebody who actually owns a suit and doesn’t need help tying his tie and isn’t color-blind. Oh, and he shouldn’t freak out when he sees a wine list in a restaurant.”
“Is that all?” Hayden wore a funny smile.
“Yes—no. He should know how to dance.”
“The Cotton-Eyed Joe?”
“No, real dancing.”
Missy gasped. “Bite your tongue!”
“Okay, he would be willing to dance the Cotton-Eyed Joe if we were ever in a place where people were dancing it. But I was just thinking that it would be nice if he knew how to dance the kind of dances that get played at weddings when the bride and groom get the first dance and then the bridesmaids have to dance and it’s really awful if your partner can’t dance because everyone is staring at you and you trip over the stupid dress.”
“I ran out of room,” Missy said. “I should have brought my laptop.”
Hayden studied Sara. “And is that everything about your ideal man?”
Sara thought. “He should be well-spoken and use correct grammar.” Hey, it would make her mother happy.
“Maybe even with a slight accent?” Hayden asked.
“Accents can be cool.”
Hayden laughed. “I guess so because, Sara, sweetie, you have just described Simon Northrup.”
2
SIMON NORTHRUP was having a bad day. He knew it when the highlight had been fixing a paper jam. The afternoon had gone downhill from there. Not one, but two, count ’em two, accounts had gone to rival companies. Yes, the paper jam had definitely been the best part. And the girl—woman, female or whatever the politically correct term was these days—was the sole reason the paper jam was a highlight.
Until he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to be having female highlights. He had enough trouble with the females in his life as it was. He needed to keep his eyes in front and his mind blank.
But he couldn’t. She’d had brown eyes. Soft brown hair. A quiet, conservative manner. Such a refreshing change from most Texas women who were all woman and let a man know it at every opportunity and expected said man to acknowledge their womanliness constantly. In-your-face-female pulchritude. For some men, sexual nirvana. For Simon, who had temporarily forsworn women, torture. Texas women were so much effort. As he had cause to know, they were well worth that effort. But restful they definitely were not.
The photocopier woman looked restful. Truthfully, in his more active dating days, he might have overlooked her. How ironic that now that he’d noticed her, it would do him no good to dwell on the eyes and the hair and the soft voice and the slim, discreetly covered body and the thought of finally finding a female who could just be and not feel compelled to fill the silence with chattering or discussing or arguing or commenting or complaining or fussing.
Simon hated it when women fussed over him. Some men really got off on that, but he liked to solve his own problems. If he wanted advice, he’d ask for it.
Simon took off his glasses and rubbed the places on either side of his nose where the pads fit. His new glasses were trendy, but uncomfortable. Wasn’t that always the way?
Sara from payroll hadn’t been wearing glasses, but if she had been, he imagined she’d go for comfort over style.
But he shouldn’t be thinking about her. Kayla gave him plenty to think about.
Simon exhaled. Were relationships supposed to be this much work?
As penance, he impulsively picked up the phone and dialed her number.
“Hey, Simon,” she answered. “What’s up?”
He hated caller ID. “I’m just checking in. Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?”
There was silence. Or rather, Kayla didn’t speak. Simon could hear loud music in the background, the kind Kayla liked to play in his car. The kind he didn’t like.
“Will you have any businesspeople with you?”
Kayla didn’t do well in the corporate entertaining arena. He was unlikely to make the mistake of bringing her along on business dinners again. “No, it’s just you and me, kiddo. But you still get to dress up.”
“Yeah, okay I guess,” she said at last. The way she said it told Simon she was in a mood. Lately, Kayla was always in a mood. At first, Simon had wasted a lot of mental energy trying to discover the source of these moods, but he had since learned that it was best to ride them out.
Or order two desserts. What was it about women not ever ordering their own desserts? Where was it written that dessert had to be shared? Simon had realized the key was to order a dessert, pretend not to like it and give it to Kayla. Then order another one and give up half of that, too.
It made Kayla happy and mellow and they had very good times together when Kayla was happy and mellow.
They made arrangements for her to meet him at his office. In the meantime, he could return phone calls and do some scut work so he wouldn’t have to come in so early tomorrow.
He grabbed a stack of expense account receipts and headed for the copy machine wondering on the way how Sara felt about desserts.
“SIMON NORTHRUP?” Sara shook her head. “No way.”
“Why not?”
“Well, he’s, well…he’s old.” She didn’t know how old, but she could find out if it became necessary.
“Not that old,” Hayden said chillingly.
Oops. Sometimes Sara forgot that Hayden was over thirty. She could find out how far over, if she wanted, but she wouldn’t. Hayden was a friend. Snooping wouldn’t be right.
Not to mention against company policy.
“I don’t know.” Missy stared at the tiny screen.
“Well, I do.” Hayden was in a huff.
Puzzled by the tone in her voice, Missy looked up, then batted her hand. “I meant that Sara said she didn’t want a man who had children and there have been rumors that Simon Northrup has been spending a lot of time with a woman who has a daughter.”
“An ex?” Sara shouldn’t have said anything.
Sure enough, Hayden’s eyebrow arched. “You should be so lucky. Simon doesn’t have an ex. Therefore, this is a current and