Between the Sheets

Between The Sheets

by

Mallory Rush

Bestselling, Award-winning Author

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ISBN: 978-1-61417-548-3

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Chapter 1

Well, I'll be damned. Not only does Claire O'Hara give good advice, she gives good pen. A poisonous pen, Graham silently amended while scanning her letter once again.

Pushing his chair back from his oversize desk, he got up and strode to the windowed wall overlooking downtown Dallas, the application she'd included with the letter, clutched in his hand, still not read. While he stared out the window, Graham tried to decide whether he was flattered or pissed. He'd yet to miss a Sunday column in the two years the Dear Abby of shrinkdom had been writing it, but here she was sticking it to him, and how. As for why, her reasons were both admirable and ridiculous.

It wasn't his fault some lovelorn patient of hers was so impressed by his company's full-page ad that she'd requested an application for membership to the Love Letters Computer Dating Service. And it wasn't as if he'd rejected her—although he might have if she'd sent it in, given the standards he set for the clients he took on, and married off at a 70.2 percent success rate. And he most certainly had nothing to do with this patient at a critical stage of her recovery asking for her psychologist's blessing prior to sending the application.

Graham decided that he was more displeased than delighted that his favorite columnist had taken it upon herself to take him to task, via a fax.

Hell, he thought, if Dr. Claire O'Hara had any guts she would have confronted him personally. While he had offices coast-to-coast, several in Europe and even one in Russia, his home base was Dallas and her letterhead indicated she had a private practice less than ten miles away.

So, bro, are you plotting murder or matrimony for your newest client? Jess, his sister and corporate VP, grinned as he turned from the window and scowled. What was that she said? Something about profiting from pandering false hope to desperate people was... 'reprehensible, unconscionable, and—'

And would you stop reading my stuff before I can read it myself? I'd appreciate that almost as much as a knock at the door before you barge into my office. I swear, Jess, you're even worse now than you were twenty years ago, elbowing me away from the bathroom mirror to primp for a date when I was there first, trying to shave.

"Make that twenty-five years ago, Graham, and as I recall, you weren't shaving peach fuzz but usually squishing zits. And as for who's worse now than then, I've got nothing on you. Not only are you getting set in your ways, you're cantankerous as an old geezer."

I am not.

Are too! She stuck out her tongue. It was so juvenile, he should have been able to laugh it off, or at least, ignore the too-familiar chastisement.

Thirty-eight and never married, it's past time you had someone to think about besides yourself. Know what I think? You need to concentrate on getting yourself hitched to someone who can soften you up before you turn into such a hard nut that not even a lobster cruncher could make a dent in you.

I am not a hard-ass, he said with an aloofness that only demonstrated the truth of Jess's contention. I am a businessman. A very successful one, I might add. I might also add, be glad you're my sister, otherwise I'd fire you for insubordination.

It's my coffee break. Time for a refill. Without asking if he wanted one too, she headed for the lounge area of the office.

Graham returned to the esteemed seat of Graham LeFarge, founder and CEO of Love Letters, International. Made of the finest leather money could buy and with arms of hand-carved mahogany, it was an imposing chair, a fitting chair for a self-made man whose vision and genius elicited respect—even from those who disliked or distrusted him.

He could add Claire O'Hara to that list.

But Jess? For all her nose-thumbing at his authority and gibes, he knew she loved him with the protective ferocity of a big sister watching out for her kid brother.

He absentmindedly stroked a thin scar that ran from his jaw to the starched collar of his shirt. Irked as only a brother could be with a sister who knew most of his secrets and all of his bad habits, Graham adjusted his tie with one hand and with the other, drummed his fingers on Claire O'Hara's application.

It was the gauntlet she'd thrown. She'd challenged him to substantiate his claims of being a matchmaker without rival. It was her opinion he would have to be, to find a perfect mate for herself. If, by some miracle he could do that, then she would not only give the green light to her patient in good conscience, she would run a public apology in her column.

With stakes that high, he wasn't surprised she was making it doubly difficult for him to collect. Several stipulations had been attached to the deal, but the biggie was her insistence on complete anonymity. No potential suitors were to know her real identity. It was only fair, she'd reasoned, given her high-profile reputation and, like anyone else, she wanted to be loved just for herself.

Graham couldn't fault her for that. He understood—all too well—the gut-deep need for total acceptance, regardless of physical appearance or professional success. Love Letters had been founded on that principle—the philosophy that people should be loved for their souls rather than such transient attributes as money, success, looks.

Funny thing was, his subscribers still bought into the ideal he no longer believed in himself. He'd lost his faith somewhere along the rocky climb to the top. Yeah, it was lonely at the top—unfortunately, at the moment, not lonely enough.

Carrying a mug of steaming coffee, Jess flounced back into his office, and plopped into the black leather chair facing his desk.

If you don't mind, he said with a sour politeness, I'd appreciate a little privacy.

Sorry, Graham. I mind. But don't mind me. I just want to watch you read her application.

Why?

Because, brother dear, as much as I love you, seeing you eat a few words of your own is just too rich to resist.

Do I take it that you know something I don't?

Well... yes. Her application's even better than her letter. With a smile that was closer to a smirk, Jess added, I think you just might reconsider your rule about not taking advantage of your own services.

No way.

Way, she countered, laughing.

Now he was even more curious but wasn't about to let on. Curtly, he informed her, "You have worked with me for over ten years, certainly long enough to know that I do not compromise the standards I set for this company."

That's right. Far be it from you to behave no better than a stockbroker taking advantage of insider information.

Shaking her head, she sighed. Just look at you, Graham—

I try not to when I can help it.

Obviously. You've got a nick on your chin and a piece of toilet paper stuck to prove it. While he was busy peeling it off, she wagged her finger at him. "'The Cupid of Computers,' or so says the Wall Street Journal. Just goes to show how much they know about your personal life. It stinks! And not even that pricey cologne you wear can hide it from me."

Since his personal life did stink and they'd already had this argument countless times before, Graham turned his attention to the application Jess was champing at the bit for him to read.

Determined to maintain a cool facade, he thought it best to simply speed-read the entire three pages and then he could send Jess on her way in a minute, max.

Never married, no children, thirty-five years old.

Claire O'Hara was only thirty-five? Given the maturity of her advice, he'd pictured her as a taller version of Dr. Ruth. A less attractive version, too, since she didn't run a picture with her column.

His last suspicion was as good as confirmed, he decided, since she had refused to submit so much as a Kodak moment that captured her in the best possible light.

A wave of empathy overtook him. Just as quickly, Graham made himself go on with the detachment of a computer.

Aw, no. No, no, no... The more he read, the faster he stroked his scar, the one he most favored when he was disturbed. It simply wasn't fair. How on earth was he supposed to deal with something like this?

Oh, yes, yes, yee-es, Jess singsonged over his continued groans of disbelief.

Graham's fist hit the application and he glared at her. You're gloating, he accused.

Of course I am. She's incredible, isn't she?

Incredible? he repeated. She's impossible!

Takes one to know one.

Ignoring the remark, Graham frowned. Not even Superman could compete with this woman.

Uh-huh, she concurred. There is something off-putting about anyone who's got so many fingers in so many pies. Let's see, didn't she mention that she's a member of Mensa and Phi Beta Kappa?

Yeah, but she tacked on a note to keep it to myself. He could understand that. He didn't broadcast his memberships either, since it seemed like a vain thing to do. Figures that her favorite board game is Trivial Pursuit.

Hasn't lost a match yet, Jess pointed out.

Only because she hasn't taken me on.

That's a game that I'd pay to watch. She took another sip of the coffee and almost choked on a giggle when he threatened her with a sneer. Okay, the game's no big deal. But the multilingual thing, that's a problem. How many guys besides you speak five languages?

None that I know of. Except for that language professor who signed on with us—and he hooked up with someone fairly fast. Graham mentally filed through a catalog of dates and names. George and Natalie, married April the fifth, four years back. Sent us a wedding invitation, right?

I could bring up the list and see.

You've got better things to do. Such as helping me figure out what we're going to do with her.

Her? Oh, Claire, baby. The lady with all the answers to what inquiring minds want to know. Are overachievers really afflicted with inferiority complexes? Are defense mechanisms essential for survival? And as for unresolved sibling rivalries, I still think Mother loves you the most.

This isn't funny, he snapped. "You read her letter. I have to come up with someone, and you know as well as I do that we don't have any subscribers who could even come close to compatible. She already thinks I'm lower than cow dung and—"

Why should you care what she thinks? Hmm?

Because... Why did he care? Because he'd admired the grit and honesty of her letter? Or maybe because her admission of hoping he proved her wrong made it seem that she was closer to a marshmallow than a tough cookie. Then again, it could be because her challenge had called to his competitive spirit. How sweet it would be to see a public recantation in her column for her less-than-sterling opinion of him. A printed apology? Great advertisement.

Realizing that Jess was watching him with undisguised glee, he shrugged indifferently.

Why do I care about what she thinks? Because I am a man of integrity and she insulted it. I want her to pay. With that, he quickly returned his attention to the application. This is interesting. In eight years she's only missed one episode of 'The Young and the Restless.' Wonder what she'd pay me for the tape? I'm sure I've got it in my video library.

"Say, maybe you could work a deal. Didn't she list an autographed set of The Vampire Chronicles as her most prized possession?"

Graham shook his head as he went down the list of her favorite authors. From Anne Rice to Tolstoy, she had an insatiable appetite for reading that ran from pulp to the classics. Amazing, but there it was. A kindred spirit who shared his voracious addiction to good books.

Her favorite movies? His favorite movies—even The Little Mermaid. She shared his weakness for Dove ice-cream bars and sushi. The list went on and all he could think was, Ditto. Ditto. Ditto.

Feeling as if he'd had a fist landed squarely in his gut, Graham came to the conclusion that they could almost pass for clones. Except for the difference in their genders. It was a difference he felt acutely. Claire O'Hara was a cerebral knockout who took his breath away.

She was the essence of his romantic ideal that like minds could meet on a page and hearts could beat as one without faces, bodies, or surface impressions getting in the way. He'd helped make that concept real for many people, but he wasn't among them. His illusions had been discarded years ago, along with the face that had once been his.

I wonder what she looks like, Jess mused. When he didn't rise to the bait, she made a show of studying her nails and said, Let's see, what was it you used to say to me about yourself? Oh, yes, and I quote: 'There's nothing like disinterest from the opposite sex to goad one into making themselves as otherwise interesting as possible.'

I know where you're going with this. Drop it, Jess.

Well, you did say it. And it does make sense that only those with an empty social calendar—like you or our esteemed Dr. O'Hara—have the time to pursue so many interests. Betcha anything she's homely on her better days.

What the hell difference does it make what she looks like? he snarled. I'd be the last person to care and you know it.

That I do. At Jess's nod of satisfaction he realized that he'd not only risen to the bait, but he'd swallowed it hook, line and sinker. I just wanted to hear you admit it, and sound like the brother I once knew.

She put her coffee down and covered his clenched fist with her hand. I'm worried about you, Graham. Since the accident, you've been changing. You're not the same person I grew up with. You're not even the same man who started this business for reasons that anyone with half a heart would admire. The company's not what it used to be and neither are you. I miss the way it was. I miss you.

What she'd laid open was too piercing. Before he could stop himself, he coldly replied, Since a few dregs remain of my admirable nature, you may take the rest of the day off. Now get outta here before I change my mind.

See what I mean? Jess grabbed the letter and shook it at him. There was a time when I would have personally crawled all over anyone who dared to write you anything like this. Not anymore. You're quite the businessman. Oh, yes, that's what you are, Mr. LeFarge. Why, you don't even have a life outside this company.

Throwing down the letter, she glared at him and Graham glared back. Then he dropped his gaze, hiding his wince. It was true, all of it. The old him had believed in more than fiscal success. He could have been another Bill Gates, and had Microsoft scrambling to keep up with the competition. But he had targeted his efforts toward creating a program explicitly designed for pairing personalities who shared like dreams, interests, intellect. True, he'd started out with self-serving motives, but those had quickly given way to a passionate cause.

Oh, what a rush it had been, what satisfaction and joy he had felt in those early years. Each happily-ever-after he had made come true was his greatest reward. At first he went to each wedding, but then there were too many and they were occurring in so many different places, he attended only a special few. Then those trickled to a halt after the accident....

Jess was almost to the door when Graham made his apologies as best he could.

Jess, wait. You're right. I do need to clean up my act. Any suggestions where to start?

You could go see a shrink. From over her shoulder, she gave him a hopeful look.

I can't call her and ask for a date. The woman's mind is already made up not to like me.

So, convince her to like you. And then ask her out.

He considered that. Not a bad idea. But still...

She wants her identity kept a secret and who she really is, is no secret to me. I'm in an awkward position, Jess.

Actually, you couldn't be in a better position. Think about it, Graham. She asked you to honor her confidence. So, honor it. Don't share what you know about her with anyone else. As for yourself, take advantage of just being yourself. The real you. The way you were, and could be again with a special someone. She's special.

Yes, you're right. A plan began to percolate in his head. Setting up the on-line date would be no problem. Insisting on an alias could work both ways, couldn't it? If he was going to bend his own rules and set himself up with a client, what would be the harm in skewing the rules to his benefit?

Coffee break's over, better get back to work. Oh, and about what you said, do it.

She shut the door softly behind her.

Damn her, bless her. Leave it to