Infatuation. Alison Kent

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СКАЧАТЬ trusted friend. Starting with her makeup could not be a bad idea; there was a reason Natalie was in charge of the Web site’s fashion pages. Today she appeared to have stepped out of a Salvador Dali canvas—and she made the rather surreal look work.

      “So, tell me about last night,” she said, digging through Milla’s things and coming up with her eyeshadow quad.

      Had Milla even remembered eyeshadow this morning? She closed her eyes at the wave of Natalie’s hand. “It was a new Italian place and had the potential to be very romantic. Soft music. One small lamp hanging over each table. And gorgeous floral watercolors.”

      “But?” Natalie smoothed the pad of her thumb over Milla’s eyelid to blend the shadow she’d brushed on.

      “The tables were practically on top of one another.” She backed away to sneeze, and at her girlfriend’s “Bless you” said, “Thanks. Anyway. Good food and quiet conversation, yes. Under the table hanky panky, no.”

      “I don’t care about the food or the ambience,” Natalie said, moving from Milla’s right eye to her left. “That’s your job, not mine. I want to know about your date. Was he one of the recycled men?”

      Milla smiled as she did every time Natalie used the expression to refer to the dating pool created by the single women in the building’s various offices. It was in the lounge off this very restroom, in fact, where the Sisters of the Booty Call held their Monday lunch-hour meetings. Milla remembered her very first one, and how intrigued she’d been by what sounded like an urban legend but turned out to be true.

      Pamela Hoff, the regal blond financial consultant from the building’s fifteenth floor, was the mastermind behind the tradition. After a streak of bad dating luck had ended with a night out in the company of an uncouth John Wayne-loving buffoon, she’d considered celibacy as an option to finding a suitable man.

      Instead when after a lengthy phone harassment campaign he’d arrived in person to see if she’d received his flowers, she’d taken a more proactive approach to the problem, tucking the bouquet into his pants and adding the water from the vase to let him know she meant business.

      Giving the cowboy the boot had been a liberating experience. Pamela had determined then and there that the women in the building had to watch one another’s backs, and the dating service was born.

      Now, the original etched-glass vase shaped like a boot sat on the center of the lounge’s mahogany coffee table. Any woman who wanted to participate would drop into the boot the business card of a man she’d gone out with, one with whom she hadn’t personally clicked but one who had promise.

      She would also write a descriptive note on the back, telling the sisters a little bit about the man. When it was her turn to need a date, she’d draw a card from the impressive collection. It was a good way to weed out the scum and the sleaze, and to prescreen prospective dates.

      But it was not a guaranteed road to romance as Milla had been made well aware of last night.

      “Well?” Natalie prompted. “And you can open your eyes.”

      Milla did, watching the other woman pull concealer and a blush from the bag. “I tossed the card. Another round of recycling will only get up too many hopes. His, and some poor unsuspecting sister’s.”

      “If he was such a loser, what was he doing in the boot to begin with?” Natalie asked, blotting concealer over the dark circles beneath Milla’s eyes.

      “One of the girls from the travel agency, I think it was Jo Ann, dropped him in,” Milla said, looking up at the ceiling while Natalie worked. “She said they met on a tour of a new cruise ship, and he was the life of the party.”

      Her own fault, really. She should’ve known better than to call him in the first place since life-of-the-party guys were so not her style. Not anymore. Not since college and the party that had ended four years of romantic bliss. She’d been wounded by the breakup, yes. That didn’t make her any more innocent than the other man involved.…

      Having finished with both sets of eye baggage as well as the blush, Natalie asked, “What do you think?”

      Milla turned toward the mirror. Her chunky blond layers framed her face as always, hanging just beneath her chin and flipping this way and that. The ghoul-zombie-corpse likeness was gone. She still looked tired, but at least now she didn’t appear to have fallen from Death’s family tree.

      “Nat, you are the best.” Milla wrapped her arms around her friend and hugged. “Now, if I can make it through today and manage to get a full eight hours tonight, I might actually show Chad a decent time on Friday.”

      Natalie bowed her head and began packing Milla’s makeup. “Uh, about Friday.”

      Uh-oh. “No. Please. Don’t even say it.”

      “I’m sorry, sweetie. Jamal and Chad both got put into surgery rotation,” Natalie explained, zipping the bag and tucking it into Milla’s purse. “Jamal sent me a text message just before I headed down here.”

      “Then that does it. I’ll call it off, and spend the weekend sleeping, eating and watching a season or two of my ‘Gilmore Girls’ DVDs,” Milla said with a sigh, dipping a toe into fantasyland before Natalie smacked her back to reality.

      The smackdown wasn’t long in coming. “Don’t make me laugh. You’ll tell Joan…what exactly?”

      “Joan will understand a last-minute glitch,” Milla said, fluffing her hair.

      “She might,” Natalie said, pointing one finger at Milla’s reflection. “Except your last minute glitch has the potential for throwing off the coordination between all the city Web sites involved in this project. And for giving our advertisers even more to bitch about.”

      Natalie was right, of course. This wasn’t just a San Francisco venture. It was part of MatchMeUpOnline.com’s master plan for nationwide domination of online dating. Since she benefited in a very nice financial way, Milla appreciated the company’s vision. But when putting the plan into practice meant one bad date after another, her appreciation dimmed.

      She was damned tired. She hadn’t had a real date—a fun, relaxing, nonworking, hot and sexy date—in longer than she could remember. Her social life was getting in the way of her social life, and it stunk. “Okay, Ms. Solutions ’R Us. How am I supposed to find a date on such short notice?”

      Natalie frowned. “I thought you had a little black book of sure things.”

      “I do.” Granted, a very very little black book. “But if I start using and abusing with this last-minute stuff, how long do you think it’s going to be before these guys start changing their numbers?”

      “Give me a break,” Natalie said with a huff. “For a chance to go out with you? I can’t see them caring how much notice you give them.”

      “You’re a sweetheart, Nat.” And she really was. But she knew the truth as well as Milla did. “These guys know that going out with me is all about work. Even good friends get tired of the damper that puts on things.”

      Natalie turned around and leaned against the countertop. “I’m trying to think of anyone else we know, or someone new in Jamal’s circle, but I’m coming up blank.”

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