Miss Match (8 page)

Whoa.

Brandon Knox picked a girl with sense.

Never thought I'd say that about Gold-Plated Barbie, either.

I push myself to my knees and pat her shoulder. "Gotcha. Want to
know what I think?"

She nods miserably.

"I think he's a first-class, grade-A, no-doubt-about-it idiot."

Her mouth drops. She covers it. Then she giggles.

"He should know better than that. First, because the Bible clearly
states that Christians and non-Christians should not be dating. Second,
because he is your boss. And third because. . ."
ecause ..." I whirl my hand in the
air, at a loss for words.

"Because just because." She hugs me. Hugs me! "Thanks, Laurie. I'm
glad you work here."

I stand purposefully. "Mr. Goodness-Gracious-I-Live-in-an-EmptyBachelor-Pad and I are going to have a serious heart-to-heart. Excuse
me, Hannah."

I march down the hall, my footsteps eaten up by the carpeting.
For once, I wish the floors were linoleum or wood. I need the sound
effects now.

Boom ... boom ... boom.

Executioners tread here.

I don't bother knocking on his office door.

"Brandon Michael Knox."

Brandon looks up from his desk, a smile peeking on his lips and then
racing for cover when it sees the smoke from my burning pupils.

"Hi, Laurie." He is clearly going over everything he has said to me
in the last twenty-four hours and analyzing it, trying to figure out what
caused the appearance of the Wicked Witch of the West.

I stop in front of his desk. Hands on hips. Eyes in Sniper Mode.
Ready to ping him with the smallest indiscretion.

"You asked Hannah out?" I enunciate each individual word.

He blinks. His jaw drops. "Uh, who told you?"

"Hannah."

Obviously, he didn't plan on this little development. He squirms.
"Okay, Laurie, before you get mad-"

"Too late."

"You need to know I was asking her out to discuss what we talked
about at Bible study." He looks at me hopefully.

What does he expect me to say? Oh, Brandon, bless you for your kind
and Christ-centered heart! I am a fool to have assumed you wanted to do
anything but witness to the poor lost soul!

I gape at him. "Brandon, how stupid do you think I am?"

"Not very."

"Then why on earth did you just feed me that blatant lie?"

He sits back in his chair. "Uh..."

I point at his heart. "You need to do some serious soulsearching, Bud."

And I leave. Quite pleased with myself, actually. I didn't preach or
rant. I kept myself cool and confident through the whole confrontation.

I am Lauren Holbrook, after all. I have a reputation to protect.

"What did he say?" Hannah's eyes are wide with trepidation.

I shrug. "Nothing remarkable. Lots of `uhh."'

"You're the best, Laurie."

I nod graciously.

The chime over the door jingles, and Hannah and I look over. A
model for Today's Best-Looking Guys walks in, pulling his shades off
his face.

Stephen Weatherby.

My memory isn't perfect, but I don't recall seeing him in the appointment book.

"Hey, Stephen," I say casually. "What's up?"

"Hi, Laurie. Hannah." He walks to the desk and looks at me, a smile
spreading across his chiseled face. "Can I talk to you for a second?" He
directs the question to me.

Uh-oh.

'Ihe Plan is crumbling before my very eyes.

"Sure," I say weakly. I look at Hannah, who is grinning unabashedly at me. "When the McKenzies get here, tell them I'll be right
with them."

"Will do." Hannah's eyes flash in sheer delight.

Who would have thought Prom Queen Barbie enjoyed watching
human sacrifices being led to the altar?

I follow Stephen outside.

Stephen walks down the sidewalk and stops in front of Wong Hu's, a
cheesy Chinese place run by a bunch of Swedes. This could be the reason
for its cheesiness, I suppose.

"Laurie," Stephen fiddles with his sunglasses.

"Yes, Stephen?"

"I was wondering if. .." His voice trails off and he looks off into the
distance, fidgeting.

I suddenly feel sorry for Dr. America.

"If?" I encourage.

"If you'd like to join me for dinner Tuesday night?" He finally finds
the courage to look me in the eye.

Oh brother. Now the question: Do I say yes and please his ego? Or do
I say no and break his heart?

Dad's words, spoken so often during my childhood, float back to me
on a very unwelcome cloud. "Always be pleasing and accepting, Lauriegirl. Never be rude or impolite."

Darn it, Dad.

"Sure, I'll go." My voice is quiet. I feel the need to add, "as a friend,"
but I don't think Stephen hears me, he is so busy smiling.

"Great, that's great," he gushes. "So I'll pick you up here or at
your house?"

"Here's fine."

"Great! Uh, want to go to Vizzini's or Halia's?"

I shrug. "Vizzini's."

"Great! I'll be here. Six o'clock?"

"Fine."

He grins. "Great!"

I have to smile. He is pretty cute in all his excitement. I hope I don't
disappoint him. I'm not the most enthralling date.

"See you later!" he calls, slipping his shades back on and again reverting into the cool, collected young doctor.

"Bye." I step back inside the studio. Hannah almost makes it back to
her desk. "Spying?" I greet her.

"Observing," she corrects. She grins. "So when's the wedding,
Laurie?"

"No wedding." I shake my head vehemently. "We're going as friends.
I am not the marrying kind."

She snorts. For being Rhinestone Barbie she can do it pretty well.
Not as well as I can, but pretty well.

"He did not look like he had just asked a friend to dinner,"
Hannah states.

I feel the call to defend myself. "He knows I'm not ever getting
married."

"Really?" One perfect eyebrow slips up under her bangs.

Doubt descends like brownie batter sliding off a baking spoon.
Kerplunk.

Sure, Stephen knows. I mean, like I said, I've known the guy for
forever. Not very well, but I've known him. Surely he's heard about my
stance on marriage.

Surely.

Hannah watches my private battle, and her other eyebrow disappears. My private battle is apparently not so private.

"Surely he knows," I tell her.

"Uh-huh." It is not a convinced "uh-huh."

The chime on the door rings and the McKenzies walk in, carrying
two-month-old Amber and holding five-year-old Zach's hand.

"Hey, guys," I greet them and lead them to Studio Three.

When twelve o'clock ticks around and neither Hannah nor I have seen
Brandon again, Hannah begins to feel sorry for him.

"Don't do that. Prince-Not-So-Charming deserves every word I said
to him."

Hannah doesn't look convinced. "He at least needs to eat."

"I)id he bring his lunch?"

She opens the fridge under her desk. "If he did, it's not
refrigerated."

She looks so worried, I capitulate. "Fine," I grouse while grabbing
my backpack. "I'm going to Bud's anyway. I'll get him a hamburger. Do
you want one?"

She purses her lips. "Do they sell hot dogs?"

"Yep "

A five-dollar bill appears from the pocket of her jeans. "Lots
of relish."

Shoreline Barbie likes hot dogs?

I can walk the three-minute trek to Bud's with my eyes closed, I come
here so often. I push Bud's door, and four hundred catlike screeches
sound from the hinges.

I wince. "You might want to oil that door," I tell Mikey, the son
of Bud.

Mikey grins, showing the full extent of his braces. "But then what
could you criticize?" This kid knows me too well. He grins at me.
"What does your ladyship desire today?" He takes his place behind the
cash register.

"Two hamburgers and a hot dog. Lots of relish on the hot dog."

His red eyebrows climb on his freckled, zit-infested forehead. "Okay."
He grins again. "What did he do to you?"

I glare at him. "First off, buddy-boy, that's none of your business.
Second, hamburgers are hardly a comfort food. And third, I'm buying
for Brandon and Hannah."

"Who's Hannah?"

I grab a chunk of napkins. "Our new secretary. You've probably seen
her in the parking lot. Blonde. Thin. Blue-eyed."

Mikey's eyes widen. "Oh! You mean the babe in the blue Taurus?"

"Smart and observant. Mikey, what other improvements are
you hiding?"

Mikey bats his eyes at me. Braces have been good for him. He is
developing a nice smile.

He totals the order. "Four bucks, eight cents. Minus the tip,
of course."

I pull out my wallet. "Here you go. Four dollars." I count out the
change into his hand. "Six, seven, eight cents." I slide the billfold back in
my backpack. "Don't eat the yellow snow."

He makes a face and hands me a white paper bag. Already grease is
marking it.

"See you Monday, Laurie."

I need to stop being so predictable.

"Yeah, yeah." I smile at him as I go outside.

The bell chimes over the door when I step inside the studio. Hannah has
the phone to her ear.

"Actually, Mr. Holbrook, she just came back. Want to talk to her?"

Hannah hands me the phone. "It's your dad."

"Hi, Dad." I set the paper bag on Hannah's desk. She grimaces at
the grease stains, pulls four paper towels from under her desk, and puts
the bag on them.

"Laurie, Honey, you forgot to turn your cell phone off silent again."

"No way." I dig in my backpack. "Oh my gosh, I never turned the
ringer on. Sorry about that! It is being turned on. Now."

"I wanted to tell you that I'll pick you up from work tonight and
then we can get your car after dinner. Does that work?"

Bless Dad's heart. He is so excited about this dinner.

"Sure, Dad." I grin. "That works great."

"See you at six, Sweetheart."

I give the phone to Hannah, who hangs it up for me. "Did you find
your hot dog?"

She nods, nose wrinkling. "Do they soak these in oil before
cooking them?"

"Sure do. Bud's trademark. That's what makes them fresh." I pull
my hamburger from the bag. "Here's your change. Has The Bachelor
emerged yet?"

She shakes her head, her mouth full of hot dog.

"Guess I'll take this back to him then."

Here's what I am: A nice person. Mostly.

"Brandon!" I pound on his office door, then open it.

Brandon sits at his desk, fingers steepled, face pensive. He watches
me walk over without changing his expression.

"Lunchtime." I set the bag squarely on his desk, grease and all.
"Eat."

He moans. "Laurie . .

"Brandon ..." I follow suit.

He rakes his hands through his hair. "What have I done?"

I have to admit I feel sorry for the guy. "Nothing that can't be fixed.
If it makes you feel better, Hannah had more sense than you anyhow. She
didn't want to go out." I go around the desk and pat his shoulder.