By Magic Alone Page 2

  How many times had I been there after a guy dumped her? Too many to count. How often had we had this exact same conversation? Tons. I was tired of seeing my friends get hurt. Especially with something that was so easy to avoid.

  She blinked but kept her gaze on me. She’d yet to say anything, so I asked, “What are you thinking?”

  “That I feel bad for you. That I wish, for one moment, you could feel what I’m talking about. Maybe then you wouldn’t be so quick to write off love as a joke.”

  “Love isn’t a joke. I know love is real . . . just like I know magic isn’t.”

  “Then why are you so dead set . . .?” Kara’s voice drifted away as her eyes rounded. “Oh my God. This is about Ricky Luca, isn’t it?”

  “No! Ricky was forever ago. My God, Kara, you have a memory like a freaking elephant. I was what . . . ten?”

  “Twelve,” Kara said. “I remember because we were in seventh grade, and it was your first year at Worthington Academy.” A slight smile crossed her face. “You hated the school uniform.”

  “Pleats,” I mumbled. “I hated the pleats.” Kara and I had gone to the same elementary school, but once we hit junior high, I moved on to private education.

  “Anyway,” Kara drawled, “you couldn’t stop talking about Ricky.”

  “Ricky who?” Leslie interjected. “And why haven’t I ever heard this story?”

  “It’s nothing,” I said, desperate to change the topic. “Moving on—”

  “We never told you about Ricky?” Kara angled her body toward Leslie. “Ricky was Julia’s first crush. They used to leave each other love notes underneath the bust of Abraham Lincoln in history class.”

  “Stop. Please . . .” I hadn’t thought about Ricky for years, and I didn’t particularly want to think about him now.

  But Kara was on a roll. “There was a school thing . . . what was it, a science fair or something?”

  “The fall carnival,” I said. “It wasn’t a big deal. Ricky and I were supposed to meet there, but I got sidetracked.” Actually, I’d had my fortune told. A waste of time, as I later discovered. The heavily made-up woman gave me the exact same pretend fortune she gave every other preteen girl who strolled in. “He . . . ah . . . got tired of waiting, I guess.”

  “And he spent the day with Celeste Morrigan.” Kara sniffed. “Your other best friend.”

  “She wasn’t my best friend.” But we were close. Close enough that her betrayal had stung more than Ricky’s. “They were a better match.” Something Celeste had explained when I’d confronted her. She’d pointed out all the ways that she and Ricky were similar, and all the ways that Ricky and I were not. She was right. Celeste and Ricky remained a couple all through high school. “But this has zip to do with my feelings about love.” Or magic.

  “I don’t know,” Leslie murmured. “This explains a lot.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Kara whipped around to face me. “I should have seen this before.”

  “Seen what?” I said through pressed-together lips. “What girl hasn’t had her heart broken when she was young?”

  “Your mom,” Kara whispered. “When she found out about Ricky . . .”

  “Yes. She told me not to trust my heart. But that has nothing to do with any of this.” I tried to think of different words for an explanation I’d given many times, but couldn’t. “Our definitions of love are different, that’s all. I believe that love is a slow-building process, something that can take years to happen but will last forever. You believe that love will strike you fast and hot, like a bolt of lightning. My definition will save you pain and heartbreak. Yours will keep leading you to misery, because that isn’t love—it’s physical stuff that has nothing to do with real emotion. Trust me on this.”

  “Not necessarily! Sometimes that quick flash leads to the best relationships.” Leslie exhaled in frustration. “So we have different definitions. So what? That doesn’t mean that either of us is wrong. Most people want both. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “No, there isn’t,” I conceded, pleased to be off the Ricky subject. “It’s just very unlikely you’ll find both. It’s like playing the lottery instead of methodically saving for the future.” I gave Kara and Leslie a hard stare. “Would you bet your retirement on the less-than-minuscule chance of winning the lottery? No! You don’t do that. You save money, you make use of your employer’s 401 (k) plan, and you take the proper steps to ensure your future won’t be penniless! This is no different.”

  Kara whispered to Leslie, “She’s getting all worked up again.”

  “Yes, I am! Don’t you see? Your chances of securing a successful lifelong partnership increase substantially when you take sex appeal out of the equation.” I instructed myself to calm down. “It’s about brain matter, not body matter. It’s about logic and fact. Not how sexy a man looks in jeans!”

  Leslie snickered. “Sexy in jeans is a damn fine trait to have in a man, but that’s not exactly what we’re talking about here. You know that. You’ve delved into your sales pitch for would-be clients, and we’ve heard all of this before.”

  “Then what is it about?”

  “It’s that electrifying pull you sometimes feel when you look across a room and see some man you’ve never seen before. It’s the way your skin heats up when you think about him touching you, about you touching him. Have you truly never felt this way, Julia?”

  Had I? Once or twice, maybe, but that didn’t prove anything. “Those feelings don’t last. They’re not real,” I managed to say. “And they’re certainly not logical. Who bets their future on a feeling?”

  “I give up. You can’t see outside of the box you’ve erected around yourself long enough to listen to any opinion different from yours.” Leslie held her hands up in surrender. “You’re right and I’m wrong. Hell, most of the world is wrong then, too. We should all toss away our hopes and dreams and wishes.”

  “So if a guy doesn’t live up to your hot and sexy standards, you don’t want him? I mean, that’s what this really boils down to, isn’t it?” I said.

  Leslie reddened. “Not at all. But there should be a spark, something that pulls us together beyond the ‘commonalities’ you talk about.”

  “I see.” I didn’t. Not really. But this conversation had veered incredibly off the path, and this time, it was my fault. “I guess I don’t understand where all of this is coming from. I thought we were mostly on the same page here.”

  “From a practical standpoint, you make a lot of good sense, and that’s why it’s always been so difficult to argue with you on this topic. But there is nothing practical about love. Verda has helped me see that I want it all. She makes us believe that love—our definition of love—is possible.” Leslie exhaled another long, drawn-out sigh. “Verda’s method is unique.”

  There it was. The lifeline I needed. “See? This is what I need to know. How is Verda’s method unique?”

  Kara and Leslie exchanged a look.

  “Well?” I prompted.

  “We . . . um . . . can’t really tell you,” Kara admitted. “So that’s why—”

  “We’re paying your money back, so you’re not out anything.” Leslie reached into her purse and pulled out a check, which she slid across the desk toward me. Kara followed suit.

  I glanced at the checks. Yep, both were made out to me—Julia Collins—and were in the correct amount. I didn’t want them. “You two are supposed to be on my team.”

  “Oh, honey, we are. But we can’t give you any inside info on Magical Matchups.” Leslie ran her fingers through her hair again. This time I recognized the action as a sign of her nervousness. “We . . . You see, we sort of signed a confidentiality agreement.”

  “You ‘sort of’ signed one, or you actually signed one?”

  “We signed one. It was the only way—”

  Every bit of my composure dissipated. “Uh-huh. Give me a second here.”

  I closed my eyes and counted to ten, then twenty, and hoped like hell th
e panic building in my chest wouldn’t lead to a heart attack. My business was going downhill fast, my investors—okay, my parents—were watching the business’s profit and loss statements with their eagle eyes, and everything I’d worked for was about to disintegrate between my fingers. All because of some company that had seemingly sprung up out of nowhere and had taken the singles of Chicago by storm.

  “That vein in her forehead is throbbing,” Kara whispered. “That can’t be a good sign.”

  “Shh,” Leslie hissed. “Julia? Do you want me to get you some tea or something?”

  “No.” Alcohol would have been good, though. And not some fruity umbrella drink, either. No, I wanted a shot of . . . of . . . whiskey. Something hot and wicked. Something that would burn going down and make me forget everything.

  “What are you thinking?” This question came from Leslie.

  “I’m wondering why you signed a confidentiality agreement when the only reason you were at Magical Matchups was for me. It would stand to reason that you’d refuse to sign something that would preclude you from living up to our agreement.”

  “When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound that great,” Kara admitted. “But we didn’t think of it in exactly those terms.”

  I snapped my eyes open so fast that my head began to ache. “How did you think of it?”

  Neither of them spoke, but I saw the wheels turning.

  I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the headache before it increased. “I sort of expected this from Kara,” I said. She gasped, so I tossed her a smile to lessen the sting. “But Leslie, I didn’t see this coming from you.”

  How could I? Leslie had a practical—which I appreciated—but unrealistic way of seeking out men. They had to fall within five guidelines: handsome, honorable, charismatic, sexy, and—to Leslie, the most important of them all—rich. Leslie isn’t a snob. Not really. But she was raised poor. The lucky-to-have-food-on-the-table-and-shoes-on-her-feet type of poor. Therefore, money was a huge issue.

  Unfortunately, men that matched all five of these requirements weren’t dropping from the sky. When you added in Leslie’s age limitations—no more than two years younger or six years older—the available pool shrunk more. Over the years she’d found a couple of guys who’d hit four out of five, but as Leslie liked to say, “Close isn’t good enough,” so she’d done what she did best: pushed them away.

  Leslie said, “Do you remember Scot Raymond?”

  He was just one of the guys I’d been thinking of. My jaw dropped open. I jerked it shut and tried to smile serenely. Did I remember Scot Raymond? Tall. Gorgeous brown eyes. A husky, deep voice that made my insides tremble. And not that I’d admit it out loud, but an awesome ass that looked mighty fine in a pair of jeans. Of course I remembered him. An uncomfortable blaze of heat whipped through me. “Um . . . barely,” I lied. “Why?”

  “Because even though our relationship didn’t last, he’s the type of guy I should be with. He is the one I shouldn’t have let get away.”

  “He didn’t ‘get away.’ You pushed him away. He wasn’t rich enough for you,” I nearly screeched. “You cheated on him and made sure he knew it. Then he broke things off with you, which is exactly what you wanted!” Whoa. Where had that come from?

  Kara gasped again, and Leslie’s complexion drained of color. Both of them looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, which probably wasn’t that far off base. Knowing the truth about your friends doesn’t necessarily give you permission to throw it in their faces. “Oh, God. Leslie . . . I’m so sorry I said it that way. I . . .”

  She sighed and a tremor rolled through her. “I’m going to let your comment slide because I know you’re upset. But he . . . I regret what I did. My feelings for him scared me, so I purposely demolished the relationship before anything could come from it.” Her mouth compressed in a defiant line. “I made a mistake. A huge mistake, but I’ve learned from it. If I could have one more chance with him, I’d grab it in a second.”

  This was a news flash. Leslie tended to look forward at all times. “Really? Then maybe you should call him. Why waste your time with Magical Matchups if you think this guy is the guy?”

  Her eyes glazed over with pain. “It’s too late. I need to move on, and Verda’s going to help me so I don’t make that mistake again. She believes in me.”

  “I believe in you! Don’t you know that?”

  “Yes. But I need someone on my side who also believes that what I want is possible. Verda can do that. I don’t think you can. I’m sorry, Julia.”

  That hurt, like a punch in the stomach after eating a full seven-course meal. Tears sparked behind my eyes, but I shoved them away. Why was I arguing? Leslie had the right to go for what she wanted, and if—when—it backfired, I’d be here to pick up the pieces.

  “If this is what you want, I support you.” I looked at Kara. “You too. I will always support both of you. We don’t have to agree for that to be there.”

  Relief slid into both of their faces and their bodies relaxed. “Thank you,” Leslie said. “I’m sorry we can’t be of more help, but I do have an idea that might give you the information you need.”

  “Um . . . Les? It was my idea,” Kara rushed to say. “Remember, we talked about this last night.”

  Leslie arched her right eyebrow. “Fine. We have an idea of what you can do next.”

  “Not we. Me. It was my idea,” Kara repeated. “Give credit where credit is due.”

  “That’s not the way—” Leslie clamped her lips together and nodded. Motioning toward Kara, she said, “Go ahead and tell Julia your idea.”

  Wow. We were all stressed to the max. And while some of my friends’ stress was my fault, I put most of the blame on Verda and her lovey-dovey voodoo. “Go on, Kara. I’m listening.” I mentally crossed every one of my appendages that her idea was a good one.

  “You need to join Magical Matchups yourself. If you’re a client, you’ll learn whatever it is you want to know on your own.” Kara’s eyes had that shimmery glow again. “Maybe we could even go on some triple dates!”

  Again, both Leslie and Kara watched me expectantly. I figured they wanted me to jump in with both feet because it would dispel any of the guilt they might be experiencing for letting me down. But, “I already thought of that. And it’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not?” Leslie asked.

  “I’m not impartial. How can I go through Verda’s process, whatever it is, when my beliefs are what they are? Besides which, I’m her competition. She probably already knows who I am.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t see how it can work.”

  “I don’t think Verda will care who you are, as long as she believes you’re serious about finding love.” Leslie leaned forward, so we were eye to eye. “Unless there’s another reason? Are you worried that maybe, just maybe, Verda will make you a believer, too?”

  “No,” I said between clenched teeth. “I mean what I said.”

  “Well, then, I don’t know what to tell you.” Leslie returned to her prior position and gnawed on her lip. “So you’re going to give up?”

  “Of course not! That would be the same as shutting down Introductions myself.” It would also require admitting to my parents that I’d failed. I winced at the thought. “No, I’m not giving up.”

  “Then what? Do you have any other ideas?” Kara asked.

  “I’ll figure something out.” What, exactly, I didn’t know. My two best friends bailing on me and deserting to the other side was not a possibility I’d considered. Maybe the temp agency I sometimes used had a special subterfuge and secrecy division for these types of projects? Unlikely, but I could always hope. “It’ll be okay.”

  “Would Gregory and Susanna give you another loan?” Leslie asked. “I mean, they are your parents, and they’re not exactly hurting for money.”

  I shuddered in reflex. Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents. But there was no way they’d pull my butt out of this particular fire. “That isn’t an option,” I said tight
ly.

  “Why not? Think about it, Julia. They’re all about business, so if you brought this to them as an investment opportunity, they might go for it,” Leslie pushed. “And another infusion of cash might be enough to get you through this rough spot.”

  I shook my head. “You’re right. My parents are all about business, and I still owe them money from the original loan. They won’t see this as an investment—they’ll see it as throwing more cash into a losing enterprise.” Besides which, my relationship with my parents was tenuous at best. The last thing I wanted was to make things worse.

  “She’s right, Les,” Kara said, reaching over and squeezing my hand. “We really are sorry. Can you forgive us? We hate disappointing you.”

  “I know,” I said in a soft voice. “I appreciate the honesty.” And even with everything else, I did.

  “So you’re feeling better?” Leslie asked.

  “Absolutely,” I lied. I twisted my lips into a smile that I hoped appeared real. “I’ll figure this out,” I said again.

  They returned my smile. Theirs were as fake, but hey, points to them for pretending. That didn’t stop my stomach from cramping. If my friends doubted me, then it was no wonder I’d lost so many clients.

  But I’d fix it. I’d fix everything. How hard could it be? All I had to do was figure out how to plump up my company’s bottom line, discover what the mysterious and “kooky” Verda had that I didn’t, and bring in a bunch of new business. Piece of cake.

  Right. If I had to bake that cake over an open campfire in the middle of a blizzard with my bikini on and wearing a blindfold. Easy peasy.

  I gulped back a groan and smiled wider. So wide, my cheeks hurt. “Let’s go grab some dinner. Somewhere that serves margaritas.” I stood up. “My treat.”

  Kara and Leslie nodded and followed me out of my office in silence. As we walked, I tried to conceive a plan that would accomplish everything I needed. Not a whole lot of anything came to me. But deep inside, there was this teeny-tiny part of me that wished that magic and fairy godmothers were real. Because if I could blink my eyes—or have someone else blink their eyes—and have every last thing fall into place, well, that would certainly make my life a hell of a lot easier.