Chapter Thirteen

About to reply to Max’s question on why she thought their hearts would always be a mismatched pair, Aggie’s stomach grumbled. She glanced at her watch. Eight thirty p.m. It had been a long Monday. “I tell you what,” she said. “Buy us dinner, and I’ll explain to you why we’re not compatible—romantically speaking. As a work couple, we’re a dream team. That is, when you don’t get in the way of yourself.”

Tonight had been invigorating. They’d bounced ideas off each other like a smooth-ass spin-out between two people who’d danced together all their lives. While he took his role as the lead man quite seriously, he gallantly took her likes and pleasure into consideration with each smooth move he executed.

Moments ago, when she thought he would kiss her, she’d had a startling revelation—she wanted it to transpire. And not just the kiss. She wanted everything that comes after a kiss.

And she had no idea when that happened. Just this morning, she didn’t like him very much. And when she reminded herself he was a trust-fund baby, she still didn’t. Yet…

“Deal,” he said.

She shook away the unnerving realization and focused on Max. Just because he could dance didn’t mean they were romantically compatible. They weren’t. He was pompous. She was fun. She wasn’t saying sex wouldn’t be grand between them, because, well…it would. But beyond that, the touchy-feely stuff had nothing to do with sex. And that’s what she meant when she said they weren’t romantically compatible.

Thirty minutes later, they sat across from each other at a small mom and pop pizza joint, Pie in the Sky. Max filled the beer mugs and pushed one toward her. “Enough stalling, Johansson. Tell me your take on why we’re not romantically compatible.”

“What’s your Enneagram number?” She picked up a slice of Hawaiian pizza and took a bite. They’d ordered a large. Half her preference. Half his.

“My what?” He took a bite of his all-meat pizza.

She swallowed. “Have you never taken an Enneagram test?” Wasn’t taking that quiz like the first thing every middle-school girl made every middle-school boy do the minute they started talking?

“What is it?”

She laid her slice on her plate. “It’s a personality test. A really cool personality test. When you take it, you’ll get a number that is your primary personality style and a wing number that also describes you. For example, I’m a seven with a loyalist wing.”

He nodded like he understood, but his squished brows didn’t agree. “What is a seven? And what’s a loyalist wing?” He picked up the red-pepper shaker and sprinkled it heavily on his half. Then he glanced at her to see if she wanted some on hers. She nodded. The hotter the better.

“A seven is called an Enthusiast. In general, a person labeled a seven is spontaneous, versatile, acquisitive, and scattered. The loyalist wing means I’m loyal and tend to speak my mind.” She paused and let the words sink in. When he grimaced, she continued. “Tell me, have you ever once imagined your dream woman and thought she would have any one of those traits, let alone all of them?”

He studied her as if she were a science project gone wrong. A theory gone wrong. A hypothesis not proven. “You don’t come across as acquisitive.”

Lots of men she’d met over the years didn’t know what the word meant. The fact he did impressed her. “When you grow up poor, you tend to covet materialistic things. If you ever study Ruby Payne’s book, A Framework for Understanding Poverty, you’ll understand what I mean.” She took a small bite of her pizza.

“The poor don’t have a monopoly on that trait.” He picked up his beer and raised it to his lips. “I grew up rich, and I still want things.”

“It’s different. Don’t forget, I’m also scattered.”

“I’ve not seen any signs of you being scattered. You’ve completed all of the tasks I’ve asked you to do without me reminding you.”

A group of teenagers came through the door, laughing and carrying on with one another. She waited until they’d been shown to their seats before she responded. “We’re still in our honeymoon stage. Trust me, when I’m rattled, I become quite scattered. That’s one of the reasons I forgot to bring Aggie’s Assets to my interview with you.”

“I thought it was because you didn’t want me to see your work history.”

She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I will neither deny nor confirm your theory. Anyway, the fact I’m scattered is a huge red flag as to why we are not romantically compatible.”

“So you’ve told me why you’re not right for me. Why do you feel I’m not right for you?”

He sounded cocky. Like he couldn’t believe any woman wouldn’t see him as catch of the year. The fact she kind of agreed irritated her. “I’m willing to guess you’re a one with a protector wing. A one is a Reformer.”

He shrugged. “What does a Reformer do?”

She pulled out her phone and pulled up the website for the Enneagram site. The action gave her a minute to get a grip on the weird hopes trying to filter through to her consciousness. “A Reformer has the three Ps. They’re principled, purposeful, and perfectionists.” Dear God, that described him to a T.

He reached for another slice of pizza. “And you see those as bad traits?”

“Not bad. Just not suited to who I am. For example, along with the three Ps, Reformers are also known for their self-control. You have that by the buttload.”

“And you know this how?”

“Your self-control is what kept you from kissing me tonight, even though you wanted to.” She took a bite of her pizza and waited for his response.

He refilled his beer without breaking eye contact with her. “I’m your boss. Just because I want to do something doesn’t mean I get to do it.” His words whispered up her spine leaving behind a delicious tingle.

She exhaled. She knew it. Her instincts hadn’t been wrong. He did find her attractive. “As a Reformer, you didn’t even ask me if I wanted you to be all full of self-control and make that decision for me.”

“It was the right decision to make. I didn’t need to ask.”

“Spoken like a true Reformer. That just proves why we’re not compatible. I’m spontaneous. I want a guy to kiss me and worry about the consequences later.”

“That’s not realistic. I have a company to run. I can’t take the chance of kissing a woman who might decide afterward it wasn’t wanted and then file a sexual harassment lawsuit.”

“You’re absolutely right. You’d be crazy to take that chance. But an Enthusiast like myself doesn’t always do what’s right. We do what feels good—even if it’s crazy. I want to be with someone who has enough spontaneity inside of him to keep me on my toes. To not bore me with constant rules.”

The sparkle in his eyes dimmed. “I see.”

The effervescence inside her belly fizzled. Sometimes being an adult and making decisions based on logic really sucked. “So you agree we’re not romantically compatible, and we should join forces to dissuade our grandmothers of their hopes for a budding relationship?”

He scratched the back of his neck and then inhaled and exhaled loudly. “What do you have in mind?”