Free Just One Bite by Kimberly Raye

winked. “It’s all about getting to the good stuff.” I shifted the sweet smile to Evie. “There’s no need to make her go back over the same old information when I already know most of what I need to.” My fingers need you, I mouthed when Evie didn’t look any more willing.
    “Fine.” She finally shrugged. “I’ll bop the stupid hot water heater.” She retrieved a bottle of Lysol from under her desk and pushed to her feet.
    “Let’s go into my office.” I motioned Carmen forward.
    “Oops.” Evie’s voice drew me back around in time to see her, hand paused on the doorknob of room A. “I forgot to tell you. Your mom’s holding on line one.”
    I watched Carmen disappear into my office and threw a frantic “Tell her I’ll call her back” over my shoulder.
    “Sorry.” She smiled and held up the can. “Busy.”
    “Please—” I started, but she hauled open the door and was quickly swallowed up by a cloud of thick, smelly air.
    My stomach dropped to my ankles.
    I know, I know.
    I’m a denizen of the darkness. A ruthless, bloodthirsty creature of the night. I could so do my own dirty work, including telling my mother I would call her back at my convenience.
    But Jacqueline Marchette hadn’t worked her way up the corporate ladder at Guilt, Inc. by being the most understanding woman.
    “I don’t mind waiting if you need to get that.” Carmen indicated the phone and the frantically blinking red light.
    I gathered my courage, snatched up the phone, and blurted in the most Evie-like voice, “Lil Marchette is indisposed at the moment. You’ll have to call back.” Plunk. “Now.” I opened up a new file on my computer, keyed in Carmen’s name, and shifted my attention back to her. “Let’s talk about what you’re looking for in a man.” I sent up a silent prayer for ruthless and mother-whipped.
    “Well”—she seemed to think—“I’d really like someone I can connect with on all levels.”
    I smiled and typed Vinnie under the must-have section. “When you say all levels, what exactly are you referring to? Do you want someone you can relate to physically? Emotionally? Morally?”
    “Yes, yes and yes. I want an attractive man who’s nice and sweet.”
    “And Italian?”
    “Italian would be good.”
    My smile widened as my fingers flew across the keyboard. Balducci.
    “I want someone who’s compassionate, too.”
    “When you say compassionate, you’re referring to a man who’s considerate, yes? A man who, say, cares about other people? Like, for instance, his mother?”
    “Of course.”
    I keyed in mother-loving Italian.
    “But he shouldn’t care about her more than me. I don’t want a mama’s boy.”
    I keyed in you are so screwed.
    I abandoned the computer screen and reached for a blank profile. “I think I get what you’re looking for. Why don’t you just fill out the personal info on this first page—address, date of birth, that sort of thing—and I’ll play around with what I’ve already got and see what I can come up with.”
    Carmen turned her attention to the profile and I turned my attention to the computer screen. I did a quick check on compassionate men in my database. Twenty-three came up as listing that quality as one of their biggest attributes.
    Vinnie, obviously, wasn’t one of them.
    I ignored the professional inside of me that whispered I was going against all tried-and-true methods (and the big-mouthed romantic that screamed what a selfish bitch I was), pasted on my biggest smile, and declared, “Here we go. The perfect man.”
    “Really?” Hope blossomed in her eyes and I squelched a niggle of guilt.
    I mean, really, who was I to say at this point that Vinnie wasn’t the perfect man? Sure, all evidence pointed to the contrary. But love was blind. And maybe, if I was extremely lucky, deaf and dumb as well.
    Vinnie might very well turn out to be the star of Carmen’s hottest fantasy. Her soul mate. Her be-all and end-all when it came to the opposite