Gracie shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Don’t even ask.”
“C’mon, Gracie,” she wheedled. “I’ve been with my fiancé since we were sixteen, throw me a bone. I need to live vicariously.”
“I don’t understand why it’s so tough to find a good guy,” Gracie said, sighing. She tapped her lacquered nails against the surface of the reception desk, noticing that one nail had a tiny chip on the edge. Damn, that was going to bug her all day, until she could get home to repaint it. “I mean, I match people to jobs for a living. I’m good at reading profiles and figuring out where people belong. But I can’t seem to get it right personally.”
“Are they all just after sex?”
“It’s not even that. They’re mostly way too into themselves, like going on a date is an excuse to tell me their life story.”
“Narcissists.” The receptionist shook her head and glanced down at her screen. “Your next appointment isn’t for an hour. Might be a good idea to take a lunch break. You’ve got a busy afternoon.”
“Good call.” Gracie smiled and returned to her office.
She loved her job as a recruiter. She got to spend all day talking to people and checking their details against the lists the clients provided her. There were lots of rules, guidelines, and checkboxes for her to use in assessing people, and that suited her fine.
Her office overlooked the city, the large floor-to-ceiling windows housing one of the best views in all of Melbourne. Federation Square and Flinders Street Station stretched out on one side, the water of Port Phillip Bay a line of jewel-like blue in the distance. She’d imagined throwing Des down on this very desk and riding him with that glittering view in the background.
Flushing, Gracie grabbed her lunch from the mini-fridge next to her desk and shook the illicit thoughts from her mind. It was unnatural how often she had to stop herself from thinking about him. His angled face would pop up at the most inconvenient moments: when she was in a team meeting, when she was bored while waiting for her train, when she was desperately trying to get some sleep.
As if conjured by her imagination, an email pinged on her laptop. Des’s full name always made her smile: Desmond Pietro Chapman. His Italian heritage was hidden in his middle name, though one look at him showed how dominant the Italian genes were.
Des Chapman <desmondpietrochapman@FirstRestaurantandBar.com>
Subject: Bellini Girl
Gracie, when are you coming in next? We’ve got a new supplier for our Prosecco and sparkling wines. I don’t drink that girlie stuff so I need someone to tell me if it tastes any good—you’re my go-to girl. I need to put those tastebuds of yours to work.
Des
P.s. I’m still laughing over the shiny shoe guy from the other night. Thanks for keeping me entertained.
Gracie smiled, took a bite of her sandwich, and sent off a reply.
Gracelyn Greene <G.Greene@DIHRecruitment.com.au>
Subject: Re: Bellini Girl
Dear Des,
Happy to put my tastebuds to work. They’re all yours next Tuesday. Have a date, though hopefully no shiny shoes this time! Glad you find my escapades entertaining, hopefully I get to poke fun at your date in the future. Do you even date? You never talk about girls…or guys?
Best,
Gracie
Chuckling, she clicked send and continued with her lunch. Des would be doing the same thing that she was—sitting at his desk, eating while he typed.
They had a ritual, emails at two o’clock for about half an hour, Monday through Wednesday. Those were the days that Des got to work early, and Gracie booked her appointments and took her lunch break specifically to be at the computer at the same time he was.
Des Chapman <desmondpietrochapman@FirstRestaurantandBar.com>
Subject: Smart A**
Very funny, Gracie. You know I only have eyes for the fairer sex, but I don’t put myself on display when I’m wooing a girl. I do my best work in private.
Des
Gracie licked her lips; the thought of Des doing any kind of private wooing sent a trickle of heat down to her belly. She’d never had the chance to see him put moves on anyone, since the only time she saw him was when he was working.
They had formed a solid friendship over the months she’d sat at his bar, relaying her dating failures as he’d listened and occasionally offered advice. It was mostly useless advice, but advice none the less, and she appreciated it. Still, she’d never seen him outside work and never spoken to him over the phone. Only her visits to First and their mid-week email dates kept them connected.
Gracelyn Greene <G.Greene@DIHRecruitment.com.au>
Subject: Scaredy Cat
That’s no fun, I expect tales of dating woe next week. You can’t leave me out here feeling like I’m the only one who sucks at this! Seriously, with all the failed dates I’ve had, it’s enough to make a girl question her sanity.
Gracie
P.S. I’m giving myself a year, if I don’t find someone decent in 12 months I’m calling it quits and adopting a houseful of cats.
Des Chapman <desmondpietrochapman@FirstRestaurantandBar.com>
Subject: More of a dog person
Why don’t you let me get at your dating profile? I could help you attract some more interesting guys. Better yet, why don’t you come to the bar without a date and see what happens? You know, like people used to do before the internet.
Just a thought.
Des
P.S. Is “houseful” a unit of measurement for cats?
She’d thought about visiting Des on her own, as in, without first bringing a date. But what excuse would she have to do that? If she went to the bar on her own, then he would know she’d come specifically for him.
No, she couldn’t do that. It would give him the wrong idea and make things messy. She didn’t want to deal with the possibility of turning him down if he asked her out…or worse, not being able to say “no”.
Gracelyn Greene <G.Greene@DIHRecruitment.com.au>
Subject: Re: More of a dog person
“Interesting” is not what I’m going for. Successful? Yes. Educated? Definitely. Interesting is a cover word for weird…or creepy. I’ll send you my checklist and you can tell me what’s missing.
Gracie
P.S. Maybe it’s a collective term rather than a unit of measurement, i.e. a gaggle of geese, a flamboyance of flamingos, a business of ferrets…a houseful of cats?
Gracie frowned, biting down on her sandwich as she contemplated her problem. Maybe something was missing from her checklist? She knew from her work experience that the right candidate was always out there—she simply had to flush them out. Dating was much the same, although at this point she was starting to wonder if her Mr. Perfect was simply a figment of her imagination.
Des Chapman <desmondpietrochapman@FirstRestaurantandBar.com>