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and niche marketing, while she wove through traffic like James Bond, praying any passing police would be too awed by her technique to ticket her. Wrapping up the conversation at last, leaving Garrett content and her overloaded, she scored a neighborhood shortcut and roared into a Sun Print parking spot just in time. She grabbed the artwork CD and raced inside.
    Twenty minutes later, she exited, mission accomplished. Shaky with relief, she smiled at the dropping sun and slid behind the wheel, noticing she’d gotten ink on her fingers from admiring some freshly printed flyers—you had to compliment the pressmen. They were where the ink met the paper in her biz.
    Glancing in the mirror, she saw her blouse collar had black fingerprints, too. Ruined. Along with the pricey panty hose she’d snagged along the way. Collateral damage was inevitable when you worked as hard as she did.
    She was on the street headed home when her cell emitted the music she’d assigned Janie’s calls. Unwilling to risk another accident, she zipped into the closest parking lot to call her back. Fleetingly, she noticed the marquee above her head: Totally Nude. All You Can Eat Businessman’s Buffet. She’d parked at a strip club. Yuck. Middle-aged salesmen ogling boob jobs while they inhaled ambrosia salad and bean dip. Strip clubs seemed so desperate.
    Of course, sexual frustration made her do strange things, too—pant over Cosmo’ s naked chefs issue, devour erotic romance novels and think wicked thoughts about cucumbers. Masturbation was a pale second to the joys of a warm and willing man. Where was one when she needed him?
    “I need your help ASAP,” Janie said when she answered, her voice thin with tension.
    “Take a slow breath, Janie Marie.”
    “I’m okay,” she said, but she sounded like someone had wrapped a rubber band around her vocal cords.
    “Breathe, Janie. Consider it a personal favor.”
    “Oh, for pity’s sake.” She huffed in a couple of irritated breaths. “There. Are you happy?”
    “Yes, I am. Now what’s up?”
    “I need you to fill in on a date.” Over the past few weeks, as problems mounted, Kylie had stood in for missing matches a number of times. There’d been a mistake on the Web site which had married couples appearing as available and Gail had double-booked a few people. Kylie’s job was to be polite and genial and noncommittal and keep the client around until the right match could be made.
    “What happened this time?”
    “Gail got overly enthusiastic. Turns out the client’s match is in London right now.”
    “I love Gail, but she’s not much of a receptionist. She’s never at her desk, for one thing.”
    “She’s my entire sales force. Everywhere she goes she pitches Personal Touch.”
    “When the money turns around, hire a real receptionist, okay? Let Gail do what she’s good at full-time.”
    “Will you do the date?”
    “Just tell the guy there’s been a mistake.”
    “He’s a lawyer. Unhappy lawyers file lawsuits. This is his first date with us and he’s barely squeezing in the time. I’m afraid he’ll bail. You’re so good at smoothing. The woman in London is his perfect match.”
    Someone honked at her from behind. She looked in her rearview to see the guy motioning her forward. What the…? Then she spotted the low Jack-In-The-Box sign beside his car and realized she wasn’t parked in the strip club lot. She was blocking the fast-food drive-thru lane next door.
    “Just a sec,” she said to Janie, then rolled forward to order a mint-chocolate-chip milkshake. Might as well get something out of the mistake, right? “Tell me about this guy,” she said on a sigh.
    “Thank you, thank you, Kylie! His name’s Cole Sullivan and he’s smart and serious and handsome. You’ll love him.”
    “I’m going to apologize to him, not marry him, Janie,” she said, reaching to take the milkshake from the clerk.
    “You have twenty minutes to get there.”
    “Twenty minutes? It’s