Chapter 5

 

 

Ramsey sat in the front seat of his Audi and smiled. Still parked out in front of the bakery, he looked through the windows and could see Gianna working while a few more people went inside. A smile settled into the corner of his mouth. He liked her. He didn’t know why she was of particular interest to him, but he liked her. Maybe it was because she was unlike any woman he’d ever encountered with her peculiar ways and rattled demeanor. While it could’ve been a turnoff to some men, he enjoyed it mainly because she wasn’t being pretentious. She was being her, self-described, weird self. And she wasn’t doing a thing to impress him – almost like she knew she didn’t have a shot with a man like him. But the truth of the matter was, she stood a better chance than the women Felicity James wanted him to meet.

He shook his head. It frustrated him to no end to have to drive across town to talk about some women he didn’t like and barely found interesting. It was obvious to him that Felicity had no clue what kind of woman he wanted. The profiles she sent were of some beautiful women, but what else did they have to offer? What made them unique? What set them apart from all the other women who gave him unwanted obeisance just to have a shot at a date with the Ramsey St. Claire? He already knew he had it like that. He didn’t need praise from a woman and he definitely didn’t want a woman who wanted him because he had money and looked good. He wanted a woman who wasn’t influenced by his looks and wealth. Like a woman who would hug him even if he was a bum on the street instead of a well-dressed, millionaire boss. A woman like…

Dang.

He was thinking of Gianna yet again. Even when he turned into the parking structure of the building that housed Wedded Bliss – a building he designed – he was thinking of her. He wanted so badly to finish their conversation from earlier. Wanted to see her talk and make attempts to pretend she was at ease around him when she was anything but. He liked the way a dimple formed in her right cheek when she smiled. He loved the soothing sound of her voice. The way she chewed. He even liked the way the crumbs fell out of her mouth. Crazy, but he liked it. Things he would usually find unappealing in other women didn’t bother him when it came to Gianna.

He pulled in a deep breath and snatched the manila folder from the front seat containing the profiles Felicity had emailed to him. He reckoned if he printed them out, it would serve as proof that he actually took the time to read through and study these so-called matches. They were anything but.

Stepping out of the car, he closed the door, hit the lock button on his keyless entry and walked up to the building as confident as he wanted to be. He spoke to a woman who was staring him down as he passed her by. He said a quick hello to another woman in the elevator who’d catch glimpses of him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking.

When the elevator opened to the third floor, he got off and headed for Wedded Bliss’ suite.

“Mr. St. Claire, it’s good to see you again,” the receptionist, a young black woman who looked like she could be an intern, greeted him as soon as he opened the door.

“Good morning. How are you?” he asked courteously.

“I’m good. Thanks for asking. Ms. James is actually ready to see you if you’ll just come this way.”

I’m ready to see her, too, he thought, fuming inside. Quietly, he followed her to Felicity’s office and when he stepped inside, he waited for the receptionist to close the door before he walked over to Felicity’s desk, slammed the folder down on it and said, “This is absolute bull!”

He didn’t know his irritation would come out so soon and unfiltered but had she done her job in the first place, she’d known what kind of woman he was looking for.

Felicity frowned, taken aback. “Excuse me?” She opened the folder as he took a seat in front of her desk. She looked up at him, trying with all her might to keep her composure. She was a hair away from dropping this man as a client. She wasn’t one to give up on someone, but he was making her decision so much easier. “Okay. I take it you didn’t like them.”

“That would be correct. Nothing about these women appealed to me. Absolutely nothing. You said my wife was in my inbox when we last spoke, so where is she? I don’t see her. All I see is the profile of three women who have nothing that attracts me.”

Felicity studied the hard edge of his jaw and leaned back in her seat. She’d sent him profiles of three, beautiful women with careers, so what was the problem? “Okay, Mr. St. Claire. I need you to level with me.”

“About what?”

“For starters, there’s a section on the intake questionnaire you filled out that requires you to list the features of the woman who would be perfect for you. You left it blank. Why?”

“How am I supposed to know what her features would look like?”

“Usually men have a preference. Are you telling me you don’t?” she asked with raised brows.

He thought about preferences for a moment but could only see Gianna’s face from this morning and that dimple he’d grown fond of. He liked her dimple. He liked her light brown eyes and how they’d change with her mood. When she was happy, they were the lightest of browns – like a ray of sunlight striking a jar of honey. Nervous, they’d darken with hints of green. And when she was angry, like when he licked her finger, they’d turn as brown as freshly brewed coffee. He smiled.

Short of snapping her fingers, Felicity said, “Mr. St. Claire?”

His smile slipped as his eyes rolled up to meet hers. “Yes?”

“Do you have a preference?” Felicity asked again.

“No.”

Felicity sighed. It almost seemed like he was being difficult on purpose. “Okay. You’re a thirty-nine-year-old millionaire who doesn’t have a preference about the kind of woman he wants to marry. That’s illogical, unreasonable and I’m not falling for it, so let me help you out. You’re tall. Most tall men like short women. Do you like your woman short? Long hair? Short hair? Brown-skinned? Light? Thick, skinny or somewhere in between? You have to give me something to work with here.”

Ramsey glanced at his watch.

“Mr. St. Claire?” Felicity said testily.

Ramsey stood up, slid his hands into his pockets and silently paced the area in front of her desk. “I want a woman who’s easy to like. A woman who’s genuine. I don’t like a lot of fakeness. Fake hair, fake nails. Botox here and there. Implants. None of that. I want a real, down-to-earth, genuine woman, and Ms. James—I don’t care how she looks. Looks have never been a motivating factor that would determine whether I could like someone. I see hearts, not faces. That’s why I left that section blank.”

She lowered her head. “Seriously?”

He stopped pacing, looked at her and said, “Yes. Seriously. In fact, I would prefer to go on your database and look for myself. Can I do that, or is that not a part of the package?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You certainly can do that if you have free time to search through a database that contains well over one-hundred-thousand women.”

“I’m certain I can narrow the results based on search criteria.”

“Yes, you can. The database does contain filters. Unfortunately for you, there are no filters for fake hair and all that other stuff you named, but if you would prefer to take a stab at it yourself, be my guest, Mr. St. Claire. I’ll send a guest login and password to your email.”

“Perfect,” Ramsey said. “After I finish doing your job, I’ll get back to you on Monday.” He headed for the door.

“No, you got that all wrong, Mr. St. Claire. I did my job. If you don’t like the results, maybe you should’ve fully completed your questionnaire and gotten back to me before an entire month passed by. You can’t blame me for your inability to follow through on something you signed up for.”

“I’ll blame whoever I want to blame. Thank you for your time, Ms. James,” he said quickly before exiting the office.

Felicity rolled her eyes. “What a jerk,” she hissed. She was on the fence about letting him sign up when she’d first met the man. She thought something was off about him. Now she knew it for a fact. She felt sorry for the woman he’d choose to marry. He would be one of those dictator husbands. One of those, when-I-say-jump-you-say-how-high husbands. She shook her head. The sad part was, some desperate woman would take him and deal with it, all because he was rich.