His Big Offer Read online

  Table of Contents

  Epilogue

  Books By Penny Wylder

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Excerpt of BIG MAN

  His Big Offer

  Penny Wylder

  Contents

  Books By Penny Wylder

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Excerpt of BIG MAN

  Books By Penny Wylder

  Books By Penny Wylder

  Filthy Boss

  Her Dad’s Friend

  Rockstars F#*k Harder

  The Virgin Intern

  Her Dirty Professor

  The Pool Boy

  Get Me Off

  Caught Together

  Selling Out to the Billionaire

  Falling for the Babysitter

  Lip Service

  Full Service

  Expert Service

  The Billionaire’s Virgin

  The Billionaire’s Secret Babies

  Her Best Friend’s Dad

  Own Me

  The Billionaire’s Gamble

  Seven Days With Her Boss

  Virgin in the Middle

  The Virgin Promise

  First and Last

  Tease

  Spread

  Bang

  Second Chance Stepbrother

  Dirty Promise

  Sext

  Quickie

  Bed Shaker

  Deep in You

  The Billionaire’s Toy

  Buying the Bride

  Dating My Friend’s Daughter

  Big Man

  Trapped with My Teacher

  My 5 Bosses

  Good Girls Say Yes

  Copyright © 2018 Penny Wylder

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.

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  One

  “You know what? He was a nice guy, as guys go. But don’t get all macho on me about having a plan and then very obviously not have a plan. That just makes you look controlling. Plus, unfortunately, I wasn’t attracted to him. Bonus, I don’t think he was attracted to me either. So at least neither of us wanted to be there. Anyway, I could have had a better dive back into the dating pool, but as you know, readers, I’ve had way worse.”

  —Rock Bottom Caroline

  Warm, strong arms slip around my waist, and I snuggle back against his chest. I love when he comes to bed after me, because then I can feel the way his warmth seeps through the sheets, enveloping both of us. His lips are on my neck, teasing, trying to wake me up, and I smile because it’s working. I turn over to face him, and I see the flash of his eyes in the dark as he leans down to kiss me, and…oh my God. His breath is terrible! What is this? Not what I signed up for.

  A slobbery tongue whacks against my cheek, and I come awake with a start. Alice’s dog Noodle is licking my face, and his breath is so bad I’m about to hurl. I push him off me, sitting up. Unfortunately, this isn’t an atypical way to wake up when you’re sleeping on Alice’s couch, but I would have really liked to see where that dream was heading. I can guarantee that it’s better than the real-life action that I’ve been getting.

  I scrub my face with the blanket, getting the rest of the dog saliva off. Honestly, it’s par for the course with where my life is right now. No girl dreams of waking up with her best friend’s dog every morning. But things could be worse. I’d much rather be woken up by Noodle than still be living with my parents, where my shortcomings was dinner conversation and I was constantly being ridiculed.

  When everything got to be too much, and I couldn’t take any more of their passive-aggressive comments, Alice let me move in here. Because she’s a saint. And now it’s been nine months of me living on her couch, barely contributing to rent because I can’t keep a normal job. If I’m not laid off because my position is no longer available, than it’s the store closing, or some other thing that seems like I’m making it up when I string it all together.

  Thankfully, I still make a little money from ads on my blog, “Rock Bottom Caroline.” The trials and tribulations of my love life, all online for anyone to see. It’s mostly bad. It’s shocking what people will send to women on dating sites and social media, and lots of times, it’s down right gross. But I’ve got a small, dedicated group of readers, and the ad revenue keeps me from starving. Sometimes I write stuff about my life—my struggles to find a job and balance in my life. But the posts that are most successful are the dating stories.

  I log on and moderate a couple of comments on my latest post: a summary of last night’s date, where the gentleman who asked me out insisted on making the plans for the date, but when I showed up, he had no plans and we ended up walking around the financial district for two hours. Let me tell you, the financial district is not a fun place to walk around in NYC. We didn’t even shake hands goodbye. Definitely not the worst date I’ve been on, but certainly not the best either.

  Last night was actually the first time I’d gone out in months. There was a date so bad that I couldn’t bring myself to take the chance until now. I’m still a bit anxious when I think about it, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m kind of happy that last night’s was uneventful, because at least it was normal boring. The two blog comments are from regulars, commenting and laughing at my predicament but also welcoming me back after not posting for a while. At least I know there will always be a few people who appreciate what I do.

  I hear Alice’s door open, and she comes out into the living room. “Morning,” she chirps. How she’s always so perky is beyond me. She pours herself a cup of coffee and grabs a granola bar from our stash while I drag myself over to the bar.

  “You’re having a good morning, as always.”

  “Of course,” I say. I’m probably the least morning person to ever exist. I’m barely awake before noon on a good day.

  “What are your plans for the day?”

  Alice always asks me this. Sometimes I make something up to make her feel better about my lousy life, and sometimes I’m honest. Today I don’t feel like I have enough mental energy to make up anything interesting. “I honestly don’t know. I’ll see if there’s anywhere new that I can apply.” I’m a pro at scanning job listings now.

  “That’s always good,” she says. “Can’t hurt.” Alice would be happy if I never got a job, and I think she’d be fine if I decided her couch was my new permanent home, but she knows that’s not what I want, and she tries to be supportive of whatever I do. She’s going off to her absurdly well-paying job at a bank. A job which she tried to bring me on for as well, only I totally crashed and burned in the interview, and I’d be surprised if they didn’t throw me out of that bank if I ever decided to show up there again.

  “Can’t hurt,” I mumble, taking the coffee she hands to me.

  My computer makes a small dinging sound, and I wince. I’m so used to bad news that I don’t even like the sound of email arriving anymore. May
be I should change the sound. I click open my email, and the cup of coffee almost falls out of my hand.

  There, in the dark black letters of an unopened message, are the words: Job Offer.

  Alice sees the look on my face. “What is it?”

  “Am I crazy or does that say what I think it says?”

  She comes around the corner and peers at the screen. “Oh my God.”

  “Am I hallucinating?”

  “No you’re not. Open it!”

  I do, and am greeted with a sleek logo and an email that’s a few short lines. The person emailing, a guy named Chance Montgomery—with the initials CEO attached to his name—has seen my blog and thinks he might have a position for me at his company called Heart Makers. Is there any way for me to come in sometime today to speak with him about it?

  “Is this for real?”

  Alice reads over my shoulder, her jaw dropping open. “I think it is. What the hell is Heart Makers?”

  I open up an internet tab and run a search. Heart Markers search results explode across my screen, with news stories piling up at the top. I get the gist pretty quickly. Heart Makers is the new matchmaker on the block and they’re shaking things up with the way they work. They’re young, fashionable, and the best place to go if you’re single in New York City.

  “Oh my God.” My fingers are on the keys before I can even register that I’m replying. Yes, I am so interested. I hit send having barely proofread it, and I’m sure that I have typos that make me look like an idiot but I can’t even care. A job offer. A job offer. I mean, I have no idea what I would do working for a matchmaker, but I didn’t even realize how hopeless I’d become until this showed up in my mailbox.

  “You’re going to go?”

  “Of course I’m going to go,” I say. “I need a job. I can’t keep bumming on your couch for the rest of my life even if you’d let me.”

  She grins. “This is so exciting! I really hope it works out. You have to tell me everything when you come home tonight, okay?”

  “Deal.”

  “I’ve got to run.” She pours the rest of her coffee into a to-go cup. “Raid my closet, take what you need, make sure you look fabulous.” And just like that, she’s out the door, Noodle looking after her mournfully.

  My computer dings again, and it’s a reply.

  Can you be here in an hour?

  I look at the address. It’ll be a stretch, but I think I can make it. I type back an enthusiastic yes and sprint into Alice’s room. I’m not sure how I manage, but I get ready faster than I ever have in my life. Thank God I showered last night. At least I don’t have to waste time washing and drying my hair.

  Barely twenty minutes later, I’m locking the apartment behind me, trying to walk to the subway as fast as I can in Alice’s borrowed pencil skirt and heels. I have my own clothes, but none of them are new, and the few nice things I have that are appropriate for an interview are better suited for things like the bank or an upscale retail job. Not a matchmaker with an office in a downtown high rise.

  I make the train with only seconds to spare and find a seat. Now I just have to keep from panicking all the way there. That sounds totally doable and totally like me. Not.

  Two

  “The first time this guy messaged me, he complimented my eyes. I should have known that was too good to be true. The bad ones are easy to tell. But if someone shows up and it sounds like he stepped out of a romantic comedy? That should be the biggest warning sign of all.”

  —Rock Bottom Caroline

  The Heart Makers office is like a dream out of a magazine. Walls of windows combined with bright lights make for a happy atmosphere as soon as you walk in the door. Exactly the kind of vibe you want for customers coming in for a matchmaking service.

  I’m proud of how well I’ve managed to keep my panic in check, but now that I’m in the office, I’m shaking just a little. But I’m on time. I think that’s probably the most important thing. I walk up to the receptionist—who looks like she’s from central casting with her neat up-do and earpiece—and wait for her to acknowledge me.

  She gives me a thousand-watt smile. “Welcome to Heart Makers. Can I help you?”

  “Yes,” I say, clearing my throat. “I have a meeting with Chance Montgomery. I think he’s expecting me?”

  A few keystrokes later. “You’re Caroline?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Great,” she says. “Follow me.”

  I do, past a fabulous view of downtown Manhattan and an open-plan workspace. I also see little alcoves where one or two people are working, and I wonder if that’s where they interview you when you come in to use their service.

  I’m so busy looking at my surroundings that I almost bump into the receptionist when she stops short in front of an impressive looking door.

  “Have a seat,” she says, pointing to the couch outside the door. “Marcy will let you know when he’s ready for you.”

  I sit. And wait. I see Marcy—who I’m assuming is Chance’s assistant—subtly look me up and down. Thank God I’m wearing Alice’s clothes because if I were wearing mine, I know I wouldn’t have made a good impression. I’m trying not to fidget, but I can’t help but tap my toes. I have no idea what kind of job offer to expect. I mean, it’s definitely a legit company, but who just emails someone a job offer out of the blue? What if it’s something weird?

  “You can go on in,” Marcy says, with a sickly sweet smile that lets me know she’s not my biggest fan. Is that because she knows I’m walking into a trap? Get it together, girl! You can do this.

  I straighten my skirt and push open the door to his office, and holy mother of God, there’s a lot to take in. First, the office is huge, and the window behind the desk has a picture perfect view of lower Manhattan and the New York Harbor. And lastly—because there’s nothing else I could possibly look at now—Chance Montgomery is standing behind his desk waiting for me.

  It’s almost like I’m far away from myself as I freeze, and my mouth drops open. Because Chance Montgomery is hot. Hotter than the sun hot. So hot I feel like I should look down to see if my clothes have burned off hot. But I can’t move because I’m frozen in place by that same hotness. Holy. Shit.

  “Hello,” he says.

  I blink, and I feel like the world has started turning again. “Hi.” I manage to take the necessary steps forward to shake his hand. “I’m Caroline.” The nervous laugh that escapes my lips sounds hysterical even to me.

  The only reaction from him is a small amused smile. “It’s good to meet you, Caroline. Please, take a seat.”

  I step back and run into the chair, because it’s closer than I thought, and I tumble into it, my purse landing on the ground with a thud. I’m kind of laying sideways in it. Chance is looking at me with that same amused smile, and I feel the blood run to my cheeks. I manage to reseat myself in a more normal fashion. “I’m usually more graceful.”

  He smiles. “Graceful can be overrated. Especially when it’s a replacement for charm.”

  I blush again.

  “I appreciate you coming in so quickly,” he says, changing topic. “I’m sure that you’ve either heard of us or googled us when I emailed you this morning, but let me tell you a little bit about the company.”

  “Sure.”

  “Heart Makers is a pretty new company, just over two years old. We’re focused on creating lasting romantic partnerships for people in their twenties and thirties. We started the company as a way to fight back against the hook-up culture and the way most dating sites are simply becoming unusable. So here, we strive to make lasting connections using the typical things like personality and temperament, but also expectations, timing, industry, and phase of life.”

  “That sounds really great,” I say. Because it does. Given my experience, I’d do almost anything not to have one more guy message me that I have nice tits.

  “We’ve been successful so far, and I think it’s only going to get better. But because of the personalized nat
ure of our service, we’re expensive. I don’t want our expertise to be limited to the people who can afford our matchmaking services, and that’s where you come in.”

  Shock rolls through me. “Really? I don’t know anything about matchmaking.”

  Chance laughs. “I don’t know if I’d agree with that. I’ve seen your blog, and I think you know plenty about the perils of bad dating. Matchmaking is just one step further.”

  He’s read my blog. Oh my God. Oh. My. God.

  “I’d like you to come on and write articles for our website about dating, matchmaking, romantic advice. We’ll give you some things to write about, but you’d also have some creative room. From what I’ve seen of your writing, your voice and sense of humor are a perfect match for what we’re looking for. If you’re interested, that is.”

  “I am, of course. But…you don’t know anything about me. You’re just willing to have my writing up on your site?”

  “I read a good deal of your blog, and I’ve shared the relevant posts with my COO and CFO. They all agree that you’re perfect.”

  There aren’t any words I can say. Can it really be that easy?

  He laughs again. “Tell you what. Why don’t you stay here till the end of business? I’ll show you where you’d be working, and you can see what working on an article would be like. Then you can let me know.”