My cheeks felt hot as he stared into my eyes. The power of his emotions was almost too much for me to handle.

I cleared my throat. “Like I told Birdie, anyone would’ve done the same thing.”

His eyes seared into mine, seeming to challenge my feeble attempt to downplay what had happened.

“I doubt Magdalene would’ve known what to do. The fact that you were here saved that dog’s life.”

“Well, I’m really glad I was . . . here, then.”

He chewed his bottom lip a bit, then added, “I also want to apologize for being short with you when you arrived last week. I was having a bad day for more reasons than one. But that’s no excuse.”

“Well, I was . . . late, so I understand.”

He said nothing as he slipped his hands into his pockets and continued to look at me. His apology came as a surprise. It proved Sebastian was definitely not the insensitive jerk he appeared to be during our initial meeting. He had a vulnerable side. I could see that now. He was a man who wanted to protect his daughter from having to experience another tragedy.

I got the urge to comfort him, to assure him that I understood how difficult it was for a widower dad to take on the responsibility of single fatherhood. After all, I’d lived that life through my father’s eyes.

But I wouldn’t say anything. Because at this point in time, I was simply overwhelmed by the power of his stare and felt the need to flee.

“Anyway, I’d better get going.”

He nodded. “I’ll send your payment to the PayPal address you gave me.”

“Thank you.”

As I walked out of his office, I still had no clue how I was supposed to break it to them that I wasn’t coming back. Before I exited out the door, though, I did feel compelled to turn around and say one last thing to him.

“For the record, Mr. Maxwell, from the small amount of time I’ve seen you and gotten to know your daughter, I can tell you that I think you’re doing an amazing job. I’m not just saying that, either. You have an incredible daughter, and that’s undoubtedly due to the kind of father you are.”

He blinked a few times, and I didn’t think he was going to respond, so I continued my way out the door.

His voice stopped me.

“Sadie.”

I turned around. “Yeah?”

“Call me Sebastian.” He paused, then flashed a genuine smile. “And . . . danke.”

CHAPTER 9

SADIE

Number of times per week you enjoy coitus.

I chewed the end of my pen while I mulled over yet another tough question. That really depends, doesn’t it? I mean, is he good and gets me to my happy place before crossing the finish line himself? I had to assume that, since I was seeking my ideal mate, they were asking about how things would be with him and not some three-pump chump. My mind wandered to Sebastian. That man had a definite edge to him. There was no way he wouldn’t deliver the goods.

I sighed. I’d decided to take advantage of my free matchmaking trial to get my mind off Sebastian Maxwell. Yet he seemed to pop into my head as I pondered every intrusive question.

Describe your ideal mate’s physical appearance.

I closed my eyes and thought about what type of man I was attracted to, then jotted down the description that came to mind. Tall, broad-shouldered, green eyes, chiseled jaw, strong forearms, and a wide alpha-male stance. Good God. The only thing missing were the gold flecks in Sebastian’s eyes. I really needed to hop off the Maxwell train.

Preferred primary residence location.

Duh. A brownstone on the Upper West Side, of course. Though, in my defense, I would’ve answered that one the same even before meeting a certain someone.

What song did you last sing in private?

Oh jeez. I might have to lie about this one. I’d been feeling a little down this morning, so before I went in the shower, I cranked up an oldie but goodie and twerked to Sir Mix-a-Lot while I shampooed my hair. I was pretty certain we all liked big butts, but it didn’t make a very appealing match profile. So I went with something a little more mature—Lewis Capaldi’s “Someone You Loved” and then wasted time thinking about what type of music Sebastian might like. For some reason, I pegged him as a country fan—all those songs about lost women and dogs seemed to fit him. Though, oddly, I got the distinct feeling that Sebastian would be more intrigued by a woman who sang Sir Mix-a-Lot rather than Lewis Capaldi.

Complete this sentence: I wish I had someone with whom I could share . . .

My immediate response was to write everything. But I thought that might make me sound too needy. So I toned it down a little, yet still went with something that was true and had a bit more personality sprinkled in: cold pasta and laughs at two am.

The clickety-clack sound of a woman’s heels alerted me that Devin was coming down the hall, so I quickly hid the matchmaker questionnaire under some papers.

“Coffee time.” She breezed into my office. “You want the usual?”

“Yeah. That would be great. I’m really dragging this afternoon.”

“Oh? Do anything interesting last night?”

Since I didn’t categorize watching dog-training videos as interesting, I shook my head. “Nah. Just woke up early and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

Devin looked down at my desk. “What are you working on?”

“Copyedits for next month’s articles.”

“Mm-hmm.” She squinted at me. “Okay . . . well. It’s my turn to pay for coffee, so I’ll be back in a jiff.”

“Sounds good, thanks.”

Devin turned toward the door and then back to me. “Actually . . . I forgot my wallet. Can I borrow twenty dollars?”

“Yeah, sure.” I got out of my chair and walked over to the cabinet under the window where I kept my purse. As soon as I dug in to find my wallet, Devin snatched the pile of papers from atop my desk.

My eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Copyedits my ass.” She started to riffle through the papers in her hands. I attempted to grab them, but she pulled back too quickly for me.

“Give me that!”

She dug a few pages down into the pile and then yanked out a page. “Aha! I knew you were doing something you didn’t want me to see.”

“You’re crazy.”

She started to read the paper aloud. “Bloom Matchmaking Services. Boutique services for elite singles.” Devin rolled her eyes. “Let me translate. ‘Boutique’ equals ‘expensive.’ ‘Elite singles’ equals ‘a bunch of stuffy assholes who think they’re too good for Match.com or the bar scene.’”

“It’s research for an article.”

“So why did you just lie to me and tell me you were working on copyedits?”

“Because of exactly what you’re doing at this very moment. You blow everything out of proportion.”

Devin was too busy scanning the sheet for clues to even hear my defense. She smirked when she looked up. “The description of your ideal mate sounds very familiar.”

“I’ve always liked tall with dark hair.”

She arched a brow. “With good bone structure, green eyes, and a wide stance?”

“Who doesn’t like that?”