Chapter One

The Jock

The Rock star

The Billionaire

The Stepbrother

THE ONE

Chapter One

“So, I have this idea.”

Few words held as much power as these five. Especially when coming from my best friend. Those very words were the reason I hated peanut butter.

Kindergarten snack gone wrong.

Don’t ask.

Those words were also responsible for a very bad perm in junior high, and then again in high school for an eighties’ themed dance. Those five words were the reason I woke up in Vegas with “peace” tattooed across my back and a black eye.

No, I still don’t know where I got the back eye.

And you would think I’d know better than to listen to her when she begins a conversation — any conversation with those words.

But that’s the crazy part of friendship. Those stupid things you did are the very moments you remember and giggle about — much later, after they’ve happened. And for all the miserable things I’ve endured at Roxi’s horrific ideas… she’s had her share of brilliant moments as well.

So rather than run when she spoke, I took a deep breath, focused on the soft acoustic music of the downtown Seattle Peet’s Coffee House, and listened.

But just because I was going to give her a chance to explain, didn’t mean I had to do it without alarm and a healthy dose of suspicion.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t give me that.” She shot me a disgusted glare as she stirred some raw sugar into her black coffee.

I arched my eyebrow.

“Fine. But this is a good idea.”

“Sure.” I blew across my black coffee and waited for the genius to pour forth.

“No really. It’s not even about you.”

“Neither was Vegas.”

“True… but this is more of a business proposition.”

“The words proposition should never pass your lips.” I shook my head. “You’re not my pimp.”

“Nope. I’d be poor if I was,” she said, her red lipstick stretching across her recently whitened teeth.

“Ha ha.”

“No, really. So we need to infuse the blog with some new ideas. I’ve been brainstorming and I have this great idea. But I can’t do it by myself. I need help.”

“Three red flags.” I held up my fingers. “One. You said ideas, brainstorming, ideas again, and help. I see this turning out badly for me.”

“Please. You haven’t even heard my idea.”

I motioned for her to continue as I sipped my coffee. The atmosphere of the coffee shop lent a relaxed and comforting atmosphere with its natural wood tones and the soft hum of the espresso machine, yet these usually wonderful sounds didn’t soothe my trepidation.

“As I said, the blog needs some fresh direction.”

I nodded. Roxi hosted one of the largest blogs on the web. It was a mix of beauty tutorials, dating advice and book reviews that drew in everyone from fifteen to ninety. I continually stood in awe of how she connected, stayed connected, and pulled in so many followers. The count was at least 5.5 million.

“Basically, I did a poll last week asking which type of guy had the most sex appeal. I took the regulars; tall, dark and handsome, jock, urban lumberjack and so on. But I added in a dominant alpha, single dad, Navy Seal, billionaire, and stepbrother to mix in the recent surges in the literary romance ideals. It was insane. Total madness! The poll reached almost 85% of my followers and engaged them!” Her hands gestured wildly as her brown eyes widened.

“Eighty-five percent?” I asked, then whistled softly. “That’s impressive.”

“You think? But it gave me this idea.”

“Back to the idea.”

“Yeah. So. The poll did show a strange trend.” She paused and took a sip of her coffee. Basically, she was trying to make me impatient.

It worked.

“Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?”

“All in time, grasshoppa.” She flicked her medium length blonde hair over her shoulder. “It showed that basically, all the men were tied. Where certain demographics of women preferred one type over the other, it ended up being a wash.”

“Okay…” I drew out the word, not knowing where she was going. Which happened often.

“So basically, girls don’t know what they want. So I asked another question.”

“Of course.”

She shrugged as if to say, ‘exactly’.

“And asked if they had a choice, which man would they choose if they could have one date. Only one.”

“And?”

“But it seemed wrong, so I mixed it up a bit before I hit publish. I’m giving them the choice of what type of guy… but…”

“I don’t like that expression.” I leaned back in my chair. Roxi was blonde, but she wasn’t dumb. Hard work and brilliant marketing had gotten her far in life, and when she turned on the whole evil genius, it was scary. And that expression? It was the evil genius — I’m going to turn your world upside down and make it crazy — type look.

“Every week will be a different ideal guy. You’ll write a post about the sex appeal of the guy — basically what it was like to date him—”

“Say what?” I stopped breathing. Did she just say who I would date?

“It’s brilliant! I mean, I’ve already had ABC contact me about the idea, and they might run a special on the end results if we get enough of a wave going through social media. It’s brilliant. Basically, we’re going to be publicizing every woman’s dream.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to this!” As I pushed to my feet, my hand brushed my coffee cup. With a clatter, the cup toppled sideways, and the dark brown liquid washed across the table and spilled over the side like a black waterfall.

“Please?” Roxi asked, giving me the wounded puppy eyes.

“Those don’t work on me,” I ground out, wiping up the coffee spill with the recycled paper napkins.

“I’ll pay you, of course.” She smiled widely, exposing far too many teeth to appear friendly.

“Not enough!” I picked up my almost empty cup, frowning as I looked at the few drops of coffee remaining.

“I’m your boss…” she sing-songed.

“Low.”

“You’ll thank me later.” She winked and left for a moment. I glared at her back, swearing she’ll someday rue the day she made me the CPA for her business.

I leaned forward and rested my forehead on the cool table, inhaling the remaining scent of my spilled coffee, trying to ignore the headache coming on. What sucked was that she was right. This would be huge for the blog, pull in other followers and even create some huge media exposure. She had hit a gold mine. And I wasn’t just the CPA of the business, I’d also invested heavily in the startup making me a partner, so any returns would be huge for me in paying off my last student loan.

“I hate this,” I mumbled against the tabletop.

“You’ll thank me later,” Roxi spoke softly, and I heard her set a cup on the table beside my head. “Don’t spill this one. It’s hotter than Hades.”

“Thanks.” I lifted my head and stared into the black liquid.

“Seriously, Meredith, you’ll be fine. It will be fun. It’s not anything serious. All the guys will know it’s for research purposes ahead of time.”

“Promise?” I asked, knowing that honesty would be my lifeline if I were to actually try this.

“Yeah. Promise.” She leaned forward. “Is that a yes?” Her manicured fingers were practically clawing at the table.

“Yes,” I whispered, promising myself that it would be better than it sounded.

It had to be.

“YAY! Thank you! You will have so much fun, and everything will be company expensed.” She clapped with excitement as she beamed at me.

“I know. It better be.”

“Your first guy is named Jackson Meyer. He’s a second string NFL fullback. Nice guy. Single, of course, and pretty laid back. You’ll like him.” She leaned down and pulled out a head shot from her huge Coach Bag, along with a file.

“What if I had said no?” I asked, pulling the folder toward me and scanning it.

“Mere, you are too smart to say no. You see the potential as much as I do.” She leaned cross the table, her red fingernails tapping the wood. She was in hyper business mode, yet as quick as she flipped the switch, her expression softened and she reached out to touch my hand. “You’re brilliant, beautiful, and just as invested in this business as I am. You might like to hide behind your glasses and ponytail, but I know you’re just waiting for the right moment to dazzle everyone who’s missed that inner beauty, your inner magic. You might fool them, but I’m not in the least. So I push you.” She shrugged.

“You drag me, kicking and screaming,” I corrected her with a wry smile. “But thanks… for all the other stuff you said. You’re a great friend and an even better liar.” She grinned as she removed her hand and relaxed in her chair.

“Ha, ha. It’s the truth and you know it. Now, check out the guy. He’s hot. Pretty intelligent as well. Athletic in the extreme, the guy has a 36-inch vertical jump and can dead lift 450. He’s an animal. The ladies are going to salivate once his picture hits the blog.” She grinned and crossed her arms.

“He’s not bad.” I shrugged and picked up the photo. The headshot could easily have been for a modeling agency call. He appeared to be half African American and half Eastern European. His hair was long and braided, black like my coffee but his skin was all caramel with the most crystal blue eyes I’d ever seen. His smile was accented with a one-sided dimple that was both boyishly cute and masculine all at once. Broad shoulders completed the visual, adding to the jock ideal.

“Not bad, huh? I gave him your phone number and he’ll be texting you in the next day or so to set up your first date.”

“My phone number? He already has my phone number? When did you give him that?” I asked, darting my hand to my purse and pulling out my iPhone.

“After you spilled your coffee. I shot off a text real quick. Sweet guy. And hey… in the middle of all of this, you might find the one. Have you ever thought of that?” she asked, a dreamy smile lighting up her face. It was the same smile she’d given me back in high school when she told me to ask out James Booth to the Sadie Hawkins dance.

It had worked then.

And damn it all, I was almost afraid it would work now.

“You sure talk a lot for a single white female,” I challenged, knowing I had her there.

“Yeah, I’m too busy right now.”

“And I’m not?”

“You… Mere, you’ve always wanted that white picket fence, the two kids, and a cocker spaniel named Rufus. When we played Barbies as kids, you would be the one with two sets of twins and baking muffins.” She giggled.

“And you’d be the one in the power suit, driving to work in the pink convertible and leaving Ken at home with Skipper.” I laughed, remembering how we’d play for hours.

“Yeah… and I want that for you. But you’ll never get it unless you try… unless you get out of that little box you’ve made for yourself and shine a bit. Trust me. This is going to be good. I’ve got a feeling.” She reached out and patted my hand, yet the gleam in her eye was dangerous.

I blinked, and for a second I almost told her no, that I couldn’t do it. Yet, even though I knew how lethal her ideas could be, the way her blue eyes sparkled innocently, had her looking more angelic than wicked. I sighed. “I’ve got a feeling too, and I’m pretty sure it’s called indigestion.”

She rolled her eyes. “Drink your coffee and read about your guy.”

I scanned the sheet. It was pretty basic. Likes and dislikes, height, weight — as if I really cared — and a few sentences in an About Me space.

“He doesn’t look like a serial killer, so we’re good.” I laid the sheet down and glanced up to Roxi.

“My thoughts exactly.” She gave me an exasperated sigh. “Let me know when he contacts you, and give me all the info on the date night.”

“Fine, fine, but what’re the rules? I mean, we have parameters, right? I mean, what are you using to ‘sell’ it on the blog?” I crossed my arms. “Because I’m not going to hussy it out for these guys. I mean I have standards.”

“Chill. Like I said, I’m not your pimp.” She waved her hands dismissively. “You’re just having dinner. If you want to kiss him, do it. If you want to invite him in? Tell me if it was a good idea… but I’m after the emotion.” Her smile shifted into a dreamy gaze as she slowly turned the head shot her direction and traced the outline. “What do you ‘feel’ when he looks at you? How is that guy attractive to women? What do other women do when they see him? What is the reaction you have to his smile? His voice? Is it sexy—”

“Okay, I think I get it. It’s more… clinical.”

“No, only you would look at a hot guy like this and think clinical.” She took a deep breath through her nose. “Tell me your gut. Let me feel what it’s like to be you. You’ll figure it out. These guys? They will know what’s going on… they’ll want you to like them. It’s a win-win for everyone. Just know that you’re not going to be undercover or anything, be honest. You’ll be surprised.”

“I… don’t quite get how this is going to work.”

“Just watch. You’ll figure it out.”

“You have way too much faith in me.” I sipped my coffee, thankful it had cooled enough to enjoy.

“Or you don’t have enough in yourself. I gotta go, call me.” And she was gone, leaving me alone with my coffee and ten other customers immersed in their own world.

Taking a deep breath, I glanced back to the headshot. “Okay, Jackson Meyer. Let’s see what you’ve got.”