She cupped her chin in her hand. “I find it very telling that you lump personal and professional relationships together.”
He shrugged. “Not much difference.”
“You’re an interesting underwear-less man,” she mused. “What criteria do you use to choose a significant other?”
“Compatibility, communication, shared beliefs around fiscal responsibility, and sexual compatibility.”
“Hang on. So physical attraction is pragmatic, but romance is what?”
“Inconsequential.” The vomiting, shower, food, and argument made him feel more human than he had the right to after killing the better part of a bottle. “You might be looking for some small-town fruit farmer to bring you flowers and gives you a PG kiss for your Christmas cards. But that’s not what works.”
She pulled out her phone. “Hang on. I need to cancel your meet-cute with the fruit farmer this afternoon.”
“Do I want to know what a meet-cute is?” he asked, devouring the last of his toast.
“Definitely not. So if it’s not PG Christmas cards, what do you want, Ryan?” She dropped her second triangle of toast on his plate.
He pounced on it. “That’s easy. I want a woman who contributes to her retirement savings while working a job that she enjoys and makes sense to me. That way I don’t have to suffer through any office holiday parties or corporate picnics where her co-workers complain about shit like Instagram filters.” He took a bite of toast and chewed thoughtfully. “I want someone who won’t complain if I stay late at the office four nights a week. A woman whose life doesn’t revolve around demanding more quality time from me.”
“So a roommate then?” she said with a smirk.
He gave her a cool look. “Someone who goes to dinner with my boss and her wife and can carry on an intelligent conversation all while reminding me she’s not wearing underwear under her dress.”
That had her attention.
Those lavender eyes widened, and her mouth curved into a smile. “Just when I was starting to think you were a robot.”
“Someone who asks for help reaching for something in the kitchen and then ends up taking my pants off against the fridge. Someone who makes me do things I don’t want to do so I don’t miss out on life outside the office.” Okay so maybe those last few weren’t on his official list. But he liked getting a rise out of her.
Ryan’s New Plan
1. Track down Rainbow Berkowicz.
2. Solve Uncle Carson’s financial problems.
3. Fly home and save his career.
4. Then find a woman who smiled at him like Sammy, enjoyed kitchen oral sex, and had a conservative investment portfolio.
“Well, well. The accountant has an unsuspected kinky side,” she said.
She didn’t look appalled, he noted. If anything, she looked intrigued… and a little flushed. Her knee was still pressing against his.
“So, Sam,” he said, leaning into her space from across the table. “You can keep your friendly first kiss with my idiot cousin. I’ll find my naughty 401(k) contributor.”
“I was fourteen,” she said dryly. “I wasn’t looking for reverse cowgirl or marriage. It was sweet, and so was he. You’d be surprised how the right kiss at the right time can change your path.”
“You’d be surprised at how a good plan can keep you going in the right direction,” he said, crunching into the toast.
“I bet Other Ryan is a much warmer, fuzzier adult than you are,” she said, pointing her fork at him.
Ryan narrowed his eyes. “My cousin is a shiftless douche. And I know without a doubt that I’m a better kisser.”
“Just keep telling yourself that, tiger,” she said, turning her attention back to her food and moving her leg away from his. A careful withdrawal.
He felt the need to convince her, to arrange the facts for her and lead her to the correct conclusion. “Dipshit Ryan went to college for six years and never graduated,” he began. “He changed his major every other semester and failed all of his classes because he was too busy ‘falling in love’ every five seconds.”
“Some people like love,” she pointed out, looking amused.
He rolled his eyes, then decided he’d wait a week or two before attempting it again when the room began to spin. “Now, he has a title at his parent’s property management company and shows up to work once or twice a week. At least when he’s not trying to ‘find himself’ in a yoga teacher training or a pastry chef workshop. He hasn’t paid taxes since 2007. And he prefers dating wealthy married women because they give him shiny presents and don’t expect him to be home every night.”
“That’s quite the assessment. You do come from a competitive family,” Sammy mused, over the rim of her coffee cup.
“You have no idea,” he told her.
In elementary school, Dipshit Ryan had challenged him to a hot dog eating contest and then stacked his own plate with cocktail wieners. In high school, the idiot had bet him ten bucks that he couldn’t finish his trigonometry problems first. Ryan had whipped out the work and answers in record time only to have his shithead cousin slap his name on it and turn it in for class.
Then when Ryan had brought his college girlfriend home for Thanksgiving, Jackass Ryan had gotten her loaded on cheap tequila and tried to make out with her. She’d—rightfully—pushed him down the stairs.
Weiner Face Ryan had been in a neck brace for Christmas and blamed him for the whole thing.
“What would your cousin have to say about you?” Sammy asked.
“That I am loyal, dependable, responsible. All derogatory insults to him,” Ryan told her. “That I take everything too seriously and I haven’t had any fun in twenty years. That I’d rather cross things off my to-do list than live life.”
“So the real question is, which one of you is Evil Ryan?” she asked with the arch of an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself.
“He is.” Ryan was moderately offended that she hadn’t picked up on that. “He’s irresponsible, flighty, and an asshole. A worse kind of asshole,” he insisted when she flashed him a pointed look. “He’s not capable of caring about other people.”
“And you are?”
“I’m here, aren’t I? Instead of fighting for my job and defending my reputation, I’m in Full Fucking Moon attempting to solve some crisis for my great-uncle.”
“Blue Fucking Moon,” she corrected. “What’s the crisis?”
He shook his head. “It’s family business, and I don’t know the details yet.”
Dammit. He needed to get a meeting with that Rainbow Berkowicz at the bank. Once he knew what he was dealing with, he could figure out a solution and reward himself with a one-way ticket home.
“Well, we’d better get started then,” Sammy announced. She picked up both their plates and put them in the sink.
“Get started?”
“You’re living on a farm. You have chores to do.”
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Lavender Fullmer: I’m not one to speculate, but I believe I saw our very single veterinarian pulling into Old Man Carson’s farm last night. Rumor has it, Carson’s nephew is staying there alone for a few days.